Tuesday, May 6, 2014

5330. SMUDGE

SMUDGE
Smudge and Uncle Alex were sitting beneath the
parlor tree, watching cards and letters rolling in.
'Listen to that warbler's sound! Sounds just like
once my Uncle Jim, who used to whistle Jim Crow
tunes on a bottle cap flute he'd made himself.' They
were sitting near the fireplace mantle when the Kansas
lightning struck. Froze Uncle Alex from the front. Took
Smudge right down. He never whimpered, never moved.
I came walking in just then, watching the fire smolder the
ruins. 'What went on?' I questioned anyone. No one 
answered at all but I already had my ticket home.

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