A few years back, I was commissioned to write a story for the 'We're Alive' podcast.
Long story short, it didn't pan out.
But I spent a very long time writing it for it to languish in my computer. I spent that time not only writing it for the 'We're Alive' folks, but mostly for my readers.
So what I've decided to do is publish my initial story here, via my blog, as a work of FAN FICTION, a completely unofficial piece about a character from the series. This is completely unofficial and unauthorized, but I think my work and time spent on this project deserve to see the light of day.
I would like to encourage everyone who might enjoy this fan fiction to check out the officials 'We're Alive' website HERE. It is a fantastic and well-developed world created by a group of professional writers and expert voice actors.
In the meantime, here's the completlely unofficial, unauthorized 'We're Alive' fan fiction, originally entitled (WORKING TITLE: BURT)
BY
BOWIE V. IBARRA
From an idea from the creators of the
Copyright 2011 PRODUCERS OF “WE’RE ALIVE” PODCAST, BOWIE V. IBARRA
7C. SUMMER OF JOY
The proverbial sands
Pass through the
Hourglass…
It took
four months to coordinate a simple marriage with the Justice of the Peace in
the LA county courthouse. Since Burt’s
mom died in ’96, and he hadn’t heard hide or hair from his father for decades,
it was just Shirley’s family on hand for the ceremony.
They bought
a house in Monterey Park. After the many
years of military service, Burt was just fine with transitioning to domestic
life. In fact, old friends were so
surprised to see him soften so much, they thought it was some kind of rib.
Flowers,
sweet notes, even serenades. And,
naturally, he sang Louis Armstrong songs.
Then there
was that sacred and special night, when he shared his beloved ‘Road Warrior’
movie. With popcorn and drinks in hand,
they watched as the title shot of the movie hit the television screen in iron
gray letters before the narrator provided the prologue.
Immediately,
she identified with Warrior Woman. Burt
smiled. And though she knew Wez was a
bad guy and enjoyed the company of men, she was still turned on by his sex
appeal.
She turned
to Burt. “Would you cut your hair into a
Mohawk if the world ended?” she teased.
“When you
and I are taking on the raiders of the wasteland at the end of the world, I’ll
do it,” he said.
They
kissed.
And when
Warrior Woman died, Shirley shed a tear.
“Would you
do me a favor?” asked Burt.
“Anything,”
replied Shirley.
She meant
it, too. And the cryptic way Burt asked
the question made her ready to do it.
“What do
you want, Burt?”
“I want you
to come with me to Culver City.”
“Culver
City? Why?”
“I want you
to come visit my mom with me.”
“Oh,” said
Shirley. She knew the circumstances, but
didn’t realize Burt had never visited her final resting place.
They pulled
into the cemetery on a cool September afternoon.
“Do you
even know where it is?”
“I have an
idea,” said Burt. “My Uncle Oscar told
me about where she’s located.”
Burt drove
to the back of the cemetery and parked the car.
They both got out of the car, and Shirley followed Burt’s lead.
They walked
up and down several rows of stone markers.
The names and the years they lived where haunting reminders of their
mortality. Though Shirley knew how
Marsha had died, she wondered how the others had passed on.
The both
couldn’t help but do the math in their heads as they saw the span of years
marked on the tombstones.
‘31.
‘55.
‘67.
‘80.
‘18.
‘22.
Some of the
names were classic, names not used in this day and age.
Agnes.
Franklin.
Eustis.
Agatha.
Obidiah.
Zibeon.
Ignacio.
After a
short walk, hand in hand, they found it.
Burt inhaled, a subtle gasp. It
was as if all these years he had denied her death. But the proof was now standing in front of
him.
The marker
read:
Marsha Leah
Scott
March 2,
1926 – August 24, 1997
Rest in
Peace
“I think my
Uncle Oscar did it for her,” said Burt.
“She didn’t have any other family.”
Shirley
nodded respectfully.
Burt just
stared at the stone.
