Indifferent (A Short Story)

First, let me apologize for my inactivity here lately. I have really let the blog go down in content production, and that is without excuse. I'm in a bit of a stage of what I call "writers blech" not to be confused with writer's block. "Writers blech" is when you have plenty to write but you really don't feel like writing it. While I am without excuse for not producing content, seeing as I have plenty of ideas, I simply have not felt like it. Maybe it will go away, maybe not.


This is a new short story I wrote about the subject of indifference, as the title explains. I would like to issue a word of warning this does contain mature thematic elements and some violence.

Indifferent
By Mike Wright


AS JEFFERY looked out the front window he found that what he was looking at wasn’t all that surprising. It was the usual kid out playing in the yard and the dog running up and down the sidewalk deal that he always saw.
      The coffee in his hand was hot and burned him somewhat when he sipped it, but it was a pleasant burn so he kept drinking it. Something about the way coffee tasted when that hot made him enjoy the burn.
      He watched the dog running on the sidewalk, probably with nothing better to do in his miniscule canine brain, chasing a small lizard that kept escaping his mouth. The bright eyes of the dog were clearly narrowed, and it began to move to the underside of a car. Jeffery wondered if it would get stuck under there.
      The girl playing outside was Lola, the six year old that lived across the street from him. She had an assortment of chalk laid out before her, and had sat with her legs making a giant V, drawing a large—quite pink—picture in the frame of her legs. The simple flip-flops she wore dangled from her toes as she swayed her feet from side to side, and her face was set, partially covered by thick brown streams of hair.
      She and her parents had moved into the house about a month and a half ago, Jeffery and his wife had sent them a bag of some goods, welcoming them to the neighborhood, even though he really could care less.
      He watched her drawing a moment. He had to admit the kid was cute, but she could certainly be loud as well. How many times did he try to sleep in on a Saturday morning only to be disrupted? Her parents weren’t the best at teaching their kid to be mindful of other people. Didn’t they care about people who labored all week and wanted at least one morning of deep sleep?
       He looked off to the side and saw a large, black SUV coasting down the street; it’s mighty tires rolling slowly along. He hadn’t seen it before, and wondered which one of the neighbors had gotten a new vehicle. It was probably the Jennings across the street; they got a new vehicle almost every year. It was decidedly different than their usual choice, but people were entitled to a bit of variety.
     The SUV moved slowly along, it’s hulking form sliding easily across the winding street, going around the car parked on the street.
     He watched as a man climbed out, the man was tall, dressed pretty nicely in a button-down and slacks. The sunglasses on the man’s head were larger than what was normal, but some people liked them big, when the man pulled out a skullcap and slipped it on, Jeffery was slightly confused.
     The man went straight to Lola and offered her something; she seemed very hesitant until he took off the skullcap. What was he doing?
     Jeffery became very interested in this man.
     When Lola stood up and took it, the man’s arm shot out and grabbed her wrist, spinning her around and pulling her close to him and clamping his hand over her mouth. He grabbed her around the middle and lifted her up off of the ground. Her legs began to kick.
     Jeffery began to realize what was going on.
     She managed to get one arm free and started to swing it along with her legs, the thin limbs flailed hard, fighting against the man’s strong grip. The car door was open, and all he had to do was get her in there.
     The door to the house burst open, and the mother stood there in horror, her mouth dropped open and Jeffery heard her piercing scream break the air, even through his closed windows and doors.
      He thought about grabbing his gun that was in the cabinet by the door, but he didn’t want to get involved. Just don’t get involved.
      The mother bolted down the yard, her cup of orange juice flew from her hand, and her face was wild and angry. The man managed to pull Lola into the car, and shut the door tightly. The car peeled off as soon as he shut the door and the mother chased after it beating on the back window with her fists until it finally outran her and she fell down headfirst into the street—still screaming.
      Jeffery watched it all in stunned silence. He wasn’t sure what he had just seen even though he knew that he had seen it. It was like his brain was processing the data, trying to put it all together, even though he knew what it all meant. Odds are they would never see Lola again. A brief thought about Saturday mornings popped in his mind but he shoved it away in disgust.
     He watched the mother remain on the street, her hands bloodied from the contact with the windshield and asphalt, her eyes were streaming, and her face was wet, the blood was smeared where she had covered her face, and the cuts bled profusely. Neighbors began to come out and take interest, curious as to what had just happened.
     Jeffery only watched. He took another sip of his hot coffee.
     There was a small, purple flip-flop lying in the middle of the road.

