"I'll admit it! It was me!" he cried. Snot ran down his lips and bathed the peas on his plate. He was afraid of what was to come next; but it's not like everyone didn't already know. They just wanted to know how he killed them all.
"I killed all of them." he snorted, attempting to gather his thoughts. "I did it right here in this house, in this very room! I-I.... I killed them with frozen meat. I would keep ham or pork shoulders or whatever in the refrigerator and freeze it. Then, I invited them to dinner. While they were too busy making small talk, I snuck up on them bludgoened them to death." He released the air he had held in his chest. He pushed himself further, hoping to find that cathartic moment at the end that would rid his body of guilt. "I never even had to hide the evidence. Heh. I just ate it. I just had to cook whatever it is I used and there would be nothing to pin the crime on me!"
He chuckled lightly and looked at his guests; but all across the table there were only surprised faces, frozen in the moment where he first began his confession. His sister was the first one to speak.
"We... We all came here to discuss your recent weight gain..."
Tuesday, July 21, 2009
Thursday, June 18, 2009
On the subject of shoes
She told me my feet are cold. Of course they are cold. Many years ago, they had their hearts broken. They had fallen in love with a pair of shoes. Slip-ons, to be exact. My feet could only tolerate shoes that required tie-ing of any sort. Manual manipulation from the higher ups just to get together? My feet weren't up for that. These slip-ons though, they were the kind of shoes that only fit on the right feet, and my god did my feet feel they were those feet. They stayed together for several years, rarely ever separate from each other. Of course, my feet and these shoes could not go everywhere together; certain occasions called for certain attire, and these slip-ons simply could not come to these gatherings. During those times, my feet longed for the delicate comfort of those slip-ons. Shoes don't last forever, of course, and there came a point in time where these slip-ons, so ragged and dirty with use, could stay no longer. I tossed them away, to the silent chagrin of my feet. Their toes curled close, the heels weighed heavy on the ground and caused my entire body to ache when I walked. Of course my feet are cold, I told her then. I haven't worn socks in forever.
Tuesday, May 12, 2009
A Couple of Poems
Drown
a moment of your life is all it takes
for the warm pressure to push so softly,
engulf you completely
the voices drown out
no matter what they have to say
you know the truth
“all is right and well
all is beauty and all is divine
when you can only look up”
perfect pressure
keep it down, keep it calm
taste the new world, plus’s, minus’s
sparks fly, enjoy the quiet fireworks
and seismic caresses; let it go, flow, float
you might just be born again...
Ask
you ask for a little
and you will get a little
you give it your all
but that don’t mean shit
I never got that one down
I always hear but never listen
always listen but never learn
teach me something new, baby
show me how I’ve never lived
tell me what the walls have said
the ones I never paid attention to
make my life a goddamn lie
pucker up, break the fourth wall
break down every single wall
I only ask for a little
but please baby, don’t give me a little
because I’m gonna give you my all
a moment of your life is all it takes
for the warm pressure to push so softly,
engulf you completely
the voices drown out
no matter what they have to say
you know the truth
“all is right and well
all is beauty and all is divine
when you can only look up”
perfect pressure
keep it down, keep it calm
taste the new world, plus’s, minus’s
sparks fly, enjoy the quiet fireworks
and seismic caresses; let it go, flow, float
you might just be born again...
Ask
you ask for a little
and you will get a little
you give it your all
but that don’t mean shit
I never got that one down
I always hear but never listen
always listen but never learn
teach me something new, baby
show me how I’ve never lived
tell me what the walls have said
the ones I never paid attention to
make my life a goddamn lie
pucker up, break the fourth wall
break down every single wall
I only ask for a little
but please baby, don’t give me a little
because I’m gonna give you my all
Wednesday, April 22, 2009
A Hunger For More...
Atop a mountain lives a chef reknown for his meals and what they mean to the world around him. Some say he is an artist, coming down his mountain cottage only to pick the finest of ingredients for his next masterpiece. Other believe him to be a professor of foods, a modern chemist who spends his time in his kitchen experimenting with his next perfect creation. Wiser men can understand that he is nothing so boorish.
Legend has it that during times of strife, he cooked the sadness in his heart into a goulash that brought the warring kings to their knees...
Legend has it that during times of strife, he cooked the sadness in his heart into a goulash that brought the warring kings to their knees...
