I don’t know if this should be considered a flash fiction story with rhymes or a poem.
I’ve never tried writing a rhyming story before, I guess it was to be expected that it’d
be dark and “murder ballad”-like. It is weird, I don’t think I like it that much myself.
There is no Imogene in New England, but I liked to imagine a fictional place around
those parts, kind of like a hats off to H.P. Lovecraft, even though this piece has nothing
to do with him, or his work.
It was just like any afternoon in Imogene, New England
a hot summer’s day at the Smith’s residence
Where daddy was a-singing and mother was a-crying
while I, Little Billy was sipping lemonade at the yard
There was a crash and a shout
Then daddy came out, he was cursing as he walked to the car
He let out a roar, you’ll see me no more
before I knew it
he was gone
I rushed into the house when my mother cried out,
your father is a-no good, and so are you,
Well, you better get
the hell away from me
My mother was all smashed,
with her face all bloody bruised,
and with anger she lashed out,
and the shattered mirror
made her hand run all ruby red
I ran to my room,
Locked the door with tears of fear,
O how I was yearning that the world
would just stop turning,
as I hid
I shut myself in oblivion
Many silent hours passed
the air was tense and cold,
as mother wrapped her hand
with a curtain.
later daddy came back
all drunk as a rat,
and he went to my mother,
said, I’m so sorry, my darling
my temper’s gonna be
the end of me.
My mother she replied with just,
O you are right,
as she pulled out a loaded gun,
she took a steady aim
and that was the end of my ol’ daddy.
My mother then laughed
more than she ever had
then I knew she was out to get me.
She whispered, Bill my dear
I need a hug, I need someone to love,
as she tried to force her way through my door.
She shouted and shouted,
until she ran to the kitchen,
may this a failure of life just have an end tonight,
Oh, she turned on the stove
and let the gas slowly fill the room.
Soon the neighbors heard a bang,
And I was scared and frozen,
as the smoke kept on risin’
and the hell was blazin’
as my consciousness kept fadin’–
The house kept burning,
we were dead and there was nothing,
it was called just another murder-suicide.
And as Imogene forgot,
I, Little Billy did not,
And I haunt this town to this day..