Everand Logo

Welcome to Everand!

  • Discover millions of ebooks, audiobooks, and so much more with a free trial

    Only $11.99/month after trial. Cancel anytime.

    The Last Plank of the Pier
    The Last Plank of the Pier
    The Last Plank of the Pier
    Ebook103 pages1 hour

    The Last Plank of the Pier

    By R J Devland

    ()

    Read preview

    About this ebook

    Based on a true experience which occurred on a chilly, windy evening on a North Carolina fishing pier.  A real person, barely getting through the turmoil of life, found himself the victim of the actions of others.  At the end of his rope, believing all hope lost, he headed to the only childhood location his poor, deranged mind can drag out of the vast abyss of tragic memories.  Dustin must fight his way to the choice he designated as final.  God had another plan for him, should he decide to accept it. 

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherR J Devland
    Release dateFeb 7, 2020
    ISBN9781393888642
    The Last Plank of the Pier

    Read more from R J Devland

    Related to The Last Plank of the Pier

    Related ebooks

    Christian Fiction For You

    View More
    View More

    Related podcast episodes

    Related articles

    • Article

      Found At Sea

      Jan 28, 2020

      Found At Sea
      6 min read

    • Article

      A Brand-new ending

      Jan 29, 2022

      A Brand-new ending
      7 min read

    • Article

      Frangipani

      Oct 30, 2017

      Frangipani
      5 min read

    • Article

      Five Poems

      Sep 1, 2020

      Five Poems
      4 min read

    • Article

      All This Blood and Love

      Nov 22, 2017

      All This Blood and Love
      6 min read

    • Article

      How the Cicada Screams

      Dec 1, 2020

      How the Cicada Screams
      7 min read

    • Article

      Two Poems

      Sep 1, 2020

      defying gravity after all // isn’t the same as flying after all // are you thinking of hurting yourself isn’t the same as are you thinking // you might kill yourself // we must be confident being more direct // an X drawn in orange on a tree trunk on

      2 min read

    • Article

      Ponderation

      Mar 1, 2020

      THE WORLD slides away in great chunks. Literally, the ground beneath your feet—gone. There are four sinkholes in and around Wink, Texas, the most famous being the Wink Sink. No one knows how deep it goes, but in 2002, a lone diver tried to figure it

      9 min read

    • Article

      Five Poems

      Jul 1, 2018

      Without the adventof Stockholm Syndrome,how could I havelearned to love myself so much? I’m asking Godand New York, can anyonehelp me? (An all-but-audible “or else.”) The captain’s chair:it’s beginning to smella little too much like me. Again.But the

      4 min read

    • Article

      The Last Friend on Earth

      May 4, 2023

      It was as if Doreen Saunders had been waiting for me, passing the time until my arrival. She might as well have been sitting in a rocking chair, knitting needles clicking, jam tarts cooling on the side, the door wide open, waiting for the next visito

      6 min read

    • Article

      Any Given Day

      Mar 29, 2021

      Any Given Day
      11 min read

    • Article

      Five Poems

      Mar 1, 2022

      Five Poems
      5 min read

    • Article

      Fish Story

      May 21, 2019

      Fish Story
      13 min read

    • Article

      Named After the Animal

      Oct 13, 2020

      Named After the Animal
      18 min read

    • Article

      Light In The Dark

      Sep 20, 2021

      Light In The Dark
      9 min read

    • Article

      Swisher Sweets

      May 1, 2022

      Swisher Sweets
      17 min read

    • Article

      Gutbucket

      Feb 27, 2024

      Gutbucket
      18 min read

    • Article

      Concerning The Future Of Souls

      Mar 19, 2024

      As a toddler she had caused a sensation in her family when she announced she wanted to live in a little hole like the ant. Not an ant, the ant. This might have been misheard. She was an easygoing child, not particularly thoughtful and stubbornly inar

