A Christmas Farm Redemption In Charmington, Missouri [The Saga of Dark Boy]

Posted: December 9, 2012 in Apologetics Parables

black-and-white-cigarrette-long-hair-male-model-michael-tintiuc-model-Favim_com-103708

By Tess Doberville

Dark Boy whose long black hair flowed down around from a tree dead, all tangled up thought calmly to himself.  He viewed himself at the age of four and remembered how he commanded his entire household in Spleenville.  He wondered with a great marvel at his own unfounded hatred against an innocent dead man’s wife, of whom he had thrown off of the farm ~ Even now, he lived in her very own home with her own grandchild, the blue-eyed blond girl. Indeed, he had so hated his father, and Slidell’s second little wife.  He spent months plotting and planning to obtain the money of every relative and her farm home upon his father’s death.  His father dropped dead on the spot he now stood on.  Landing on top of a macho-man sized pile of sweet grainfed cow manure.  Stealing the brown sludge, his body soaked up the odorous stuff. Dark Boy promised himself the hard working companion would be lucky if she escaped with a cheap thousand-dollar auto.  He laughed cunningly to himself, remembering the time he had prayed to the holy pentagram at the center of Charmington, Missouri and the door got tore clean off the white car while backed out of the little carport awning.  The exact same spot where Lapsy Dog got shot to death.  There were other auto accidents he prayed this way to happen too; but fortunately all of those individuals, although some cars totalled, lived.

The boy who viewed himself as very handsome flaired out his nostrils with anger at everything that did not go his way, felt no shame concerning any violent crime he committed.  This was no mystery.  Spoiled, his mother always made sure he had the most collections of  hotwheels out of every boy who resided at the helm of the fanciest neighborhoods she hustled her unknowing, now dead husband to buy houses in: While his last wife and her five children, whose home they now lived in, lived on the streets homeless with all of those children.  Even as a young child, Smaddam, pushed around and bullied along with his sister, who used the weight of her rude, demeaning and bad behavior, despite nothing but the finest in each and every material lavishment to push around, bully and punch on every classmate they ever attended school with.  This was talked about all the to Bedwardsville.  Later, when they moved to the small town of Charmington, Missouri the reputation the family had as a bully family reigned as if throughout the world.  But likely only the states of Illinois and Missouri. As the two became teenagers, even a few of the rookie police sat in dark, lonely bedrooms and wept to themselves late at night. Cowardice lawmen, who once feared the wrath of the mother.  The children, if you could call them that ran crack labs larger than those of any Illinois adult from Kentucky to Arkansas.  Every teenager who complained found themselves beat to death, and dead and thrown up against the side of a shed down a country road by the green abandoned, lime green watermelon colored lean-to house on Shu-bee-dew Road in Illinois. “Ya’ll better not come messin’ around with me,” grunted the deep-voiced other relative of Smaddam, Tron fAllen. Shortly after, he dissapeared into his male (Hell) cave, and started thinking up some more evil to do.

His brother, once a Spleenville cop had beaten a man half to death and left him for dead just because he looked at him the wrong way.  To this day, that man is a vegetable, and not as in cucumber. Most of the other cops in Spleenville, without any real strong backbone made Barney Fife look like a Greek God.  Too terrified to do their job and clean up the mess , the cops kissed the back ends of fAllen and Smaddam while Smaddam and his sister boldly knocked both indefensible kids at school and adults alike around like yesterday’s filthy trash.  Most families got sick of it and vacated Spleenville for Bedwardsville.  Then Smaddam began to chase them down in Bedwardsville where Smaddam sometimes attended church with his seemingly mousy wife, pretending to read the word, while only using people to benefit himself and while arming himself with secret treachery ~ He used the woman preacher’s son-in-law to gain financial and otherwise evil leveredge while, as it seemed Pastor Smandy of Greater Boring (Glory Gone) Church, believed his every lie. He fooled and tricked everyone while never telling anyone how kind the blond haired and blue eyed woman had been to him.  Het got angrier by the second as he thought about how she had shown him the kindness of Jesus.  Truly, he would get even with her the most for that, and try to make her look otherwise.  He decided to steal everything she ever loved and treasured, and especially all that his father owned.  There his rooted evil festered and grew like a moldy casserole someone cooked, but left in their fridge for three years, along with that filthy block of green white cheese too.  And still, not many later attended a sodomizing gangster’s funeral.

