Weekend Freewrite 2 - Donald -November 11, 2017

Weekend Freewrite

Prompts:

"I like hats." That's what Donald said the day before he killed Sally.
She found him in the Terminal Bar and Grill. He was sober for a change.
the time he caught a flyball

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"I like hats." That's what Donald said the day before he killed Sally.” I am so tired of hearing this story over and over and over again. Donald has been crazy - ever since he was a little kid and everyone - and I mean everyone- has been making excuses for him. Remember the time he was 5 and the kitty cats were drowned. Yup. That was Donald. And then, in school. Why did he have to change schools so often. But mommy was making excuses. Oh, he didn’t mean it. Oh, it wasn’t that bad. Oh, he is just a kid. And now, Donald killed Sally and we are sitting here, all of us, at Sally’s house and we don’t know what to do.
His mom wants us to wrap her up in the carpet and take her out into the woods. But I don’t want to.
How the heck did I get into this mess to begin with? I don’t even like any of them. Not Donald. Especially not Donald. I didn’t like him when he was 5 and I don’t like him now.
What is that thing about family needing to stick together? Who made that rule? I want to choose my family and not be stuck with these pathetic people.
This morning, the sun was shining and I was ready for a lazy day in the garden. Watering a bit and talking to some of the plants. And my book was smiling at me from my nightstand. It and I had a date for today. Well, three of us, really. My beloved coffee cup, my book and me in a hammock under this majestic tree which gives just enough shade to not be too hot, but lets enough sunlight through the leaves to still bring some warmth.
I was ready for my day of pure bliss when the phone rang and Donald’s mom whispered “She found him in the Terminal Bar and Grill. He was sober for a change.”
“Who found him?” I had no idea what she was talking about. “Who found who?”
“Sally,” she whispered. “Sally found him!”
“Why are you whispering?”
“I don’t want them to hear me. Can you come. I really need you.”
Shit, I was thinking, but out of my mouth came a “yes.”
Now, I am in this mess and don’t know what to do. Donald’s mom is babbling and keeps asking me if I remember the time he caught a flyball?
Of course, I remember. He was gloating for days and strutting and kept wanting us to go to the place he and his friends used to play at.
Finally, it dawned on me what she was talking about. That is where she wanted us to take Sally. Nobody would miss Sally and nobody went to that place anymore.
None of us. Too many bad memories.
The truth is. I don’t like Donald. I do love his mom. But she is better off without him. The only way I help to bury Sally is if Donald is buried with her.
“Where is the gun?” I ask.