A little piece of "Lucky"

 Background for "Lucky" ... and a taste

This is one of the pictures I took for “A Voice From Beyond” but didn’t use. It is of the “Sunrise Valley” cemetery west of Dawson Creek.

This is an excerpt from “Lucky” a short story that is part of my “A Voice From Beyond; anthology” or collection. There are three stories and three rhymes in this collection. The second story is about a woman, watching the ranch for her absent (winter trapping) husband and the third about one of the many so-called hobos who ‘rode the rails’ during the 1930s.

The rhymes are all about Christmas.

Christmas is over, you say? That’s your fault; it was published back in November. Besides, there’s another Christmas coming. Sure, sure, it seems like forever with this Covid stuff, but it’ll get here.

 

1867

 

 

            At the end of the US Civil War many of the combatants left the country for Mexico or Canada (which was just coming into existence) A few made longer trips to South America, Europe or other continents. Some had nothing to return to, some didn’t want to face their former neighbors and be compelled to describe their experiences and others had more nefarious reasons. Most returned to the US after months or years but they needed some time to recover from the shock of war and death.

          Today we call it Traumatic Stress Disorder but such wasn’t recognized until after WWII and wasn’t accepted until about 1990. In 1867 the kindest thing that was usually said about such casualties was, “The war made him crazy.”

          During the course of this story we discover a young CSA officer who, after traveling the western US winds up in New Westminster in the British Colony of British Columbia. The young southern gentleman that went to war in 1861 has turned into a man who believes he needs to consider only his own income and comfort. Before the war his now deceased parents could not have envisioned he would become a thief and dishonest gambler. Nor could he.

          But life happens. Sometimes it drives us deeper into the hole we’ve built for ourselves. For others something may happen that causes an awakening. The person with fiber, grit or integrity, whatever one chooses to call it, may recognize that awakening and take advantage of what it offers.

          Somewhere down the road, in something I may write, Lucky may appear again. I’ve met many like him, survivors of WWII, Korea, Vietnam; the list continues. A few widened their narrow perception and became productive members of society. Many didn’t.

  

Lucky

By D.M. McGowan

1

          His first conscious thought was that he was soaked to the skin. Opening his eyes he discovered that he was laying on rocks and mud while a hard, warm rain pounded down. He appeared to be laying along the bottom of a steep-sided ravine, his head pointing down hill. However, he had no idea how he got there. For that matter, there was very little he did remember, including his name.

          It felt like a six-inch rock was digging into his shoulder blade. When he tried to move off the rock, pain shot up through his left leg and exploded in his hip. He froze immediately, but not before a scream had been torn from his throat.

          Looking down at his foot he could see it lay at an impossible angle. Obviously the lower leg was broken just above the ankle. He dropped his head back into the mud.

          "I'm in the mountains in the rain with a broken leg," he said aloud. He raised his head slightly and looked up beyond his feet toward the head of the ravine. "And this is probably one of those mountain stream beds that will become a rushing torrent during a rain storm." Dropping his head back in the mud, he added, "Looks like it's my lucky day."

          'Why did I say that?' he asked himself. 'Is luck something that's important to me?'

          "Hey! You alive?"

          He swung his head around looking for the source of the voice. There appeared to be some movement by a large rock that jutted out near the top of the right hand bank.

          "I feel wet, hurt, and lost," he hollered back, "and I can hear you. I suspect I'm alive." In a lower tone he added, "Then again, perhaps this is meant to be my eventual destination."

          "I'll throw you a rope," called the voice from above.

          "Don't think it will do much good. I don't think I could hang onto it very long. My leg's broken."

          There was a short pause, then the voice said, "I'll have t' go down hill an' work back up the gully. Be awhile."

          He propped himself up on one elbow and looked again at the twisted leg. "I believe I shall wait right here for you," he said softly, and then realized that he should acknowledge that he understood. "Thank you," he hollered. He reached around to remove the offending rock from his resting place but it would not budge. Gently he lay back on it.

 

For more of this story and for others go to https://www.amazon.com/~/e/B004V9WZVI

 

And look for the cover pictured above