Bayou Gauche Death
Drawing by Anneka Reay
At dawn, Ruby Waters life light went out, in the dark her children cried; a candle glowed against the rustic rough boards of the shanty shadowing the souls left behind. Laid to rest quickly in the Louisiana heat; the moon cast a glow on her shallow grave. The children’s tears burn hot upon their dirt-streaked faces as relatives who heard the shots took them away. Drunken Gat Waters had shot his emaciated wife because she was pregnant again then yelled, “Now dat’ are two less mouths to feed”. They were swamp folk no one outside Bayou Gauche would ever know.
Text Copyright © 2016 by Elizabeth Ann Johnson-Murphree
Publishing Rights AsterialThoughts.100WordShortStories 2016 by Elizabeth Ann Johnson-Murphree
Bayou Gauche Death is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
During summers when I was young, we lived at the foothills of Burleson Mountain, edged by pines that rose skyward toward the mountaintop, hidden behind these green giants were caves. Below the mountain a rich southern greenery grew, it covered buildings, fences, tried to climb up the side of the cliffs. The fields only escaped because the “field hands” chopped at it daily around the cotton, corn and sugarcane.
Visitors driving through would take pictures and if you heard them talk, it was an amazing plant and they marveled at how it covered sheds, houses and barns. This kind of thinking usually came from “Yankee’s”; to a Southerner it was a pest that would not go away.
The vine attaches itself to anything, not being particular. It is worthless, you cannot eat it, Southerners tried and it grows so close to whatever it covers that it does not even make a decent shade. Yet, it does have its own beauty as its greenery cascades over the side of the rocky cliffs and caves.
Oh well, it does add beauty to the sides and tops of tarpaper shacks scattered throughout the South. People who live in the South have made their peace with the dark green plant called Kudzu; they understand its fight to survive. It is engrained deep in the South’s history and when a Southerner thinks of Kudzu their thinking of Dixie.
Authors Books on Line:
Coffee Table Books – 8 X 11
On a Blue Bird Day
It is spring, warm breezes float through magnolia trees. A gracious woman of the South rises from past memories; her thoughts behind the ice blue eyes. She sits on the bank of a pebbly brook under a Blue Bird sky, the scent of lilac rises from her starched dress. She dips her fingers slowly into the cool water; she is old and life has passed her by, and the depths of her truth never known. In her secret place of selfishness her hate for an unwanted child; she stops to ponder her own question; does she deserve the name “Mother”.