The day started as most usually do. We all woke groggily and apprehensive to the day but languidly took to throwing shirts on, laborious jean wrangling and messy short brushes to mops of hair that were too far gone to take the task. I, like the rest, tediously meandered around the clothes, knit picked through socks, even though there was a gleaming pair right at my feet, I let time hang like a tenuous thread of lacquered wax. This had become my new tendency, my new norm, the languid act of being. I made very little attempts to giving a damn. I’d of course make lunches, tidy up the house, get the kids ready, but all to get them out of my hair.
I was more than sure that the Mrs knew. Of course she knew, she knew everything. At least that was the mannerisms and the behavior of the household, Mama knew all. But still the day started the same. Mom get into the makeup, me the husband scrounging up the rest of the household and getting everybody ready. I’d say it was a task but it was them that made it easy. The boys hurried and hustled to get ready, their little sis following suit so as not to be left behind made work all the easier and the tasks lighter for the load after they hauled to the car and left.
The day was barren though and left the taste of iron in the mouth. Teeth gritting, mind spinning, and exhaustion that knew nothing but fatigue hampered the rest of the day, that was until I took to going outside. I had taken to the dogs, Fed them, made sure they had enough water for the rest of the day, and decided to treat myself. I loaded myself a bowl of fine weed and took to stoking the blaze until it ran dry. I loaded another one, call to a dog or two, I gave them some pats and a treat and took to lighting the second bowl and enjoying the day. Enjoying my morning as quiet and somber as it was. But then an inkling took to me, something hung on the inside of my aching brain that had me think something was a mess.
I took to the back door and could have swore I saw a movement behind the glass.
I burst open the back door and scuttled in going as quickly as I could through the kitchen into the living room swearing I saw something. But nay, there was nothing. I look to the front door and my gut sank, the front door was unlocked. Did I not lock it when I kissed the kids goodbye, signed I love you to my wife, did I not lock it? I could have swore I locked the door. But then I heard a creak and a movement inside my home. Silence took, my ears rang, my breathing slowed, and I swear I heard the shuffle of the feet.
Was today my demise? Was there somebody in the house? What’s the intention? Is there a scythe, is there a blade, is there a gun? Is there someone brooding in the darkness waiting?
My buddy and I, we were coming back from Vegas, both a little inebriated, both very tired, very hungry, and needing a bed. But Russ was too fixated on getting back home, he wanted to be with his girl. Felt that going to Vegas betrayed her and he couldn’t do with that. So we found ourselves heading up route 66 and happened to be hitting New Mexico before, well before it came.
The thing is, New Mexico has spirits, and the blood of many lost in the soil. I was well aware of this and crossed my fingers and toes; Russ, not so much. He was a type of ‘I need proof’ son of a b****.
I knew better though and kept my foot on the pedal as often as I could. I didn’t look in my mirrors, but I did tell Russ to keep an eye out, in case the cops wanted to tag us. We drove on.
Dusk was quickly approaching. Russ needed to piss, I was getting hungry and there was rumor Lottaburger was only miles up the road. I shouldn’t have, I know that now, but I digress, we stopped for a quick bite and filled up on gas. I drained myself after grubbing and told Russ he’d better do the same if he knew better. He didn’t, mind you.
We jumped back in the truck and headed up Route 66. He couldn’t help himself though, Russ started crooning for his Mrs. Lamenting in his woes of his betrayal to her he started blaming my impulse as a toxic trait. I told him to shut up and keep an eye out, I was going 20 over already and wanted to get home too, knowing something was in the air.
We continued driving, turned up the radio and enjoyed the winter chill in the air as we drove on.
We talked of our ladies, of his guilt for Vegas, my hankering for another drink, and the wanting of a warm bed. We both moaned at the words bed and started laughing loudly when Russ went white like a sheet and stared straight out the front of the truck.
I asked what had happened, he just shook his head and leaned forward meaning to crane his neck away from anything but the front of the truck. I had a eerie feeling that we were being watched.
I refused to look at the mirrors, and kept my eyes straight following the example set by Russ.
What is it? I asked. Shook his head, and maintained sealed lips. I began to scream at him to tell me what it is. And I s*** you’re not I swear I started seeing tears slow down his cheeks. I took to the looking at the mirror, my foot pushed through the pedal I had every intention of making it home alive.
What happened to be behind us was a white dog, standing on its hind legs running and almost matching speed with us. My blood curdled, my skin felt as though it was peeling off and I took began to weep. I couldn’t let off the gas. And seeing the large dog like a feral monstrous beast barring down on us had me entirety tight and quivering.
What do we do? Russ asked screaming, what the f*** are we going to do? I didn’t have an answer, I had no idea what to do I looked at him shook my head, press my foot as hard as I can against the floor of the truck and didn’t look back.
We drove like bats out of hell in record time making it back home within hours.
Russ and I both looked at each other once we pulled up to the house, look behind us, and saw nothing. We sat there dumbfounded, absolutely sure that we had both seen a giant white dog running on its hind legs. And even still as I tell this story my gut sinks, my skin crawls, my blood curdles, because the fact of the matter is it was an omen. That white dog was the worst omen when could ever face. Death.
I told Russ it’s nothing, told him it’s just the internet, I told him it was our imagination, playing tricks on us in our drunken stupor.
So…I’ve decided that each day will share a form of art on the daily from day one of July to the 18th and likely be sporadic afterword depending on the reception and feedback. We’ll see.
Short Story
By: M. R. Vega
Melinda woke to silence.
An utterly stagnant and dreary silence with an utter stench lingering that immediately brought on a wretching in her throat. Her body convulsed and shot upright from the still placid home of huddled sheets and piled serapes dropping from her coughing, thrashing chest and shoulders. She grabs for the water on her night stand, fumbling and knocking it onto a stack of old manuscripts, coughs with another thrashing and irritably clenches at her fists while stomping to the bathroom with the now empty cup.
She flips the light on and is stupefied, lambasted by the horror that’s staring back at her. It couldn’t be, she thought, it can’t be, she told herself. Muttering in an incoherent clicking and gurgling of what was her mouth.
Melinda Josie Tronlin had happened to find herself staring back at what was but an alien. It’s head near bulbous, Melinda’s eyes now the size of tea plates, slits for a nose and strange suction like appendages that continued to get stuck to what had become her. She put her arms on the counter, holding her shaking body up, sobbing in odd whelping barks. She shook and shook her head, clenched her eyes shut praying this was something else, something of a nightmare, of a horror in a mind that must be breaking. This couldn’t be, she thought. But then, she was a student, and a pensive one, she halted her quivering and convulsing, shaking body. She needed to be still.
