Francis the Fence Post
Francis was the corner fence post of a long barbed wire fence that surrounded a thousand-acre ranch, deep in central Texas. Francis was very proud to be a fence post, especially a corner post. He stood tall and enjoyed each day knowing that he, along with all the other fence posts, kept the property safe from intruders. Francis would spend his days watching the horizon, enjoying the sunshine, having fun with all the critters that would crawl on him as the days passed.
As the sun would set and the purples and pinks would illuminate the evening sky, Francis would always welcome the night with a smile; his life was as good a life as a fence post could ever want.
One day, the rancher came out with a crew of workers. From what Francis could understand, the rancher had bought the property next door and was putting up another barbed-wire fence. Francis was excited. More fence posts to help protect the rancher could only be a good thing.
The rancher began to dig a hole right next to Francis.
“Could this be true? Francis thought, “will I be getting another fence post right next to me? I’ve never been that close to another post. I can’t wait to meet them.”
As soon as the hole was finished, the rancher went over to his truck and pulled out a strange-looking block of wood. It was slightly gnarled and had several knots in it.
“What an odd post,” Francis thought to himself, but before he knew it, the new post was plopped down into post hole and barbed wire was wrapped around both Francis and the new post, tying them together. The rancher moved on down the line and continued building the new fence.
After a while, once the rancher was out of sight, the new post blinked and said, “Hi there, I’m Francene. I’m a butterfly. Who are you?”
Shocked, Francis replied “I’m Francis, Francis the fence post. Did you say that you are a butterfly? I think you are mistaken. We are all fence posts here protecting the rancher from intruders. It’s what we do here.”
“Good to meet you Francis. But I AM a butterfly. I am just waiting until I grow my wings,” Francene bubbled.
“What a weirdo,” Francis thought.
But they were stuck together and Francis knew that they both had to make sure the rancher was safe, so he decided to just tolerate this delusional fence post and continue doing what he was best at.
Time went on. Years passed. And Francis and Francene became friends. They both lived each day under the warm Texas sun watching the horizon, enjoying the sunshine and having fun with all the critters that would crawl all over them as the days passed. And as the sun would set and the purples and pinks would illuminate the evening sky, Francis would always welcome the night with a smile; his life was as good a life as a fence post could ever want.
After a long time, Francis began to notice that Francene was sinking into the ground. She was on unstable ground and couldn’t hold her side of the fence up.
Soon the rancher can back and stared long and hard at Francene. Francis was concerned. He had grown fond of Francene, despite her insectoid delusions. He had heard of these things happening before, fence posts who can’t hold up a fence get discarded and the rumors of what happened to them were horrifying.
Burned alive.
Mulched.
Left to rot.
These were just a few of the things that Francis had heard happened to discarded posts.
“This one’s got to go’” the rancher said, “It’s just not holding up.”
The rancher unwrapped the barbed wire that was tying Francis and Francene together and ripped her out of the ground. He picked her up and heaved her into the bed of his truck.
As Francene was flying in the air, she yelled back at Francis.
“Look Francis, I told you I was a butterfly! Look at me fly!”
And then she was gone.
“Let’s just tie the wire around this corner post,” the rancher said, “It’s been strong and sturdy since I first built this fence.” And the rancher wrapped the barbed wire around Francis and drove off.
Francis made out the words “Firewood For Sale” on the back of his truck as he sped away, kicking up rocks and a trail of dust that disappeared into the horizon.
Time went on. Years passed. Francis stood strong and held up the fence. He would spend his days watching the horizon, enjoying the sunshine and having fun with all the critters that would crawl on him as the days passed.
As the sun would set, Francis would always welcome the night with a smile; his life was as good a life as a fence post could ever want.
But it was a bit harder to hold up the fence now that Francene was gone.
One night, a storm came. Lightning crashed. Thunder boomed. The rain came down in buckets. The wind ripped through the trees and down the fence line. The fence swayed back and forth. Barbed wire snapped. A flash flood ripped through the land. Francis fought with all his might to hold the fence together, but the surge of the flood ripped Francis out of his post hole. The barbed wire wrapped around his head tore into him, ripping pieces out of him, leaving deep scars as it washed him away.
