Hope Springs Eternal

Fee Gibson John

Description

"Hope Springs Eternal" is semi-autobiographical and touches on actual events and incidents experienced by the Author. They range from the earthy life of an Appalachian Sharecropper, to the "grotesque and Arabesque" actions and delusions of a genius gone mad!

Sujets

• Histoire

Informations

• Publié par: First Edition Design Publishing
• Date de parution: 15 janvier 2017
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781506903569
• Langue: English

Extrait

Hope SpringsEternal
a novellacollection

by
John F.Gibson
Hope SpringsEternal
Copyright©2016 John F. Gibson

ISBN 978-1506-903-55-2 PRINT
ISBN 978-1506-903-56-9 EBOOK

LCCN 2016919791

November 2016

Published and Distributed by
First Edition Design Publishing, Inc.
P.O. Box 20217, Sarasota, FL 34276-3217
www.firsteditiondesignpublishing.com



ALL R I G H T S R E S E R V E D. No p a r t o f t h i s b oo k pub li ca t i o n m a y b e r e p r o du ce d, s t o r e d i n a r e t r i e v a l s y s t e m , o r t r a n s mit t e d i n a ny f o r m o r by a ny m e a ns ─ e l e c t r o n i c , m e c h a n i c a l , p h o t o - c o p y , r ec o r d i n g, or a ny o t h e r ─ e x ce pt b r i e f qu ot a t i o n i n r e v i e w s , w i t h o ut t h e p r i o r p e r mi ss i on o f t h e a u t h o r orpublisher .
This book isdedicated to recovering Alcoholics and addictively
impaired menand women wherever they may be!

“Solive, that when thy summons comes to join the innumerable caravan which movesto that mysterious realm where each shall take his chamber in the silent hallsof death, thou go not like the quarry slave at night, scourged to his dungeon,but sustained and soothed by an unfaltering trust, approach thy grave like onewho wraps the drapery of his couch about him and lies down to pleasant dreams!”
WilliamCullen Bryant
1794/1878
Hope Springs Eternal
TheSometimes Preacher
TheUn-seen hand of God
Thelast time I saw Harley
Anatomyof a Perfectionist
Hope Springs Eternal
I Sent mySoul through the Invisible,
Some Letterof the Afterlife to Spell.
Soon My SoulReturned to Me and Said:
“I,Myself….am Heaven and Hell!”



