Searching for Closure, A Saturday Centus

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Well I’m afraid it’s another late effort this week Saturday Centus fans!  I really wanted to participate on Saturday but academia smacked me upside the head with a couple of term papers instead, and since I pay for school and SC is free, I went with that.

So before it’s too late and my streak or SC’s comes to a grinding halt, I thought I better try to whip one out before I start my next paper.  So much to do, so little time!  Of course who would know that better than our mentor and spiritual advisor on this quest for publication bliss, Ms. Jenny Matlock from her famed blog, “off  on my tangent.”

Maybe next time Jenny can write my professor a note excusing me from the assignment.  What do you say Jenny?   You could explain that writing dissertations was hampering my creative writing abilities and creating unrest in the Centusian community. 

You could explain to my professor that unless Tom was permitted to write his SC on Saturday where it would get read by more people, that he could expect to be the unfortunate recipient of dozens of extremely well-written but very short letters of protest from Tom’s fellow Centusians.

While I wait for that to happen, here is my week 48 Saturday Centus just squeaking in under the proverbial wire like my dear baby girl did last week.  This week’s prompt is “Exit 181, 1/2 mile ahead...”  Please click on the SC button for all the rules and for a list of the stories written by people who, unlike me, tend to post their short stories on time.

I have entitled this week’s piece:

Searching for Closure

Sunshine danced through the trees as the van trundled down the road.  The bright hues of the autumn leaves brought back so many memories.  Six years had passed and yet his recollection of that night was just as vivid as if it were yesterday.  His pulse raced with excitement as they grew closer.  The road sign read “Exit 181, ½ mile ahead.”  He let out a little chuckle and smiled.

“Up there by that old oak tree!  Stop over there!” 

The van stopped.  He jumped out and ran toward a log some 30 yards away.

“Right here,” he gloated.  “This is where I buried her body.” 

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When did wild poodles ever roam the earth?

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