Monday, April 6, 2009
Negative, No Matter What Type
I woke up to a beeping, steady like the sound of medical equipment engaged to keep me alive. Probably because that’s exactly what that beeping is.
She was sitting at the end of my bed, her face both tearful and furious at fragile body that faced her. My feet were cold, and I was going to ask her if she could stretch the blanket over them; but she seemed like she had something to say. We ended up staring at each other for a minute or two, and I was going to take incentive to break the silence but…
“Why are you being such a fucking retard?” she cried. I can’t help but wonder how many times someone has had that told to them the first time they wake up in a hospital bed. “We told you to stop donating blood already, and you promised that you would. You promised!”
“There’s no evidence that I – “ and then she held up a bunch of different ID’s with my face on them. Fuck.
“You’ve been pretending to be other people. So you can donate blood. Do you have any idea how fucking twisted that is?”
“People have done stranger things.”
“YOU PROMISED!” she stamped the ground, tossing the cards at me. This really was a little too dramatic; a little hammy if she weren’t so sincere. Of course, she had the right to be. Most people don’t consider theatrics when it comes to offing themselves. Or irony. Symbolism.
Jumping off a building or blowing brains up is easy. That doesn’t stay with people, though.
“Did you ever consider I’m doing this for the children?”
With that, the nurse stepped into my room to hand me some papers; timed just soon enough to prevent a possible ass whopping nearing second-degree murder. It was a brief interjection, but long enough for a cool down period to begin. I looked at my papers and audibly chuckled.
“It says the blood that I received was from Robert Madelyn.”
“What? Is that one of your secret identities?” she scoffed.
“No, but I did talk to him a little last time I donated…”
She was sitting at the end of my bed, her face both tearful and furious at fragile body that faced her. My feet were cold, and I was going to ask her if she could stretch the blanket over them; but she seemed like she had something to say. We ended up staring at each other for a minute or two, and I was going to take incentive to break the silence but…
“Why are you being such a fucking retard?” she cried. I can’t help but wonder how many times someone has had that told to them the first time they wake up in a hospital bed. “We told you to stop donating blood already, and you promised that you would. You promised!”
“There’s no evidence that I – “ and then she held up a bunch of different ID’s with my face on them. Fuck.
“You’ve been pretending to be other people. So you can donate blood. Do you have any idea how fucking twisted that is?”
“People have done stranger things.”
“YOU PROMISED!” she stamped the ground, tossing the cards at me. This really was a little too dramatic; a little hammy if she weren’t so sincere. Of course, she had the right to be. Most people don’t consider theatrics when it comes to offing themselves. Or irony. Symbolism.
Jumping off a building or blowing brains up is easy. That doesn’t stay with people, though.
“Did you ever consider I’m doing this for the children?”
With that, the nurse stepped into my room to hand me some papers; timed just soon enough to prevent a possible ass whopping nearing second-degree murder. It was a brief interjection, but long enough for a cool down period to begin. I looked at my papers and audibly chuckled.
“It says the blood that I received was from Robert Madelyn.”
“What? Is that one of your secret identities?” she scoffed.
“No, but I did talk to him a little last time I donated…”
Friday, March 13, 2009
The Tetris Queen
They waited for her; the Tetris Queen. Fabled for her impeccable reflexes, her excellent timing. Hers was a talent not unlike those of a child prodigy, as if she were born with those blocks around her. The boys that coveted her title also feared her skill; ridiculous fears based on the prowess of a harmless game. Yes, they all anticipated her arrival like that of true sovereignty. And she did arrive to her subjects.
But this time was so very different from the others. There was no game face. There was no competition in her eyes. There was no was no ferocity in her gait. Hers was a soft stride into a building half cheering at her entrance, the other half confused by her new gentle manner.
Regardless of what they may feel, the game began. Machines lined several rows, all occupied by the boys who scrambled to make the pieces fit. She did not. She held the joystick in one hand, other hand ran smooth circles around the button with a finger; but she never moved a single block. So many watched in horror as blocks fell uncontrolled, unaffected, never forming their straight lines. And they all asked why...
Why not? It ends the same way; I thought I'd try something new.
But this time was so very different from the others. There was no game face. There was no competition in her eyes. There was no was no ferocity in her gait. Hers was a soft stride into a building half cheering at her entrance, the other half confused by her new gentle manner.
