Stories - FD Thornton

  Well here we are, trying to kick start yet another Middle Eastern War. All while we got our first Blood Moon of the year this week. No matter what side you are on in this conflict or rather or not you feel it’s justified over diplomacy. There is still innocent blood being shed on the ground. Yet I am more than certain Churches, Mosque, and Synagogues will be praying for their side to win. With a few scattered about ready for the “End Times”. I myself am just shaking my head that it has come to this, where innocent men, women, and children are sacrificed on the alter of old men drunk with power. Under the excuse of obeying God and/or distracting from the truth. Where is the God of Jesus, Mohammed, or The Toran in any of this? Blood has been shed and the majority of the people of the world are seemingly helpless to stop it. Revenge and paranoia are the words of the day. What has been started a thousand times before has been started again.   I don’t mean to ruin what is ...

Pinterest   On yet another shitty morning, the rain slowly pours outside. The pills are scattered in their usual 4 4 3 pattern across the pad, as I stir my morning witches brew to swallow them all. Scattered across my mind is a Madonna-like figure in all her glory baring herself to me. In a seamless dance of attention unlike most women I’ve known. But now that the pills are gone and there’s nothing but the rain and the visions in my head of her lingering attention. But beyond a symphony of poetic words, my mind drifts to nothingness. While the rest of the world blows its horns and screams down the highway. I remain ignorant to the noise, while still hearing it. Offering my mind up to relentless silence that rings in my ears. For the sake of the words, my testament stands. Unholy in its voice, unloved on the face of things, most deeper than I care to be know. For I am more than just the sum of my parts: passion, water, light, earth, and air. So today in this moment of revelation...

  After a surprisingly refreshing nap I hear the distant cry of an ambulance’s siren in the distance. Through the walls of the apartment, I hear the sounds of a cartoon playing in the living room. In the kitchen plans have already been made for tonight’s supper, while outside the slightest of breezes can be seen blowing through the first of springs leaves. As for me, I’m still in a sweater with my pull-on boat shoes, minus a boat. The walls of the study remain a lite tan color, with not a picture on the wall. With me sitting here recording in vivid detail the thoughts of a life, even my closest family don’t seem to care about. For my children find me inhospitable and grumpy, because of the cadence of my voice. Never thinking that’s just the way many of us were taught to speak to sound like a man. But more and more I feel like a man out of time. Separated by distance from all I ever really knew. Surrounded by a village of strangers, that never accepted me as one of their own. Leav...

  The sun is reflecting rather harshly off my monitor this morning. Leaving a faint ghostly reflection of myself pasted to the screen. It is a brisk cool morning hovering around 33° but still the sun is as bright as a spring morning. In this season of Ramadan and Lent, I suppose reflection and sacrifice are the name of the game. In my own mind thoughts of purging and reflection shine through in the many troubling dreams I’ve had over the past few weeks. Much like the dream I mentioned in my last writing “Dreams”, uncomfortable scenarios have been coming up in my mind. With individuals from my past and present I suppose teaching me lessons I need to learn. But such as it is with dreams for interpretation can be cloudy if anything at all. So I take each moment in stride and stay aware of my surroundings. Keeping in mind my present circumstance and the fears that often rise up. So in this season of reflection and giving, remember to always be grateful for what you have. Never abus...

  Not Really After what was essentially a peaceful, but yet busy day. My wife and son have ruined it in a matter of seconds. First I got up before dawn to make the 30 mile track to the hospital to have my echocardiogram done. That in itself wasn’t too much of a bother, excluding the parking and the waiting. Then I made the 60 mile track to another city to get the medicine I needed. After the next 20 mile track back home it was noon time and as I lay my sore hip and back on the heating pad. My dear wife reminded me she needed her medication refilled as well. So I called her pharmacy (yes, we have to use different pharmacies) to have her prescriptions filled. Needless to say, I laid down for an hour or so, then got up, drove to her pharmacy and picked up her medicine. Once I got back home, it was time to start supper. I was going to get me a glass of sweet tea, but the tea pitcher was empty. So instead of throwing my son into a bad mood, I decided to brew the tea myself. Mainly b...

