Father Michaels
by
JD Clapp
My sister looked shocked.
“Seriously? You’ll let Ma live with you?” she asked.
I nodded. She took a breath, exhaled.
“You’ll have to feed her through that tube …bathe her…change her…”
I cut her off, looked her in the eye, mustered the sincerest look I could.
“Sis, you have two little kids and a husband who’s deployed overseas. I got this big old house. I work from home. Let me do this for you…for her.”
Tears flowing, she hugged me.
##
Getting Ma into the basement was tricky with all the tubes and machines. She pissed when I zip tied her naked body to the bare boxspring.
“Comfortable Ma? Don’t worry, I’ll spray you off and crank the heat up before I go. You’ll love it down here!”
She croaked, “why?”
“Ah, Ma…This’ll jog your memory…”
I went and grabbed the four large carboard cutouts of Father Michaels I’d had made.
“You know Ma, finding this molester’s photo was hard; the church does a great job of scrubbing monsters like him from their records.”
I set them around her.
“I wasn’t fucking lying, Ma.”
She began to sob.
“Now, his evil face will be the last thing we both see.”
Bio:
Based in San Diego, CA, JD Clappwrites fiction, poetry, and creative nonfiction with a gritty slant.
JD’s writing has appeared in over 60 different literary journals and magazines including Cowboy Jamboree, The Dead Mule, trampset, and Punk Noir.
His work has been nominated for several Pushcart Awards, the Best Small Fictions, and Best of the Net.