The Wall #34

Jenny's taking the day off!  One of her readers had some story prompts to share so here's one from Nonna!
Please click on the Saturday Centus button to the left to join in with a story of your own or to see what others have to say.
We have a 100 word limit plus the prompt to give wings to our tale.
So here we go!

~But I was wrong.

We read that diary over and over without finding anything we thought was significant. A few things didn't make sense. Like a war mission that ended near here. Or when he overheard a strange conversation in a pub...

One day I fell asleep reading it for the umpteenth time. When I woke up, the book had fallen into a heap on my lap. I noticed the corner of a scrap of paper sticking out of the binding.

The words were written in Grandpa's hand and they sent a chill up my spine.

“...we know where all the bodies are buried....WMM040727 has been filed.”~

Pondering My Meanderings...
with much herbal love,
Wanderer

The Wall #33

So...I'm torn.
Today's assignment was to write a 150 word epilogue.
True, it was an epilogue to our cliffhanger and it's conclusion.
My first inclination...because I'm such a poop...
was that this was my hint,
my nudge,
my Waterloo...
I guess that's a little dramatic...
to bring this continuing tale to an end.
I told myself that everyone had had enough.
Jenny's trying to be kind.
 They are weary and ready to move on.
I mean, it's been the same old thing for the last 32 weeks.
So here...
without making this any more painful than it already is,
in 150 words...
is the epilogue,
the conclusion,
the final paragraphs in the saga of
~ The Wall.

~ Wally died as a result of the beating the thugs had given him after dragging his dazed body from the car as it hung over the cliff. Matthew admitted to being in on the plan and was taken into custody for receiving a large sum of money in exchange for ratting him out. While at the scene, they broke into my room again and tore pages from grandpa's ragged journal.
John thought a return letter might not get through so he met me at the inn a few days later where he learned of Wall's demise and joined me in a memorial service under the trees near the abandoned house.
We traveled back to John's home to examine the trunk.
The rusty lock opened easily.
The trunk was empty.


All the treasures Grandfather had shown us as children while telling us tales of his adventures...gone.

The mystery...dead.


The End.

But then, I thought to myself, NO!...I'm having too much fun writing this story!
I'm not ready
to give it up,
to throw in the towel,
to allow those thugs to get away with this!
So here's my epilogue to the cliffhanger event (which is really what she said) in the ongoing story of  ~ The Wall!

~ Looking back on that day, it still frightens me. Thankfully, Wally wasn't hurt badly and the damage to Matthew's car was minimal. The thugs had followed him from the post office and ran him off the road toward the cliff. After dragging him out of the car, they mucked him about to make sure he'd gotten the point.

John received the letter and examined grandfather's trunk. He couldn't find a way to get it open but he remembered many of the things Grandfather had shown us as children as he told us tales of his adventures. The sketch I'd sent along of the emblem on the key matched the lock.

Wally and I perused Grandfather's journal for any clue as to why those fellows might have wanted the key but there were only bits and pieces of information that seemed to tie in.
 I thought the mystery might end there. ~

Pondering My Meanderings... 

with much herbal love, 

Wanderer

Learning

You'd think I'd learn.  

It's hard being me because sometimes I come across as...not the kind of person I'd like to come across as...ya know?  I don't mean to and I certainly don't plan to but there it is.  

A quick remark, a puzzled look which apparently looks like an angry face, asking people to do things...or not to do things...how dare I? Or maybe they don't care enough to understand when the pain I have becomes overwhelming and pulls me into it's encompassing grasp.  I know I don't look very happy then.  The hurt consumes all my energy.

But inside, if they could only see, is the real me, just waiting to come out.

That person wants to come out.

I see other people, just acting however they like and not caring a bit about the chaos or hurt they leave in their wake.  I don't understand that.

I often withdraw from hurtful situations.

Sometimes it's the only choice I have.

I used to be a cheerful person but I guess I've hardened over time.  Sad, huh?  I mean I think I'm still a happy person most of the time except...occasionally...when the pressure of the box weighs me down.

I'm claustrophobic, you know.  When the box gets too narrow, I panic.  I'm not proud of that..it just happens.

Or life shows me just how ugly it can be.  It's hard to be cheerful then.

  

But all it takes is a short reply, being blown off by a dismissal of my thoughts or feelings and...Wham!...I'm back in the box and I'm not about to stick my head out again. 

At least for a while.

Then I start to think and often forget to pray; and I start to depress myself.  Woe is me...some justified...some not. That quickly becomes anger which doesn't help the me that comes out to be the happy person I know is in here.

Truly, I think there are several people in here who'd like to come out.  They just need the confidence to do it.

I need feedback.  I need responses.  I need encouragement.  I need help.

Maybe I'm having trouble finding a happy medium.

Maybe I'm either happy or sad with no in between.

Or

Maybe people just have trouble seeing it.

Or 

Maybe they're just grumpy...and try to make that my problem.

Maybe

What I need to do it just keep looking up.  Yeah, that's it.

'Cuz the lid of the box isn't closed...yet.

So, yeah...you'd think I'd learn.

Pondering My Meanderings... 

with much herbal love, 

Wanderer