The Combiner -5minutefreewrite
Salsbury and the many missionaries before him knew that all of this - the powerhouse, the gardens, the growing fields, the barn, the hospital - were all part of the Combine. The outsiders did their best never to draw the ire of The Combine, and he’d spent many hours working without hope of recompense in the hospital so that when he gathered worshipers, the Combine would see him as an asset and not a threat.
He spent most nights in a cold sweat, dreaming of the day he’d cross the Combine. Hoping that day would come soon, because though he dreaded it, the fear was wearing him thin. He needed to sleep and he never did.
On one hot Tuesday, the day arrived. It had been breezy in the early morning, so he had worn his denim jacket, but as the sun burnt off the clouds, he’d needed to strip to his shirt sleeves, and even then, he was drenched with sweat before he’d even made it halfway to the hospital.
"Dough Friday" I used to call him teasingly, since our “marital visits" began usually that day when I brought him cash wrapped in old bread bags.
He’d been proud of me ever since he caught me changing the name on his paycheck to my own. I hadn’t thought swindling The Combine would lead to a promotion, but it turns out bold cheaters admire bold cheating, even if it’s bad enough to get caughts. Of course, I only have 9 fingers now, but that was a small price to pay for extra apples every day, and a feather bed every night. Of course I know my relationship with him is all seedy and awful, but can I help it if our entire world is seedy and awful? I’ll take what moments of joy I can get, and hang the rest of the world out to dry. Maybe someday I’ll take a knife to his jolly carp belly and see what kind of fish stink is inside, but for now… For now, I live my life of privilege, and I hold my nose. I would have suggested you do the same, but I suspect you won’t have a nose for much longer.
Patiently, I wait for the postman.
How selfish you are, they always tell Him. He has been guiding them through their miserable lives for all eternity, and they call Him selfish for accepting their gifts. Well, considering they are a miserable, rotten good-for-nothing gang of foolhardy nincompoops, you can hardly blame them.
He spent the afternoon unwrapping their presents. Some socks, some ornaments, at least one good album, he’d have to listen to the others to know if they were good or not, but one of them had a good enough cover that it would be good regardless of what was inside. He wished there had been at least one piece of gold jewelry, but maybe they were saving that for tomorrow. He’d certainly dropped enough hints. Running a successful community was hard work, he certainly hoped they appreciated him. The minister seemed to be a fine fellow. He hadn’t been to worship, but the minister assured him that praise was sufficiently effusive on a daily basis.
Yes, it was alright.
Photo credit @stinawog used with permission. All PHOTO tokens earned from this post will go to her.
Very nice picture with the character of the story. Receive my affections friend @improv
Thanks!