Tag: Testament

TESTAMENT: Legacy By Peg Scarano

Word: Testament
Word Count: 496

Legacy
By Peg Scarano

My husband and I have differing opinions on the definition of the word legacy. It is very
important to him to leave our children and grandchildren substantial financial means and the
assets of our home and property when we leave this earth. This is all well and good, but I’d like
my legacy to be a good upbringing which provides my girls the means to be independent,
confident and capable of taking care of themselves and their families. They have already cashed
in my legacy.
Rocco was brought up in a household where food was plentiful and they never lacked for the
necessities of everyday living. However, he and his siblings missed out on a lot of the little joys
of childhood. No one ever had a bicycle, skates, games or needless toys. When his older twin
brothers outgrew their clothes, Rock got them. He doesn’t remember his mom buying him a new
shirt or sweater. They each received one present at Christmas. His parents rarely went out to
dinner or on vacation alone or as a family. Their house was built by his dad and it was a
masterpiece of love and devotion. He was well-brought up and knew right from wrong. He
learned to be frugal.
When both his parents passed, their legacy was the beloved home his dad had built and each of
the four children received a respectful financial inheritance.
My parents, on the other hand, spent money before they earned it. My mom tried to rein in my
dad because she paid the bills. She did a fair job, but I know she struggled. As children, my
brother and I each had our own bicycle, skates, sleds, toboggans and we shared a bushel of board
games and frivolous toys. Every fall we went school shopping for new clothes and Christmas
looked like Santa’s workshop under our tree.
My parents went on extravagant vacations and went out for dinner two or three nights a week
with or without their children. We always had a shiny new car. Our house was modest and well-
cared for, but not until after my dad played his 18 holes of golf. In the winter, he hired someone
to shovel our driveway and sidewalks.
My dad passed away first and I held the power of attorney for my mom. She was sick for nearly
a year before she died. They owned no property at the time and with my brother’s blessing, my
daughter took over their ten-year-old car. After all the bills were settled, I called my brother to
say, “I have good news and bad news. What do you want to hear first?” He opted for the good
news. “All the bills are paid and there is money left for us!” He commented, “What could be the
bad news?” I murmured, “We get to split $80.”
Our legacy was a true testament to my parent’s way of life and our upbringing – we didn’t need
their money.

TESTAMENT: Testament to the Truth B.A. Sarvey

Word: Testament
Word Count: 498

Testament to the Truth
B.A. Sarvey

I swore I would not give credence to this…this…thing…whatever you may call it. Nothing more
than a hoax, I said. A ghastly trick, designed to bilk the community of its money and its sense of
safety. What kind of man preys upon another’s fears? Who but a scoundrel places monetary gain
over his neighbor’s peace of mind? Exhibiting this hideous monster—he took great glee in
charging for a glimpse.
I saw it, yes. And I saw through it. And yet…even as I knew it for a fraud, I couldn’t help
wondering ‘what if?’ What if it were true?
After much consideration, I began my study of this thing. My research—methodical and
scientific—soon consumed my every waking moment and infiltrated my dreams, insinuating
itself into my life. Although my work had not been approved by the university, I carried it out,
anyway, under the guise of something more academically acceptable. After three years, my wife
left me. I barely noticed her absence, so engrossed had I become in my work, my clandestine
travel and investigation.
Under the precept that fiction often has basis in fact, I ferreted out the evidences, then attempted
to discount and disprove each. Some I could; others, I could not. For every fifty fictitious
sightings, I encountered one possible truth. Eventually, I collected a file as thick as my thumb of
events which, I felt, supported a very different truth from the one I had set out to establish. I
could not debunk the myth.
For years, I denied the creature’s existence. Skeptic though I was, I now am unequivocally
certain he, it, is real. At risk of my reputation, I gladly sign this testament: I saw it. I believe. My
encounter, in the wild, confirms its existence.
Do not mistake my intentions. I do not wish to validate the side-show freak introduced to us by a
money-grubbing showman. I say I encountered the genuine article. It lives among us now, as it
has, perhaps, since the last ice age.
If the showman played on people’s fears and their delight in being frightened, perhaps this was a
good thing. Perhaps it kept them away from the genuine creature, a truly monstrous beast,
capable of ripping a man limb from limb. But this is an unjust portrayal. Never have reports
substantiated a violent nature. More typically, the creature is apt to flee than fight, hide rather
than expose itself. We have little to fear. It is the beast’s safety that concerns me.
The beast. I hesitate to call it such, after devoting most of my life to studying it. I cannot leave
this earth without validating the worth of my research. To say I would gladly give up another
lifetime to this pursuit hardly says enough.
Before I die, I must go on record. Protect this noble beast in our midst. Heed my testament. Go to
the circus if you wish to see freaks. But to find the truth, go out into the world.