To listen and sense what she could. There was an odd sensation on her legs that now looked more like cricket legs, e melded chicken, cricket hybrid with small, pretty feathers draped down on the sides. She bent over to feel. It tickled and felt as though she would cough if she didn’t stop touching the feathers. She stood up quickly and looked at her chest and arms, her arms and hands more tentacle and smooth muscle like, she thought of falic things and shook through, trying to shake them back to her strong toned self. The body she’d worked so hard to have after her asshole husbandcheated. Dragging his d*** through every open hole of the town.
And she’d worked her self near dead these last four years, for what? She stomped her hoof like feet down and grunted angrily at the mirror angrily tapping what she assumed were nails on the tile. She could smell herself, it was repulsing, a filth that sunk into the mouth or the slit and hooks that had become her mouth. She chittered, is this my laugh? She thought for a moment and heard a heavy thumping and creaking motion in the living room.
She slowly opened the bathroom door enough that she could peer down the staircase to see if Jason was heading upstairs. She heard the faucet of the kitchen sink and took the opportunity to run to her room. She closed it, locked it and found an empty corner of her closet and crouched till she heard nothing but the hum of the A/C kicking on.
She hesitated at the door, unsure of everything at the moment but knew her gun crazed twat of a man would likely shoot her. How can she…the front door closed loudly and she heard his crumby truck door creak open and sighed, perhaps it was click, or clucking but she was relieved for a moment until she burst out the into the hallway and realized there were cameras everywhere, his paranoid ass had cameras at every door. She took a gasp her a deafening rapport and fell silently, heavily to the floor with a sickening folding thud and stilled.
† These are the recordings of Joel D. Braunagh. Patient #19-374222. Case #9119 Det. Milton # 617
Date/Time – May 14th, 2009, 8:00 p.m.
Pt. #19-374222 J.D.Braunagh
-+- Evening Joel. Once again, for general purposes, I am Detective Rachel Milton. This is a recording of Joel’s discussions with me, over a divulging of details about the box, the altercation between Michael Braunagh; the brother.
-+- Night three Joel. Are you ready? Can we do this tonight? At least the box, please?
— I already told you I’d tell you, I’ll share everything. It’s going back and tracing the steps that knocks the f*** out of me. Leaving me completely drained and more than frustrated, it’s more than agonizing to separate that frustration with the law and the obvious situation that has me here. But of course, that’s not sensical to any of you, is it? But I already confessed to everything. I did it sorrowfully but willfully, taking the accountability for the loss of all three because it’s my hands that created the situation. It’s bad enough that I don’t get to put them in the ground!
-+- Joel as a matter of fact, its a legal right for you, they’ll let you go to each funeral. But, we need to get this documented; we need to know, like I keep telling you. Deal?
— Well that is a horse of a different f****** color ain’t it? Not that it was our plan to begin with, burying that is. I think we both wanted to become ash, like what we came from. At least, *sigh* it wasn’t set, not yet, we hadn’t even bought plots yet. Sorry, (sucks on teeth), I digress sorry, god I f****** miss her.
‡ Joel grabs at the nape of his neck and rocks back and forth for a moment grimacing at the tile beneath his obnoxious orange gel slides.
-+- I’m sorry Joel. Truly but we do need to know what happened. What was it that happened after Luca died? (I pause for a moment, waiting to see that register, he doesn’t stir, doesn’t blink, or really pay mind), What happened, aside from the magazine collecting Joel, you’re a toy maker, the most you’ve done is what? Wind-em-up toys or pullbacks is that what they call these?
‡ I pull out a small plastic duck with wheels from out of my blazer pocket. I pull it back pressing against the surface of the floor table desk and let go. I do this, position it to tap against his prison shoe, and when it hits it, he looks down, looks at me, sighs heavily nodding his head.
— Yes and no, the person who made the ducks actually, her name is Jessica Stewart, I wasn’t ever really a big fan of her craft but we worked in the same tier level.
— Anyway, no, I did more than just the simple machine type of toy, we had a production line that was similar to magnetic tiles but made sounds, and we were in the process of an interlocking block system that was definitely going to bring us to court with Lego, but I guess it doesn’t matter. (He grimaces again, shakes his head with a face that looks of disgust.) But no I…I did action figures, I did the molding, I did some robotics but on a minute and basic level and no I…I…just happened to stop, I didn’t do anything for a while. You, *sigh*, I don’t know how to put it because I didn’t just lose my boy Rachel, I lost the fire of my life. It wasn’t until after Luca’s death, that had me realize truths to what Celeste and I were. We became a stagnant mass of gelatin together and alone. She loathed me and I the same with her but then cowered back with a loving embrace because we were alone. What with him passing away there was such a resounding loss in the both of us…that my wife and I, we couldn’t, she couldn’t escape. It was more like being shot into space knowing no one would catch us…we were just alone, together, of course.
— But, it’s not the same…it’s not the same. It was never going to be the same and this wasn’t just killing Celeste, it was wreaking havoc on the mental health of our baby girl who now, had nothing.
‡ Joel grabs the small duck, pulls back a distance further than expected and lets go of the toy, leaving the duck sailing toward my feet and under my chair. He gives a meek smile. And continued…
— We were both well aware of Zappy; the little five years old and her curious mind. She had a bit of an inclination of what actually happened though and just knowing that her brother was gone had deeply resonated within her and Celeste and I didn’t come to help build her up. We were too busy inside ourselves. But we did tell her that Luca went for the long sleep, she understood but kept saying he’d come back. That was until the ‘sealing‘ happened.
-+- The sealing? Can you elaborate…you know I’ll have more questions to that Joel, what is that, the sealing?
— Relax, I’m getting to it.
— Promise
‡ Joel smiles, he’s starting to get moderately comfortable.
— But as parents, we tried to…we carried it as best as we could but we stayed silent, we had become those that loved one another indefinitely, but somehow allowed the grief to eviscerate the idea of anything else but loss and the idea of Luca not being here. I lost myself, I was put on suspension with my job and started letting my team down, my activity at work severely lessened where I started running behind with everything. I started losing weight, even went so far to malnourish her due being blind. That’s how negligent and calous we were. But then thankfully Michael came.
-+- Okay, so your brother was involved, your brother was a happy extension of the family and obviously had helped, with what I’m assuming, all of it?
— Yeah exactly, he took me down into the basement and saw the stacks of magazines, copper wires, more metal sheets, bolts, crystal shards, more wire, and metal. Oh, and piled up earth magnets that were likely causing everything above us to go on the fritz and just held me.
‡ Joel let out a heavy sigh and visible tears were falling from his chin. They’d occasionally pool and hang for a moment in his meek goatee and fall soaking the gels wrapped around his feet
— I let everything out, I melted in his arms and lost the ability to stand, and I think Michael knew, he knew how far gone Celeste and I had gone with just the entirety of our loss. So him showing up when he did, well it was bound to happen, I’m grateful it did, but at the same time, sorry that it did and I don’t get to tell him that.