      13 min read

    • Article

      Three Poems

      Jan 1, 2020

      In class, I stared because of the blood going blue.The chalk that coated our fingerly teeth.The way we lapped each other (on the shorewhere the flowering). I gave away our location. Smacked my lips in the coat closet.Sucked at her teeth. We, on all e

      4 min read

    • Article

      Four Poems

      Nov 1, 2022

      Day after Thanksgiving. I give thanks for Eveto beat the rush of appreciating hernext year and let her sleep inuntil three hundred o’clock.Thank you light on the mountainfor being my star on cloudy nights.Thank you all the guns I’ve never ownedand ki

      6 min read

    • Article

      Editor’s Note

      Jun 24, 2019

      I immediately sensed something was wrong. I could hear him shouting at me from 100 metres away. His significant frame blocked out the dipping sunset, muscular forearms more suited to a lock forward than a paddle skier, furiously beating the paddle gr

      2 min read

    • Article

      On Death Row, There's No Such Thing As Closure

      Aug 2, 2019

      It is August of the year 2000, and I am cold. I know the sun is shining outside, but there are no windows in the courtroom. The lighting is subdued, darker in the back where spectators sit and lighter in the front where tragedies play out—like a the

      5 min read

    • Article

      Inspired By...

      May 19, 2021

      My favourite thing about this time of year is… The cold. I love winter and feel like a fish out of water in the summer. Must be my Scandi genes. Sadly, it doesn’t get cold enough here for my liking. Life is too short for… Listening to people talk a

      2 min read

    • Article

      On One’s Land

      Sep 3, 2020

      On One’s Land
      5 min read

    • Article

      The Final Truth

      Jan 21, 2020

      The Final Truth
      5 min read

    Related categories

    Reviews for The Last Plank of the Pier

    0 ratings

    0 ratings0 reviews

    What did you think?

    Tap to rate

    Review must be at least 10 words

      Book preview

      The Last Plank of the Pier - R J Devland

      Prologue

      BASED ON A TRUE EXPERIENCE which occurred during 2006 on a chilly, windy evening on a North Carolina fishing pier, this riveting story will leave you revived in the Spirit.  Your emotions will dive and soar as you witness Dustin's messed-up life.  This story is a must-read.  It could be a life-saver.  Get out your tissue, get your favorite beverage and some snacks, because you won't stop reading this until the last word.

      Tears, repentance and redemption marked the seriousness of this event.  The subject of the experience later became a preacher, emboldened by his midnight chance meeting with someone called by God to meet him at the end of the pier and hear his story.  The content herein is fiction, except for beginning and the end.

      Be anxious for nothing, but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known unto God.  And the peace of God, which passes all understanding, shall keep your hearts and minds through Christ Jesus.

      Philippians 4:6-7

      Chapter 1

      I am not the happiest man on the earth.

      I AM STEPPING ONTO the gangplank that leads to the pier.  Everything closed over an hour ago.  All is quiet and I am safe.  The wind has greeted me with deep sorrow, blowing against me as if to keep me from entering its grasp.  This wooden haven of family fun has another face, another purpose.  At night, it bleeds out into a grim tale of horror.  People catch fish with joy, but the fish who became entangled in the endless web of line and hook experiences no joy, only pain and suffering.  I am like those fish, minding their own business until the fateful day when fate calls their number.  Their number comes up for a near miss, a short snag and quick escape, or a snug, deep jab as the mouth closes in on a cheap meal.  The hook dangled, tempting the unsuspecting fish into believing a lie, one which will certainly be his last attempt to fill his belly.  I fell for it, hook, line and sinker.  I am like so many of the fish who were caught and eaten, caught and dried so cruelly, or injured and thrown back into the deep only to die a painful death from the shock of it all.  I can relate to them as one of them.  Now I must follow those who braved the temptation to obtain their cheap meal.  Their demise, advertised as fun, has lured me to experiment with their fate.  I studied them for the wealth of their existence.  I am now one with them.  I will now join them.