TESTAMENT: St. Jerome By Terry Rainey

Word: TESTAMENT
Word Count 496

St. Jerome
By Terry Rainey

On a cold, Lenten Saturday, OLPS faced St. Jerome in CYO basketball. It was my mother’s turn
to drive, so Martin walked to our house and we picked up Kevin Kepler. Both were staying the night.
Kevin was the 8 th of 12 kids, so it was always mayhem at their house. I knocked hesitantly, hoping
Mr. Kepler wouldn’t be the one to answer the door, but he did and said that Kevin was getting ready, and
take a seat. I took a seat. He asked who we were playing. When I told him, he said that St. Jerome
translated the Hebrew bible to Latin in the fourth century, but never accepted payment for his writings.
He told critics don’t look a gift horse in the mouth. In the 1500s, Mr. Kepler said James Tyndall was
burned at the stake for translating the bible into English. I never knew how to respond to Mr. Kepler, but,
thankfully, Kevin lurched in, and we escaped.
Kevin was our sixth man. Something crazy always happened when he played. Sparks flew. But
SisterX had suspended him for the Ash Wednesday bullseye on his forehead. Kevin quietly took the rap
for it, and didn’t squeal. Another example of his loyalty. Kevin could take a hit and keep on ticking.
He’d been slugged by his older brothers and father quite a bit, but he never complained. His father
quoted scripture when disciplining, so Kevin had collected bruises and Biblical knowledge.
In the car, wanting to cheer up Kevin and aware of Martin’s Old and New Testament ignorance, I
suggested playing bible trivia. We named our two favorite plagues: Martin chose locusts and lice, and I
took frogs and boils. Kevin preferred pestilence and slaying of the first born, perhaps thinking of his
brother Walter.
Then we said bible names that made us laugh. I started with Melchizedek and Ezekiel and
Habakkuk. Kevin came up with Leviticus, Hezekiah, and Ishmael. Then Martin added Samson, Medusa,
and Spiro Agnew.
Next was our favorite story. Moses, Kevin said. He lived to be 120, older than SisterX, and he
looked like Charlton Heston. Martin mentioned the Ax of the Apostles, which was used to chop off
Pharisees’ heads. I liked Solomon splitting a child, which we often invoked when dividing a Baby Ruth
bar. We chanted:
Matthew, Mark, Luke and John,
None of them work in the Pentagon.
We beat St. Jerome 29-22, but we played badly. We missed Kevin’s energy. That night, while
we watched Get Smart, I thought about Kevin taking the rap for me, about my sinfulness and my need to
repent. Sister Mary Xavier constantly reminded us that people suffered for our sins, and Lent gave us a
chance to atone. She urged us to attack sin with hammer and tongs, like little blacksmiths, our souls like
anvils.
But how complicated life seemed, considering all the centuries piled up, people being burned at
the stake, and horses’ mouths, not to mention Spiro Agnew.

