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  • A Facebook friend recently put up a word search grid and asked people to comment on it by identifying the first word they saw. Admittedly not an unusual occurrence in the electronic “nothing better to do than waste my time” world of social media, but when I started to look through the grid, I was pleased to discover 78 words running both horizontally and vertically, backwards and forwards through it (no, I did not explore the diagonals). That got me to thinking there might be a story in there, so here we go. Hope you find it amusing if not interesting.

    He needed bail money after the long night of lust and debauchery he and his friends had participated in. These were the days when a fool could leave himself behind and chase after the flesh as men were wont to do. Inside, he felt the rage of a maniac at himself and could not bring himself to kiss the image he made in the mirror of the holding cell. He thought about the past, how his secret sin were now revealed, worn on his arm like a military tattoo. None of his thoughts were of suicide, but he felt like the scum of the earth, and all he could think of was the dread of standing before his parents, naked in his deed. He wanted to kiss his mother, to hie to his father's side. His misfortune cut him deeply, but like a sheep before the shearer, he did not make a peep. Instead, he wanted to jump on a pogo stick and follow his passion to grab a Coke and chat with his confessor. He knew what would follow when it was revealed he was no longer a virgin, how malice would foam from his father's words, how they would kick him and wound him in the belief chastisement would cease his foolish ways. No ray of sunshine would hug him, no sweet song of a tern would puff away in his ears, just a dam of pain followed by a soothing drink of gin as he heard his name spoken without a syllable of beauty.

    They were all present, there to tease him, to slap at his bottom. In the car on the way home, he tried to find away to sweep the truth under the rug, but no talk could erase his errors. At home the tot looked at him and he began to ail, no longer hidden away like a film noir, but sad, unable to dig himself out of this hole. “This is gonna Suck!”, he thought to himself, as he felt the swat on the ass from his father's fad belt that hung on the back of the door for as long as he remembered. The risk he had taken had gotten him into gobs of trouble; his obsession had brought the fury of his father's rage down on him.

    As the door slams behind him, the pair of them, mother and father, began to curse at him. “Please let this be a dream.”, he prayed, but he could feel the glare of his mother's gaze on this wayward male child she had borne. When they asked him “why?”, what could he say? He felt the hate, like a thick, weary bog, lag about him, ready to bite him on the ass. He wondered if there was another planet he could visit to escape humanity.

    Okay, down and dirty and certainly not the best scenario I might have come up with, but you must admit having to start with the word Bail sort of limits your options. It's all downhill from there.

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