A Man Most Rotten

Thomas hadn't expected to be alive when the town's time capsule was opened. It seemed as though every family that occupied Savannah gathered in Monterey Square. The cool evening July air provided a breeze in attendance. Mayor Forge was to blame for such a rally. After the annual firework show two days ago, that tight-suited politician proclaimed with his southern drawl that "why, I say it's about time we open up that sunnuhvuhbitch!"

So, there was all of Savannah, eagerly awaiting the construction crew to finish digging up the rather wide hole in front of the Pulaski. The pillar standing tall where even Lady Liberty towers over to await the opening. Forge stood by his podium, anxious as he hoped he followed the right coordinates to the capsule. Hopefully he did, otherwise the press he hired, and the six prayers to the God Almighty would all go to waste. The crowd was consisted of heads, and thrilled whispers. Cameras were held at the ready, and almost all the young children were perched on top of the shoulders of their fathers. Thomas' right hand, balled up in a shaky fist as he mounted all of his weight on that ol' cane of his. It was a shock to the people in the crowd that this town's geezer even found the strength to walk his way over here. He did stick out, quite notably. At 87 years old, with a head balding in the center and the stickily white hairs that draped onto his shoulders like the hanging Spanish moss blanketing the scene. Those closest to him knew of their unfortunate position because of the rotten stench that waved over Thomas. "Old people smell," Thomas heard a kid say. Age had been very unkind to the man.

He's the only sole witness of the Savannah '22 party — a phrase forged by Mayor Forge. Thomas was present for it all. From the '09 axe murders, to the life and death of the Lucas Theatre. Forge even tried Thomas' apartment last night to convince Thomas to give a speech, a recount of sorts, of 1920's Savannah. Thomas' reply? A slamming of the door.

The dimming sky, and the glow of the amber park lamps were enough to send Thomas drifting to a series of flashbacks. He remembered walking to Christ Church on Sundays, in a crowd of bright pink and yellow dresses. Talks of the newcomers from the railroad in Tybee. Soldiers welcomed, and soldiers gone. Decaying buildings being the new hotspot for parties. Though, it was Anne who pierced through the blurred motion picture in his mind. The peach of his Georgia. The memory of Anne was soon soured by their old buddy, Sonny. The downfall to this trio of revelers was due to a petty feud that sparked between the boys over Anne.

Anne was the light of Thomas' eye since they were children. They were together before meeting Sonny and knew all there was to know about each other. She was the blond hair maiden with curls that won Thomas' heart. She carried herself as a butterfly would: graceful. When she walked, she would perch her chin up and take in the crisp aroma of the Savannah air.

Sonny, on the other hand, would rather see her gams than her at an altar. But Sonny had no real issue with women. He was a Blakely, and that surname alone grants him any dream. He was a stout fella, but with the head of a fighter no doubt. Though, Sonny often took home medals for brawns and beauty, whereas Thomas couldn't say the same. A lanky fellow, much like he was today, but with less wrinkles and a fuller head of hair. He carried himself like Anne, but with a horrid posture and longer arms. If Anne be the painted lady that flew about the trees, then Thomas was a moth that lingered on the light she shone from time to time.

The hoot of an owl pierced into his daydream, bringing Thomas back to the Savannah he knew all too well. Thomas recalls waking up from his bed that night to Sonny sending rocks tapping his window, alerting him to join them. He was seated on the couch, comforting a distraught Anne, and hearing the clomping of an impatient Sonny pacing back and forth in a wide living room. The fireplace flashing orange lights on Anne like if it were flashing a warning. The object of the assembly was due to Anne's report of a man following her that night after leaving Miss Cunningham's meeting for the women voters. When she exited the doors, she felt a second pair of eyes watching her as she crossed Chatham Square. It was only when she heard an echo of footsteps hitting the cobblestoned road that she turned back. It was the silhouette of a lean, and slender man, possibly a couple of yards away from her.