A Hard Year's ______

A HARD YEAR'S _______________

by Chris McCoy

"Should we all confess our sins to one another, we would all laugh at one another for our lack of originality."
-Kahlil Gibran-

November 1st _______________:
The ______ are nothing more than ________ and ____________. I have __________my father and his _____________. I have________ my __________.
I ___________; the _____________ knows I did __________ I could to take care of this __________, this ____________.
____________ stopped sending _________ home, his last _________ telling us that he __________ his__________ after someone more ____________ than him took his ______________ for less _____________. He has enough ___________ to come ___________ and will be here next ____________.
What can _______ do ________________?
There is ___________ left to ____________, there is nothing left to __________ ___, there is nothing left to _______________ for.
Nothing but his ____________________.
I can't wait to _______________ my _______________again, regardless of how _______________ it seems _______________. We are _______________ of _______________ out _______________ ___________ towards _______________. _______________ can be found there, or so the _______________ _______________ in their last_______________to _______________. It may not be the type of _______________ I am use to but we will _______________.
We _______________to.
I _______________ for my _______________ and no matter how hard the _______________ has been, I will find a way to_______________their _______________.
It has been a hard year's_______________but the next _______________ will be _______________.
I will _______________ it that _______________.
For the love of my _______________, I will do _______________.

THE FARMER:

November 1st 1932:

The fields are nothing more than shadows and dust. I have failed my father and his father. I have failed my family.
I tried; the Good Lord knows I did everything I could to take care of this farm, this family.
Justin stopped sending money home, his last letter telling us that he lost his job after someone more qualified than him took his position for less pay. He has enough money to come home and will be here next week.
What can he do here?
There is nothing left to farm, there is nothing left to tend to, there is nothing left to care for.
Nothing but his family.
I can't wait to see my son again, regardless of how hopeless it seems here. We are talking of heading out west, towards California. Work can be found there, or so the Johnstons said in their last letter to Sharon. It may not be the type of work I am use to but we will manage.
We have to.
I live for my family and no matter how hard the year has been, I will find a way to ensure their prosperity.
It has been a hard year's harvest but the next year will be better.
I will make it that way.
For the love of my family, I will do anything.

THE WHORE:

November 1st 1960:

The Johns are nothing more than customers and a means-to-an-ends. I have fucked my father and his friends. I have screwed myself.
I don't care; the family knows I did this. I could to take care of this baby, this "mistake".
Jimmy stopped sending diapers home, his last phone call telling us that he lost his temper after someone more attractive than him took his wife for less bullshit. He has enough sense to come to me and will be here next week.
What can I do with this kid screaming?
There is no milk left to feed him, there is nothing left to pawn, there is nothing left to trade for.
Nothing but his mother's body.
I can't wait to sell my body again, regardless of how worn out it seems to Jimmy. We are running out of options out here, towards an end I don't want to think about. Sex can be found there, or so the Johns I fuck for their last bit of money told me. It may not be the type of whoring I am use to but we will survive.
We have to.
I fuck for my baby and no matter how hard the street has been, I will find a way to feed their mouths.
It has been a hard year's everything but the next payout will be worth it.
I will do it that way.
For the love of my baby, I will do anyone.

THE WIFE:

November 1st 2004:

The kids are nothing more than brats and ungrateful bastards. I have called my father and his wife. I have thrown my husband out.
I cried; the bastard knows I did everything I could to take care of this family, this fucking lie.
My husband stopped sending pay checks home, his last letter telling us that he had fucked his boss after someone more beautiful than me took his cock for less "whining". He has had enough of us, won't come back and will be here next Tuesday to get his things.
What can I do without a life of my own?
There is nothing left to say, there is nothing left to cry about, there is nothing left to be angry for.
Nothing but his promise to be my husband "til death do us part".
I can't wait to be my own woman again, regardless of how wrong it seems to just give him the kids and run. We are their parents, yes, out of responsibility; I'd rather head towards a divorce that is going to happen and get the hell out. But happiness can be found there, or so the optimistic part of me in their last bits of hope told me. It may not be the type of false hope I am use to but we will all find new beginnings.
We ought to.
I look out for myself and no matter how hard the divorce and this family has been, I will find a way to move on from their bullshit.
It has been a hard year's-long divorce but the next part of my life will be spectacular.
I will make it that much better.
For the love of myself, I will do the impossible.

GOD:

November 1st 2008:
The people I created are nothing more than hollow liars and hypocrites. I have been called "my father" and his "greatness". I have created my own undoing.
I grieve; the heavens know I did everything I could to take care of this world, this dream of peace and love.
The devout stopped sending prayers home, his last one telling us that he questioned his father's mercy after someone more wretched than him took his life for less than a handful of silver and lived to tell of it. He has enough piety to come back to life and will be here next Easter.
What can a Father do for his children?
There is only one thing left to do, there is nothing left to pray to, there is nothing left to atone for.
Nothing but his wrath shall undo that which has been done.
I can't wait to unleash my 40 day, 40 night flood again, regardless of how cliche it seems after Noah. We are destroyers of mortals out of touch with Divine Law, towards damnation they travel. Hellfire can be found there, or so the Good Book in their priests' last sermons told them. It may not be the type of brimstone preaching I am use to but we will make due.
We are God, we have to.
I give no mercy, no hesitation for my mandate and no matter how hard the last two thousand years have been, I will find a way to make their children repent.
It has been a hard year's rain but the next flood will be the best yet.
I will flood it that hard.
For the love of my dream, I will undo everything.

"All stories are the same. We just haven't filled in the blanks with all the words yet."
-A Drunk Literature Professor-