Everyone Dies In Alabama

 Their Story

Let's open with familiar. Once upon a time perhaps. It has a certain charm.

Once upon a time, Eric Alan Stanton, and his lovely wife, Heather Sanders Stanton, bought a house. It changed their life forever.

The end.

I could give you more, but, why bother. Every story has a start, and at that start things are so much better. Even in the bleakest tragedy, where beginnings can include murder, or, maybe something way too sinister to believe, you still know that more tragedy can occur. And, then, it does. Characters suffer heartbreak, and sometimes happy never wanders into a narrative at all, so let's leave things as they are.

Eric and Heather bought a house. Let's make it so their story goes no further.

Or, I'll give you a little extra. I'll go back, and let you in on their wedding. It was lovely, but Heather felt that her dress was way too tight, and that the bridesmaids could have smiled a bit more. I'll skip even further. I'll tell you they met in a college classroom, Heather finishing her Master's degree, Eric older yet not quite as far along in his education. There are so many milestones I could talk about, but their story begins in that house.

It was on Fulhurst Avenue, just a ways from Peach Street. It had four baths, two of them full, a nice sized kitchen, and a great den right next to an even greater living room.

It was paid off as they signed, an inheritance hitting Eric three years into their marriage, leaving him, and Heather, feeling—for a time—rather comfortable. And there you go. Their story is deeper, the characters richer, and hopefully that will be enough.

But, wait...you want to go on? Well, okay, but don't say I didn't warn you.

Eric and Heather buy their home in autumn. It is the kind of day people remember as picturesque. The afternoon so wonderful they imagine it is being painted somewhere by artists with stern gazes.

The sky behind their two-story house is a fire of yellow mixed with a last gasp of heated red from a way too stormy morning. But when the realtor hands them the deed, not a cloud is in sight. In fact, the horizon has those yellows, and reds, but also a much darker blue then what their pale blue house holds.

Eric takes his wife's hand. She catches his eye, her smile growing as they walk to their front door.

There are so many possibilities. Maybe, now, some kids, or at least a dog, perhaps the book Eric is sure is inside of him will be written. Perhaps Heather will quit her father's accounting firm and take a leap, teach college like Eric does, or, return to school and fulfill a secret longing for a doctorate she has yet to tell anyone about. In that moment, every avenue is open.

Eric and Heather go inside, and look at their den. It is an empty thing to the right of their front door. It lets Eric dream.

He sees how perfect a large flat screen television will be in there. There are three walls nearby, things the color of cool alabaster. Though Eric could have picked any to put his flat screen upon, there is a fireplace along the bottom of one, and the other has a window at its center. But, the third holds nothing but white and a promise of endless entertainment.

Eric wants a recliner, and possibly a glass and plastic stand for his DVD collection, maybe some small tables to hold tiny meals, or a few soda's. He sees friends coming over to enjoy the Super Bowl, the NBA finals, baseball as well if some interesting teams ever do reach the post season. Eric envisions so many things, and he isn't even over the threshold of his front door.