Monster Media 1994 #2/Monster Media No. 2 (Monster Media)(1994).ISO/magazine/rubyv33.zip/RUBY33-2

Text File | 1994-05-20 | 4KB | 78 lines

Editor/Publisher's Note:

     The participants of RIME Writers recently suffered the loss
of one of our own: Beatrice Jones. During our acquaintance with
Beatrice she was unfailingly encouraging, responsive and
empathetic. Writing was a late interest in her life, and writing
to us, perhaps, prepared her for writing for its own sake. She
tackled and mastered the technology of computing, and joined us in
daily messaging, bringing a lifetime of rich experience to her new
interest.

     The following piece is Beatrice's work of fiction, edited
after her death by her daughter, Jackie Jones, who generously
offers it to us for our enjoyment. What Beatrice wrote is, perhaps,
not so important as that she wrote. There is no more fitting
introduction than this quote from Jackie:

     "I give her a lot of credit," Jackie wrote, "to decide she
wanted to be a writer when she grew up ... at 76!"

     Such credit is richly deserved, in our opinion. Beatrice
wasn't afraid to try something new, and in doing so she enriched
her life and ours. She embraced adventure and investigated her
potential right to the end, setting an example which extends beyond
her lifetime. We are pleased and honored to publish this
tribute to Beatrice Jones, who never gave up and never gave in, and
whose inspirational quest for the last delicious bite of life will
be sorely missed.


Copyright 1994(c)

                          SO MUCH PAIN
                      By Beatrice F. Jones

     I can't go on. My hands are so stiff and sore, I can not
even tear a piece of paper across. Peter left me! I really
don't blame him.
     Yes, I do! Why couldn't he try to understand? There was so
much turmoil, so much to understand.
     She- my sister- had bewitched him. He believed all she had
to say. She would look at him with her big, dark, hazel eyes all
lit up and flutter those long lashes at him. He couldn't see
what I was talking about.
     She did kill her daughter. I know she did.
     Maria had connections with so many doctors. She had worked
as a nurses' aide for a few years. Her sweet voice and
temperament made her well liked. Because of this, she was able
to get all the drugs she needed, or rather, her mother needed.
Since Michael died, Sheryl had taken pain pills. Sleeping pills
didn't help, but the pain pills did. Maria used all her charms
to get the pills for her mother. Then she rebelled. One of her
coworkers had shown an interest in her. It had been a miracle.
Nobody looked at her with her acne-scarred face and snub nose,
but Bryan did. Maria was so thrilled, she told her mother.
Sheryl became hysterical. Men had to want her, not her daughter.
She had a plan to fix this.
     She had a dinner party to meet Maria's new boyfriend,
inviting several couples. During the meal, she collapsed. All
of the men rushed to help her. Peter held her in his arms while
Bryan went to get her a glass of water.
     Sweetly, she gave her daughter her glass of wine. I know.
I saw her put pills in the glass. I thought she had meant it for
herself. She told Maria not to worry about her and to drink the
wine. Poor Maria looked so white, Maria with her allergies, her
deadly allergies. Poor Maria whose greatest allergy was to
whatever had been in those pills. Poor Maria who drank the wine
and died.
     Again, Sheryl collapsed. In the excitement, the wine glass
was dropped and crushed underfoot.
     Bryan was devastated. Sheryl moaned that no one would ever
have her daughter now, and she was all alone.
     My Peter took her hand to comfort her as I screamed at them.
He didn't believe me. No one did. Now it's my turn to take the
pills for pain.
     So much pain.
                               END