-+- How long did he stay with you?
— A couple months until he thought he was seeing that we were getting back on our feet, he did help me keep my job, but he had also had some issue with what I was trying to make in the basement.
-+- The box, okay so Michael had nothing to do with the box?
— No, not a f****** chance, no, he thought what I was trying to do was idiotic, and thought I was being more than a fool, I don’t know, obviously he wasn’t wrong, look at where we’re at. What I’m f****** wearing, these are god damn jellies on my feet. This is ridiculous, I get it, and I know why, I’m just venting for a moment.
-+- That’s okay, I get it. Honest. -+- Not wanting to be somewhere when it’s needed but if the opportunity arose, you’d be gone…trust me, Joel I get it.
— Yeah, okay Rachel, okay. Anyhow, back to Michael, he was seeing that we were okay but there was something off…something dauntingly trepidatious, especially for Celeste. Sadly neither of us saw…‡ Joel inhales sharply through clenched teeth…I don’t know how we missed it. She must be a hell of a thespian.
— Anyhow Michael was seeing that she couldn’t handle the second floor hallway on her way to the Master bedroom, it went right by Luca’s open door and it wrecked her every f****** day, every moment that called for going anywhere near, which was always. She had become frail, nearly a different woman, her eyes sunken in, her cheeks shallow and pale, eyes near glossed and she looked more than haggard. Celeste was becoming a broke form of what she once was and all we thought was something so simple. How do we close the room off?
— Brick and mortar was the answer and we started the next day, for a brief moment it looked like a scene from The Cask of Amontillado, brick and mortar, brick and mortar. We had the door and a good three feet in sealed up and off and drywalled over that leaving us an extended hallway as though it had always been there.
-+- And did this help?
— Mmm, for a bit Detective, maybe a month, maybe two, enough that I finished the box.
† These are the recordings of Joel D. Braunagh. Patient #19-374222. Case #9119 Det. Milton # 617
Discussions encase “the box”, admittance of guilt to victims: Brother -Michael Braunagh, Wife – Celeste Braunagh, Daughter – Zappy Braunagh
Date/Time – May 13th, 2009, 8:00 p.m.
Pt. #19-374222 J.D.Braunagh
† Pt. #19-374222 J.D. Braunagh was given 05.12.2009 for Temporary Leave upon approval from D.A. Kingsley with police detail to coroner facility and grave site of both Celeste Braunagh and Zaporah Braunagh for funeral services.
Discussion 2
-+-Good Evening Mr. Braunagh, again, as a formality, this conversation and all details will be recorded and held to the courts for delibierstions on sentencing. I, again, am Detective Rachel Milton and will be having today’s inquiries and details scribed and recorded. Now, may I get you a pack of smokes, a pop, maybe some coffee? Anything Mr. Braunagh?
‡Braunagh gives a heavy sigh, scoffs, rolls his head over his shoulders and nape of neck, shakes his head.
-+-I heard you had the privilege of joining your family yesterday and sharing some goodbyes. How are you holding up Braunagh?
‡Silence, shoes shuffling, a heavy sigh. Braunagh whispers incoherently.
-+-Would you speak up Mr. Braunagh.
‡ Braunagh lifts up two fingers, assuming a notion to quiet the talking.
— Detective Milton, if I have to ask you again to call me Joel, I’ll never give you a thing, doesn’t matter what the judge, D.A, or your captain ‘Surly‘ says. Do you have any idea the amount of isolation my entirety has dealt with?
-+-I didn’t mean to offend, my apologies Joel. I do have to ask though how was their isolation if your family was in the house with you during…well (hmmm), elaborate if you can Joel.
— No, I’ll get to that, to the box, the evidence, all the content agreed with the department and courts. I had assumed you wanted me to answer the other question about saying goodbye.
‡ Braunagh quits, shuffles his feet and stands up and starts to pace.
— Sorry, is this allowed? Me walking around?
-+-Yes, Joel, stay behind the table, the cameras are on too, as long as you stay composed, rational, and don’t give an excuse to who’s watching from there.
‡ I issued a finger toward the camera above me, Braunagh nods with acceptance and understanding. Smiles and continues.
— Saying goodbye was, it was a weighted ordeal detective. You ever have to say goodbye to a loved one?
— The thing is Detective, yesterday was more for me confirming what I had done. I had seen the condition they were both in at the house not but four days ago. But, they had already unraveled, I’d already known, I knew I was losing them every minute I couldn’t get that f****** box controlled, or contained.
-+-Okay, thank you for your honesty, so you had already said goodbye? But just the other day, the 11th, you run this whole line how you didn’t get to say goodbye. How can you say one thing and then confirm with another statement today setting a stage for falsehoods? What was that for Joel? We need a 100% type of relaying the information, everything’s recorded Joel, you asking one thing the other day readjusting a statement to fit into your needs later on not remembering the things you had said prior are just going to set you up for failure with me. You need to be 100% with every word you share, every single bit is going to be weighed measured and will be the determining factor of how long you’re behind those bars. You do know that Mr. Braunagh, right?
‡ Braunagh scowls and shows a meek smile of disgust.
-+-Sorry, Joel, you know right? You have to be able to confidently relay all details, to tell me the whole truth, okay?
— Yes, yes, a thousand f****** times Rachel, yes! I’ve already agreed to the entirety of the deal, I will give you all the details.
-+-Okay then, so where would you like to start Joel. The other day you had shared the loss of your son. I couldn’t even be able to find a way to understand that kind of a loss, especially such a harrowing and terrible way in losing him, I am so, again, very, very sorry about that Joel. What was it that happened after?
— I’ll tell you this Rachel, if it wasn’t for our little one, Zappy, I would have ran back up that hill and jumped off to end it all. But I know I couldn’t have left Celeste like that. Can I assume you’ve already looked at the files for that incident with my son?
-+-Yes, Joel. And before you ask, yes, all evidence points to signs of a natural incident to the cause of your son’s death. I truly am sorry for your loss. Most of us at the department don’t think you’re a killer Joel, I know I don’t. Being a mother and having my baby, there isn’t anything in my gut that tells me you’re a bad person, that’s why I’m the one here, I begged my captain to give me this detail, I had a gut feeling that there was something we were missing, so please continue Joel.
— Celeste was at home was happy when he died. It was a little dad and son adventure up in Beulah, we were collecting butterflies for his collection. Those f****** butterflies.
-+-How do you mean?