1
“Hopesprings eternal in the human breast. Man never is but always to be blessed.” These impressionable words of wisdom, although debatable, had beenrattling around in my whiskey soaked brain for days, and had once again foundtheir way to the tip of my tongue just at the moment I was opening my eyes thatmorning. Perhaps it was due to my discomfort with that sliver of sunlightstreaming across my face through the slit in the window curtain. On the otherhand, maybe it was because I had been searching fervently for a sliver of hope,something substantial, something true and dependable during that period when mywhole world and the world in general had become a virtual Armageddon. “Why getup” I was saying to myself. “Why do it all over again?” The Bard was right-“lifeis a tale told by an idiot!”
Itried to swallow but it was difficult since my throat was dry as ashes and mytongue parched from remnants of the cheap wine and that pack or two ofcigarettes from last night’s lonely debauchery. I automatically reached towardthe nightstand in hopes of finding something wet, something to help soothe thatcrusty sensation so I could swallow, but my hand tipped the empty wine bottle,shattering it on the floor. I elbowed myself to a sitting position on the side ofthe bed where I sat nursing my aching head in my cupped hands. After severalminutes, I begrudgingly stood, and wobbled over to the antiquated sink in thecorner of the room where I drenched my head in cold water and gulped down a fewhands full of the lifesaving elixir. “My God” I thought. “What am I becoming?”A quick glance in the dirty mirror had revealed a wrinkled face that lookedlike forty miles of bad road, and a set of cadaverous eye-sockets that put mein mind of a polecat’s ass during pokeberry season. As this pallid image staredback at me, I pictured myself in a coffin; all smiley faced and decked out in awhite shirt and a red necktie. I had a clean shave and my hair was combed. Ihadn‘t looked that good in a while I surmised! “Come quickly Grim Reaper!” Iwhispered. “Just don’t let me suffer!” However, no such luck I figured sincedeath had passed me by many times before.
Mywife of five years and my two-year-old son, the only people I had ever reallycared about were dead. I had been told the grief would ease up some after theburying; but the whole ordeal was still hanging over me like a black cloud.That tragedy occurred three years ago during the “great pandemic” as mostpeople refer to that catastrophic event. Every family was affected and millionsof Americans died. The scourge was equivalent to a continent consumingconflagration. Diabolical air was suddenly, and without warning upon us! Thatsingle wave of germ infested oxygen swept across the land from coast to coast,decimating half the population of North America within the span of a week.Then, just as suddenly as it had appeared, it was just as suddenly gone. Ilater heard only scraps of news concerning the grotesque malady. Some say ithad continued on to Europe and Asia, but I sort of lost track since news wasscarce. Money became relatively non-existent; especially for the working man.Business establishments failed, leaving the entrepreneur and the fewmanufacturing concerns that remained, with no reason to advertise. Without sponsors,television stations folded; without readers and advertisements, the newspapersfolded, and since I was a journalist, it seemed to me the whole damn human racehad folded.
Anyway,many of us who were spared the detrimental physical effects of the bug werekept busy searching out and reporting the dead, burying the dead, or cleaningup after the dead. We were a population of simulated zombies. There for a whilewe were all expecting our own imminent demise. But days, then weeks, thenmonths went by leaving most of us to realize that we too would have been betteroff simply slipping on over into eternity. There had been no effectivepreventive measures against the scourge- no vaccines or oral remedies. Thepharmaceutical companies had stopped producing; they had been taxed andregulated out of business. Of course that would have been a blessing undernormal circumstances. Those bloodsucking, money grubbing, big pharmaceuticaloutfits, had been way overdue for a good housecleaning. For years, they had beenmanufacturing and promoting ineffective and worthless drugs in the name ofhealth and well-being, when the product itself proved to be no more than asugar pill, a placebo or a cough syrup. Seventy five percent of the countrieshospitals were little more than empty shells and seventy-five percent of thedoctors had died with the bug, or had just stopped practicing out of fear fortheir lives or a lack of adequate remuneration. The Black President hadpromised sweeping health reform but his “affordable health care act” had provedto be a disaster; although the “bug” had expedited that health plan’s demise.We had all held out some hope for a better day when the charismatic AfricanAmerican was elected President, but governmental gridlock, racism, greed, and ahost of more diabolical social ills skyrocketed, leaving the “American Dream”in the lurch, and the people still sick, out of work, and hungry.
“Yes,the sooner the better,” I whispered again. But then, in a little while asusual, that old God instilled desire to live came back. I knew that somehow,someway, I had to get it together! I was broke! This was the first time I couldremember since I turned eighteen not being able to work and support myself, anddeep down I was terrified. There were still a few wealthy people around but byand large the majority of folks were lining up at the soup kitchens orscrounging through dumpsters and garbage landfills for morsels. I knew I couldnot abide living that way; I would blow my brains out! Oh yes! I had given thescenario extensive thought! I had not been to my office there at the newspaperin over a month and that was unusual. Normally, I had been making weekly visitsduring the past couple of years. That thirty minute walk to the office hadbecome the one and only highlight of my life. It was like a shot of adrenalinein the arm! During that thirty minute walk I was hopeful of imminent good news;maybe, just maybe I would be going back to work. But the thrill had dwindledand was now almost gone. The rumbling of the printing presses and the job Iloved were fast becoming a memory.
Ifound a half empty bottle of Muscatel under the bed and after finishing that“hair of the dog” decided to go on down to the office, clean my desk out onceand for all, and maybe head on back to the mountains to where I had been bornand raised. I missed the serenity and solitude of country life and sorely missed“Mammy” Jarvis, the woman who helped raise me. There was nothing left here inthis town for me. Actually, there were few places left in the country where anhonest man could find a decent job- especially a man who writes for a living. Iretrieved my pistol from under the mattress and checked the cylinder; yep,still loaded. I did not particularly like the thing but I would not have setfoot outside my door without it in that day and time. A state of anarchy wasupon the land.
Ipulled the chair away from where I had wedged it under the doorknob and steppedout into the rancid smelling hallway. I started down the stairs and saw acouple of homosexual wino’s cuddled up on the second floor landing below me. Iknew they were queer since they appeared to be slobbering in one another'smouth. I sickened at the thought of how this minority of misfits, along withthe entire tree hugging “love everybody do gooder’s” had insidiously continuedto push their abhorrent lifestyles upon the public. It seems that over theyears, normal folks had begun to more or less accept their nasty acts or at thevery least to suppress the mental pictures generated by that abnormal andabominable way of life. But actually, I believe the regular God-fearing folkswere just too worn out from trying to keep their families fed and the wolf awayfrom the door to pay much attention to the self-deluded hedonists and sexualdeviants. And coupled with that, the “political correctness” fanatics wouldlabel you a bigot or a racist for uttering the least criticism againstimmorality or another person’s sexual preference. The s