Episode 35: Life in Repetition

Check out No Extra Words Episode 35, featuring my story, # 2, Life in Repetition. My story starts around the 8:00-minute mark. But, please take the time to read the first story by Frederick K. Foote, Jr.’s “Blue-Black.” Excellent

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noextrawords's avatarNo Extra Words

FLASHAren’t we all, to one degree or another, just putting on a show?

Frederick K. Foote, Jr.’s “Blue-Black” takes us to the heart of the Jim Crow South and leaves us wondering what the rules are. Copyright 2015 and used with permission, read for you by the author. Visit his website.

In “Life in Repetition,” a mother must deal with the reality of her world when others have a choice to face it or not. By Sheila M. Good, copyright 2015, used with permission. Visit her website.

Happy listening,

Kris

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I am One of the Millions – an Essay

Invisible Disability graphics

 

Please Check out my Essay, I am One of the Millions, published on Angie’s Diary. It is a very personal essay on a matter close to my heart. I’d love to hear what your thoughts are on this topic. Comments & feedback are welcome, both here and on Angie’s Diary in the comment section.

Stay Safe, Officers

I opened the newspaper this morning to another article discussing the   “Militarization of law enforcement. “ This issue has become a national topic, discussed on every venue after a black unarmed teenager was shot and killed by a white police officer. What followed was nothing less than chaos. Protestors marched; chanted demanding justice while unchecked looters and provocateurs destroyed a city. Policemen outfitted in riot gear, clashed with the mob of protestors and looters. It was an ugly scene.

It is not my intent in this post to discuss the merits of the case. Whether the shooting was or was not justified is not up for debate here. I was not present and do not have the facts, as the protestors, news media and provocateurs did not. The facts of the case and the outcome will be decided, by our justice system.

I want to discuss the issue that has made national attention and, in my opinion, demonizing our police force, “The Militarization of the Police,” as it has been dubbed. Let me first say, I agree there are bad apples in every bunch. I get that. I am not suggesting all cops are wonderful. They are human, which makes them fallible just like the rest of us. So you’ll get no argument from me.  If one breaks the law he or she deserves the same judgment and punishment as the rest of us.

Since the passage of the National Defense Authorization Act in 1997, the Defense Logistics Agency’s 1033 Program has given more than $5.1 billion in military equipment to local law enforcement agencies across the United States. In my own county our sheriff’s department has obtained a remote-controlled bomb disposal robot, personal protective and physical security enhancement equipment, (helmets, vests and body armor) and armored vans through military surplus. Gross/SHJ.

Daniel Gross of the Spartanburg Herald Journal did an excellent job giving an overview of the purchase, use, and need for this equipment by our law enforcement divisions. I applaud him and it was evident that both the Police Chief and Sheriff rely heavily on the 1033 program to help keep our officers safe. I applaud them as well. And, I have to agree with Sheriff Wright. Our officers wouldn’t have to gear up if citizens didn’t create chaos.

There was a time when we all respected authority. Parents could parent, teachers could teach and discipline, and kids knew when to sit down and shut up. They were not the center of the universe. There was a time when we all understood, life wasn’t fair, and not everyone won. It took hard work, integrity, and ingenuity. You learned how to be a good loser and better winner. There was a time when family meant more than the individual. A time when we grew up playing in streets after dark, knew all our neighbors, church and family were our foundation, and time we taught our children policemen and firefighters were our friends.

How dare we now demonize the very men and women who serve to protect us every day?

I’m not canonizing policemen, but I do respect them. They serve every day to keep my family and me safe. Each morning they wake up pin on their badges, strap the gun on their hips, and walk into the line of fire for us. Sometimes they make it home and sometimes they don’t. They go into places we wouldn’t be caught dead in, because it’s their job. They face down the hostile drunk, belligerent druggie, deadly gangbanger, murder, or thief. They talk the would-be suicide off the bridge, or the hostage taker into freeing hostages. They keep our kids safe from predators. Moreover, when the call comes like it did on 9/11 they don’t hesitate. They don’t just go in, they RUN in to save as many as they can.

They don’t rest. They loose sleep. They do whatever they can to bring those responsible to justice when necessary. Yes, sometimes there is a bad apple. Just like you and I, they are human. But I don’t see you or I getting up each morning pinning a badge to our chest and walking the beat to protect yours and mine. And until we do, whatever they need to keep themselves safe in this chaotic world we now find ourselves, where there is no longer a respect for authority. I say, “Stay safe, officers. Stay safe and thank you.”

All Clear – Flash Fiction Story

 DOWNER MAGAZINE

a broken home for abrasive fiction

September 2012

ALL CLEAR

By: Sheila Good

They invited her into the room because of her expertise in the field, the family, and the doctor’s soft spot of guilt for bungling her case years ago. She stood stoic at the foot of the bed, as the code team applied paddles for the eighth time. Every time they got him back another run of ventricular tachycardia would start and his heart would stop.

“Clear!”

Rigid with interest, she didn’t want to miss a second. His body convulsed with each shock as her eyes darted back and forth from the monitor to the bed.

“Got him,” the nurse said.

She flinched. The paddles had worked for the moment. The team stepped back satisfied. A less dangerous heart rhythm danced across the screen and the steadier, stronger beeping sound of his heart rate were like ice picks to her soul.

The doctor handed the chart back to the nurse and walked over to her.

“Are you okay? “

She cut her eyes at him and waited for him to continue.

“We’ll transfer him as soon as he’s stable,” he said. “Right now, it’s just too precarious.”
She nodded feigning interest. The reality? She couldn’t have cared less.

He glanced at his buzzing pager then back at her. “He seems stable, for now. I need to check on other patients, but stay as long as you like, or if you prefer we can call you if anything happens.”

She crossed her arms, and leaned against the counter. “I’ll stay.”

He smiled, nodded his head in understanding, and gave her arm a consoling pat. “Don’t worry. I’ll check-in on him after rounds. I’m confident he’s safe with you. ”

The doctor left, and she let go, closing her eyes against the onslaught of memories. Alone in the room, she gripped her elbows as the years of hatred roared through her for the man who had stolen her childhood and robbed her of having a family.

She watched the monitor and prayed for the return dance of the V-tach across the screen. V-tach gave her hope.
“You’re here to watch me die,” he said.

At the sound of his scratchy, tired voice, she turned to face him for the first time in years. Her eyes were cold and hard. The beep-beep of his heart rate soared as their eyes met.

She stared at him, refusing to take the bait.

“I know that’s why you’re here. You hate me.”

The effort of talking and the stress of his sins were taking its toll. Short of breath, he fumbled with the oxygen mask, as beads of sweat popped out on his pasty brow, and she heard the stumble of the beeping as his heartbeat began its dance.

She pushed away from the counter and walked silently to the door, glanced out, nudging it closed before returning to the bed. His eyes followed her, uncertain.

Calmness, settled over her as she leaned in close to him, face-to-face. She smelled the fear on his breath and for the first time in a lifetime, felt free.

“You’re damn right,” she said.

– See more at: http://www.cowpasturechronicles.wordpress.com/p/all-clear-flash-fiction-story