TESTAMENT: Testament to the Truth B.A. Sarvey

Word: Testament
Word Count: 498

Testament to the Truth
B.A. Sarvey

I swore I would not give credence to this…this…thing…whatever you may call it. Nothing more
than a hoax, I said. A ghastly trick, designed to bilk the community of its money and its sense of
safety. What kind of man preys upon another’s fears? Who but a scoundrel places monetary gain
over his neighbor’s peace of mind? Exhibiting this hideous monster—he took great glee in
charging for a glimpse.
I saw it, yes. And I saw through it. And yet…even as I knew it for a fraud, I couldn’t help
wondering ‘what if?’ What if it were true?
After much consideration, I began my study of this thing. My research—methodical and
scientific—soon consumed my every waking moment and infiltrated my dreams, insinuating
itself into my life. Although my work had not been approved by the university, I carried it out,
anyway, under the guise of something more academically acceptable. After three years, my wife
left me. I barely noticed her absence, so engrossed had I become in my work, my clandestine
travel and investigation.
Under the precept that fiction often has basis in fact, I ferreted out the evidences, then attempted
to discount and disprove each. Some I could; others, I could not. For every fifty fictitious
sightings, I encountered one possible truth. Eventually, I collected a file as thick as my thumb of
events which, I felt, supported a very different truth from the one I had set out to establish. I
could not debunk the myth.
For years, I denied the creature’s existence. Skeptic though I was, I now am unequivocally
certain he, it, is real. At risk of my reputation, I gladly sign this testament: I saw it. I believe. My
encounter, in the wild, confirms its existence.
Do not mistake my intentions. I do not wish to validate the side-show freak introduced to us by a
money-grubbing showman. I say I encountered the genuine article. It lives among us now, as it
has, perhaps, since the last ice age.
If the showman played on people’s fears and their delight in being frightened, perhaps this was a
good thing. Perhaps it kept them away from the genuine creature, a truly monstrous beast,
capable of ripping a man limb from limb. But this is an unjust portrayal. Never have reports
substantiated a violent nature. More typically, the creature is apt to flee than fight, hide rather
than expose itself. We have little to fear. It is the beast’s safety that concerns me.
The beast. I hesitate to call it such, after devoting most of my life to studying it. I cannot leave
this earth without validating the worth of my research. To say I would gladly give up another
lifetime to this pursuit hardly says enough.
Before I die, I must go on record. Protect this noble beast in our midst. Heed my testament. Go to
the circus if you wish to see freaks. But to find the truth, go out into the world.

TESTAMENT: St. Jerome By Terry Rainey

Word: TESTAMENT
Word Count 496

St. Jerome
By Terry Rainey

On a cold, Lenten Saturday, OLPS faced St. Jerome in CYO basketball. It was my mother’s turn
to drive, so Martin walked to our house and we picked up Kevin Kepler. Both were staying the night.
Kevin was the 8 th of 12 kids, so it was always mayhem at their house. I knocked hesitantly, hoping
Mr. Kepler wouldn’t be the one to answer the door, but he did and said that Kevin was getting ready, and
take a seat. I took a seat. He asked who we were playing. When I told him, he said that St. Jerome
translated the Hebrew bible to Latin in the fourth century, but never accepted payment for his writings.
He told critics don’t look a gift horse in the mouth. In the 1500s, Mr. Kepler said James Tyndall was
burned at the stake for translating the bible into English. I never knew how to respond to Mr. Kepler, but,
thankfully, Kevin lurched in, and we escaped.
Kevin was our sixth man. Something crazy always happened when he played. Sparks flew. But
SisterX had suspended him for the Ash Wednesday bullseye on his forehead. Kevin quietly took the rap
for it, and didn’t squeal. Another example of his loyalty. Kevin could take a hit and keep on ticking.
He’d been slugged by his older brothers and father quite a bit, but he never complained. His father
quoted scripture when disciplining, so Kevin had collected bruises and Biblical knowledge.
In the car, wanting to cheer up Kevin and aware of Martin’s Old and New Testament ignorance, I
suggested playing bible trivia. We named our two favorite plagues: Martin chose locusts and lice, and I
took frogs and boils. Kevin preferred pestilence and slaying of the first born, perhaps thinking of his
brother Walter.
Then we said bible names that made us laugh. I started with Melchizedek and Ezekiel and
Habakkuk. Kevin came up with Leviticus, Hezekiah, and Ishmael. Then Martin added Samson, Medusa,
and Spiro Agnew.
Next was our favorite story. Moses, Kevin said. He lived to be 120, older than SisterX, and he
looked like Charlton Heston. Martin mentioned the Ax of the Apostles, which was used to chop off
Pharisees’ heads. I liked Solomon splitting a child, which we often invoked when dividing a Baby Ruth
bar. We chanted:
Matthew, Mark, Luke and John,
None of them work in the Pentagon.
We beat St. Jerome 29-22, but we played badly. We missed Kevin’s energy. That night, while
we watched Get Smart, I thought about Kevin taking the rap for me, about my sinfulness and my need to
repent. Sister Mary Xavier constantly reminded us that people suffered for our sins, and Lent gave us a
chance to atone. She urged us to attack sin with hammer and tongs, like little blacksmiths, our souls like
anvils.
But how complicated life seemed, considering all the centuries piled up, people being burned at
the stake, and horses’ mouths, not to mention Spiro Agnew.

