gone to the hills

"Mmm mm, she never told me 'bout no... what did you say she call' them boys?"

 

"Demons, she called them; she called them 'demons,'" my well-spoken dialect sounded wrong in my ears in this surrounding.  I didn't fit here, I never would.  In this ramshackle hut with an aging woman who was perpetually stooped next to a ill-mannered flame, I don't belong here.

 

"Oh, now, they weren't no demons happenin', not 'round here y'see.  na'm, we's a good group of scurd farmers, livin' off the land and lovin' off eachother... and the lord, a'course, we love us the lord somp'in fierce.

 

"Demons, ha, to hear you speak, you'd think that we're devil worshippers... we never did even think of bowing down to the great red one.  Too much fire in him, y'see, and it's warm enough in here a'ready.  Don't need him stirring us up none."

 

She chuckled, smiling good-naturedly.  Her face was thick with lines, fat and homely and loved by her entire clan of family members that would swarm around her during the holidays most years.  This Thanksgiving, though, there was no one to surround her and her hovel, small as it was, seemed empty.

 

"O-kay," I knew that I sounded uncaring.  I was sent for her story, though.  "So, are you still in contact with Bobby?"

 

"Bobby who, darlin'?  I should tell you right now, my mem'ry innit what it should be, but I do 'mem'er a right dozen Bobbys runnin' around here... back when there were chil'en doin' some runnin'... we haven't but a few of 'em now-a days."

 

"Your son, Ma'am; your son, Bobby."

 

"Ah, mah boy... he was the most darlin' boy you ever did see.  He would run around here with not but a stitch of clothin' on, an' he wouldn't care none, just felt more comf'erble that way, i reckon.  Wouldn't stand for no one tellin' him what he oughtta be wearin', cryin' that he could wear whatever he din't wantta whenever he damn well pleased, mmm mm, that boy was a nuisance an' that was when he was just a li'l boy, five or six, I reckon, an' did I ever tell you about the time I found him up on that roof, I found him there, an' he were so stuck an' I telled him that he weren't allowed up there, never, an' a how come he was up there now?  An' he was just so smug so i telled him that he could just stay up there an' i wouldn't-"

 

I cut her off "Mrs. Mullins."

 

"Yes'm?"

 

Her big, brown, animal-like eyes were trained, startled and alert on me.

 

"Do you still speak to your son Bobby?"

 

"I seen him some years back an' he weren't... he weren't nothin' like he shoulda been no more...  hims eyes were red an' they... I tol' him I din't want him 'round here no more if he were gonna be like that..."

 

"Have you spoken to him this year?"

 

She hesitated.

 

"...I don't wanna say nothin' more."

 

"I need your help, Mrs. Mullins.  I need you to help me, here.  If you could just tell me when you last spoke with him..."

 

She stood up, offense leaking from every part of her large figure.  She was going to run or storm away in a huff and I would lose everything.  I would lose the trust it had taken me so long to scrape together, "I don't wanna say no more!"

 

"Mrs. Mullins.  We can still save him if you help us."  And every drop of anger drained out of her and she collapsed back into her chair.  She sat there with the air drained out of her for an immeasurable moment but I didn't dare break the silence before she did.

 

"I did a good job a raisin' him, I did.  It weren't mah fault that he done screwed up his life like this.  When he came here last, it weren't him no more...  him was pushin' me around and he hadn't never talk to his momma like that before, but...  here he was and he..." I could hardly understand her anymore.  Her words had become garbled and tears streaked down her dirty face, "he said he was goin' to the hills and that he migh' not come back... I tol' him that no one comes back, but he... he weren't in much of a listen'in mood, y'see."

 

"What are the hills, Mrs. Mullins?"

 

"He lives there."

 

"Who?  Who lives there?"

 

She answered by shaking her head fiercely, "He ain't never comin' back."

Author's Note

this is my first attempt at anything but poetry in something close to a year, and so i'd like any feedback you're willing to give. i can take it ;)

Reviews

Very nice , the thing I like about this short piece is that it reveals no underlying plot yet manages to engage the reader and leave him wondering what would happen next .... that is the mark of a nice writing .. because it will make the reader move on to read the next chapter .
This story for example , can be turned into a :
a detective story
a werewolf thriller
a plot involving smugglers or terrorists
it has that flexibility because the plot is not revealed . I love this , and I am eager to read the continuation .... will be waiting for that with high expectations .

[Thomas Sawyer]

I like the english here. Would love to continue reading this story.
The last part, the "she" should be "her" remember it is the old woman speaking funny english not the narrator

[Brook]

This was amazing! I loved how it started so abruptly, the story beginning without much premise and forcing my mind to wonder what happened before even as it processed what was occurring in the text as I read. The old woman, though not named and indirectly introduced rather than directly, was a great character. Her dialect made her very unique and the way she spoke made her seem kind, just as her physical descriptions did.

Everything about this was so different. I've never seen anything like this done before, and for being your first attempt at something other than poetry in a good long while, it was great! You applied different aspects very well and as Abhijit mentioned, it has great grounds for continuing on. There are so many different possibilities for it. I hope you continue to write stories, because this was amazing, and I'd love to read more!

100/100.

[Cocoacandy]

nice... its pretty good... but it leaves us hanging... and you might wanna fix the last line...
*cocoabean*