Regardless of what they may feel, the game began. Machines lined several rows, all occupied by the boys who scrambled to make the pieces fit. She did not. She held the joystick in one hand, other hand ran smooth circles around the button with a finger; but she never moved a single block. So many watched in horror as blocks fell uncontrolled, unaffected, never forming their straight lines. And they all asked why...
Why not? It ends the same way; I thought I'd try something new.
Thursday, February 26, 2009
Jacks of Hearts
As I listened to him rattle on, I couldn’t help to want to call him out on his several inaccuracies; on the countless opportunities that I watched him squander day in and day out. A nagging filibuster of could be and what was. At this point, even his surroundings matched the subtle hints in his voice; betrayed the idea that he was a step below not fixing it if it isn’t broken. The napkins curled up onto themselves quietly on the floor, but the socks grew cold to him and some of the blinds at the window even turned their backs at the fact: if it doesn’t bother him, why change it?
Of course this was my lifestyle too. If I had issue with such self-apathy I would have demanded he clean the dishes days ago, but then he would have to call me out on my bullshit too. Let me know how I’ve been perfectly content to sleep with a ghost every night; the one who assures me that she isn’t there to assure me. Not because I’m traveling the road less taken. Real salty motherfuckers take that road, and people follow them to heaven and hell, or so I’ve been told. No, it’s because I took the road less looked up to; and as humbling an experience as any other may be it sure doesn’t provide for many campfire stories. She's a sweetheart when I make her that way.
Abandonment is something we’ve come to cultivate. We’ll choke down the preachings if only to live in theory for just one more day. Two jacks leaning on each other in the wake of a fallen card pyramid and we do what we can to keep on staring down; because once we get a little eye contact, we’re dropping just like the rest of them.
Of course this was my lifestyle too. If I had issue with such self-apathy I would have demanded he clean the dishes days ago, but then he would have to call me out on my bullshit too. Let me know how I’ve been perfectly content to sleep with a ghost every night; the one who assures me that she isn’t there to assure me. Not because I’m traveling the road less taken. Real salty motherfuckers take that road, and people follow them to heaven and hell, or so I’ve been told. No, it’s because I took the road less looked up to; and as humbling an experience as any other may be it sure doesn’t provide for many campfire stories. She's a sweetheart when I make her that way.
Abandonment is something we’ve come to cultivate. We’ll choke down the preachings if only to live in theory for just one more day. Two jacks leaning on each other in the wake of a fallen card pyramid and we do what we can to keep on staring down; because once we get a little eye contact, we’re dropping just like the rest of them.
Saturday, February 21, 2009
The Fridge
His back began to hurt after a while and the cramped area was beginning to bother him. Mike had sat in there, knees pressed firmly into his chest for nearly half an hour. He desperately wanted to uncross his legs, as there scraping against each other was starting to irritate him; but there simply was not enough space to finish that. He tapped his toes to a beat on the wall before him, though he barely felt any heat generate from that.
“Should have worn some fucking socks.”
Only for a little while could he justify his actions through positive thinking. How sitting inside this refrigerator had supplied him with untold knowledge that may serve him well at a later date. Such as the light bulb: It was certainly turned off at the moment, so he had no worries about running up a ridiculous electric bill thanks to any sort of faulty wiring on the part of the manufacturer. He also had a deep understanding of just how space he was working with. Why it managed to fit the whole of his body with just minimal cramping. Say a week from now, his roommate was to die of unknown causes; and at the very moment there would be a police officer walking door to door for random inspections. He could stuff the body inside the refrigerator and save himself an awkward situation of suspected murder.
Of course, it made no sense that an officer would walk from door to door inspecting houses. That would be an invasion of privacy, and Mike was certain that he was protected from those kinds of situations. And even if the officer was allowed to come in and have a look, the refrigerator is an awful place to stuff a body into. Even if it was not under suspicion, one would like a sandwich and they are not going to find any ham and cheese on the counters.
This all only made sense to him while he was not considering the fact that he was still sitting inside a refrigerator, but it did not last long. Acute darkness and fairly limited space can only be lasted for so long by the undisciplined. Though he opened the fridge a creak to let in some air, suddenly the oxygen was feeling so shallow; and the heat that snuck in and ran its invisible digits down his arm invited escape. Plus, his elbows were starting to make cracking sounds. That always scared him for some reason.
