By W. R. Jones
The track that circled my small town Iowa high school football field was covered in finely crushed cinder. Most running tracks of that time were covered this way. I’m not sure if cinder still exists.
One autumn Friday night just before a football game I was sitting along the track with three friends. One of them picked up a small stone, held it up, and said, “They call me The Rock.” A second teenager picked up a twig lying on the track, held it up, and said, “They call me Old Hickory.” A third boy picked up one of the cinders and said, “They call me Cinderella.”
Those teenagers of long ago are all dead now but I can still remember the laughter.
On Painting 
DEAD?? Damn Bill, how old ARE you?
Are you getting macabre on us?
Bill, a wonderful melancholy in a few words. This was great. Try and rise above the young whippersnapper Lisa! ;-)
Funny, I read this as Bill’s confession to murder. I think I need to lay off the caffeine and get a new job. It’s starting to affect my outlook in more ways than one.
Mmm…I never thought of it that way. A bit of judicial editing, such as “I still remember (my maniacal) laughter” and the whole thing takes on a new meaning.
On the other hand grfxho, perhaps you’re being a little uncharitable. It’s highly possible that Bill had some real friends.
Very nice painting, Bill, you handled the rock color and the flowers in the foreground very well.
Have you tried painting in oil with a knife? This would be a perfect painting for use of a knife, especially on the rocks.
Oh, kevmoore, I’m sure Bill had some real friends. …And I’m sure they all managed to live afterwards…well, at least some of them.
A nice painting, Bill. And a strange, good story.
I love this entry, Bill appears so human suddenly… beautiful, strange story, I wonder why Bill didn’t pick anything up… perhaps this is the reason why he is the only survivor?
Nice story… I’d like to know the rest of it too. How did their lives shape up to “The Rock,” “Old Hickory,” and “Cinderella”? I really like the rock painting–lovely. I enjoyed this…
~Anna
Well I’m certainly glad you people weren’t on the jury.
I picked up a gun and said, “they call me shit bird. Oh wait, that’s just mom calls me that.”
Thanks for the NORMAL compliments.
Janet, that is a good suggestion. I often think of using the palette knife for texture and straight lines but only after the painting is done and I’m on my way home. Then it is, “damn I forgot to use the knife again. Still, the good news is I did remember to poop outside my pants today.”
Will someone please teach Lisa the concept of old people dying? She is too young yet to grasp this concept. That might explain why she does that triple act of drinking heavy, driving fast, and talking on the phone, and doing her nails. Oh, that makes 4 doesn’t it?
Awareness of one’s mortality seems to creep up on you like a sneak thief. I don’t remember when I started thinking about it, I just know that nowadays, I always do. And I forgot to say, amidst the banter; I like the rocks Bill. They remind me, for some strange reason, of Carlisle Castle in the North of England, where they have a similarly coloured rock with which they built it. (of course those pesky scots dispute whether Carlisle is in England at all, and to be frank, given the weather when we were up there last summer, they’re welcome to it)
And what did you say?
I think the painting is very nice! I love rocks and I can feel the texture with my eyes on this piece!
Nice painting. Rocks, like fences, can hold you in, or keep you out, however you’d like to look at it. (Hmm, sticks and stones…). I uploaded a painting just for you, Bill, another fence, called Alexander Poppies. http://katrinasmall.wordpress.com/
Thanks for the complement and the shared painting.
Did they name that big storm after you?