Francis was hurled into the flood and washed across the rocky hill country. He was dashed against rocks and smashed into trees as the unrelenting waters hurled him into oblivion.
Francis woke up and he was pinned between a tree and a turned-over shopping cart. He layed there, soaking wet, stuck, looking up at the sky, unable to move.
The sun came out and dried everything up. But because of how Francis was pinned, the left side of him didn’t get dried out. It stayed moist and began to rot.
Time went on. Francis layed there, unable to move. Slowly rotting. He watched as moss grew on him, slowly eating him away. No more critters would crawl on him. He couldn’t see the horizon and the trees blocked his view of the sunset. Francis couldn’t think of a worse life for a fence post.
He thought of Francene.
Francis closed his eyes and slipped into a deep sleep, knowing his life was all but over. He would die, stuck in between a shopping cart and a tree as the forest absorbed him.
Blam!
Blop!
Francis awoke.
Smack! A rock hit him in the face.
Crack! Another hit him.
Some kids were throwing rocks at him.
Blap! Another.
Again and again, rocks pelted him from this group of rowdy kids.
SMASH! A large stone hit him hard and dislodged him from between the shopping cart and the tree. Shouts of “Hooray!” could be heard from the group of kids as Francis tumbled down the hill and came to rest by the side of a highway.
“Great,” he thought, “Now I will definitely become firewood. It’s just a matter of time.”
He layed there for a while as cars whizzed by him, waiting for the inevitable.
Suddenly, a truck drove past him and then stopped a few feet up the road. A young woman jumped out of the back of the truck and began walking toward Francis.
“This is it,” Francis thought, “This is when I become firewood. A horrific death burning alive is what awaits me.”
Her callous hands wrapped around Francis and lifted him up in the air.
“This is exactly what I need for my collection,” she said, “a bit rotten, but still in good enough shape for what I need.”
She took Francis and put him in the back of her truck and drove away. The drove for a while and finally came to a stop at a small property off of the highway. She pulled him out of the truck and brought him into her shed behind the house. She put him on her workbench and began to skillfully carve out all of the rotting parts of Francis and began crafting him into some sort of object. It hurt a bit, but Francis was glad to have the rotting parts removed.
She worked for hours. Days passed. Weeks passed. She would come to the shed daily and carve pieces of Francis, slowly shaping him. Francis began looking forward to the sessions with the young lady. She was controlled with her tools and seemed to know what she was doing.
After months, she finally said back and exclaimed, “It is finished.”
She picked up Francis, newly carved, and walked him around the side of her house to the front porch.
Francis saw something he couldn’t believe. On her porch were dozens of fence posts that had been carved into various sculptures. There was a bear, a tree, a lizard and so many more. They were all so intricate and beautiful.
She set Francis down on a shelf on her front porch. He was overwhelmed by all of the pieces there and was so relieved to be standing up again.
She put him in the top corner of a shelf on the front porch and Francis couldn’t help but think of all those years that he was the corner post of the barbed-wire fence.
He looked to his left and saw and intricate butterfly carving. The detail on the wings were beautiful, so carefully crafted. But he couldn’t help but notice how it was slightly gnarled and had several knots in it.
Then he realized who it was.
“FRANCENE!” he yelled, “It’s me Francis!”
“Francis! Oh how I have missed you. But can you see? I finally grew my wings. I told you I was a butterfly.”
“I can see that. And what a beautiful butterfly you have become.” Francis said, “But what am I?”
“You are a lion Francis,” she said, “a great lion with a giant mane perched on a rock.”
“But to me you will always be a fence post.”
And they spent the rest of their days on the front porch, watching the horizon, enjoying the sunshine, having fun with all the critters that would crawl on them as the days passed. And as the sun would set and the purples and pinks would illuminate the evening sky, they would welcome the night with a smile; this was as good a life as fence posts could ever want.
THE END