FORESHADOW OF A DAY OF INFAMY BY R.L.HUFFSTUTTER
When I saw this photo, I sensed a bit of mystery about it. But perhaps there is no mystery lurking behind the door, but only several cats who will be glad you are knocking on the door.. However, for the purpose of creating a short story based on my first impression of this photo, I have used this photo (PHOTO BY LORNA IS) to illustrate a short piece of fiction. I will call it FORESHADOW OF A DAY OF INFAMY
Let the story begin: you are somewhere in the Ozarks and out of gas. There are no other homes in view and it is almost dark, twilight time. (Add music from Twilight Zone here and pan camera on your eyes as you squint to see if you can identify the figure inside the door. It is not a person. No, it is much larger and has what a appears to be four legs).
You are a trifle anxious and decide not to tarry, but find another house to seek help. There is suddenly a noise behind you. You turn and see two Dobermans standing about a yard away. You are now between moments.of decision. As you concentrate your energy on one of sevral decisions, you notice what looks like a pile of old letters that have been delivered. They are in a box beneath the mail box and some are faded.
You notice one postcard with tropical flowers; it has a cancelled red U.S.Air Mail stamp in the upper right corner. You stand trembling and read the message. You read the postmark: 2 December 1941-- Honolulu Terr: of Hawaii:
"Dear Mother, we arrived yesterday. Will spend a few days having fun here on the famous Waikaiki Beach and see some native dancers throwing fire pins, or should I say, juggling them. Everyone says it is quite a show. You should have seen the necklace of flowers they gave us guys, and then we will take a short flight on over to our new duty station on Ford Island . Most people call it Pearl Harbor. Take care, Mother dear and watch over the old dog. I hope all is well with you. Wish you were here."
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A GRAVE SITUATION
"This is the beginning of a very long short story and hopefully, the end will be a long way off. This is not a short story I am anxious to end. Life is much too great." Robert L. Huffstutter
About Me
- HUFFSTUTTER'S PHOTO ESSAYS
- My dad's dad, my grandfather, was nine years old when President Lincoln died from an assassin's bullet. Most people think I am speaking of my GREAT GRANDFATHER. NO, I am referring to my dad's father, my paternal Grandfather, Robert Levi Huffstutter, born in 1856. What does this information have to do with my profile? It might help the reader understand that I have a sense of being much older than I am in that only one generation seperates me from President Lincoln. This causes me to respond differently to society and many current events. In many respects, this is to my benefit, in other respects it dates my mindset. Perhaps this is the reason I value the moral standards and idealogies of older Americans, the men who were the soldiers and sailors I saw when I was a small boy,the men and women who fought a war for freedom without any doubts posted by a media with a questionable lack of national unity and purpose.
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