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[samitsays]

He would've wanted it

Enter Logan, a well-built young man who is bleeding through his shirt.

Logan:  Is anybody in there?

The door opens to reveal a rather fragile old woman. Undone hair and the looks of a maniac.

Old Lady: What do you want, young man?

Logan: I need shelter for the night. If you would be so kind…

Old Lady: Cut the crap, come on in.

Logan helped himself to a glass of water for the woman seemed rather distracted.

Logan: What ’cha knitting over there? A sweater?

Old Lady: I will be knitting your shroud right about now if you don’t shut that trap of yours.

Logan: WOAH! Easy, old lady. What’s the matter with you?

The lady didn’t speak and continued knitting.

Logan then began to clean the wound on his belly which had only gotten worse with time.

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Logan: Huh! What? Who’s there?

Old Lady: Wake up, Sinatra! We ought to pluck some flowers. You can sing in your sleep some other time.”

Logan: Have you completely lost your fucking mind, lady? Flowers? In this winter?

Old Lady: He would’ve wanted them. Come on, now.

Logan decided it was best not to speak and followed the lady’s steps. After about a mile of walking through the forest, the lady stopped in front of a majestic tree.

Logan: So… where are the flowers again?

Old Lady: Right there.

The lady pointed to the highest branch of the tree.

Logan: That’s a fucking mockingbird, you old hag!

Old Lady: Go up there and get me that flower, will Ya?

Logan: Wait, let me get this straight. You want an injured man to climb a fucking 60 feet tall tree and pluck you a flower that doesn’t exist?

Old Lady: Let me tell you something, punk. You are not going to find a house except mine, of course; In the 10-mile radius from here and you’ve got a wound which will take at least a week to heal. So, I want you to think, and I want you to think hard. Do you want to get me that flower, or do you not?

Logan stared at her face as he thought.

Logan: Alright. Let’s work out an arrangement. I get you the flower from this tree and I get to stay at your cottage till the winter ends.

Old Lady: Get me the damn flower and then we’ll talk.

At this point Logan was convinced that the woman was insane. The wind was harsh. He was not going to survive like this. The wound had started to bleed again. He gazed at his hands which were now shaking, his feet trembling.

Old Lady: Well, go on. Climb the fucking tree.

Logan looked her dead in the eye and then started his ascent but all he could think of was how he was supposed to give the woman a flower, when there were none on the tree.

Logan: Fuck it.

With utmost precision and silence he took a dagger out of his boot, he continued; determined to kill the mockingbird and give it to the old woman.

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Logan handed the old lady the dead mockingbird. His wounds had gotten worse.

Old Lady: Well done, ya’ fucking punk! Let’s go!”

Logan: Can we make this quick?

As they entered the cottage the old woman couldn’t contain herself. She ran to her room pulled open a drawer, took out an empty jar and gently placed the mockingbird inside of it.

Logan was watching all this while he tended to his wound and his face turned pale.

Old Lady: Well, I’m off. Got to go get me some firewood. He would’ve wanted it.

Logan: Huh? Yeah- ye- yes.

Logan heard the door close behind him and ran to the old lady’s bedroom. He pulled open the drawer only to find 5 more jars with dead mockingbirds inside of them.

Under it, he found an envelope which read -

“Dear, Grace.”

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Dear Grace,

I wouldn’t make it home this summer. They’re holding us back here. It seems like this war is never going to end.

My buddy Luke, we lost him to the yellow men. He died a nasty death. It keeps getting hard out here. I wish to see you soon and have that lovely dinner you promised me with the Chicken pot pie and the flowers.

Love, Charlie.

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The woman shouted as she walked in with a dead Racoon in her hand.

Grace:  AY! Look what I found!

Logan stood right there, crying quietly with a gun in his hand.

Grace froze.

Grace:  What do you think you’re doing, young man?

Logan: SHUT THE FUCK UP! CHARLIE WOULD’VE WANTED THIS! OKAY? HE WOULD’VE WANTED IT.

Grace: Huh, so now YOU know what my dead husband would’ve wanted?

Logan: DON’T YOU SEE IT? YOU’RE FUCKING LOSING IT, LADY!

Grace:  Well, then shoot me.

Logan: I’M GOING TO.

His hands were trembling.

There was rage in his eyes.

Grace: Oh yeah? You ain’t got the balls for it.

Logan: I’LL BLOW YOUR FUCKING BRAINS OUT!”

Grace: DO IT. Put me out of my misery.

The gun was now in direct contact with the lady’s forehead. She was fearless.

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The curtain rolls as we see Grace, dead on the floor.

We move to kitchen to see Logan enjoying his dinner with the flowers of the dead Mockingjays and the Racoon chicken pot pie.

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THE END.