>>> Item number 16106 from WRITERS LOG9308C --- (57 records) ----- <<< Date: Tue, 17 Aug 1993 18:00:05 JST Reply-To: WRITERS Sender: WRITERS From: Mike Barker Subject: SUB: R.I.P. (again) Another short exercise - again from Writing from Scratch. The instructions were to take an advertising slogan or other well-known phrase, twist it, then write a piece around the new phrase. Enjoy - and try it yourself, it's kind of fun. mike ------------------------ R.I.P. (again) Mike Barker 330 words The leaves underfoot were slick with rain, and his nose twitched whenever a foot slipped, disturbing the rotting mulch and loosing a belch of the forest's fungoid breath. He turned the beam of the flashlight here and there, fingers cupped over it to keep his eyes clear. The dripping shapes in the dark night were deceptive, especially for an occasional fisherman trying to find the fishing spot before dawn. Still, he was sure he wasn't too far from the right place. There, in that little clearing. He'd seen something like that before somewhere, hadn't he? As he stepped closer, the lumpish shape was almost familiar, except not out here... He turned the beam and looked around the clearing, then laughed. A single headstone, solitary, instead of a filled cemetery of rank and file. That was all that was bothering him. He looked again at the single slab, wondering idly why it was out here. Fairly recent, normal carving, the epitaph - capital RIP, smaller lettering between and underneath. He scraped at the name. Jason. Who was that? No dates, nothing to place it. He stepped back, then looked at the top line of printing again. That's not... Rot In Pieces. He shook his head, blinked, and looked again. No change in those letters, now that he really had read it. Someone really didn't like this Jason, whoever he was. Ah, well, the sun would be up soon, and he could rent a boat at the nearby lake. Just a few more hours, then do some early morning fishing. He turned, and flipped the flashlight off to check for any signs of dawn. He looked up. He didn't turn when he heard the familiar gurgle of mud sucking as something moved through it. Just another fisherman, out early. The water must be closer than he had thought, that's all. He blinked, looking at the faint touch of pink on the black sky. Dawn must be just minutes away. As the machete tore his throat out, he remembered just who Jason was. -------------------------------------------