  It’s a froggy ass morning here on the sandy hills of South Central Georgia, where the coastal plain meets the piedmont. I’m dressed down in my old Alamo uniform of sweatpants, heavy t-shirt, and sweat jacket. With the curtains pulled open wide to get the full view of the heavy froggy air. I’m surprised by how few cars and semi’s have passed on the highway. I guess everyone got an early start this morning just to beat the day. But I’m comforted by the distant sound of an ambulance, for the fifth day in a row. After a night of tossing and turning repeating the same dream about going to some conference with a Swamper I didn’t know, meeting his family, and riding on a dirty air boat. Yeah, that kinda dream. Anyway sitting here in the relative quiet of the morning, there ain’t much to say other than I have to drive 30 miles (again) in the rain. To have my bi-annual echocardiogram done at the hospital to see if I’m still alive. I suppose I could be a little pissy about having that ...

  I’m considering working on something new this morning, Considering I already have two stories completed and a poem waiting in the wings. But with me that happens every once in a while, where I got more energy than I need in the creativity department. Still I felt like working on something new, not that it’s the beginning of a great piece, just the same old talk about, talk about I usually spin. I got a doctor’s appointment in the early afternoon. A 30 mile trip (one way) through the construction zone know as US Highway 441. There I’ll meet with my Nephrologist NP, and she’ll let me know how my kidney function is going. She’s one of many specialist I’ll be seeing over the next few months, just to reassure me that I am alive. In case I haven’t figured it out yet. Next will be my Cardiologist NP, then the Tech that checks my defibrillator function. Then I have an appointment with my Cardio-Surgeon who will be performing another procedure on my heart. Then an appointment with my Op...

  I can hear what I can only describe as the theme to the Lion King bleeding through my study walls, as I was about to touch the keys of this keyboard. I don’t know if it’s a sign from God, or if Good Morning America is just trying to fleece another Grandma to buy Broadway tickets or both. But the sun is shining   just as bright as when that old baboon held up the lion cub. So who am I to say? I took a picture of myself this morning, than easily picked out every flaw I saw on my saggy face. My skin looks like loose fitting clothing on a skinny man. Although I’d much prefer being a skinny man with plenty of wrinkles. Then this once   fat old man wearing a loose fitting skin suit that still makes me look fat. But enough about me, how about you? Got any features you care to tear apart this morning? It’s funny how the ego and wounded self-respect turns most of us into our own worst critic. But such as it is with humankind, always comparing notes. Falling in love with some...

FD Thornton   With trembling hands and a flare for the dramatic, I take my meds. Looking out the window at the clouds that had descended to the treetops. I wait for the morning sun to erase the dew and give me my promised sunny sky. Sounds pretty dramatic, don’t it? Kinda lovely in the way the words form a picture you can almost see in your mind. As an observer of life I guess that’s what I’m suppose to do. Dream up words that paint descriptions in the imagination that only words can do. But today in a world of expanding visual media, we’ve all gotten a little lazy, with our words and our descriptions of the things we see. Settling instead for half-truths we take as Gospel. Never seeing how the other half lives. It’s sad in a way to see lazy writing, where arguments become insults and ignorance is praised instead of frowned upon. There’s much to be said for simple country living, but when you exchange simplicity for ignorance and spite. Well that’s another matter altogether. I ...

Lakewood Church After an interesting night of sleep, I awoke to yet another one of my crazy dreams. Within this dream I was working crazy long hours at this particular job, that kept me away from normal family activities. Most of which had to do with church. Growing up I was used to my family bouncing from one new mission church to another. But this time I suppose one of those churches caught fire, as we would say, and had become very popular. I recall getting dressed into what I had to wear after work and heading over to a service. The church was packed, and through the crowds I finally saw my dad standing next to a wall. As we embraced he covered me with his jacket, as if something was wrong with the way I was dressed. I kinda laid on his lap and seemed to fall asleep. But I was awake enough to notice that whole vibe of the church just didn’t seem to feel right. For one the church my parents would have helped start, appeared to be out of their hands. And there was a new minister ...

Mr. Whipple   I just got through writing a pretty little poem (if I do say so myself). And the very next thought I had was, “Two-Ply Toilet Paper”. Needless to say, I had to chuckle to myself at the thought. But I guess inspiration often works in mysterious ways. So as a write, in the loosest sense of the word, I often find inspiration in interesting places. In case you haven’t figured it out, I’m not very polished with my work. I mean I read other people’s work and think, Damn! Why can’t I write like that? I was trained in the world of analytics. I started my work life wanting to be an architect and trained as a draftsmen. I worked in multi-color printing, then went through a 4 or 5 year phase of just existing. Then that turned into fatherhood and forced labor at whatever I could find. Until another 15 year phase of just existing, till the last 10 or so years where I tried to rebuild myself. Till I became this. The broken down wrecked hull of a man you see today. But that’s ok...

