Click to Subscribe
Rosali
3/19/20: 9:34 A.M.
© 2020 James LaFond
MAR/24/20
[An extract from my Apocalisp journal.]
The flip phone rang on the plastic dresser next to my head.
By the time I rolled over to answer it the phone stopped, so I rolled back over.
I saw later that the phone had rung at 8:34.
The phone rang again and I managed to roll over and pick it up.
It was Riley, who I had called on the way home Wednesday afternoon to tell him that I rescheduled my trip to his Colorado hideaway for August, as I did not want to take a chance of spreading the bad chest cold that has gripped the world in terror from its California haunts to his elderly lungs.
The voice on the other end was not Riley’s even toned Mississippi drawl. It was the broken voice of a breaking woman.
“Hello, James, this is Rosali, Riley’s wife. [1] Riley passed away Tuesday night, in his sleep. When I woke he was gone. He had a smile on his face. He didn’t suffer. I now he thought very highly of you. Could you please let Bob know. He wanted to be returned to Mississippi. At some point I’ll take his ashes there. Right now, with this virus, you can’t do anything. Riley was such a good man and he valued your friendship highly. I’m sorry—I have to go. I will call you again sometime.”
I don’t plan on changing my train schedule that has me stopping off in Denver for a week this August, unless Rosali informs me that she wishes otherwise. I’d like to help with whatever work needs done towards whatever end the heartbroken lady has in mind.
I’ll will always miss Riley Smith.
And, now that he is beyond the reaches of the evil rulers of this world, I can finally post his last name.
Note
-1. This is not her name, but it fits.
One of my greatest pleasures as a writer was to be present when the two kindest souls I have known met on my account. One is Bob, the other Riley, and Lynn and Bob did an eulogy for Riley over at the BlogSpot, which passes for my online sanctum, as the silver-voiced woman who curates my writing provides there a mirror I can be proud of—and another plane jets out of Portland. You know Riley thought this hysteria was all horseshit.
Of the Midnight Sun
guest authors
‘Schwerpunkt’
eBook
blue eyed daughter of zeus
eBook
the lesser angels of our nature
eBook
night city
eBook
honor among men
eBook
orphan nation
eBook
songs of aryas
eBook
by the wine dark sea
eBook
the greatest boxer
eBook
barbarism versus civilization
eBook
all-power-fighting
eBook
book of nightmares
eBook
on combat
eBook
fanatic
eBook
advent america
eBook
time & cosmos
eBook
the greatest lie ever sold
eBook
cracker-boy
eBook
broken dance
eBook
let the world fend for itself
eBook
the first boxers
eBook
the gods of boxing
eBook
fiction anthology one
eBook
the fighting edge
eBook
within leviathan’s craw
eBook
predation
eBook
logic of steel
eBook
hate
eBook
beasts of aryas
eBook
song of the secret gardener
eBook
z-pill forever
eBook
the combat space
eBook
triumph
eBook
fate
eBook
menthol rampage
eBook
son of a lesser god
eBook
sons of aryas
eBook
wife—
eBook
ranger?
eBook
the sunset saga complete
eBook
masculine axis
eBook
dark, distant futures
eBook
solo boxing
eBook
when you're food
eBook
winter of a fighting life
eBook
taboo you
eBook
sorcerer!
eBook
into leviathan’s maw
eBook
logic of force
eBook
on the overton railroad
eBook
the year the world took the z-pill
eBook
under the god of things
eBook
your trojan whorse
eBook
thriving in bad places
eBook
america the brutal
eBook
uncle satan
  Add a new comment below:
Name
Email
Message