— After I called 911, after the police and EMT crew, after his body was put on the gurney, I was put in the back of a police squad car and driven back home. I knocked on my f****** door not with my son’s hand in mine but with a box of fluttering butterflies and a cop behind me some really hanging his head down. I couldn’t f****** look at her. My heart could barely stand being there. I had still had the blood on me his blood, my hands were caked with it, and the look on her face was in absolute horror. She wailed, screamed to the f****** skies, and made sure that I felt every bit of pain that she was dealing with. It didn’t matter that the cops were there, it didn’t matter that the lights were still dancing on the house, it didn’t matter that my grief was right there with her, she started throwing her hands atop my head, my face, my chest and everything of me she could wallop on. I wrap my arms around her, begged for her forgiveness and we fell to the floor together in a heap while the cops tried to handle the chaos of my house.
— I knew then, I knew that she had hated me, the moment that door opened and my son wasn’t in my hand standing there as well, I knew there was no way she could ever forgive my failure and saving her baby. Even still the pit that is my heart remains as empty as it was that day, I know it’s not fair, I knew it wasn’t fair to my daughter, I knew it wasn’t fair to my baby, my f****** wife, I failed all of them, the s*** has a dad who couldn’t keep his hands on his f****** son to make sure he didn’t fall had just lost any respect, any love, any regard to being a part of our family. I completely failed. F***, how long am I going to have to do this before it stops hurting?
‡ Braunagh pulls a Djarum, a small cigar, from behind his ear, strikes a match, pulls at the flame, and starts to inhale the clove scented smoke and continues.
— Sorry Rachel…just need to breathe, just breathe Joel.
— The police had us sign some forms, and gave us a day or two to settle after our son’s passing. Next we went to the coroner, that day that day too I wanted to die, there was such a guilt, there was such this tremendous and excruciating weight in all of the failure, all of the action not taken that led to us being there at the Coroner’s office, I did everything I could to keep my lips shut, my jaw tight and just stood behind her, behind Celeste in case she was going to faint, or in case any more chaos was to come from her or the both of us. It wasn’t easy then and even going over it now I can still see her face, see the tears flooding down, collecting at her chin, the snot that blended with all of it and all she wanted to do was kiss her baby. All she wanted what’s the fill that warmth again from him, and I can I can still see your hands with this tremor of a shake trying, just trying so so painfully to touch what is now about as cold as the metal he was laying on and she trembled, Rachel she f****** troubled so much. And I didn’t know what to do, I had no idea what in the flying hell was to be done to help rectify this? There wasn’t anything Rachel, sorry Detective.
-+-Would you like a minute Joel? I can step out if needed.
— No, no thank you, I just want to get this done.
— That first day after she saw him and confirmed the horrors for herself, was one of the worst days of my life, and the week, weeks, the weeks and months that came after were no more better. She refused to close his door, refused to hide it, and eventually begged me to seal the door and replace it with the wall that essentially created a tomb of a past that neither of us would ever be able to return to.
— I did exactly that, I listened to the wishes, called my brother Michael after ignoring his calls since our Luca died. But, then after the funeral, it was a lot harder to ignore him, a lot harder to shut the door and recoil in the grief, because Michael was a very involved family member, he was Uncle Michael and we let him share that grief. I did have him help me seal up the door, he too like myself wasn’t a fan of the idea, but I think both Michael and I knew it was the only way we could have Celeste find some type of composure, some type of peace even if it was more of a falsehood than actual peace.
-+-What about your daughter, where was she during all of this?
— This is something I’m not proud of, because of the good amount of years that were between Luca and Zappy, we had told Zappy that Luca had gone away for a very long trip. And yes she did go to the funeral with us, but I still feel that at the age she was at during that time the understanding of loss just for my wife was too much so sharing that grief and loss with zappy, I feel that both the voice as parents wanted to keep her protected, so we lied, lied about Luca leaving on a trip.
-+-She didn’t ask about the door? She didn’t wonder where her brother’s room had gone to? I would assume that any kid could see very obvious things were happening, why? Why was that your take why did you shut her out in such, such a way?
— I don’t f****** know, God damn it Rachel you seriously think I hadn’t gone through all of this, I haven’t questioned myself, my actions, every f****** day I don’t know. I wish I do and God how I wish there were so many f****** things I didn’t take to heart, didn’t take into action, and yes I failed my daughter just about as much as I failed Luca I’m well aware of that Rachel and I will forever question why I agreed with my wife and keeping her distant. And in all honesty I’m pretty sure she knew, Uncle Michael was a pretty conscientious one, constantly ragging on both Celeste and I to fix it with Zapp. Pretty sure he was the one who told her, and tried to tell her to keep it quiet that he was the one who told. But in all honesty I think he meant well, it did eventually make it easier down the road for Celeste, at least I’d like to think that it did.
— After his funeral everything went quiet. The chaos…it’s not that it stopped, it’s not that the turmoil within drifted or evanesced into the drink, it just became a part of us. A couple months after the funeral her night terrors started, the blood curdling screams and howlings that permeated through our doors down the neighborhood streets and echoed, affecting the entire neighborhood. And I needed to find an outlet, whether it was an outlet for us, whether it was something that could be used for just her I need to find a conduit that could be associated with Luca. So I did research, research, reading, so much f****** reading so much tinkering and tailoring to pulling apart machines and breaking down old game sets and I just lost myself in trying to find my family again.
— And this is where the isolation began, I shut the basement door and let Celeste take care of Zappy, having no idea of the detriment that I was creating, of the toxicity and spoiling of my little darling that I had just devised, thinking that her mom would find some resolve in making sure Zappy was better, but that idea of replacing one with the next was something else. I couldn’t fathom that my wife wouldn’t be able to see through the grief, I didn’t have the capacity in thinking Luca dying the way he did was so egregious that it made Celeste unable to look past that loss. And sadly I found Zappy cleaning up after her mom, cleaning up after herself, making her own little lunches for a homeschool system that was self created by my daughter, because Celeste was beside herself, creating a needing to grow up far too soon before a 5 year old needs to grow up and I stayed in the basement groveling in the loss trying to find a way to better this for Celeste, and for me.
— I think I’m done today Rachel. I had thought going over this, especially in a more one-on-one basis would help, maybe be cathartic and finding a grasp of all of this, it just makes it that much more real and terrifying and that I single-handedly ended my family’s lives by accident. I didn’t f****** mean to, I need that to be known I didn’t mean to hurt any of them. Especially my baby girl and wife. I’m sorry Rachel, I’m going to ask that we stop and we’ll pick it up tomorrow. I’ll go over… f***, I’ll tell you about the box tomorrow okay?
— You’re not going to like it, I know I don’t but I’ll give you every detail I can.
-+-Okay Joel, we’ll respect your wishes, we are running out of time though so I am going to need you to start truly getting into detail about what I’m hoping will start giving us some bread crumbs to building up a sort of detailed schematics of where it began and how it ended.
— You and me both Rachel, you and me both. Mind if I take another cigarette with me before I go back to my cell?