One month later…

JEFFERY WALKED up to his car, his keys dangling from his hands, the wind tearing at his coat, and his mind on the afternoon ahead of him.
     He looked on the other side of the street and saw the sign that had been there for several weeks, advertising the missing child Lola, which had only appeared as a blip on the local news. The family had been looking for her ever since, organizing search parties, putting up flyers, a website—the works. They still hadn’t found her though.
     Jeffery and the wife had sent over a casserole. She had told him it’s the least they could do. He supposed she might be right.
      There hadn’t been much success in the case, they had found her other flip-flop, dress and underwear in a dumpster miles away, which meant that they were probably done with her and her body was hid somewhere in the woods, but the family kept up hope she was alive.
     Jeffery didn’t.
     The things people did these days. It was hard to fathom, impossible to fathom, what made people want to do that kind of thing, but Jeffery supposed that it was just how it was going to be. Wasn’t much that could be done about it, there would always be scum, and they would always do what they want.
      He searched his key ring for the key to his car; the different metal surfaces cool on his warm fingertips.
      There was a sound behind him, but he never got the chance to turn around. A cold piece of dangerous metal was jabbed on his neck and a harsh whisper snapped at him. “Don’t make one move.”
     He put his hands up. “I don’t have much on me. My wallet is in my left back pocket…”
      “Shut up, man. I’ll figure it out, don’t you make one noise.” The man’s voice was laced with the harsh smell of cigarette smoke. Jeffery didn’t turn around, he didn’t do anything—the man’s gun was trained on him. He felt a hand pat his back pockets and the man withdrew his wallet and started to rifle around in it. The man swore, “This all you got?”
     “I said I didn’t have much.” Jeffery wondered why nobody else saw what was going on. Did nobody care?
      “All right, whatever. How about that watch?”
      Jeffery glanced at his watch, and slowly slid it off of his wrist, and held it behind him for the man to grab. It was snatched almost painfully out of his hands.
     “Now them sunglasses…they look expensive.” The man demanded.
     Jeffery was surprised, the man was right; he knew just what they were worth. He forgot how much he had paid for them but it was a good amount.
     When he handed them to him, he glanced over his shoulder just a little, trying to get a look at his face so he could pass the information along to the cops. Apparently the man saw what he was doing.
     “You lookin’ at me?”
     Jeffery wanted to swear.
     “Lookin’ at me? You keep your eyes where they belong, hear?” The man jammed the gun harder against his skull. The man cursed again, very loudly.
      Did nobody see this? Did anybody call the police or something? Didn’t anybody care? For crying out loud did anybody see what was going on?
      “You think it’s a good idea to take a peek? Get down.” The man demanded. Jeffery didn’t move fast enough for him, however. The butt of the gun slammed into his head, and Jeffery fell to his knees.
     The man gave a firm kick, and Jeffery felt the wind go out of him, as he was still trying to see pas the white stars that were in his vision and the searing nuclear explosion of pain in the back of his skull.
     “You got a problem with orders?” The man slammed his face into the car, the impact took him to new levels of pain, he felt his nose crush under the impact and felt the wet agony of his nose breaking.
     Blood streamed down his face into his mouth, distorting his words and punctuating them with gore. “Just take the money, man, just take the money…”
      “You got a problem listening to me?” The man slammed him against the car again and whipped the pistol across the back of his head, sending Jeffery on the verge of unconsciousness.
      Was nobody seeing this? Jeffery wondered. Did nobody see what was going on?
      “You won’t have a problem now.” The man put the gun against his head and Jeffery felt the hammer being pulled back.
     “Oh, please no!” Gore leaked out of his mouth and nose, the beating had busted his gums as well. The blood poured forth like a dragon’s fire, spilling onto the clean concrete.
      “Goodnight.” The man said with a chuckle.
      There was a loud thunder blast and the world went black.
     
 EVENTUALLY THE police came, they found a dead body lying by his car, blood seeping out of an explosion in the face where the bullet had exited, and the crimson river rolling into the storm drain. His personal belongings were gone, stolen, no doubt. And his face—what was left of it—was frozen in horror. They found by his fingers a note written in his own blood, something before he had died. Three letters: WHY

     Jeffery was guilty of and victim to his own crime. Lola was just a victim— but they were both victims of one of the most common of crimes in the human race. No, the crime is not robbery, rape, or murder. The crime is far more insidious than even these and we might be guilty of it.
      The crime is indifference. It is committed every time when we can do something and instead, do not care and do nothing, we pass it by and move on without getting involved and doing something. The result is our world today, filled with robbery, rape, and murder.

