Have you ever thought about what fiction is? Probably, such a question may seem surprising: and so everything is clear. Every person throughout his life has to repeatedly create the works he needs for specific purposes - statements, autobiographies, dictations - using not gypsum or clay, not musical notes, not paints, but just a word. At the same time, almost every person will be very surprised if he is told that he thereby created a work of fiction, which is very different from visual art, music and sculpture making. However, everyone understands that a student's essay or dictation is fundamentally different from novels, short stories, news that are created by professional writers. In the works of professionals there is the most important difference - excogitation. But, oddly enough, in a school literature course, you don’t realize the full power of fiction. So using our website in your free time discover fiction for yourself. The Article by Jackie Zufall (reading like a writer .TXT) 📖
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patterns in the sewing room, I “called” the paper while Ron was sitting there and resumed the delivery telling Carl that I would send a check that day. Hanging up, I told Ron that there would be a paper in the morning, that it was taken care of.
For the next couple of years things went on, getting worse at times, nobody ever questioned or noticed that the drawing resembled Ron, at least to my knowledge. Ron would work all week then hit his favorite pub on Friday and practically live there until Sunday only coming home to sleep off his drunk until the pub opened again. More and more he came home bruised and bloody with increasing regularity he would strike out at me when he came in, at first mostly verbal, then it became physical with shoving and eventually I would have bruises where he would squeeze my arms with his strong massive hands. On occasion he would end up hitting me, blacking an eye every so often.
Once he was dreaming and in his sleep he mumbled James’s name along with Ben Miller’s and a couple of James’s friends. I wondered what in the world it was all about. But I never said a word to him about it. One day I went into Miller’s Hardware to “see” Paul, he was out on an errand, and I worked into Ben’s and my conversation wondering if he had known Ron for a long time, He laughed and said sure, that in grade school Ron was the kid everyone loved to pick on, With cheeks blushing he admitted the he, James and their band of friends had been especially hard on him, as he stuttered whenever he was nervous and was wimpy acting, never standing up for himself.
Ben asked me why I was asking and I told him I was just curious, as Ron had mentioned knowing James, but James had never mentioned it.
Then a few days ago, Paul left after one of mine and Ron’s biggest fights yet, after we discovered him gone, Ron bloodied my lips and sprained my shoulder by twisting my arm behind my back. He told me to mind my manners and remember my place.
Then he said something about Paul. I did not quite understand what he said, but it made me feel like maybe Paul had not managed to escape after all. God help me, Paul had better be ok.
Well, that’s all there is for now, Ron has not uttered James’s name in his dreams for months now. I have never seen any more in several months about that man in the paper and now my boy is gone. I will close this for now and will write as often as possible in order to try and figure all this out for myself.
Faye Zimmerman 9-19-1977
September, 25th, 1977
Paul has been gone eleven days now, I confronted Ron two days ago if he knew anything at all about Paul’s disappearance and he twisted my left arm so badly as he yelled at me for accusing him of hurting what he called my precious little runaway snot, then he told me that Paul probably left because of me, that he was tired of having a whiney, nosey, bellyaching weakling of a mother. I knew he was lying but he warned me that I had better never mention Paul to him again, saying he was always an ungrateful bastard anyways, that he never appreciated Ron and had been a big problem in our marriage, another lie, then he jerked my arm causing it to break, we had to go over to Sherman, to the hospital, Ron explained to them that I had fallen down the cellar stairs, I could tell that they did not believe him, but as he never left the room, nothing was ever said about it.
October, 5th, 1977
My arm has been aching badly, the pills they gave me for the pain make me terribly drowsy, and after two days of my using them and Ron coming home from work to dishes not done, nor supper ready, and he literally taking to beating me with his fists, I’ve opted to give in and hurt in order to stay alert and keep things running smoothly. It is still a battle with him yelling and shoving me, but as long as things are orderly at least he is not beating me.
Faye Zimmerman
10-5-77
Christmas day, 1977
I know I haven’t written in awhile, nothing has changed, Ron still comes home from work on Fridays and drinks his way through the weekend.
Sometimes he beats me, other times he just yells then passes out.