‡ I nod and issue toward the cigarette box where Braunagh take a one and awaits his guard to be ushered back to his cell.
-+-Tgank you Joel, you have a good night, try to remember all you can from the box and making whatever that thing is. Want to try to get as much as I can recorded all right? I’ll see you tomorrow Joel.
Scribed May 13th, 2009 -9:00 p.m. signed: R. T. Milton
End of Discussion 1 Time – 9:00 p.m. 05/13/2009
Songs listened to during Writing Forget -Me-Naught Pt. 2
† These are the recordings of Joel D. Braunagh. Patient #19-374222. Case #9119 Det. Milton # 617
Discussions encase “the box”, admittance of guilt to victims: Brother -Michael Braunagh, Wife – Celeste Braunagh, Daughter – Zappy Braunagh
Date/Time – May 11th, 2009, 8:00 p.m. –
Pt. #19-374222 J.D.Braunagh
Discussion 1
-+-Good evening Mr. Braunagh, I know you’ve met me before but just for the record I am Detective Rachel Milton the time is currently 8:01 p.m. on May the 11th 2009. Now Joel Braunagh, we will be going over all the details you can give to us about, well about what happened and why it keeps happening. The department as well as the attorney general are wanting a detailed recollection of everything that happened so when you’re ready and comfortable let’s start from the top or when things developed into what we’ve been cleaning up after. Is that okay?
-+-Before we start can I offer you a drink? We’ve got coffee and water, I think we still have some Pepsi too in the break room.
— No. Sorry, no, thank you.
‡Shuffling, papers rustling, a heavy sigh, Braunagh flicks at a zippo. **static**
— I can’t believe this is f****** happening.
-+-Mr. Braunagh, if we could start with what happened. How did your brother die, what was it that had both your wife and daughter parish and why is the coroner reporting that it’s an unknown for cause of death.
— It was the box.
-+-Excuse me? Can you repeat that, it sounded like you said the box did it.
— And it did.
-+-Explain that to me Braunagh, where’s this box? What is the box? And please do tell me what a box could do to make you kill your wife, daughter and brother? I have it hard to believe that line of shit, that a box is capable of that, especially when it’s not in our evidence documented, we have nothing of substance with this so called box nor is it mentioned in the hundreds of manifesto-like writings we found in your basement. But the assumption is the forget me…forgive me not, was the box? Right?
— It’s Forget-Me-Naught.
-+-Okay, thank you, ‘the forget-me-naught’. Would you at the least, tell us what drove you to create this box.
‡Silence, he shifts, stares at the floor lifting his shoes, self-soothing by continuously rubbing legs, and hands, alternating from legs to hands with each inquiry.
— Let me start with this question Detective, does it show that my wife and I had a child before our little girl?
‡shuffling, rifling through papers, heavy sigh, tapping of shoes.
-+-Yes, Mr. Braunagh. His name was Luke right?
— Hmm, right.
-+-Truly, I’m sorry for your loss Mr. Braunagh, how old was Luke?
— Luca. Luca Ronaldo Braunagh, he was nine. I’m betting you knew this though yeah? Is this just you trying to build up a rapport detective? How many times do you think I’ve gone over this? Let alone how long it took? Years!!! It took years before I wasn’t considered the pariah for all that happened. Child Killer is what they called me. Did you know that? They’d shout it, especially when the news had just come out about him and those flashing lights shrouding our house for days on end. He died on the mountain, up on Beulah. But the whole town did a great job in making it feel that he died everywhere we were seen. Even your department. You couldn’t wait to throw me down, making me out to be a wretched dad, an abusive parent to the two, and Zappy being in utero at the time didn’t make anything easier for my wife. We were lucky just to have had Zappy, but none of you let that be a celebration. Did you? What was it the headlines said detective?
— Baby Two? Will He Do IT Again?
–Right? What the f*** do you think is going to happen? What do you think happened to my wife? What the hell do you think happened to us after all of that? None of the department, you, the fire department, anybody at either of the hospitals in town, you looked at my wife like she was the fool and me like the villain, it couldn’t possibly be a f****** accident could it?
-+-Okay Mr. Braunagh
— Just call me Joel, jesus I’m not a father anymore remember? Just Joel. Honest, just keep it with the first name or you’re not going to get s*** from me.
-+-Okay…absolutely Joel, you’ve got it. Now that we’ve got that on the table, will you tell me what happened how did the passing of Luca, and what the city did, which I’m not forgiving anybody’s behavior but how did that affect everything after? We need to know. Bad enough we’re beaten back reporters and as many journalists as I’ve ever seen flooding the police department. You definitely f****** put our town on the map Joel. So how about you give us the benefit of the doubt and you tell us, tell me what happened.
— Fine detective Milton, do you mind if I smoke?
-+-As long as you’re willing to continue to discuss in detail what happened and how, I don’t see why not.
‡Braunagh removes pack of Djarum Black – 12 count cigars, removes one cigar, lights up with Zippoconversation cont.
— It was those f****** shoes, his mom got him these goofy designed shoes, they had uh…what’s, what’s it’s name, that yellow guy with the, the star friend, umm SpongeBob, and Pat or something. Anyway, he had boots and I swore I thought I asked him to put em on before we had gone on the hike, I didn’t think to look down and double check before we left and it…well it’s shale up there you know? It’s Beulah, shale everywhere, the entire god-damned towns bottom shelf is, god! Everything is f****** shale.
-We had been hiking up for about three hours and finally stopped for a snack. It was right next to what was kind of a cliff-off area on the mountain where it dropped a good couple hundred feet and below you can see the the stream that ran through the mountain. Luca, was, well Luca was looking down at the water and trying to get me to come over and look, I took forever getting up and while that was happening he just kind of kept shifting, hoppin in that same area. I kept telling him to wait and quit jumping like a rabbit, that he was too close to the edge and I, I…I moved over to him, I could hear something but I didn’t know where it was coming from, I didn’t, I wasn’t thinking and the ground from under him just moved it just dropped and him with it. I lunged my arms out but he was already gone. I panicked, scaled down more so, kind of rolled down breaking my leg and arm from where the shale pieces and him had fallen but finally got to him.
–He…*gulp*he…it was so quiet, I called out to him go bling to him and I saw his hand, it was the only part of him not bloodied and maimed by the rock and fell to move the rock as quickly as I could but…f***…he wasn’t stirring, and there was so much blood. I knew then…I’d lost him, my baby died and I was too f****** slow to catch him, to lazy to be up with him to keep him far enough away from the edge…*sniff* *sniff*f****** crap how many times do I have to relive this, like I’ve told every single person, investigator and journalist, reporter, and dick it was a f****** accident. And it’s a weight and a burden! I have to carry every f****** day. Every minute through my core and it burns inside like a smoldering iron so thanks for that Rachel.
