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#FridayFlash: Bones Don't Burn

Bones Don't Burn

by Tony Noland

The skeletons rose from their graves in the usual way - slowly, smallest bones first.

They had a hard time of it. Grass grew tall and heavy over the yard, thickly matted roots the last obstacle in their patient rise through the soil. Madeline Andrea Cummins (August 13, 2154 - August 23, 2154) disappeared entirely into the earth, her wispy newborn bones too fragile and half-formed to rise intact through the church's six feet of earth. Her mother, Jennifer Andrea (Wilcox) Cummins (October 9, 2135 - September 19, 2154), came up only half-way, then stopped, as suicides often will. Madeline's father, Carl David Cummins (April 1, 2132 - December ?, 2154) was not buried in the same churchyard. He wasn't buried anywhere, to tell the truth; his bones had long ago been cracked and scattered by the dogs.

The bones of the dogs, of course, don't matter at all.

Jennifer's parents, Alexander Mondrian Wilcox (June 12, 2093 - August 21, 2154) and Elizabeth Andrea (Richter) Wilcox (February 9, 2094 - August 23, 2154) would have come up, but although they had been buried in as much haste as the others who were among the first to die, they had pre-paid for ornate bronze caskets. Side by side, deep and quiet, they did not join in the slow, upward parade. Carl's parents, Carl Brian Cummins (November 3, 2083 - December ?, 2154) and Madeline Julia (Arnold) Cummins (November 26, 2084 - December ?, 2154) had been with him when they died. He wrapped them together in the blue tarpaulin that the three of them had been sleeping under since they'd left the city. Carl Jr. sewed it closed with his spare boot laces. Thus wrapped, he prayed over them and left them by the side of the road.

He ran all day, trying not to hear the barking of dogs behind him and ahead of him.

Along the side of the church, the skull of Henry David Aaronson (January 8, 2071 - September 1, 2154) emerged two springs ago; he lacked only his hips to be complete. Alas for Henry, titanium does not rise in the earth, it sinks. His wife, Patricia Rose (Arnold) Aaronson (July 12, 2093 - September 3, 2154) rested, full and complete, but meshed in the grip of the roots, held away from the sun. Osteoporosis had left her bones almost as splintery as little Madeline's, but Pat had always been a stubborn, willful woman. Against the advice of her sister Madeline, she'd married Henry for his money, thinking him an old man who could not last long.

Those who marry for money, work for it.

Pat and Henry, Alex and Betsy, Jennifer and poor little Madeline - they and all the others stayed safe and secure and quiet, kept from the sun by the ornamental landscaping gone heavy and matted, wild and self-indulgent. A stone wall of moderate height, a simple enough vanity built by the church elders in 2009 and repaired multiple times since, surrounded the churchyard. The wall and the stone flags of the walk kept the fires out and the grasses tall. When the people all got sick and died or went away, this town wasn't long to follow all the others into ruin. Houses would collapse or burn in the lightning-born prairie fires, their propane tanks exploding in enormous fireballs that no one saw or heard. Across the landscape, fire and rain and rust swept away everything but the ugliest concrete overpasses and the most ornate granite churches.

There were no mice to dig and gnaw. No birds to pluck and peck. Nothing with a spinal cord walked or flew, crawled or swam anywhere. For the grasses and flowers, together with the insects and worms, the world had returned to the paradise they had once known, and still remembered.

Lying in the shadow of the church, patiently or impatiently, the bones wait for fire to free them from the grip of the grasses. And when they are free? Will they lie in the sun, uncovered and naked? Will they rejoin with imagined ligaments and dance out their freedom in dry, pale steps across a blackened earth? Will they sprout flesh and take up again the chores of life?

Will they?

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40 comments:

  1. This is marvelous. SO much creativity in this it CRACKLES with electricity. You did a fantastic render of this morbid re-emergence (or not).

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  2. Apocalyptic wonderland - you follow the Road to the World Without Us in its logical extreme. I love the repeated use of names and dates, not that it matters when there's no one around to read it - there is something funeral and plaintive in the melody of this piece that makes it perfect unto itself.

    The story itself is nothing without the effect it has on others - I feel a kind of despair and acceptance. Fear no more the heat o' the sun. It's beautiful, really.

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  3. I love the way you neatly set what should be a horror piece in a sci-fi setting, and then end up with something totally unique and beautiful. Top job, sir.

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  4. A complete setting and yet so many questions eating at my mind. Wonderfully morbid, the not knowing.

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  5. Like Laura I had a swirl of reactions and emotions roiling away inside me as I read this. It's a state of affairs about our beings that obsesses me so I dig the mixture of quiet intensity and shouted dignity of the bones here. And the physical dominion of creatures without spinal cords. And the general ruination and collapse and decay. Oh yes I loved this piece...

    marc nash

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  6. This is very neat, Tony. My favorite bit was, "of Henry David Aaronson (January 8, 2071 - September 1, 2154) emerged two springs ago; he lacked only his hips to be complete. Alas for Henry, titanium does not rise in the earth, it sinks." That was a splendid quirk.

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  7. Magnificent, Tony. I love the bit about "the world had returned to the paradise they had once known, and still remembered." That's a fine turn of phrase there, in a story full of them.

    Really loved this story.

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  8. Thanks for reading & commenting, guys. I was trying out something a little different with this, working on building atmosphere without an explicit sequential plot. I guess it worked for you, right, djeratic?

    I'm glad you liked the line about the titanium hips, John. My dad has them & jokes about being the bionic man.

    Gracie, that line about what the grass remembers is one last trace of a huge chunk of material I cut out from this story. Maybe for next week.

