so confining

so confining

fiction
edward w pritchard

It wasn't a closet or an attic that the baby and the sixteen year old Mother were kept in, just a second floor bedroom. A Father, but not a husband, gone, by convention they were hid away. Not that long really by deep time- only-seven years. Stay in all day and then at night they could move about, maybe outside, we are not sure of that. Not really brutal or cruel but so confining. No-one's fault really.

The rest of us, the descendants, affected or effected now and then, maybe here and there, depending on that elusive brain chemistry or caused by something or other, explanation depending on one's philosophy of such matters. Evidenced by a little paranoia or anxiety, communicated by watch out for the neighbors or just be normal. Some of us repeated the warnings to offspring and others, hopefully some forgot or didn't pass it on.

No one's fault really just so confining.

he wanted to insure control after his death

he wanted to insure control after his death

fiction
edward w pritchard

He wanted to insure control even after his death so the millionaire stipulated in his will that all the clocks he donated and built must keep time perfectly simultaneously for a ninety day period after his death for the institution to receive the balance of his fortune,

Rather than hire engineers to work on the clocks the decision makers at the institution hired lawyers to attack the terms of the bequest.
end