He stuck out one arm and shielded his eyes from unfiltered light with the other. It felt relieving to finally stretch his legs out again. Left foot. Right foot. They both gripped firmly onto the tile. The door was kept open while he sat there and breathed the fresh air. He finally stepped out and turned to stare at his former cell. Was he free from its bondage or had it just released him into a larger prison, he wondered. Of course, he’s no longer confined in its tiny spaces; but he’s also back to the problem he found himself facing in the first place. The fridge is empty.
“Should have worn some fucking socks.”
Only for a little while could he justify his actions through positive thinking. How sitting inside this refrigerator had supplied him with untold knowledge that may serve him well at a later date. Such as the light bulb: It was certainly turned off at the moment, so he had no worries about running up a ridiculous electric bill thanks to any sort of faulty wiring on the part of the manufacturer. He also had a deep understanding of just how space he was working with. Why it managed to fit the whole of his body with just minimal cramping. Say a week from now, his roommate was to die of unknown causes; and at the very moment there would be a police officer walking door to door for random inspections. He could stuff the body inside the refrigerator and save himself an awkward situation of suspected murder.
Of course, it made no sense that an officer would walk from door to door inspecting houses. That would be an invasion of privacy, and Mike was certain that he was protected from those kinds of situations. And even if the officer was allowed to come in and have a look, the refrigerator is an awful place to stuff a body into. Even if it was not under suspicion, one would like a sandwich and they are not going to find any ham and cheese on the counters.
This all only made sense to him while he was not considering the fact that he was still sitting inside a refrigerator, but it did not last long. Acute darkness and fairly limited space can only be lasted for so long by the undisciplined. Though he opened the fridge a creak to let in some air, suddenly the oxygen was feeling so shallow; and the heat that snuck in and ran its invisible digits down his arm invited escape. Plus, his elbows were starting to make cracking sounds. That always scared him for some reason.
He stuck out one arm and shielded his eyes from unfiltered light with the other. It felt relieving to finally stretch his legs out again. Left foot. Right foot. They both gripped firmly onto the tile. The door was kept open while he sat there and breathed the fresh air. He finally stepped out and turned to stare at his former cell. Was he free from its bondage or had it just released him into a larger prison, he wondered. Of course, he’s no longer confined in its tiny spaces; but he’s also back to the problem he found himself facing in the first place. The fridge is empty.
Friday, February 13, 2009
Forked-Tongue-in-Cheek
"Is that a snake in your pants or are you just happy to see me?"
Michael's entire body froze in place, heart practically flailing in his chest. His palms were already way past clammy before this interlude even began, it was all they could do to shuffle clumsily into his pockets.
Her eyes were fixed to his.
Every step she took shed an inch from their distance, every dimishing inch caused adrenaline to pump into a body prepared to fall apart at that very instant. Never mind the knot in his throat, he was physically incapable of even mouthing out words.
Why were those eyes looking in so deep?
Had she been following him from the pet store this entire time?
Michael's entire body froze in place, heart practically flailing in his chest. His palms were already way past clammy before this interlude even began, it was all they could do to shuffle clumsily into his pockets.
Her eyes were fixed to his.
Every step she took shed an inch from their distance, every dimishing inch caused adrenaline to pump into a body prepared to fall apart at that very instant. Never mind the knot in his throat, he was physically incapable of even mouthing out words.
Why were those eyes looking in so deep?
Had she been following him from the pet store this entire time?
Wednesday, February 11, 2009
H =
She walked in, knowing full well something was wrong. Though she inquired, he could only shake his head.
It was an equation he had perfected; a formula created for the sole purpose of knowing what, or rather who, he was dealing with. It covered it all: from the constants of gender to the complexities of the Myers-Briggs personality types arranged into a set of conditions. With this equation, he was prepared to face all sorts of people that life would send his way; excluding when zero turned up in the denominator.
He looked up for her one last time. She wasn’t there.
It was an equation he had perfected; a formula created for the sole purpose of knowing what, or rather who, he was dealing with. It covered it all: from the constants of gender to the complexities of the Myers-Briggs personality types arranged into a set of conditions. With this equation, he was prepared to face all sorts of people that life would send his way; excluding when zero turned up in the denominator.
He looked up for her one last time. She wasn’t there.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
