In 1925 My parents were murdered in their backcountry home for a secret they've been keeping from the town of Fleet. A secret that no one should have to keep in the first place.
#10 IN SOUTHERN
SHORT STORY [8000 words]
*****Disclosure, this book...
*DISCLOSURE, Some parts of this story are based on true events, the following chapter has acts of violence due to racism in the 1920s*
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My name is Becky Stirtzinger, and on the night of August 8th, 1925, two people killed my parents... and me.
This day started off like any ordinary day on the farm. My parents were always busy, so I'd occupy myself out back and play in the shed with my friends. I don't know where they came from or where they live, but they're always there. It's nice to be able to relate to someone that I can identify with, there's not many around here. They told me they'd always be here whenever I needed them the most. In fact, they helped me see exactly what happened that night.
Today however was not like any other day, my parents Thomas and Linda Stirtzinger were having the Quakers over at their beautiful secluded farmhouse --miles away from anything -- to celebrate the new business contract of my father's friend. This night in particular wasn't a good night for anything to happen, but it was the only time my parents had available. It must have been cursed in a way being that it was the night of the Klansmen march In Washington, D.C. The broadcast could be heard in any province or state in North America. We were one of the very few families in the Township of Fleet, that could afford such a luxury, As our farm harvests the majority of the town's corn supply.
"It was when the clock on the post office building struck three that the march began, 40,000 Ku Klux Klansmen marched in Washington, D.C, With their white-hooded procession filling Pennsylvania Avenue." Blustering from the static radio.
Some people were still passionate about the march, and others couldn't believe that this was a reality. My father believed it was all just another distraction for some catastrophic event to happen. He didn't care much for American media. My parents were simple people and didn't want to be consumed by the satanic white power movement. The only thing they cared to focus their time on, was when Babe Ruth was going to hit his next home run. But this particular march was a bit bothersome for my father. He believed everyone to be equal but unfortunately not everyone feels that way it's a shame.
My father walked into the kitchen to get a small bit of alone time after hearing this unbelievable satanic talk on the radio. He didn't want the guests to see him exasperated. "I can't believe America is so torn with their egos of being a white country. Why does one have to march with 40,000 people to promote white power, there are more black people doing good in this nation trying to promote peace than the white people ever had."
My mother always tried to change subjects when it came to anything off-colour. She was very good at hiding how she truly felt in benefit of making others feel comfortable. "It's a distraction honey let's just have a good night and enjoy the company of Mr. and Mrs. Quaker," My mother whispered as she turned off the radio before they both head back into the living room where the Quakers await.
My mother being the kind loving soul she was always made sure to take care of everyone around her, In this situation, it was to make the Quakers feel comfortable in our home. "Mr. Quaker, Would you care for a glass of scotch?."
