Sinners of Sanction County: Stories (Appalachian Writing Series) by Charles White

Author:Charles White [White, Charles]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Bottom Dog Press
Published: 2011-09-15T05:00:00+00:00

The Sweet Sorrowful Stoned, still good and stoned, Pendergast lost himself in the highest peak of things—celestial alignments and divinations, the verities of a fate beyond his ken. The stuff, in short, of Real Bitchslapping Truth. It came to him as he stared out at the languid trout fins, gently wavering beneath the surface of the trout farm. The idea, the dull and heavy haft of what was to come cast its dumb nets somewhere out there among the fishes. In that moment, he knew the future involved his Nissan pickup, a water hose and a blue Kmart tarp, slightly but manageably torn.

The farm was grainy with the speckled life swimming inside. Hectic razorwire scrawled above the ten foot high, chain-link fence. Pendergast sat in the cab of his truck considering, smoking dope and considering, while the digital dashboard clock showed a peaked 4:32 AM.

He pulled the keys from the ignition and pocketed them as he eased the door open, the smoke slithering along as he stepped into the night. Still cool out, the stars sparked like bright chips in the High Above. Wintergreen, he whispered to himself, not knowing what he meant by saying that, the word coming unbidden as a hiccup. Pendergast studied the cosmos and thought about himself and the cold galaxy twirling in the fabric of universal fate overhead. Thus consoled, he walked around to the back, dropped the tail gate and spread the tarp, cinching the crinkling plastic taut to the truck bed until it lined the surface, then closed the gate again. Once he was satisfied it would hold water for the duration of the trip, he slung the hose and boltcutters on his shoulder and went about the business of committing his crime of love for the children.

The sick children. The poor, poor sick kids. Lord, they could get to Pendergast, stab down into his conscience with their hollow eyes and rickety postures. Come tumbling in on his peace of mind in a stumbling stream of bodies—babbling, spring jointed bodies—like broken dolls poured out of a yard sale junk box.

He’d driven past the place for terminal children three times a week for nigh on a decade. Slowed down and held his breath, tires hissing as he gazed over the grass lawn so green it looked like it was lit by bulbs, a pretty pasture between good fortune and bad, him and them. He could never pass by that place with the brick building set so blandly back amid the empty landscaping without wanting to give some pain to himself, something to equal things out. He even liked to imagine knives driven hilt deep into his thighs and stomach, but in the end all he ever felt was an increase in lack.

The simple brick building held a small army of dying youth inside. Cancer, leukemia, hemophilia. Blood and bone going to early rot inside that plain building set far back on a green, green lawn. A single man-made mossy pond had been scooped up out of the perfect green, carved into the shape of a teardrop or cartoon speech bubble.

Download

Copyright Disclaimer:
This site does not store any files on its server. We only index and link to content provided by other sites. Please contact the content providers to delete copyright contents if any and email us, we'll remove relevant links or contents immediately.