I miss Paul terribly as this is the first Christmas without him since he was born, I know where ever he is, he is doing fine and is happy away from here, I have to believe that or I would go crazy with worry. My cast is finally gone, my arm still hurts and Ron takes advantage of that and grabs it every chance he gets, I take the pills but only after I’ve done my chores, and early enough that they wear off before Ron comes home. It does not seem like Christmas, I started to pull out the Christmas decorations, then decided against it, as there is nothing to celebrate and Ron would probably just destroy everything, and as all I have is special to me since James and I collected it all, and Paul made several of the things in school over the years. I will not have Ron ruin them, so they remain in my sewing room where they are stored.
Paul began skimming through the pages of the journal and noting that mostly it was the same, just different days, he just glanced at each page briefly until he saw something that really caught his attention, he stopped on the page and continued to read, having jumped to several years later.
June, 12th, 1985
A man came to the door today, a private detective, he asked a lot of questions about Ron, like how long we had been married, how long Ron had worked at the truck stop, etc. He asked if I had ever heard of Clancy Oberman, though I recognized it as the man’s name in the obituary I had found years ago, I denied it. He asked when Ron would be home, then he left, telling me that he would catch Ron another time. When Ron came home I told him a private detective had been by to see him, he flew into a rage, demanding to know what he wanted, what he had said, I lied and told Ron that when the man learned he was not home, he left saying he would catch him another time, he then told me that unless it was Jay delivering groceries or someone else I knew I was never ever to answer the door again if he wasn’t here. I am very scared now, I know now, that Ron had something to do with that man’s death, and now I am worried as to why and I wonder again, did Paul get away or did Ron kill him too.
Tomorrow, I am going to Meadowbrook, where the detective said he was from. I need to find out for my own peace of mind, what exactly is going on.
Faye Zimmerman
6-12-85
June, 13th, 1985
Glory hallelujah, I received great news today, although I learned a lot of troubling news as well.
But the best news of all is, I know that Paul is alive!, he lives in Dallas and works as a big time reporter there. I was sitting in Dean Simmons lobby waiting to see him, I picked up a Dallas paper to read while waiting, and there on the front page in the index section were the reporters are listed along with their pictures was my baby. The minute I saw the picture I knew it was Paul, before I ever read his name. Oh, how handsome he is. It is so hard to believe he’s a man now, turned 25 this last April. I am so proud of my boy, after meeting with Mr. Simmons I used a pay phone and called the Paper, they transferred me to Paul’s voicemail as he was out. I heard his voice and broke down in tears of relief hearing a grown up voice, but recognizing it anyways. It was so good to hear him. I did not leave a message as he might have tried to call back, and then Ron would know, and true to Ron’s word we have not spoken of Paul in years.
I talked with Mr. Simmons for a while, I explained my situation to him and that yes, I had heard of that man but only in the reports I had read. I asked if he would please tell me what he knew. He hesitated at first, he said he would worry about my safety if I knew too much. I had to convince him to tell me. This is what I learned.
He said that Clancy Aberman was basically a small time hood, a kind of mafia wannabe. Mr. Simmons had been hired by the children of Mr. Aberman, who, being older now wanted to know the truth about what happened to their father. He said using the old drawing in the paper from 1975, he had questioned the witness that had helped police with the drawing, plus read all the news reports and police reports, finally he got a tip that led him to Ron. He also found a friend of Aberman’s who told him that a man had hired Aberman to help get rid of someone who was “in the way”, as he put it. Simmons told me that from what he could piece together, Ron had been the man who had hired Aberman, and that when Aberman had tried to blackmail him a couple of years later, Ron had killed him. Simmons paused a moment, then asked if I was sure I wanted to hear anymore. I insisted he continue, then immediately wished I had not. For what he said next knocked the wind right out of me as though someone had punched me in the gut.
Simmons then asked if I would agree to have James’s remains exhumed, I know every ounce of color drained from my face, as I asked what on earth James had to do with all of this, Ms Webster, he said, I know from all reports that James is said to have fallen asleep at the wheel, crashed and the car exploded, I know they ruled it an accident and never did an autopsy. I really hate to ask, but from the information I have gathered, James is the person that was in Ron’s way, and that Aberman had been hired as a sharpshooter to kill him, as he had been burned badly and his car destroyed in the blast, without the autopsy it was possible that James took evidence to the grave with him that let the killers go free. I told Simmons I had to go as Ron would be home soon, he begged me to consent to the exhumation, I told him that I would let him know.