      Dustin stared into the darkness of the Atlantic.  He thought of the famous name given to ocean area along the coast of North Carolina.  There was a deadly reason someone gave it the name, the Graveyard of the Atlantic.  He thought about the terror of the sound of that name.  The more he dwelt on the name, the more he shuttered at the mere thoughts of the fish thrown back in.  He couldn’t think in terms of humans, only fish.  He wanted to distance himself from the deed he committed to only a few days ago.  No one feels sorry for the fish when mangled and tossed back in, without a name, a family citation or eulogy.  They are expendable.  He questioned the origin of the name given to the sometimes violent waters in front of him.  The origin found substance in the involuntary tragedy of the loss of life of the mariners, many times during feats of heroic rescues where one brave soul saved many desperate seafarers attempting to remain alive.  He determined for himself that the origin found its basis in the loss of life, period.  Voluntary as well as involuntary. 

      He placed his left foot on the first plank of the main structure of the pier.  He froze.  The wind wasn’t cold enough to freeze his foot, so why did his foot not move?  He saw a vision of his childhood classroom as clearly as if he were there in real time.  His first grade classroom, decked out with the drawings of Christmas trees, wreaths, mangers and other holiday related elements caused a shudder to rattle his very being.  Then as he steadied himself, his demeanor changed.

      He smiled the very moment he saw his drawings.  His name, scribbled in large letters at the paper’s top, proclaimed a big problem in the making.  He focused on the name and the content, examining each line and curve.  It more resembled the drawing of a two-year old, not that of a seven-year old.  He realized, within his flawed opinion of himself, his life began impaired at birth.

      In this vivid memory, as he scanned left to another drawing,  a loud voice rang out, Hey fatso, think you can get through the door?  You need a diet

      You know I can!  The young Dustin responded. Why don’t you bring your face over here so I can rearrange it for you?  He remembered the altercation as if it just happened.

      The insults never stopped.  The sadness never ceased.  The anger seethed.  The fighting became more violent.  Dustin lived it alone, far from his family’s open ears. Day after day, the kids piled it on.  His left foot remained frozen at the first plank of the pier. 

      "My grandpa gave my Dad a classic name, Homer.  He said he gave it in order to add an element of philosophy to his life.  He also wanted my dad to engage others when asked about his name.  Of course, my dad being a chip off the old block, always responded, ‘my dad gave me my name.  You can take it up with him, if you can find him.’  That seems to drum up more conversation about where to find my grandpa, only Dad will tell you, ‘heaven!  He’s in heaven.  You going?  Like I said, if you can find him!’

      "My dad is like that.  He loves engaging challenge.  He thought he taught me that quality, but I’m a chicken.  I can’t bear the thought of confrontation.  I hate.  Hate has filled me up.  I hate that I am not tall enough to excel at basketball.  I hate that I don’t look good enough to snatch the pretty girl.  I hate that I stumble sometimes when I get nervous and have to talk.  Boy, I am miserable.  I hate being miserable.  I hate that when I talk, no one pays me any attention.  I hate it when people look the other way.  I want to be invisible.  I don’t want people to see me.  I hate people staring at me.  I hate being unimportant.  I dislike the times when someone feels forced to say something to me.  Mostly when they do, they look the other way as if trying to see someone else to run to.  I hate life.  Just plain hate it.  I have no excuse.  I admit it.  I just plain hate everything about life.  I am over it, even resigned to the fact.  I am not happy.  I don’t remember when I stopped the joy thing that my dad rammed down my being.  I am not able to remember possessing any level of joy, smiles, happiness or any other word that resembles them.  Except maybe, the first few days of school, before those guys set up their wicked plan to demean and torture me for the next twelve years.

      "People don’t throw chickens back.  They throw fish back. Why?  I have often wondered why.  Once a chicken is on the slaughter line, he dies.  Pity the one who dies in vain.  A chicken must have a fighting chance to survive, to make a decision for himself.  But that’s the problem with being a human.  It’s actually a flaw.  We shouldn’t have the choice of life in our hands.  That power should only reside

      Enjoying the preview?
      Page 1 of 1