TESTAMENT: Now You Know By Mike Cecconi

Word: Testament
Word count 500

Now You Know
By Mike Cecconi

You can always go back there, you know. To the place and time it feels like it all went wrong or,
anyway, where it feels like it could’ve all gone right but didn’t. That moment you’ve dwelt upon
for months years lifetimes, you can always go back. You know which one I’m talking about, the
instant to which all pasts led and from which all futures grow, everybody has at least one. Yeah,
that one. The one you’re thinking about now. You can always go there.
You’ve been back there, you know, hundreds of times already, you just don’t remember. That’s
your brain protecting you, forgetting how many times you’ve seen it all over again, so you don’t
go crazy, don’t go crazier, anyhow. You go back and relive it then your entire life back up to the
moment here you hear or read these words. A hell of a thing, this human mind, powerful enough
to unmoor and go back to any point in a life. Any point, sure, but usually just that one.
You can go back there in an instant, but you can’t do the same going forward again. You cannot
blink back into the now, you’re stuck taking the return journey the slow way, re-doing it all, joy
by joy, horror by horror, tedium by tedium, back to this time again. You can’t change anything,
of course, auto-pilot all the way, an amber of Einsteinian physics all the way until now again.
Time knocked an arrow called Entropy, you know, pulled a cord and launched it the moment the
lights came on. You get to ride Entropy’s arc for a little while and it’s a blessing to get to, but the
price is there aren’t do-overs. It’s a testament to universal elegance how the fundamental laws of
conservation and causality block paradox, you can relive every second but for creation to remain
consistent, you never get backsies. You can check out any time you like but there’s just one way
to leave, when Entropy finally calls your marker in.
That’s what deja-vus are, you know, the times you lapped yourself so often, you’ve beaten a skip
into reality itself. It can’t change anything, of course, at best it leaves a pop you may briefly note
then return to your groove-rut you’ve already carved into face of God Itself.
That’s what dreams are, you know, years of unwanted reruns between the moment you’d change
and now, your mind recoils and you see it sideways, a can of celluloid cut into individual frames
and dropped onto your head instead of projected in sequential order. Your dreams are just those
jumbled repeats seen as through a mirror dimly.
You can always go home again, you know, but when you get there, you’ll be stuck as who you
were before you left, and you’ll still become this you anyway, the long way around. So maybe
it’s best to just stop looking back and get on with it instead, you know?