Excerpt From Work In Progress In His Hands

This is another excerpt from my work in progress "In His Hands" which will hopefully soon reach the rewriting process. This scene is takes place on a Lord's Day evening after the services. Maia has been being taught by the Greens who have adopted her, the basic things about the Scriptures and the Sunday School class has been doing a basic study on the attributes of God. All of that is in earlier scenes, and here is the scene for today.


DAVE SWALLOWED the last of his coffee for the night. They had arrived home from the church service an hour before and had gone to conversation almost immediately about the sermon. It had been a treatment on the supposed accidents in life and how they were all part of the plan of God. Like the morning message, it set Dave thinking. Were there really any accidents?
      Maia hadn’t commented much on the sermons aside from that she would have to think about them for a little while, which was to be expected, it being her first exposure to any real Christianity and certainly to that level of theology. That was one thing that Dave could give Pastor Vic, you pretty much never got a sermon that didn’t tie into a deeper theological thread. At first he had been concerned that it would drive Maia away from the idea of preaching, but she seemed anxious for the next service, surprised it was only a few days away. He had seen some scribbled notes here and there on the paper she had in her Bible, and the load of papers that she had brought from the class from the previous lessons. She seemed to dwell more on the one from that morning though, and less on the others, except the one from the week before on the Sovereignty of God—his personal favorite subject—that had some underlining on it. She seemed to be looking for something and he supposed she had made the markings in the afternoon after Sunday dinner. He had only seen them by accident, when they spilled out of her Bible halfway through the sermon—quietly, thankfully—and he had leaned over to pick them up. She had given a sheepish half-smile and thanked him silently.
      She hadn’t said much that even though, she had just sat on the couch by Mom and listened. She twiddled her fingers together while listening, but he didn’t really know what wheels were turning behind her skull, it was really hard to tell. They hadn’t bothered change; he and his father had only removed their suit jackets and ties, those detestable things, and set them aside.
      He placed the mug on the side table and returned his father’s gaze. “It kind of makes me think of Ruth,” he said, “and how she ‘just happened’ to enter into the same field that Boaz who ‘just happened’ to be her near kinsman, was in charge of, and he ‘just happened’ to favor Ruth who turned out be his wife in the end and ended up in the lineage of David and in eventuality the lineage of Christ.”
     John Green grinned as he sipped his own cup of coffee, “Interesting isn’t it? You ever think about the fact that Ruth was a Moabite, a Gentile, and Christ would become the Light of the Gentiles?”
     “Goes to show you there are no accidents,” His mother added, “We see how the awful thing that happened to Naomi and Ruth ended out being turned into something good.”
      “All by the workings of Providence.” Father finished.
      Maia asked, “What happened to them? I haven’t read that story yet.”
      “Well,” John began, “Naomi and her husband had two sons, and a famine came in Israel, so they went to Moab, another country, and settled. The two boys married two Moabite women, and then they died along with their father. The two sisters-in-law had a choice to make—leave, or stay. One of them left, but Ruth stayed with Naomi. When Naomi moved back to Israel, she changed her name to Mara which means ‘bitter’ because she said that the ‘Almighty hath dealt bitterly with me’ she blamed God for the awful thing that happened to her.” He sipped his coffee.
     “Why did she blame God?” Maia said.
     “Because she understood that God controlled all things, and that maybe He could have kept them from dying. She didn’t know what God was doing at that time, He was preparing Ruth for Boaz who would have kids and then David, who was part of Christ’s bloodline.”
     Janet Green leaned in, “You see, God brought something good out of something seemingly evil, He knew what was going on.”
      “Okay.” She sat back and nodded. “I get it.”
      Dave wasn’t sure if she got the whole thing—but she knew what she needed to know for the moment. Truth was, he had a question beginning to eat away at his mind about what they had called and accident for so long, and the fact that it was no accident.
      “A lot of food for thought,” Father said, “something we had better sleep on. It’s late, so let’s all get ready for bed.”
      “Okay,” Maia stood and Dave rose up, snatching his coffee mug from the side table and went over to where his Dad was draining his mug, and took it from him after he had finished.
     “Thanks, son.”
      Dave took them into the kitchen and placed them in the sink, running a little water into them so that the coffee did not dry up and stain the bottom. The whole time though he had a question growing in his mind about Maia.
      Mother walked in the room and set her cup on the counter, still holding the coffee inside. “What’s on your mind?”
      Dave shook his head, “Nothin’”
      She tilted her head, “Yeah, right.” She picked up the coffee again and leaned against the counter. “Seriously, what’s on your mind?”
      He cocked his head in the direction of the living room, “Maia.”
     “What about her?”
     “The Providence of God.” He said. He decided to go ahead and rinse the cups and the few other plates in the sink that had somehow migrated there without being rinsed beforehand.
     “You mean what she went through?” She asked.
    “Yeah.”
     “I wish I knew. I was thinking the same thing actually when we were talking about Ruth. I think Maia was as well, but she didn’t say anything.”
     Dave nodded, “You and me both.” He set the dishes on the counter and reached for a towel. “I know she was thinking something about that, who in their right mind wouldn’t? I mean, it’s such a terrible thing that happened to her, it just doesn’t…I don’t know.”
     “Doesn’t seem fair?” She offered.
     “I guess.” He folded the used towel neatly. “I know the guy was shot, yeah, good, done. But I’m not sure that was completely just humanly speaking, he died, she didn’t—now she’s got to live with the horrors of what he did. Granted, he’s in Hell, the wrath and vengeance of what he did is being enacted against him, but in the meantime, what about Maia?”
     Mom shook her head, “I don’t know, Dave. I really don’t, we’ll have to pray about it some more I guess. It’s a good thing Pastor Vic it preaching those messages now, huh?”
     “No coincidences.”
     “That’s right. We had better take strong heed to them then.” She looked at the clock and dumped the few sips of coffee in her cup down the sink. “Good night, Dave.”
     “Night, Mom.” Dave replied.
     She headed upstairs. Leaving the downstairs empty. As he went through he shut off all of the lights, and started walking through the hallway when he looked at their family picture from four years ago, four people stared back at him from that picture and he sighed.
     No accidents.
     He shut the light off and went up the stairs.