It’s 5:30 in the afternoon, supper is simmering on the stove, While outside my office window, I can hear a Norfolk-Southern train carrying empty car carriers back to Brunswick. Even through the double pane windows I can hear the wind howling outside. I could imagine how it would have sounded if we still lived in that shotgun shack back in Alamo. But despite my daughters complaining, I’d much rather pay the higher rent just to stay warm. It’s been a year since we moved into our “deluxe apartment” here. And despite the lack of an apartment manager or a full-time maintenance person, or the pounding of little feet upstairs. Anything’s better than freezing our asses off in that drafty old house with no hot water and 1912 electrical wiring. Some may say, “Don’t you miss the charm of an old farmhouse”? Not when I had to do all the maintenance to the house. While the damn landlord rode around in his golf cart three times a day like a Goddamn prison guard. But I again digress. After stirrin...

Image: Adobe Firefly   When I opened the curtains this morning all I could see was a shabby reflection of myself staring back at me. Gone was my clean shaven face and my combed back hair. And what stood before me was a shaggy faced, uncombed haired old man, in an oversized sweatshirt and mixed matched sweatpants. I looked like an aging frat boy dragging his way to an early morning class, looking about as good as I felt. But that pink strip at the bottom of the skyline was finally giving way to a questionable blue/gray skyline. That hadn’t made up its mind yet, rather it was going to be cloudy or sunny. Feeling like I had something caught in my throat, I cleared the passageway with a grumpy old man cough. But with my gummy vitamins melting in my mouth, I felt like a kid again being rewarded for taking his medicine. Life has a funny way of reminding you of who you are. Rather you’re an office manager, a store clerk, or a Wall Street tycoon. Each day you put your pants on one leg at...

  With supper going and the window cracked open, I’m watching the sunset on another chilly day in South Georgia. I wrote a little story this morning but didn’t publish it, so after printing up about 50 pages of forms I need to fill out. I spent the rest of the day laying on the bed with a heating pad and comforter, doom scrolling the day away. Sitting here now, I swear I can hear kids out at the playground, but I may be wrong. It’s hard to tell with my wife’s TV blaring in the living room.     But such as it is in the life of a man on disability and retirement. Living on a fixed income with most of whatever I saved going to pay old hospital bills and for such luxuries as groceries. But I really don’t mean to be so cynical, it’s just a defensive posture I’ve developed over the years to protect my sanity. But given my history of mental illness, you can see how far that has gotten me.   I don’t mind talking about myself and my many faults, unlike a number of th...

  It’s a bit anti-climactic to spend all this time sorting through my pill bottles, then cutting pills to be divided up, and put into smaller pill bottles. Only to take a few seconds to swallow down the morning’s half and be done with it. I mean you don’t even get to lay back and enjoy a cigarette. You just get up and chew your vitamins then start your day. My Sunday started like most, I was woke up, checked my messages, and called my father-in-law. But with my coffee about gone, it is it’s usual gray and cloudy sky outside, with temperatures in the upper 30’s. I ain’t feeling much any particular way today, I mean after all it’s still morning. Pretty much everyone was prepared for a 45” coating of ice according to the local weather people. Hope they got those car dealers and lawyer ads their money’s worth scaring the Great-Grandmas to death, but I digress. Now with a fresh cup of hot coffee in my hand, I can get down to what I wanted to say. Which is nothing. It’s Sunday mornin...

  After an evening of heavy priestly confessions and a late night of deep sleep, I woke up a bit dazed and confused. For one I ain’t completely woke up yet, even after a hot shower and shave. But the curtains and windows are open, and the crisp cool air is filling my study. My poor old candle has about seen its better days while the sun slowly creeps toward the first windowpane. Then I had to stop writing for a moment to go rescue my stranded adult child that locked their keys in their car.       Anyway I’m about woke up now after listening to my youngin go on about a mile a minute about them and their spouses five-year-plan. It’s kinda funny to me to hear that sort of thing now considering I’m doing good to make moment by moment plans. If there’s one thing I’ve learn in over 60+ years of breathing, it’s that nothing is guaranteed. Ten years ago if you were to tell me that I would be sitting here reasonably healthy. When I had five IVs going at once in the Pulmon...

