Sheree Shatsky

A Sign

He scrambled up the side of the billboard and gave the scaffold a good shake. Bolted secure to the back of the sign, he could see no evidence of rotten punky boards or loose hardware. Over his travels, he’d found these ancient Jesus is the Answer signs constructed to last one’s version of eternity. Later, he would jot down the location in the small notebook kept tucked in his pocket. “A moleskine, to write down what you see,” his granddaughter told him about five years back. Marcy, she’d be around eighteen now. He tapped the notebook kept close to his heart, her name and address inscribed as the “If Found” go-to person. Marcy, she’d especially enjoy this sign. The lean of the capital A carrying the weight of eternal salvation on its slant shoulder. A sort of Emily Dickinson nod to the deep south. 

A mosquito and a couple of her sisters decided his neck was worth exploring. He fished repellent out of his backpack and claimed this piece of heaven, his nose and mouth tucked deep inside the neck of his shirt. Even in God’s country, one can’t take a chance inhaling pesticides. Ninety minutes he had before the bug juice wore off. Time enough to set up camp off the scaffold, a tree hammock he’d zip himself inside and listen to the insects hit the bag all night. High enough to keep the bears from nosing around and the highway patrol as well. Divine intervention the sign wasn’t lit, prohibiting sightings by the law and wildlife and worse. At night, it’s a black hole, a shadow, there but not there. Like him, seen but not seen. Out here on the road where the high timber grows. Where prayers come into play.



Sheree Shatsky is the author of the novella-in-flash Summer 1969 (Ad Hoc Fiction 2023). Her writing and mixed media work has appeared in a variety of journals. Sheree writes “Shared Madness” at Substack.