TESTAMENT: TESTAMENT NAN RESSUE

Word: Testament
Word Count 495

TESTAMENT
NAN RESSUE

I’d been pretty nervous since the impressive looking legal envelope from Woolover and Petrie arrived in
the mailbox. My playboy Uncle Emerson’s last will and testament was being read to the heirs this
morning and I’m trying to brace myself for the unexpected. I wouldn’t be too happy about having a new
situation rip up my current arrangements because things are pretty smooth right now as single guy if you
know what I mean.
I whistled up a taxi from the curb in front of my apartment house and joined the traffic flow downtown
to where the family had already gathered by the time I got there.
Mr. Petrie approached the podium in the board room reserved for the occasion and cleared his throat for
attention. I knew he had been watching me out of the corner of his eye since I slid in the door, last to
arrive.
“Ladies and Gentlemen,” he began in a slightly tremulous voice. We will be reversing the usual process
of testament revelations and begin with the climax of the document due to complicating circumstances.
Scott, will you approach the podium?”
My imagination was racing at full speed. Was my attitude and expression of self-confidence enough to
cover my feelings? What was the old dog going to do to me from the Great Beyond?
“Scott, your Uncle Emerson has chosen you as the new owner of Clemson, his personal robot. He has
been reduced to storage size but his cubic dimensions multiply in the presence of natural light. Be
prepared for a high IQ, above average height and strength, and oh yes, an emotional side,” he added with
a smirk. “You better practice with the controls before you introduce him to your girlfriend.”
Two staffers approached me with a small black suitcase bound with metal straps and buckles and escorted
me out the door and down the corridor to the elevator.
“Good luck Man. You’re in for some interesting times,” they agreed as I stepped in the cage with my new
inheritance. The suitcase was beginning to vibrate and give off a humming sound.
With the sound effects increasing in volume, I quickly realized I had to get to a safe dark place to keep
my new companion under control. “Viola! A bank vault is just the place…
Taxi! Taxi We were soon in front of the New York City National Bank where I sprinted through the door
and down the stairs to the safe deposit department.
“Quick!” I panted>” I need to rent a drawer.”
The clerk mercifully believed my plea for speed and helped me scribble through the paper work and
throw open a deep drawer behind the vault door. Clemson’s prison, vibrating, humming, and beginning
to split, was thrown into the drawer and slammed shut just as a beam of sunlight filtered through the one
small window in the cellar department.
“Thanks a million Uncle Emerson” The last laugh isn’t going to be on me! ~”

TESTAMENT: A Star Falls To Earth By Josh McMullen

Word: Testament
Word Count : 496

A Star Falls To Earth
By Josh McMullen

Bobby sipped one more martini, slowly, letting the alcohol burn his insides like wildfire as he waved his
way off the stage. The phoniest of smiles was plastered on his face all the way to the dressing room, and
once he closed the door, it fell like an overcooked souffle.
He had once been on top of the world, when the world was a little bit simpler. All he had to do was step
in front of the microphone, and the ladies would start falling at his feet. His albums flew off the shelves,
and there were radio stations playing nothing but his music. The critics touted him as a testament to the
way music should be, as the money flowed like water.
The harsh lessons came quickly after he made it to the top of the world. The protesters came first,
demanding in their usual way that he stop this “music of the devil” and “corrupting their youth”. That
came as a shock to him, that no one would like his music. He shrugged the whole thing off and his
popularity rocketed further.
The gold diggers came next. He had lived fast and loose on his rise, using his baby-blue eyes and sultry
voice to his advantage many times over. Now, his reckless lifestyle had come home to roost, with an
endless barrage of illegitimate children leaving him in and out of court almost constantly. He won some,
he lost more, each taking their pound of flesh. He still had the voice, though; he would just continue
singing and let the music take care of it all.
Unfortunately for him, the numbers continued to mount well into middle age, to the point where the only
woman he ever truly loved finally sent him the harshest lesson of all. She left him on their 20th
anniversary, right after the banana flambe. Of course, she had to have her pound of flesh too, and she was
going to take even more than the gold diggers took, because she could take as much as she wanted from
wherever she wanted. She did just that, and left him on the brink of destitution.
Now, he was reduced to making a bare bones living in cheap hotels and cruise ships, singing for the
remnants of his younger, wilder days. He plastered on a counterfeit smile every night and soldiered
forward, singing until his voice went hoarse and beyond.
But now, he couldn't soldier any longer. He sipped his martini, every last drop burning like he had
swallowed five Zippo lighters. He had enjoyed the taste, and his last one had been the sweetest of all. He
grabbed the sleeping pills off the vanity, downing one, then another, and still another until even the action
of taking them to his mouth became too much.
His eyes slowly shut, knowing that no matter how much they applauded, there would be no encore.

