under the big black sun: a fable
In the aftermath of the slash-ridden removal of the Reverend Doctor Sarah from this earthly world, due horror came upon the citizens.
The day of her disappearance was a bright and sunny delight, remarkable for its absence of typical summer haze, disrupted only by the unusual and numerous reports on car radios about the city. The discovery of the beloved minister's abduction came from signs in the church courtyard not initially divulged to the public. Her automobile (donated by a local dealer ((mentioned by name in the reports)) for her well-reported good deeds) was described and the license number repeated often. The off-duty contingent of all public services was wakened from sleep and dispatched. Everyone listening to the broadcasts was commandeered to take part in the search; phone calls buzzed between morningchore households, and later, in the evening, after the alerts had faltered but no news officially released, lawnmowers were silenced for conversations between neighbors on driveways, some for the first time. Friendships were made.
The 5 o clock television newscasts carried suspect overtones in that nothing was revealed other than the same skeletal facts repeated all day—but now the authorities were no longer appealing for help. Some conjectured a coverup. Then, at the end of the broadcast, on one channel only, a flushed reporter appeared with a word on the tragedy.
Kelly stood clutching the microphone, her hair slightly askew but stiff as if tousled and then sprayed that way, and announced a development in the case; the Reverend Sarah had been found, and the word "homicide" now applied. A moment of visible anguish followed.
Now here is Dan Rather with the national news, and our reporter will be back in thirty minutes for an exclusive interview with the man who amazingly located the Reverend's remains.
Relief, shock and anger rolled across the city and supper was eaten. In upper city hall rooms the groundwork for a committee was being laid. An impassioned late editorial argued some public ediface would have to be named (or re-named) for the fallen figure.