The wind
picked up and gently caressed them.
Goosebumps rose on both their arms.
“You know,
sometimes I think she’s watching me,” said Burt. “Like when I’m not feeling good, or something
upsets me. Sometimes I feel this
embrace, like something hugging me I can’t see.
I think of her.”
Shirley
took his hand again. Burt accepted it,
and they stood together over the gravesite.
“You know,
I know it was a bad way to … the last time we spoke was … didn’t end well. And I always regret that. I was young.
I never thought she would die.
Not like she did. I should have
known better, though. But I didn’t.”
Burt knelt
by the grave.
“Mom, it’s
your son, Burt. I know you probably
can’t hear me, but I want you to know I’m still sorry. I still love you. And I miss you.”
Then he
stood up. “Shit. I don’t have any flowers or anything.”
“Wait just
a minute,” said Shirley, who took off trotting to several rows of cemetery
marks away. She bent down and plucked a
few plastic roses from a grave and returned to Burt.
Burt
chuckled. “Goddamn, Shirley,” he said,
smiling. “That’s why I married you.”
She handed
the flowers to Burt, who bent down to plant them in the ground near her
marker. The metal wires slid into the
ground with ease and he stood back up.
“This is
Shirley, mom. I found a girl after
all. She’s great,” said Burt.
“Hello, Ms.
Scott,” said Shirley, playing along.
“You’re son has told me a lot about you.
You raised a good son.”
Burt
smiled, bringing on a respectful silence.
He nodded his head, keeping himself together. Too much time had passed to make a scene, and
he found the closure he had waited so long for.
Shirley
felt Burt’s tension, and leaned in and gave him a hug. Burt held Shirley close.
He was
thankful for his mother, and even more thankful to have Shirley in his life.
“Don’t
peek.”
“I’m not
peeking.”
Burt
playfully held his hands over Shirley’s eyes as he guided her into the kitchen.
“Don’t
peek,” he said again. It was more of a
tease than an actual command. His smile
could be heard, as the words floating to Shirley’s ears were peppered with
enthusiasm.
“I’m not
peeking,” she repeated. Her voice became
light and joyful as her heart connected with Burt’s energy. She knew she must be somewhere near the
kitchen table.
Burt moved
his hands from her eyes. “Surprise,” he
said.
Shirley
looked at the table.
A single
rose stood tall in a slender glass vase.
At the foot of the vase was a heavy sealed tube and a bottle of L’Amour
Whiskey.
“Great,”
said Shirley with sarcasm. “I get a
bottle of whiskey with a rose and industrial sized paper towel tube?”
Burt let
out a hearty laugh. Shirley was
spunky. “Open it, you knucklehead.”
Shirley
reached for the tube. A bit surprised at
its weight, she opened it. Inside was a
long sheet of paper that was rolled up.
She pulled it from the tube.
“Shit,
‘Satchmo’,” she said with excitement, smiling.
“Is this what I think it is?”
“Well, see
for yourself,” said Burt, beaming.
Shirley
unrolled the paper, revealing it as a blueprint.
“Oh, my
fucking God, Burt,” she whispered before gasping. She put her hands to her smiling mouth. “It’s the blueprint for ‘Locked and Loaded’.”
“Happy
birthday, baby,” he said, reaching in to kiss her cheek.
“But, I
thought we didn’t have the money?”
“We’ve
always had the money. A little white
lie. I wanted to surprise you.”
“You big
jerk,” she said, punching Burt in the arm before taking him into an
embrace. “I love you so much.”
“I talked
to the bank. We’re completely
financed. My buddies have put together
the materials. ‘Locked and Loaded’ is
scheduled to open in three months from today.
Ground breaking is today at five.”
Shirley
smiled. Tears of joy fell down her
cheeks. “You’re the greatest, Burt,” she
said.
They
kissed.
FOLLOW THE CHAPTERS HERE!
Check out the 'We're Alive' podcast HERE...
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