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
7E. “…far beneath
the bitter snow/lies the seed…”
A day after
she retired, Shirley told Burt like she promised herself she would a week
before. She made the promise to tell him
the day she returned from work after the shooting. Burt knew the reason she retired went deeper
than just the incident at Washington and La Brea. He had not seen the kind of pain that laced
her face since the day her ex-boyfriend had insulted her publicly at the
shooting competition.
Burt wanted
to know, but he respected her word.
In the
meantime, he showered her with love, alcohol, flowers, chocolates, alcohol,
special baths, foot rubs, more alcohol.
Anything he could provide to her as a loving husband, he did.
And with
every sweet gesture, a series of bitter tears fell from her eyes.
= =
= = = =
Some people
say bad news comes in threes. Shirley
and Burt could agree to that old saying if asked.
The second
bit of bad news was that the boy’s family was suing the county for the boy’s
death. Though the county had their
defenders, they advised Shirley to get one of her own. Mike as well.
Burt and
Shirley were not going to lose their business to finance the legal battle, so
they sold their house and moved into an apartment in Montebello near the store.
Then the
third bit of bad news arrived.
After
prompting by Shirley, Burt went for a check up.
Burt found
out he was pre-diabetic. It wasn’t as
serious as Shirley’s health issue, but it needed to be addressed. They were thankful to discover it, but it was
not what they wanted to hear at all.
The good
news was if he ate well and worked out, he wouldn’t have to be put on meds.
Burt
considered the facts.
Shirley
needed treatment. She needed
preparation, and did just that, both emotionally and spiritually.
Then, chemotherapy.
Then, more
chemotherapy.
Then, even
more chemotherapy.
Before
long, all Shirley could do was sit in a chair and watch TV. Burt was having to help her with many of her
most basic needs. But it didn’t matter
to him. He loved her. He would take care of her for as long as he
needed to.
One night,
after a particularly rough session of chemotherapy, Burt lay beside Shirley in bed. Her face had sunken, looking almost
skeletal. Her beauty was gone. Even the sparkle of her eyes had faded. He knew he would soon have to say goodbye,
even though he didn’t want to. Shirley
was living. But at the same time, she
was already dead.
“You don’t
have to lay here with me tonight, Burt,” she said. Every word was an effort. “It’s only six. I know you can still do things if you want
to.”
“This is
where I want to be,” he replied, sweetly.
Shirley
smiled. “Sweet ‘Satchmo’.”
“You’re not
going to suffer alone, beautiful,” said Burt.
“I’m going to go get a bag of Ho-Ho’s, Twinkies, powdered doughnuts,
just a bag of sugar and go into a diabetic coma with you.”
Shirley
laughed. It was a sad laugh, revealing
the depth of destruction the chemo had taken on her body and soul. Even the joyful effort of laughing was too
much for her, the same laugh that now danced in Burt’s dreams. Her mouth opened, her lips curled up, and a
slight sound resembling a laugh emanated like a muffled cry. Her stomach rose up and down as if trying to
laugh, to push enough air to make it happen.
But it was nothing more than just a remnant of her faltering humanity, a
clock whose gears were still turning, but whose hands were broken, losing
complete track of time.
“Don’t be a
dumbass, Burt,” she said. “No. You’re going to live.”
“I don’t
want to… live without you.”
Shirley
smiled. Her heart leapt, rattling what
was left of her soul with love. She
would have cried, but she was out of tears.
“But you’re
going to anyway, Burt. You are.” Her
skeletal hand reached for his. He took
it in his healthy hand. The once strong
hand of Shirley’s felt dead in his.
“I’ll be
dead without you anyway, Shirley. I’ll
have nothing. I’ll be a dead man walking
in the world of the living.”
“Burt,
you’re being melodramatic. Now stop…
stop it.”
Burt was
stressing her out. He could tell. He needed to calm her down, help her relax.
Her eye
finally found a tear and let it fall down her cheek. Burt wiped it away.
“Shirley, I
promise I will live my life when you leave.
I’ll take care of our store.”
“My store,”
she said, smiling. “You better, old
man. You need to live today, now. We’re alive, Burt. We’re alive.
All we have is now.”
“We are,”
said Burt. “We’re alive.”
“You know
what I want right now?” said Shirley.
“L’Amour
Whiskey and Pepsi?”
Shirley
smiled. “No, you old fool. You remember the first time we met?”
“At the gun
shop,” said Burt with a smile. He never
forgot that day.
“And I said
you sounded like Louie Armstrong.”
“I sound
like The Humungous,” he replied. His
eyes were watering as he recalled the day.
“I want you
to sing ‘What a Wonderful World’ to me.”
“I don’t
know all the words,” he said.
“I’ll sing
it with you,” she said, smiling.
Burt sighed. There was no way he could stop his tears from
falling into his beard. They raced down
his cheek into his whiskers.
Before he
could wipe them away, Shirley said, “ No!”
With
effort, she lifted her skeletal hand to his cheeks. With the slow grace of an angel, she wiped
them both away.
Now,” said
Shirley. “Stop being a pussy and sing
with me.”
Burt
chuckled through his tears. “Okay,” he
said.
Clearing
his voice, he held up a hand. He looked
into Shirley’s eyes. Neither of them had
to say a word in that sacred moment.
Their eyes said those three words humans long to hear, sending the
sentiment straight to their souls.
And with a
nod, Burt dropped his finger, starting the song together. Both of them could hear the music in their
heads. Their hearts were playing the
instruments. Their souls began to sing.
I see
trees of green….
That night, Shirley had a dream. It was a bad dream.
She woke up
crying.
“Shirley,”
said Burt, drowsy, but awake. “Shirley,
what’s wrong?” he said with concern.
“Hold me,
Burt,” she whimpered. She slowly raised
her skeletal arms into the air, waiting for Burt’s embrace.
Burt gently
pulled Shirley into his arms. He kissed
her forehead.
“What’s
wrong, Shirley Rae?” he whispered.
“I had a
dream I was covered in dirt. I couldn’t
breathe or move. But I climbed out into
the street. People were walking all
around me. They wouldn’t look at
me. They scared me. And then I saw you.”
She stopped
to wipe a tear away.
“You were
holding a rose, and you were walking to me, but we didn’t get any closer. I called to you, but I had no voice. You were pulling… pulling away. But I was, too. The people crowded around me and I couldn’t
see you anymore.”
Shirley
began to weep. “I just wanted to see you
again.”
Burt held
Shirley in his arms. His warmth melted
her cold.
“I don’t
want to go to sleep, Burt,” she whimpered.
“Please. I don’t want to go to
sleep.”
A week
later, Shirley Rae Scott died.
They played
‘What a Wonderful World’ at her burial.
=====
FOLLOW THE CHAPTERS HERE!
Check out the 'We're Alive' podcast HERE...
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