A vigil for Shirley
A drabble for women's day.
Shirley Bellinger was dead. She had gone out in fear and terror rather than the serenity she often projected.
Her soul had maybe gone to hell, not the heaven her dauhter had been sent to.
Vern Schillinger observed a silent vigil even as he plotted to kill Beecher.
Shirley was so alike his dead wife. One more lovely white woman gone.
It wasn’t fair.
Claire Howell recalled Shirley’s mouth and hands on her and sighed. What a waste.
She would miss the crazy woman and her sweet nature.
Claire knew she had to do somtehing so vowed to leave flowers at Shirley’s simple grave.
Shirley’s husband would not.
Shirley Bellinger was dead. She had gone out in fear and terror rather than the serenity she often projected.
Her soul had maybe gone to hell, not the heaven her dauhter had been sent to.
Vern Schillinger observed a silent vigil even as he plotted to kill Beecher.
Shirley was so alike his dead wife. One more lovely white woman gone.
It wasn’t fair.
Claire Howell recalled Shirley’s mouth and hands on her and sighed. What a waste.
She would miss the crazy woman and her sweet nature.
Claire knew she had to do somtehing so vowed to leave flowers at Shirley’s simple grave.
Shirley’s husband would not.