“But “Absalom’s heart was wicked, and ungrateful, and cruel. He formed a plan to take the throne and the kingdom away from his father, David, and to make himself King in David’s place. He began by living in great state, as if he were already a king, with a royal chariot, and horses, and fifty men to run before him. Then too, he would rise early in the morning, and stand at the gate of the king’s palace, and meet those who came to the king for any cause. He would speak to each man, and find what was the purpose of his coming; and he would say: “Your cause is good and right, but the king will not hear you; and he will not allow any other man to hear you in his place. O that I were made a judge! then I would see that right was done, and that every man received his due!” And when any man bowed down before Absalom as the king’s son, he would reach out his hand, and lift him up, and kiss him as his friend. Thus Absalom won the hearts of all whom he met, from every part of the land, until very many wished that he was king instead of David, his father. For David no longer led the army in war, nor did he sit as judge, nor did he go among the people; but lived apart in his palace, scarcely knowing what was being done in the land.”

Speaking of Dark Boy who stood around and scratched himself deliciously, he closed his eyes and breathed of the fresh farm air deeply.  One-hundred miles of Charmington, Missouri farm road lay outside the farm.  And he had taken it all by folly.  Slick as wet.  However, the sweet young girl, the mother of the baby girl who Smaddam falsely claimed as sister, Sistina had nicknamed her baby girl, Spicy. “Smaddam! Ohhh Smaddam!” His father used to call him forth as a boy.  “You got Feryl out there working on the farm like a dog for you. You got more Matchbox collections than any boy in the universe.  You get to lay around the house with your sister and mother and eat all day and make all sorts of crafts, like cloth door and Christmas wall wreaths with your mama all night long.  And you dress new and fine all the time with $200 designer jeans. And spending Feryl’s money while keeping him in rags.  Feryl lives in a deep dark dungeon of the basement eating table scraps from the black trashcan we put down there.  And you eat filet-mignon and other such sorts of delicacies while sitting at the helm of the upper dining room next to me. What more could you steal, I mean fill your decrepit, selfish and greedy, I mean your lovely life with? You sell drugs on the side to all of the Spleenville teenagers, and you said you do that for even at times you smashed the windows out of some cars for backpay. You have grown up to be a whoppin’ cheap shot of an asshole,” said his father proudly.

Smaddam, who spoke well and who once fooled everyone easily twitched not even one slight inch as he hung from the three-hundred year old tree.  On the lookout for Santa Clause, he had his bow and arrow cocked, ready to shoot the man down.  The tree once gave cover to the good little woman prophet, a fourth wife who  taught the children to watch for and admire (but never shoot the deer), as she tried a hand as mother seer to Smaddam.  Smaddam who had his own greedy, selfish ideas about life listened not to the woman, but decided to go his own way.  And yes, he had those ideas too.  But she firmly and wisely denied him.  Plowing her down at every hand, he lighted up his eyes with a skinny beam of centralized lazer glare and sent the two beady messages to her through the sub-conscience world.  He called this Satan, God.

At the tender age of four, Smaddam’s head began to swell largely.  As a young teenager, he walked through tenement walls and school halls and flashed his evil from where he walked.  And not even the teachers realized that Satan himself lived large in the evil boy who lurked just yards away. Perhaps he only imagined the grey-white movement. He began to twitch more and madly with the excitement of taking out Santa.  Dancing for the first time a lovely dance, for the first of it’s brief cruel life, the spirit of the thing actually looked soft, warm, kind and lovely for once.  Did it smile sincerely instead of politically?  Not possible.  For certainly, the father’s instruction for mean treatment of others paid off in the curse the dark white boy had incurred. A white horse, given by the good meth lab family who got busted and unlike Dark Boy repented, ran across the field in front of the newest evil stepfather looking for the baby girl of the woman grandmother with the short blonde hair.  This had been the real mother of the new baby, (Sistina’s)  horse.  The old aunt of Smaddam, who had her skinny crooked nose and spindly, unkind heart to match in everybodies’ business but her own, also felt a great and unfounded jealousy for the prophet woman who fed the horse and  who also fed the first little blond girl, Sistina, a child with spiritual things so supple and trim it made even the evil Dark Boy cry with a great and green envy at church services.  Holy, Hallelujah all of the angels sang!  Smadam’s favorite Christmas song, and one he loved so much he sang this to himself all year long, I Believe In A Thing Called Feed The Holly, Jolly Flesh Or Bust (Sung To The Tune Of  ‘I Believe In The Old Rugged Cross’): 