I don’t remember the drive home, I only remember feeling sick to my stomach and thinking that I had to leave Ron immediately. I got home, and started supper and began planning how I would get away.
Ron came in and I was so nervous that I dropped the pot of stew to the floor on the way to the table, Ron called me a clumsy oaf, slapped me several times, then said he was going out for supper. I cleaned the mess up then went to my room, I decided then
For the next couple of years things went on, getting worse at times, nobody ever questioned or noticed that the drawing resembled Ron, at least to my knowledge. Ron would work all week then hit his favorite pub on Friday and practically live there until Sunday only coming home to sleep off his drunk until the pub opened again. More and more he came home bruised and bloody with increasing regularity he would strike out at me when he came in, at first mostly verbal, then it became physical with shoving and eventually I would have bruises where he would squeeze my arms with his strong massive hands. On occasion he would end up hitting me, blacking an eye every so often.
Once he was dreaming and in his sleep he mumbled James’s name along with Ben Miller’s and a couple of James’s friends. I wondered what in the world it was all about. But I never said a word to him about it. One day I went into Miller’s Hardware to “see” Paul, he was out on an errand, and I worked into Ben’s and my conversation wondering if he had known Ron for a long time, He laughed and said sure, that in grade school Ron was the kid everyone loved to pick on, With cheeks blushing he admitted the he, James and their band of friends had been especially hard on him, as he stuttered whenever he was nervous and was wimpy acting, never standing up for himself.
Ben asked me why I was asking and I told him I was just curious, as Ron had mentioned knowing James, but James had never mentioned it.
Then a few days ago, Paul left after one of mine and Ron’s biggest fights yet, after we discovered him gone, Ron bloodied my lips and sprained my shoulder by twisting my arm behind my back. He told me to mind my manners and remember my place.
Then he said something about Paul. I did not quite understand what he said, but it made me feel like maybe Paul had not managed to escape after all. God help me, Paul had better be ok.
Well, that’s all there is for now, Ron has not uttered James’s name in his dreams for months now. I have never seen any more in several months about that man in the paper and now my boy is gone. I will close this for now and will write as often as possible in order to try and figure all this out for myself.
Faye Zimmerman 9-19-1977
September, 25th, 1977
Paul has been gone eleven days now, I confronted Ron two days ago if he knew anything at all about Paul’s disappearance and he twisted my left arm so badly as he yelled at me for accusing him of hurting what he called my precious little runaway snot, then he told me that Paul probably left because of me, that he was tired of having a whiney, nosey, bellyaching weakling of a mother. I knew he was lying but he warned me that I had better never mention Paul to him again, saying he was always an ungrateful bastard anyways, that he never appreciated Ron and had been a big problem in our marriage, another lie, then he jerked my arm causing it to break, we had to go over to Sherman, to the hospital, Ron explained to them that I had fallen down the cellar stairs, I could tell that they did not believe him, but as he never left the room, nothing was ever said about it.
October, 5th, 1977
My arm has been aching badly, the pills they gave me for the pain make me terribly drowsy, and after two days of my using them and Ron coming home from work to dishes not done, nor supper ready, and he literally taking to beating me with his fists, I’ve opted to give in and hurt in order to stay alert and keep things running smoothly. It is still a battle with him yelling and shoving me, but as long as things are orderly at least he is not beating me.
Faye Zimmerman
10-5-77
Christmas day, 1977
I know I haven’t written in awhile, nothing has changed, Ron still comes home from work on Fridays and drinks his way through the weekend.
Sometimes he beats me, other times he just yells then passes out.
I miss Paul terribly as this is the first Christmas without him since he was born, I know where ever he is, he is doing fine and is happy away from here, I have to believe that or I would go crazy with worry. My cast is finally gone, my arm still hurts and Ron takes advantage of that and grabs it every chance he gets, I take the pills but only after I’ve done my chores, and early enough that they wear off before Ron comes home. It does not seem like Christmas, I started to pull out the Christmas decorations, then decided against it, as there is nothing to celebrate and Ron would probably just destroy everything, and as all I have is special to me since James and I collected it all, and Paul made several of the things in school over the years. I will not have Ron ruin them, so they remain in my sewing room where they are stored.