TESTAMENT: Testament By Anne Nassar

Word: Testament
Word Count

Testament
By Anne Nassar

It took your breath, but not before it ate away your flesh. The time between when you first
discovered a weeping blister on your skin, and your death, was approximately two weeks.
During that interval, the sores would multiply and fester. Your fingers, toes and nose would turn
black and gangrenous. Blood would flow from your mouth and rectum until you went into shock.
Your release from the vile prison of your body would soon follow.
The exact mechanism of transmission was unknown. Or, if it was known, it was kept secret..
According to the Health Department, anyone exhibiting symptoms was required to report to the
nearest hospital, where they would receive treatment. But treatment, it was rumored, was a
syringe full of poison and a gurney ride to the furnace.There were no survivors.
There were, however, people who ought to have contracted the plague, who didn’t – people who
had nursed or copulated with or buried, victims.This gave rise to unreasoning hope and magical
thinking.Misinformation spread like wildfire. You were safe if you had had the chickenpox. You
were safe if you ate raw garlic. You were safe if you drank vodka. It was said that the immune
were aliens, transhuman, God’s chosen ones.
Those with immunity were subjected to capture and experimentation. They were murdered for
their blood, which was the main ingredient in an elixir that commanded a high price.
Those who would inherit the earth were obliged to hide themselves amongst the diseased.
When Marta woke, at dawn, to the sound of hammers and drills, she knew that the building had
been quarantined. The doors and windows were being sealed up, and everyone inside was
condemned. Out in the hallway, her neighbors were howling, screaming. But she felt calm.
Death had always been an option for her. She was relieved that the decision had been made for
her. Her phone still worked. She carefully proofread her African Diasporic Literature in America
paper – after all, it was her last testament – and submitted it, along with a brief note to the
professor, which read:I will unable to attend class, due to circumstances beyond my control.
Then, she called her friends, all three of them.
Hanna cried. Mike begged her to try and escape. Riyada’s number was no longer in service.
She took out the bottle of Codeine that she had been saving ever since her surgery. There were
ten pills in it – more than enough, she thought.
She brewed herself some mint tea. Just as the teapot whistled, a text came in. It was from
Professor Washburn.Marta, they did a shit job of trapping you – they forgot about the chimney.
1109 Sainsbury.

TESTAMENT: “Yes, Detective Evans Here.” By Sally Madison

Word: Testament
Words: 500

“Yes, Detective Evans Here.”
By Sally Madison

“Yes, then why does she think that this matter is for Scotland Yard?… Oh, I see.”
“Yes, Detective Evans here. No, that would be my father, Superintendent Martin Evans. He’s
retired. This is Detective Samuel Evans…. We’re a little short handed here today. I’ll take the
information down now, if you don’t mind.”
“You say that the jewels were in the safe, but no one has been to visit you since you put them
there two weeks ago, after the party.”
“Ok, but who did you speak directly to who would have had a close eye on them. Yes, Brown,
Wilson, Peterson, Robertson, Morgan, Smith, Stewart, Reid, and host, of course, Mrs. MacDugal.
No, of course not, I will get the full list from Mrs. MacDugal. Did any of them appear to be
overly interested in your jewels? And that was the last time you had them out of the safe? And
you say that you were at the theater, which day? And shopping, from 2:00 PM to 4:00 PM on
Tuesday and Wednesday, and a fitting on Friday at 5:00 PM, before you went to the theater.
Why did you look for them, today? I see, you are going back to Glasgow tonight? And you sent
for the Metropolitan Police just before you rang for tea, correct? And you have not left that room
at any other time, of course the powder room. Who did you have for guests, for tea perhaps?
Mrs. MacDugal, yes, as a return gesture. Mrs. Robertson, Mrs. Morgan, Mrs. Reed, Miss Smith,
anyone else? Well, if you should remember, please write it down and I’ll review it when we talk
again.”
“Who else was at the party, on Tuesday? And you say you were gone from 7:00 PM to 2:00
AM, correct? And when you returned, did everything appear to be as you left it? Of course, the
bed would have been turned down. Anything else you can think of?”
“Who was there, who would have seen you wear them? Of course, everyone. Did you notice
anyone who was especially interested in the jewels? Yes, and did she actually touch the earbobs?
Diamond and black pearls, you say… could you describe the jewels, please.”
“Please repeat that, I want to get this right. She was facing her husband, who was standing close
to her and facing you across the room, ogling over her husband’s shoulder. Turning green with
envy, you say…, can you think of another way of putting that, I don’t think I should reporting
that she’s a hussy, or trollop.”
“Were the jewels insured? Which company? How much? Whew! Ok, that makes it grand theft,
with a capital T.”
“You will need to sign the testament papers. I’ll write this up, and then be over in about an hour.
When do you leave for Glasgow? Ok, then, make that a half hour. When do you expect to be
back? That will be fine. I’ll wire you, if we need you back sooner.”