Sandra Saxon Burnsed   It’s nearly eleven o’clock in the morning, I just got through editing and publishing a piece I wrote a few days back. Other than that, I went to sleep early last night feeling cold and icky, even before the game went off. Last night’s sleep was rough and filled with stress dreams about being dirty from working all night. With no way to shower or a clean change of clothes. So I woke up with that same exhausted feeling, with no motivation to get out of bed.   The story I worked on when I made it to the study was ironically about having a good morning watching the early morning sky. Thankfully, I didn’t let my attitude from this morning cloud my earlier optimistic mood. So now I’m left with my present middle of the month feelings, of upcoming bills and pure boredom. But as you may have figured out already, I use you as my priestly confessional. Often telling you my sad tales of chronic depression and poverty, if for nothing else, to make your own lives se...

  I’m about done with my Sunday morning chores. I got the sheets off the bed to wash, got my medicine took, lite my candle, cracked opened windows (to let out evil spirits), and called my father-in-law (to check on some old evil spirits). But seriously there’s been a steady rain last night and the weatherman has been promising me snow all week. About 0.02” to be exact. You can stop laughing now all my snow bound bird friends up North. But the rain has made the stale air of a Southern Winter smell a little sweeter, so thanks Canada for that. While the final rinse on the washer sounds like a jet fighter shutting down. The breeze outside is picking up, but still no flakes. But just like a humid summer’s day is to a Canadian, a little accumulation of snow or ice is kryptonite to a Southerner. So while we laugh, we both know our limitations. Funny how life usually even’s things out in the end, knowing our weakness’ and our adaptability. So in conclusion let us all have a good belly ...

  Still a little weary from yesterday’s rot. My brain is still unloading the damaged files of my life. I just got back from the barber shop getting my son and myself a much-needed haircut. So I’m sitting here with a little smell-good on my neck listening to someone down the road with a back-up horn beeping away. After a healthy, normal conversation at the barber shop about grandbabies, old sugar cane mills, and pea shellers, it was nice to have a pointless conversation face-to-face with strangers. It reminds me of the long summer days swatting gnats and talking bullshit around the cabins back at Uncle Shed’s Fishcamp. Even back in the 70’s and the 80’s it was a trip back in time to a place where city folk could rent a cabin, a john boat, a paddle, and even tackle to fish on the Ogeechee River. By the time I got there, there were still a few people renting cabins or using the boat ramp to put out. So the conversations were varied and lively, talked with old friends of the campgrou...

  I caught wind of a sweet scent coming from the window. Being that it is early January I highly doubt it being a flower. Maybe it’s the lingering perfume of our neighbor walking her dog. Or maybe it’s just me after taking a hot shower. Who knows? But it was a pleasant scent all the same. There it is again, dancing on the tip of my nose. Reminding me that no matter how grey the sky is, there’s always a scent of optimism lingering in the air. It’s what I try to find on most mornings when my mind hasn’t already been invaded by the fear that often overtakes our day. By finding that quiet space, rather through prayer or meditation, the sincerity of the moment overcomes the fear. While sitting here I had to switch my legs for a moment. My left leg felt hyper-extended so switching them over eased the pain. Not much different than when life’s learned habits begin to strain and it’s time to do something different. So while my pleasant little nose tease remains a mystery. I don’t worry ...

Military Base in Venezuela    I woke up early this morning reading the news in the NYT (that heathen leftist newspaper). In it I read about some of the questionable actions our leadership has taken overseas. Along with the tragedy in Switzerland and an article on H1B visas and the potential harm in closing them down. (You know the normal leftist liberal faire). But here in America you take the good with the bad, because that’s the rules we are supposed to play by. But for many of my nationalist brothers and sisters, the road to freedom is paved with a “my way or the highway attitude”.  Blindly following a very specific set of rules that the constitution protects against. But I digress, you think what you want to think. Just as long as you’re not stomping on my flowers that my no trespassing sign tells you not to do. We are a country of laws and not just personal opinions. But is nice to know that certain rules can be changed if they are deemed wrong. So take from t...

  After dropping my pills and drinking my magic potion that keeps my poop stuck together. I stared out the window for a moment at the same glaring bright sun I did yesterday. I watched thousands of people in Times Square watch a glass ball drop to announce a New Year with a bunch of folks kissing and singing an old song they didn’t know the words to and then walk away. Outside I heard fireworks going off for the next half hour then it all seemed to go silent. While my wife lay next to me fast asleep. So here I am on this New Year’s Day with one bird chirping outside the window and hangover cast of Good Morning America talking through the walls. Beneath my computer monitor is a couple of bracelets I used to wear. One with glass beads and a craved blue turtle and another with wooden blocks with my children’s initials on them. Along with two glass turtles I brought at the Turtle Center years ago. All surrounded by various prescription drugs I stated and stopped taking over the past ...