— I need a f****** minute.
-+-Joel, I really do apologize I wasn’t trying to rehash that, I can’t imagine what that’s…
— It’s darkness. It’s a complete void of nothing, do you have kids Rachel? You don’t mind me calling you Rachel do you? Or do you need me to call you detective? The question remains, do you have kids?
-+-I don’t think that matters to the discussion Joel we need to figure out what happened I’m sorry for rehashing Lucas passing and having to go over that again but I need the details. I need to be able to tell my Captain that there was a justified reason for convicting you of one death and not three, the coroner has no idea how your wife and daughter died, there’s no sign of malicious intent unless self-inflicted, other than that there’s no sign that you killed them and I need to find out what happened joel, you need to tell me or else I’m not going to be able to help you and I’m the only one on your side right now unless you want to call in a lawyer.
— Then answer the question Rachel. Do you have kids?
-+-Yes. Yes, I have a boy, a little boy he’s five and my girl is 13. I’m not giving you the other names so don’t ask or we can stop the conversation right now.
— Thank you. That’s all I needed to know. You have kids at least, so you can likely imagine what it would be like to have one of those kids just be erased gone to never grow, to never learn anything new, to never fall in love with whomever they choose to, find songs that they had never heard before that rattles their bones and shakes their heart, books to never be read and journeyed through knowing the authors, and the art, all they can’t ever be given to them ever ever again. I’ll never be able to show my son favorite films, my wife and I will never be able to show our son the places where we fell in love, where we found his name, there’s so many things that were halted the moment all of that happened to Luca. And there’s nothing that can be done to get that back so what do you think happened to my wife? If it wasn’t for Zappy being born the year before Luca died guaranteed our relationship would have completely eradicated itself through his loss. But we did have Zappy, and for a time it kept us tethered, but only for a time.
— I started investigating as much as I can, I got my hands in as many volumes of popular mechanics, American scientific, a myriad of other Science and tech magazines that I used to create something. But what I didn’t know, I’m a toy maker, I make things that spin for about a minute or two, little cars that wind up and can go up walls, puppies that can jump in your pocket I make toys, so I tinkered and tailored and tinkered and tailored and and just kept going and going while this is happening not realizing that Celeste above, all the projects I was doing right now at the time I was in the basement, and I’d be down there for days sometimes, completely absolved in creating something that could help us. Maybe like a memory box was the thought, something to put everything we could think of about him into to keep it and keep it safe was the idea but again I wasn’t focusing on her I was focusing on just stopping the pain. And I try to tell myself that that was enough in focusing on her, but f*** f*** f*** f***. I’m sorry, this is just, I, I haven’t even had an opportunity to say goodbye to them!!! I said goodbye to my brother, and we’ll cross that road when we get to it,but I never had a goddamn opportunity to kiss my wife goodbye or my child. Can I have that at least. You’re having me talk about everything that happened and I haven’t had the time to process half of it but even a f****** quarter, let me say goodbye to my babies. And I will tell you everything. But right quick your sorry ass needs to understand that I never had any intention on harming any of them, not one. It was the f****** box.
-+-Okay, after talking with the Captain and D.A., we have agreed to your request, we will continue the discussion tomorrow at 8:00 p.m. Thank you, they’ll take you to your quarters now.
–Mm hmm…
–Detective Milton, before they usher me out, you’re telling me, seriously, in evidence, the box isn’t there? I mean it, I need to know, it needs to be demolished, immediately. Please Detective, I promise I will tell you everything I just need you to do that for me please.
-+-Sure Joel, I’ll look into it, Captain’s not going to like it but I’ll take a look see what I can get, to info though give and I’ll make sure you know tomorrow. Have a good night Joel.
Scribed May 11th, 2009 -9:13 p.m. signed: R. T. Milton
The blaring alarm shatters through the thick web of dreamland that David finds himself falling away from while he wakes drenched, drool cakes around his lips and beard, and shakes his entirety. Disregarding the mess on his face he grabs the phone immediately hoping that there would be a text message missed, in hopes a line of missed notifications. A hopeful meme or the goofy and dumb gifs the kids have sent in the past. The phone screen barely registers his finger jousting and to his dismay, once the screen blinks on, nothing. Just his usual weather alerts and breaking news alerts notifications.
However David was wanting to feel sorry for himself and started with staring up at the popcorn ceiling, something he still neglected to fix and instead vied for a moment or three to wallow while doing so. David wanted to sink into the blankets and drown on grief. But instead he brought his body up, walked steadily to the bathroom and started a shower. He had to figure out what to do, not just what to do but how to get his wife to understand that he took care of the problem. That problem smoldering and rotting downstairs.
He’s already gotten a call from his sister calling him scum, calling him the trash of the Earth that is meant for nothing but spoil, his brother threatened his life, and his parents have refused to answer the calls he’s made everyday since she found out. What troubles David and what has lingered even after she had left with the children, and what will become of him if she found out what really had come to be the night at question, at fall, at the end.
The stinking and gnarled claws pick away at the darkness surrounding its mass, overwhelming it, it permeates the air, down to that last iota of the sogging mass. It is thrumming through tip to tip and thrashing, a hunger covets the beating heart above. Eyes covered, mouth sewn it struggles to breathe, but continues to suck at the agony and grief, the lies and the filth fuel enough, it sends for food another way, always to the next day, growing, reading and it grows while he ignores, ignores and neglects the need. His need.
Her – day 14 processed through Wombo.AI and self prompted from what’s written in red.
The shower did well, he came out feeling refreshed and partially awakened. David found himself still needing food though, needing to get his body moving, and make an effort to manage the shit storm he’d created in the last week or two. He’d have at least a week or two before she even tried to contact him if ever, but knowing the kids and how the state felt both parents needed involvement, she’d make due the effort if it made her look good. He knew that, meaning he’d have to get downstairs sooner than later…definitely sooner he thought. But he went to the back yard once the clothes were on and the coffee drip started, he slid the heavy backdoor along its rail and peered over the drooping Austrian Pines he’d hated since they moved to the house. The branches took direction with the wind and leaned heavy with the snow, it left him usually trimming and chopping down peculiar and slanted branches that scraped the gravel and hid the windows. He then checked that onto the list he’d started early in the morning of steps to finish before his family got back, maybe, maybe he’d be able to close the door and play it off as drunken stupor and a mistaken person. He’d pile the yardwork up and bunch it with other mess, it’d distract from the obvious, he smirked and breathed in the pollen of the morning, the low hanging dew that forgot to stick to the blades of buffalo grass, and scuttled back toward the kitchen with a grin, leaving the door to the back open.
