(WHNWC) Stains of Georgia Clay

It's been said that wet Georgia clay could stain even the blackest heart of the Devil himself. I believe that to be true since I've been scrubbing it out of my hands at the washsink my whole life.
Everyone in my hometown of Elberton, Georgia thinks I'm a rather peculiar lady. Hell, they might be right. Not many sane people carry a silver box around their neck for twenty-five years.
I try to avoid my back door as much as possible. It has one of the best views of the Georgia Guidestones in the whole county. People 'round these parts call it "The Rock" but I refer to it as my burden.
I wasn't always this irregular. It all started when he came to town during the bloom of my youth. Let's see.....I reckon I was just shy of eighteen years old at that time.....working at my Daddy's granite shop. We mainly made tombstones, plaques and such.

Until he came to town.

Back then, we were on the cusp of the 80's but this small town may as well have been perpetually stuck in the 60's. A small southern town with small southern minds to fill it.

Yes sir, he caused quite a stir when his black Lincoln slithered up Oliver Street slowly.

I don't know if I can write about this.....it's too painful and the memories puncture me. The knowledge I've carried all these years......well, it's been my cross to bear. Sometimes, out of sheer nervousness, my fingers instinctively clutch the silver box around my neck. The contents fill me with such guilt.
Back to my story......
I remember the tinkle of the bell above the front door of Daddy's shop when he walked in. That sound resonates with me as the exact moment I realized I was a woman.....not a girl any longer. Undoubtedly, I would say that his eyes are what I remember the most about Mr. R.C. Christian. Something akin to a predator that I wanted to share a cage with.
He walked in with the president of our local bank. After introductions had been made to Daddy, Mr. Christian finally spoke to me as they adjourned to the back office. He looked me directly in the eye and said, "Yes, such a pure girl." At the time, I didn't understand the true meaning of his words.

Unfortunately, I do now.

That day, Mr. Christian commissioned Daddy to build something.....big....out of thermal lanced granite. Seeing as how Elberton was, and still is, the granite capital of the United States, he came to the right place. His monument would be erected on a high hill on the outskirts of town and also have extremely odd inscriptions upon it in different languages. Construction began immediately.
Mr. Christian came into the office often to oversee the process. Not long after, I accepted his invitation one evening to view the granite slabs at the site.

I also accepted his invitation to lay upon the slabs and surrender to my unending, consuming desire for Mr. Christian. Yes, many times I met Mr. Christian under that Georgia moon to run my hands over the cool granite and grip it under his weight. I released my will to him as though I never had one.

He told me things. He told me things a young girl who twirls her black hair around her finger could not comprehend. He told me things pertaining to the words sunk into the granite.....

About.....about awful events to occur worldwide......awful events not natural or by the hand of the Almighty.
After a while, construction was complete and Mr. Christian made my Daddy a rich man. My Mr. Christian told me of his departure one night as his finger traced my breast. I was both crushed and relieved. It was like being released from the mental and physical grip of a beautiful monster.
That's the night he gave me the box. He instructed me what it contained and when to open it.
I sit here this 1st day of January, 2007 with no husband and no children. This is of my own choice due to the knowledge imparted to me by Mr. R.C. Christian under those swaying Georgia pines.
So, I have chosen to stay in Elberton and view the stones high on the hill as penance for having such knowledge and succumbing to the power of pure evil.

I'm going to open the box today.....a full five years earlier than I should.

Twenty-five years have passed since I have seen the single, slightly pink pill inside the lined, silver box. This pill, taken in five years on a date and time certain, shall spare me death. Others who are not.....as pure.....shall be reaped. A new society shall be born and the inscriptions on the Georgia Guidestones will no longer hold mystery.
The box is open. I open the screen door and gaze at the distant monument. The clay is wet today. I drop the pill upon the clay and crush it beneath my bare feet. The pink, powdery rivulets sink and vanish.

Yes, it is true, Georgia clay can stain anything.

Your story is a great example of how to weave a fascinating tale from obscure subject matter. Before reading this, I'd never even heard of the Georgia Guidestones. Now, whenever anyone mentions them again, I will always associate this perplexing monument with your dark, apocalyptic tale. Nice work.



[edit on 19-12-2006 by Flatwoods]

Really, really good.

Touched me and held me. Thanks.

I dig this description:

"a predator that I wanted to share a cage with."

A feeling many can relate to...well done!