There was very little green in the greenhouse.
Desolate. Dry. Barren. Unwelcoming.
Like his life, once the water of her love was removed. It had been she who kept the greenhouse going. She lovingly tended every plant, every sprig. Life thrived under her hands.
So had his life thrived, when she was there. Cancer took her. It took everything else, too. Her life had been joy. Now, his was a desert.
Would the rain ever return? Would he wither and die like all those plants?
He found it hard to care.
“What is it?” Zang was troubled as he examined the picture.
Zing was, too. “No idea. There’s one of those primitive cell phones on the edge. I think that’s a wine glass in the–bowl? Sink? Plate? And a set of seasonings.”
“Is it a secret code? A puzzle?”
“I don’t know.”
“Well, what do you THINK?”
“Zang, I don’t KNOW! Just get a photo of the photo and send it to headquarters. This is beyond us.”
It was a quiet neighborhood, lush with well-tended lawns and big shade trees. The neighbors were friendly but not given to poking into other people’s business. It had never been necessary to call police to settle disputes. So it was beyond shocking the day a ragged, bruised, and bloody woman came pounding on the Miller’s door, screaming for help.
“Por favor!” she pleaded. In broken English, she told a story of captivity and sexual slavery right next door. As the investigation proceeded, several adult women and a few teen girls were rescued from a sound-proofed basement.
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My story today is loosely based on a true story from a few years back. The man who enslaved these women was quiet, kept to himself, and never caused any trouble–for anyone outside his home.
“What on earth? We going back to pioneer days?”
“No, Silly. You know I’ve always been interested in spinning and weav–“
“Oh, great! So now you’re going to bring a loom in here? And put it WHERE?”
“Well, I thought- – – “
“You DIDN’T think! That’s your problem! You get all these big ideas and then I get stuck figuring out how to make it work!”
“But–“
“No! Not this time. No more junk in here!!”
“Would you hush! I have a friend who has a loom. She’ll teach me, and I’ll weave there! Good grief!”
Silence.
“Oh.”
Just Writing! 