A metal camping mug, a favorite of his held the coffee, a dark, thick and placid liquid stared up at David while he lingered back to the door. He wished for a taste of menthol, looked toward the steps that went to the basement and back to the trees, to the San Isabel mountain range thinking. Pushing the piping hot coffee mug against a temple wondering what could be possible and who could he call for help. His brother would likely kill him through the phone with a call, his sister would call his wife, and as for friends, well they were all her friends too he thought, and would likely call with concern, more questions that didn’t need peering into. He didn’t need that, couldn’t have it like that, it was already spinning out of control, he was far past being at a loss. Suicide was about of question and he knew she’d laugh, she’d mock and snivel with a smirk and smile at his funeral, it would only hurt him, she wouldn’t let the kids know, he’d become a figment of an idea after a year or two. He shook the thoughts from himself and slid the door shut, he sipped at the coffee and now stared at the steps leading down. Leading to the darkness. Leading to a mess.
There’s rhythm to the shuddering above, a tremble steady, another tremble deeper, louder, closer, the shuddering stops. There’s a heave, a pull, a lunge of the heavy darkness that swallows and masticates what’s there, it gnaws at the fat, bone, skin and the viscerally revolting. It gnaws and waits in the darkness while up above comes a pacing, a striking, counting down, stacking, planning, to erase, to be rid. To remove it, remove her, burn her, leave it smoldering and rotting far, far, far from here.
Her – image from day 22, processed using prompts from red highlighted using Wombo.AI
There was a moistness in the air that latched to his arms halfway down, the next step brought a reeling to his guts as a smell hit his throat and shoveled thus directly to his nose of rot filth death in a putrid that he knew he wasn’t going to be able to get away from for months. It only been 2 days, and he had no idea how to get that smell out of anything. The panic started to set in. He looked down at the black sticky bag and prodded it with the toes of his boot. The peculiar plastic of the bag squelched and crunched, nothing else moved. He pushed again this time with the back of a heel to make sure there wasn’t a pooling beneath the bag, David knew he was a lucky f*****. He smiled knelt down, patted at the plastic bag, threw an arm around it, grunted and hoisted it up.
This is based off of a simple question asked by a kid who decided not to look up. Rather simple question from the kid but it had me think and well here’s a short story, and like Lamont it will be a s***** draft.
“Mrs. Nogare, Mrs. Nogare, I have a question.” Randall’s arm is already hanging in the air, waving erratically, and his teeth beam.
“Randall that’s not how we get answers here is it?” Mrs. Nogare quickly turns from the white board, darting him a quick look and scans the room.
“Class please remind Randall what he needs to do if he wants to ask a question or if he wants something.” Mrs. Nogare turns back around
“To raise our hand until Mrs Nogare shows that she can answer.” A little boy rings proud with the answer sitting at the front smiling toward Randall and nods at the room’s silence while Mrs. Nogare continues at the white board.
“Thank you Matthew.” She smiled smugly, knowing that boy would be the one to answer, knowing he liked having the answers and assisting as often as he could. She adored her students, mostly all of them, but there was a sincerity to this one that had her tell her husband about him often. It was a mere coincidence her husband and him shared a name. Her husband, well she could do without more than half the time if not more. He’d become an incessant annoyance lately, like an ailing pet that needed a constant back rub or drink that he couldn’t get himself. She imagined coming home with a treat, least saying it was a treat, but upon greedy hungry fingers he opens it to rocks. She chuckled quietly to herself and wrapped up the instructions quickly as she realized she had been daydreaming. She spun around with a smile and clapped her hands together as if she’d sketched with chalk, and issued everyone’s attention to the board.
“Now class please look at the board, follow the instructions as I’ve stated, you have steps one through five to finish, now after finishing the project put the finished assignment in bin one and once that’s done you can start doing your free time.” She swiftly slid down the rows of desks and chairs to Randall while also checking the room in that all the students were following the instructions.
“Now Randall, how can I help you? Were you needing to use the restroom, did you want to go over the subject again?” She’d become so used to the students hardly listening most of the time she’s prepared with the monotoned response of what was said before, said before, and said before.
“No, no, that’s not what I was going to ask, I wanted to… can you come closer Mrs. Daisy, I don’t want other kids to laugh at me…” Mrs. Nogare withdrew for a second,
Expecting just that, she was more than confused when he responded. Leaving the words trapped at the throat and her wanting to scratch at her head for a second. She gave her head a quick and brief shake of the hair and issued him to her desk. “Of course Randall of course. Come to my desk and we’ll talk.” He quickly pulled from the desk he was in, grabbed at a pencil and then decided otherwise and followed Mrs. Nogare to her large and decorated desk of flush markers in color coded order, neatly marked cubbies for pens, pencils, one marked sharp with the pencils pointing up dart like and sharp, the other marked dull with rundown erasers kissing at the sky above them. Randall always admired her desk, the peculiar Lego flowers in a vase, the curious jewel adorned turtle nearly kissing the coffee mug sitting on the coaster warmer since the start of the day. Randall found he enjoyed the cleanliness. The order of it all. It left him silent and gazing until Nogare interrupted his string of thoughts
“Now what is it Randall?” He shook from his admiring the big desk and wanting to play with all of the items in reach but shook away the thought and brought back in focus to Mrs. Nogare who was looking at him with kind but piercing eyes awaiting the inquiry.
“Sorry, sorry, Mrs. Nogare have you noticed how the Sun gets dimmer, not, not like the clouds are covering it, but like it’s blinking or squinting, like it has an eye making the sky dim, the sun dim?”
Mrs. Nogare not trying to be overly blunt or brash, and holding back an eye roll, she gently addressed the obvious to him. “Randall that would be called clouds my dear, you’re just needing to start looking up. See, the clouds moving from the directions of the wind across the Earth that make the movement go across the sun and across the moon, so when you’re out and about and you see that light coming from the sky dim, it’s due to that movement of cloud coverage. That’s all. We’ve gone over this quite a few times in science hour, remember Randall?”
He knew it. He knew Mrs. Nogare wouldn’t understand. The one teacher he felt was a bit funny, maybe a bit mean, but odd in a way the question would hopefully draw a sincere concern. But no one did, his dad laughed at him calling him a baffoon, his brother gave him a noogie just for the question, and his mom just laughed waving a hand and telling him to clean his room instead of asking stupid questions. His inner lamenting was missed by Mrs. Nogare while she scanned the classroom as she often felt compelled to. “Is there anything else Randall?”
“Yeah Mrs. Daisy, no, no, never mind, never mind. I know what the clouds are doing, it just looks different, I don’t know like I said just don’t tell the other kids please?” His face red and flushed, he quickly got up and almost tripping over his feet, walked back to his desk. Johnny, a friend of Randall’s who had tried to catch the question Randall asked Mrs. Nogare, was now sticking his tongue out at him but quickly sucked it back in when he noticed Mrs. Nogare staring him down.