I believe in a thing called feed the holly, jolly flesh

I believe whatever the cost

And when the true Christian I find

And I take all his children

The land is next mine

For I’m really the devil’s hind.

(Refrain)

I believe in once saved, always saved,

For I believe I do no wrong

And loathe the day this comes to an end

I pray my evil will grant me a Hell,

Where I can at last praise my sin.

(Refrain)

One day, the horse who appeared at the window while she saw him as she washed dishes, had broken out of the corral.  As free as a white dove, he glided across the fields with hooves and legs no longer battling the imprisonment of the secret evil of the farm.  Two-hundred and fifty acres of Charmington family secrets.  The good woman, who once lived there, she helped build along the shanty farm house underground sewer system with nothing but a ditch-witch and her own slave labor to offer.  She and little ten-year old Sistina ~ Of the three corrupt preachers who abided Satan’s deep sin and godless evil at the helm of the three corrupt churches, once practically the whole entire county seat of St. Asses County of once sweet Charmington, Missouri. Pastor Chucky, who always had a quick smile and an even quicker lie, but with no backbone sat and watched the corruption of the other two preachers like watching a movie.  He once sold insurance for a living,  for the same company that Shark’s big brother once scammed a scam in he thinks the 50’s, where they talked a forty-year old woman into faking her death.  Then they put up a false tombstone in the city of Redericktown and she moved to St. Louis and everyone in the family collected the insurance money and began building churches.  “Well, with that information, I’m lucky I’m still alive, “said the young hoosier man who once attended Christian D.O.A. (Dead On Arrival) Reformed Church of Charmington, Missouri across the street from the state fair combination race track.  “What do you mean by that?” Asked the woman, a stock employee of Stall-Mart Stores, Inc., the feature combination grocery store and department store of all of Charmington. Smaddam thought of how much he truly loved himself. Twitching severally, he also watched a prophesy which meant nothing to him now that he thought about every relative he had hoodwinked, tricked and fooled to get this baby and this farm.   Depression and darkness, as a dungeon, his mind thrice possessed, but not of holiness expungiated through the trees.  Tiny deer shivered and her rabbits ran for cover.  Would she ever appear to claim the farm again?  Somehow the evil ones knew she would.

Jeremiah 12:3 But thou, O LORD, knowest me: thou hast seen me, and tried mine heart toward thee: pull them out like sheep for the slaughter, and prepare them for the day of slaughter.

“The secret’s in the swamp.  The secret’s in the cow swamp,” whispered the ghosts.  Buried at the bottom of the cow swamp lay a waterproof tight green safe with thousands of dollars.  (Walk eight feet out.  Dig about ten feet down). A local resident thought he had read about that somewhere.  But where?  And how would he ever remember?  Not the brightest star on the family Christmas tree, Dark Boy’s best friend from Spleenville seemed a combination of a clinical L.S.D experiment and too many years of anti cross-breeding, and although his family came from Illinois, the smart prophet girl’s family knew of their evil too close up.  Wrong superstitions were meant to be broken and while it was true that she came to save and not to destroy, the evil Smaddam had throughly tricked the owners of the family farm who he also plotted to someday secretly try to trick and destroy.  What you do evil to others first, he quoted from his Satan Bible, they can never therefore in turn do to you. “Moooo!” Protested one of the five-hundred rustled cows.  The beautiful young blonde woman who once lived here loved them though.  She kneeled on the poly-sealed wood porch and prayed often for God to block the protagonist meat-load farmers from coming to make hamburger out of them at the butcher, and eat them for lunch.  They fought like good men looking for good women to go back out to the pasture when the tricksters came.  They did not want the perfunctory marriages of the death enemy.

