c. 2026 Rod Ice
All rights reserved
(9-26)
T. C. Lincoln had reached a tipping point in his challenging existence at Evergreen Estates. He was distant from everyone in the park, and also from the few members of his family that lived in nearby communities. But as the year moved into its final quarter, he realized that this separation now also encompassed portions of his own personality and life experience. Who and what he had been before landing at the junkyard oasis no longer mattered in real terms. His reasons for living had been jettisoned. What remained was simply a husk of flesh, crumbling slowly like the façade of a vacant building. He meant little to anyone, anywhere, and now was irrelevant even to himself.
Begging God for final termination would be justified, he thought, yet pointless. Because it seemed likely that no one would notice his absence. He had already departed in mind and spirit, long ago. Only the condemned temple of his body refused to accept that reality. Beer and bourbon kept him artificially alive. That persistent flow of alcohol had become his lifeblood. His fuel to go forward. His medicine and comforter, when all else had failed.
In the tradition of Frankenstein’s monster, he had found a methodology to cheat the grave.
Each day in the rural trailer village was substantially equal to the next. A plodding stumble through mounds of rubbish, ruin, and chaos, with no purpose in mind except to survive until the sunset arrived with its blessing of darkness and anonymity.
During a Thursday evening liquor binge, he collapsed on the floor of his living room, with the front door standing carelessly ajar. A full jug of bourbon had obliterated his senses. Both disability canes were cast aside as he fell. Pillows scattered from the furnishing at his side. He slobbered and snored while tossing from one hip to the other, on his threadbare carpet. Around midnight, the moon overhead streaked his spot with shades of pale white, and gray. A rhythmic thud of heavy footsteps wandered up his access ramp, outside. The threshold of his entryway creaked lightly. And then a hint of smoke drifted into the crowded space.
Lincoln did not react to this change in atmosphere immediately. He was deep in an alcoholic coma, still oblivious to his surroundings. But as the foul odors entered his lungs, he began to cough reflexively. His chest heaved, needing to breathe freely. The interior temperature increased dramatically, as an arsonist’s blaze swept through the trailer. Finally, across the street, a hooded figure crouched in the shadows.
Linn Speck, the neighborhood antagonist and failed association leader, cheered as he watched the prefabricated singlewide openly burst into flames.
“THERE YOU GO, OLD MAN! YOU WANTED TO STEAL MY WIFE? WELL, I WANTED SOMETHING TOO. I WANTED TO WATCH YOUR SORRY ASS BURN TO A CRISP IN THAT SHITTY SHACK! GO TO HELL, YOU PIECE OF CRAP! GO STRAIGHT TO HELL, WHERE YOU BELONG! YOU DON’T DESERVE MERCY OR GRACE FROM THE ALMIGHTY!”
It did not take long for this clandestine conflagration to consume the boxcar dwelling. But even with the roof collapsing, and timbers disintegrating into columns of ash, the boozing iconoclast was slow to respond. He rolled on the dirty carpet, unable to balance himself. After falling on his belly, he crawled toward the open doorway, in a desperate bid to escape.
His opponent who lived on the corner had already fled. The night cloaked his retreat effectively. Yet with the fire now out of control, things around the perimeter of Lot 13 were oddly bright for such a late hour. That fluctuating glow enabled the shaggy loner to find a path through the cascading debris. He spun off of the deck outside, landed in his overgrown yard, and huddled there as remnants of the abode disappeared. Only the framework of that structure stood intact. All else had surrendered to the white-hot energy of destruction.
Linn met his spouse in their driveway. She was dressed in a floral robe and fuzzy slippers.
“Honey, what did you do to that poor drunk up the street? What in the world did you do?”
Her significant other laughed gleefully. His flabby jowls jiggled in the flickering, chaotic light.
“I HANDLED MY BUSINESS! THAT’S WHAT I DID! HE WON’T BE COMING AROUND TO CHASE YOUR SHAPELY BUTT ANYMORE, I GUARANTEE IT! THAT UGLY NONSENSE IS OVER! OUR WEDDING VOWS WILL REMAIN IN EFFECT!”
Haki pulled the long garment tighter around her shoulders. She shuddered in the cold.
“You set his trailer on fire? Are you crazy? They’ll be snooping around here to figure out what happened. Everyone in this park knows how much you hate that pitiful guy!”
The rotund instigator chortled and clapped his hands.
“AND EVERYBODY KNOWS YOU’VE TRIED TO MAKE PEACE WITH HIM, MORE THAN ONCE. BUT HE DOESN’T WANT PEACE BETWEEN US, HE WANTS A PIECE OF YOU! AND HE WON’T GET IT NOW! THAT ORNERY BASTARD HAS MET HIS MATCH! I AM MORE OF A MAN THAN HE’LL EVER BE! HE CAN KEEP HIS DISTANCE! OTHERWISE, I’LL BUST HIM IN THE TEETH!”
The middle-aged female rolled her eyes, and shrugged.
“Honey, this isn’t a pissing contest! That man needs a place to live just like we do. Now he will be homeless! Don’t you think that is a shame? He’s a human being and matters in the eyes of God...”
Linn sputtered until drool ebbed from his mouth.
“I CALL BULLSHIT! GOD WOULDN’T WANT ANYTHING TO DO WITH A WHITE-TRASH LOSER LIKE THAT! HE’S DISGUSTING AND VILE! DON’T FEEL SORRY FOR HIM, NOBODY ELSE DOES! NOBODY AT ALL! NONE OF US EVER WANTED HIM TO BE HERE IN THE FIRST PLACE! HE ISN’T ONE OF OUR KIND!”
Haki went silent while watching the flames turn to black smoke and finality. The dastardly deed had been done. Now, it would simply be a matter of cleaning up the mess. In the aftermath, few other residents would care that their number had been reduced by one.
“Did he make it out of that burning shell? Do you know or care? Do you even want to know?”
Her husband shrugged, and stood with his gaze directed toward the ground. He yawned impulsively, and then turned toward their porch.
“I’m going to bed. You can join me if you wish. Be a good Christian wife, and follow me inside! Otherwise, you’re no better than that bum with the bourbon bottle! It’s your time to choose, Mrs. Speck! Make your decision carefully!”
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