Pearls in the Sand.

I wrote this around the end of last year or so. It is, simply, about temptation. Excellent, no; thought-provoking, I hope so.

Pearls In The Sand

By Joel D. Garner

I sighed, looking at the window as I lay in bed. it had been a rather unpleasant day. The day before had been full of much hardship as well, but also victories. I was so tired of constant attack, oppression, yet it was what I had asked for. For how else does one become meet for the Master's use if he does not take His choicest gifts - His pain, His trials, His hurts, given to us by Him to draw us close.

Shifting my position somewhat, I closed my eyes once more, finally for the last time. Sleep, sleep, precious sleep, at last, after a hard, trying day.

I awoke quickly as I heard the wind howling loudly, sending sand all around me. "Sand?" I muttered. "What?"

I brushed myself off as I stood up, my eyes partially closed due to painful sand-blasts. I began walking aimlessly, knowing I should but not knowing exactly why I should. With my left arm in front of my face, I stumbled around for a few minutes, until, finally, a man in a white robe appeared.

"Greetings, Knight-Prince," he greeted, smiling. It was none other than the angel Gabriel.

"Gabriel!" I exclaimed. "How nice to see you. What exactly...am I doing here?"

"The Lord wants to show you something," he replied. "Come! I will take you to a field of pearls."

Puzzled, I nodded as we teleported to another part of the parched desert.

"Here we are," the angel announced, waving his arm out over the landscape.

"What are those men doing?" I inquired, nodding at the many men walking throughout the sandy field.

"They are going through life, as are you," he answered. "Oh, and whatever you do...Do not, I repeat, do not reach for the tempting pearls. Now, come - we will look around some."

I followed him slowly, looking around at the men, who were oblivious to our presence, and at the many pearls scattered all over the place.

"Gabriel - what do the pearls represent? They are very beautiful. Yet, there are others that resemble a ball of rock."

"They represent the deceptive pearls of sin and the precious pearls of righteousness," he responded solemnly. "Look! A man has just fallen for the schemes of the enemy."

A nearby man shouted jubilantly, and threw himself upon the sand, digging his hands into the grains. However, all of the beautiful pearls turned into sand themselves, and the man joy quickly turned to anguish.

"The devil is very cunning, as our his cohorts. Though...many times, your flesh is all it takes."

"Yes," I agreed. "I know all too well..."

He looked at me, and placed both hands on my shoulders. "Knight-Prince, time is short. You MUST yield to the Master, you MUST resist the world, flesh and the devil! Satan hates you with a passion, and he will do ANYTHING to do destroy you! Do not let him! Do not take the pearls of sin! Choose the pearls of righteousness! Choose the pearls of righteousness!"

And then I woke up.

And, there it is. I hope it made you think. Thanks for reading, and God bless.
In Christ,
Joel Garner ><>.
2 Chronicles 7:14; Romans 5:8.