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  9. You had me at "in the usual way". What a world of implication, of history in just that sentence.

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  10. Tony...

    This could be my favorite of yours of all time. The voice, the concept, the wonder... the dates just make it so good.

    Jim

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  11. Mr. Noland... pardon me, Tony... yes, Tony...

    I quite enjoyed this story of yours. I could picture the folks rising and their flaws - the hip on the man, etc.

    Jack Roth

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  12. Tony, there is real beauty in this eulogy, for this is what your story is -- a post-apocalyptic memorial. A real poignancy here, and totally unique. Bravo. No. Standing O. Peace...

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  13. I loved the descriptions on all the tombstones, the dates with question marks. I imagined an 1800s cemetery even in a futuristic setting. Nice work!

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  14. All the small details just made this story. A very cool concept that was brought to life in an excellent manner. Great job!

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  15. Tony, The images and uncertainties work together to create a strong piece. I'm numerically dyslexic (truth) so I had a hard time with all the dates at the beginning but as I worked past them, the affect of your story telling took hold. Very rich. ~ Olivia

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  16. Such a surreal and creepy piece. I like the way you listed the character histories with the dates of birth and death, really added depth to it.

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  17. You are fearless with new styles of writing. I admire and envy your abandon.

    There is so much happening in this one for a quiet story--the dates are fascinating, as well as the big, untold what did happen? And can bones do more than rot or petrify? I'm intrigued.

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  18. This one is lingering in my thoughts - read it last night before bed and was thinking about it over breakfast. Quietly wonderful. x

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  19. I am continually amazed at the gems you create. This story is fabulously quirky, yet has so much depth to it, that suggests a broad narrative with some great humour. A great read.
    Adam B

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  20. Dark, captivating and, as always, with just enough humour. Lots of stories describe Zombies and Skeletons rising from the grave. I'm so tickled you bothered thinking of the LOGISTICS.

    And because of that, it made the story all the more real and terrifying. ROCK ON.

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  21. Very, very good. Wonderfully eerie, and what an intriguing backstory. I will have 2154 imprinted on my mind for a while now.

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  22. Jennifer saw her father die the day before she gave birth, and saw her mother die the day after. Her baby died a couple of weeks later.

    Hence the suicide.

    Her husband, after the death of his wife, child, in-laws and relatives all around, got together with his parents and tried to run.

    It didn't work.

    Thanks for reading and commenting, everyone. I went a little weird this week. More exercises for a strange mind...

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  23. Nuts, Tony - I came by last night and left a comment and am stopping by 2 c if u responded and it's gone! poof! Now I know how John Wiswell feels on my blog. Anyway ... This was tragic and yet very calm. I kept wanting to know exactly what happened, but in the end, the language swept me along and the why's and wherefore's seemed less important. Very cool piece, Tony.

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  24. Loved this. The birth & death dates, the slow build up through the graveyard and beyond. The sense that some terribly apocalypse has happened without really knowing what it was. Powerful.

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  25. I think what I loved best was the slow reveal that surfaced with each new date of death. The end absolutely rocked.

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  26. Thanks for commenting, guys, and especially to PJ for commenting twice!

    So, what happened? What was the apocalypse? It doesn't really matter, does it? There's so much in here that used to be so terribly important... names, dates, relationships, advice given and ignored, wealth, love, hope, despair...

    None of that matters anymore.

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  27. I can't say anything better than what's already been said in the previous comments, so I'll keep it simple.

    Loved this.

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  28. Brilliant Tony. The dates left me wondering what the hell had happened to them all... something very very nasty, sinister, creeping and growing momentum.

    And "humanity" and nature still at battle with each other - with nature winning out for the time being.

    I love the idea of a post apocalyptic earth inhabited by re-animated bones. Bravo... I hope everyone gets a chance to read this,

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  29. This was really lovely. You got me with that first line, just beautiful. I thought it was a rapture tale most of the way through, then was quietly pleased that it revealed a more horrible end to us all. Irrelevant features of future geology, no more important than a vein of quartz.

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  30. By crikey! This one's a belter, Tony (and trust me, a "belter" is a good thing). My brain's just spun off trying to answer all the questions your story left me with. Fabulous!

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  31. Tony, this is a great bit of atmosphere. As a reader, I loved some of the turns of phrase and the ideas (titanium doesn't rise, it sinks, heh), and ached to know what happened, what killed off all the vertebrates. Great job; amazing work.

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  32. Very well done, good sir! This is wonderfully inventive.

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  33. Excellent story!

    I love the tone and the wonderful setting elements.

    What a pleasure to read!

    Raven

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  34. Nice work, Tony. The dates really set the tone, something apocalyptic obviously happened, most probably disease since the time is strung out a bit, but the reader never knows what exactly it was. I think that adds to the sense of dread, or surreal feel, as Benjamin says. Very cool.

    I loved this line:

    Those who marry for money, work for it.

    And all for naught in the end.
    ~jon

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  35. I don't know what to say that hasn't already been said. This is very very beautiful writing.

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  36. Tony, this was really beautifully written. So many phrases that hit just the right chord. I'll think of this on my next graveyard walk.

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  37. Thanks for reading this, everyone. I'm coming back to it at the end of the year, and liking it all over again.

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  38. I love how the setting tells about the people's lives.

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  39. I love the horrifying obsessiveness of this piece.. A roll call of lives re-emerging. It is very poetic and disturbingly beautiful. I also love the last line.. reminds you that they'd be better off staying in the ground.
    glad you re-posted Tony. Brilliant!

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