A tree convulses however as the dark boy provided no white oil like the sweet woman who cried until God’s good olive oil flowed down the twin branches.  And as if to say, “I am the way and the goodness and the light and the life,” the tree although repulsed by the unwelcome charge of dark boy Smaddam hanging there, lit up her eyes as the woman once lit up her eyes for her.  And if imagination runs dark, imagination filled it’s streams and rivers and gullies with no trepidation of loveliness when that woman lived here. Now the Smaddam boy’s cruel wife hangs by him and with every inch of her rebellious strands of white hair, she too sought to wipe out the Santa Clause.  She perched mid-air where the barn once was, hangs as an unfairly skilled second-hand gangster, a proverbial Bonnie & Clyde who produce the fruit of death by association of Dark Boy, Smaddam.  No laundry spins out of the rickety washer where the older good girl, blonde-headed prophet woman once risked her life to spin empty instant coffee jars in the washer in the winter, and washed her clothes on the stiff rocks at the bottom of the hill where Smaddam now hangs, he once crafty with a bow and arrow.  Certain smells now arose up from the once sweet creek.  For betrayal followed by the stench of a once-promised tragedy finally punished him as foreboding as the black snake who hangs from the tree there and opens his mouth wide as if to crow like a chicken.  He simply hisses at the dark boy. Smaddam thinking the dark snake his friend fell hook, line and sinker for that.  After all, the snake promised him life for his hanging.  But instead, Smaddam’s belly and his guts threaten like a Judas to spill into the creek fouling up the girl’s once life-refreshing healing waters with the defilement of bad blood from the bad seed that comes to at least one of every child of certain lines of heredity.

9¶ And Absalom met the seruants of Dauid; and Absalom rode vpon a mule, and the mule went vnder the thicke boughs of a great Oke, and his head caught hold of the Oke, and hee was taken vp betweene the heauen and the earth, and the mule that was vnder him, went away.

2 Samuel Chapter 18  (1611 Bible)

She, the prophet woman gets on her buffalo and rides down the middle of the gravel and dirt filled road to the gate the angel only guards for her alone, and always ever and never for them did. The road once all dirt, Smaddam alone filled his belly with the empty gravel, and now chews sour grapes with a gasped open mouth.  And as the bright woman now eats and laughs and loves and lives elsewhere, the dead carcass on the tree knows the truth.  She who homesteaded the ghosts of the land knows the day will one day come for her good return. In the meantime, she knows that he who prays for he who prays against her, only prays against himself.  That the voo-doo of a million years, the slaves and the plantation owner of the 1700’s Indigo and tobacco farm want vindication for the girl, and for the land at the helm. This is no mystery.

Children, obey your parents in the Lord: for this is right. Honour thy father and mother, (which is the first commandement with promise,)That it may bee well with thee, and thou maiest liue long on the earth.

Ephesians 6:1-3  (1611 King James Bible)

The police report sent out over the Charmington and Fonne Terre circuits on more than one night,  said things about those who died throughout the land of causes both personal and natural to their individual human nature, like, “Do you think he had time to commit his sick soul to Jesus?” For example, once the authorities left after safely and carefully scraping the smashed blood, guts and brains of the unsuspecting criminal from off of the pavement outside. A single white snot rag of surrender sweet, decorates the road there after the wrecking crew’s departure. An unseen angel wrapped itself around the gate, only looking on for what truly he must now finish to carry out.  He thought of the girl who once lived here tenderly and carefully.  He promised himself he would go to her now, and bring her back for a visit someday. Together they would walk the length of the creek ~ She and with Slickery and Sistina singing and skipping and dancing and tracing cow-made paths all the way ~  No longer the acres of the land ugly with the defilement and lies of the Dark Boy who lives there now.  Coming to the dip of the river, after sunning at the storm made sand beach, the three (the real mother, daughter, and grandaughter) made a dive into the creek near where black snack lived. And heaven on earth had finally come.  For them and them alone, black snake purified the holy spot and spread out with the unseen red blood of the Christ figure swam until the late sun fell deep upon soft summer trees.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s