Paul began skimming through the pages of the journal and noting that mostly it was the same, just different days, he just glanced at each page briefly until he saw something that really caught his attention, he stopped on the page and continued to read, having jumped to several years later.
June, 12th, 1985
A man came to the door today, a private detective, he asked a lot of questions about Ron, like how long we had been married, how long Ron had worked at the truck stop, etc. He asked if I had ever heard of Clancy Oberman, though I recognized it as the man’s name in the obituary I had found years ago, I denied it. He asked when Ron would be home, then he left, telling me that he would catch Ron another time. When Ron came home I told him a private detective had been by to see him, he flew into a rage, demanding to know what he wanted, what he had said, I lied and told Ron that when the man learned he was not home, he left saying he would catch him another time, he then told me that unless it was Jay delivering groceries or someone else I knew I was never ever to answer the door again if he wasn’t here. I am very scared now, I know now, that Ron had something to do with that man’s death, and now I am worried as to why and I wonder again, did Paul get away or did Ron kill him too.
Tomorrow, I am going to Meadowbrook, where the detective said he was from. I need to find out for my own peace of mind, what exactly is going on.
Faye Zimmerman
6-12-85
June, 13th, 1985
Glory hallelujah, I received great news today, although I learned a lot of troubling news as well.
But the best news of all is, I know that Paul is alive!, he lives in Dallas and works as a big time reporter there. I was sitting in Dean Simmons lobby waiting to see him, I picked up a Dallas paper to read while waiting, and there on the front page in the index section were the reporters are listed along with their pictures was my baby. The minute I saw the picture I knew it was Paul, before I ever read his name. Oh, how handsome he is. It is so hard to believe he’s a man now, turned 25 this last April. I am so proud of my boy, after meeting with Mr. Simmons I used a pay phone and called the Paper, they transferred me to Paul’s voicemail as he was out. I heard his voice and broke down in tears of relief hearing a grown up voice, but recognizing it anyways. It was so good to hear him. I did not leave a message as he might have tried to call back, and then Ron would know, and true to Ron’s word we have not spoken of Paul in years.
I talked with Mr. Simmons for a while, I explained my situation to him and that yes, I had heard of that man but only in the reports I had read. I asked if he would please tell me what he knew. He hesitated at first, he said he would worry about my safety if I knew too much. I had to convince him to tell me. This is what I learned.
He said that Clancy Aberman was basically a small time hood, a kind of mafia wannabe. Mr. Simmons had been hired by the children of Mr. Aberman, who, being older now wanted to know the truth about what happened to their father. He said using the old drawing in the paper from 1975, he had questioned the witness that had helped police with the drawing, plus read all the news reports and police reports, finally he got a tip that led him to Ron. He also found a friend of Aberman’s who told him that a man had hired Aberman to help get rid of someone who was “in the way”, as he put it. Simmons told me that from what he could piece together, Ron had been the man who had hired Aberman, and that when Aberman had tried to blackmail him a couple of years later, Ron had killed him. Simmons paused a moment, then asked if I was sure I wanted to hear anymore. I insisted he continue, then immediately wished I had not. For what he said next knocked the wind right out of me as though someone had punched me in the gut.
Simmons then asked if I would agree to have James’s remains exhumed, I know every ounce of color drained from my face, as I asked what on earth James had to do with all of this, Ms Webster, he said, I know from all reports that James is said to have fallen asleep at the wheel, crashed and the car exploded, I know they ruled it an accident and never did an autopsy. I really hate to ask, but from the information I have gathered, James is the person that was in Ron’s way, and that Aberman had been hired as a sharpshooter to kill him, as he had been burned badly and his car destroyed in the blast, without the autopsy it was possible that James took evidence to the grave with him that let the killers go free. I told Simmons I had to go as Ron would be home soon, he begged me to consent to the exhumation, I told him that I would let him know.
I don’t remember the drive home, I only remember feeling sick to my stomach and thinking that I had to leave Ron immediately. I got home, and started supper and began planning how I would get away.
Ron came in and I was so nervous that I dropped the pot of stew to the floor on the way to the table, Ron called me a clumsy oaf, slapped me several times, then said he was going out for supper. I cleaned the mess up then went to my room, I decided then
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