“Mr. Johnny, do you have the assignment finished yet or were you too busy eavesdropping on your pal?” Johnny went to ask what eavesdropping was or meant but decided he would rather not have a lesson today, he ignored her, shaking his head and slyly smiling and snickering at Randall while he sat back down.
Mrs. Nogare found herself starting at the clock on the wall shortly after the inquiry from Randall and enjoyed the quiet shuffling of students, of papers sliding to and fro, the scribbles of pencils, and tapping of keys on laptops, these were the sounds that brought her peace and had her know she chose the right profession. She then thought of Randall and that curious question of his which took her mind and eyes to looking through the window and up at the sky. It was a clear day, the sky bright and nearly piercing, but just as she expected, looked just as it always does on bright and clear days. The sun gleamed through the window and had her mesmerized while also a bit curious still to the odd question of Randall’s. She whipped around on her chair and was happily surprised she found the students were sticking to doing the assignment, there were a few that decided the assignment could be ignored and doodled instead of working. But those few were known for great test scores, perfect CMas scores each year, and she figured they were bored, as she often is with the doldrum of routine and the same third grade topics each year. She refrained from bringing an alarm to the few not working and shook the words to the waste basket that is tidely set within her mind. Her thought though was due to that they’d be going to specials in near minutes and then off to lunch and the rest of routine that is third grade.
She gazed over her students admiring those working, shaking her head at the few who decided otherwise, and then found Randall solemnly scratching at something he’d written on a small piece of scratch paper. She knelt down at his desk and placed an open hand on the desk. “Everything okay Randall, is it still about what’s going on with the sun?” She strained to see what he wrote but needed to get closer.
Randall shrugged and shook his head not wanting to be a laughing stock, not wanting to point the finger of blame or negligence of her. She should know he knew she would know if she just saw it. But he just avoided the topic all together.
“I’m good Mrs. Nogare, I just spelled something wrong and needed to erase it but,(flashing the pen) I wasn’t paying attention.” He quietly chuckled and she smiled at him not assured he was okay. Not one bit. She went back to her office desk and happened to look to the large window and saw a dimming to the outside.
Clouds, she thought, it’s just the clouds. But, the inquiry of Randall’s and his demeanor after her response had her thinking, perhaps longer than she should have. The bell rang. The students who were anxious and getting hungry refrained from bolting and causing a ruckus. The waited. She shook her head and alerted the kids with a quick and cheerful addressing.
“Alrighty class I’ll be seeing you after specials and lunch. Don’t forget to put your assignments into the right bin and I’ll see you all in a while.” She wasn’t paying attention to them, she was merely present and awake but her mind was a drift and she chose to look to the window, but avoided looking up while maintaining focus on the input of light.
They all shuffled out quietly filing in with the large 3rd grade line heading off to specials (art, p.e., music) courses. Randall lingered for a moment until he saw her peer out the window and smiled briefly and hustled up with the rest, hoping she’d have something to say when he got back.
Mrs. Nogare hesitated for a moment and went to the computer instead of going to her car as she had originally planned to have her lunch with her husband. What she did was send him a text message saying she wasn’t going to make it, and that she’ll see him for dinner later. Xoxo. And then took to the computer entering cloud coverage searches, Doppler readings, and the weather for the next 10 days duration.
It will be clear skies for the duration of the next month, almost cloudless, today especially when she sees there can be no reason for the light to dim. Now Mrs. Nogare thinks maybe Randall was onto something. This thought still brought her attention to the outside again with a rapid urgency as Mrs. Nogare knew she needed to confirm it visually before she called anyone. Just like Randall with his quiet request earlier that morning.
It took thirteen minutes from the time the students left for specials and her noticing the dimming herself. She had stared with complete attention to the outside, through the window from her office chair, not moving, staring, with her heart pounding within. She stared. Knowing that above her, above the school was clear and blue skies. She watched it dim again and had a thought.
It has to be affecting the weather, right?
She went back to the computer, and putting as many factors that she could think of pertaining to the coming summer season and the weather temperature increase or decrease, she waited for the slight pause while the info loaded. Seeing what she did though had her clap her hands to her mouth quietly and quickly.
It can’t be she thought, couldn’t be, NASA and news departments would be losing their minds if the details were correct, she thought. Every time the sun dimmed she noticed or, as Randall put it, blinked, that effect dropped the temperature. Mrs. Nogare being no fan of math whatsoever, she put her theory and mathematical progress to the computer with inputs for time, duration, distance, and time again. So her model was loosely based off of an idea and not mathematically sound, what she was seeing had her really wishing she ignored Randall. This would mean that within a year the temperatures would be so cold, life wouldn’t be feasible. It’s impossible she thought, that’s impossible.
Deep down though, Mrs. Nogare I knew that regardless of the hodgepodge math she used, there was a definitive knowledge and just seeing the dimming when she took the time to notice that had her regretting not going on that lunch. For now everyday looking forward, she knows the end is so much more near.
The room stands immaculate, organized, ordered, alphabetized, nothing is out of place. The office corner of the large room also stands more than organized, more than immaculate, and David Broadmoor wants it all to burn.
There crawls a sneaking, inkling, dark and putrid mess tucked in the corner, spoiled, foul and rotting. David can see it, the tendrils of that darkness trickling along the edges, the deep crevices of the wood, stinking and permeating through the walls, touching those who slept so near.
HER (Day 1 with Wombo.AI at 50%, prompt: I will eat your soul and spit out your bones.) by M. R. Vega
The calls, they come with something still and monotonous, an arid dribble to what working is anymore for David. After losing her and, his kids through the tumultuous divorce, then losing his dogs, the house, and his dignity, David is finding he doesn’t know what he’s doing anymore. He stands in the office, once his office, once his house, and what was owned by the whole that was his family, now it’s just a constant reminder of failure, hesitations and everything that he regrets. His self-deprecating is laughable and David knows it, he knows he deserves this, what’s pathetic and we don’t know if David is aware, is that regardless of it all, he won’t stop trying even though he needs too.
He mutters to himself “you’re an idiot, a stupid bucket of mess, what good were you?” His mind reels with this thought and the horrors that flood deeper in, he knows but the prospects of not knowing beat his reason every minute since they drove off. The clean room now feels cluttered to David, his desk a mess, and the shadows tend to creep into the light more as he lets his suffering consume him. He scans the space and smiles. The curated moldings, shelving sanded, polished, and gleaming looks surreal, made from tentacles, made from fire and brimstone. He scowls and sees it all tarnished and meaningless.
A picture of what can be referred to as a loosely based R2D2 from Star Wars, drawn by his 11-year-old rests partially tattered and crumpled from the little hands that made it, its still anxiously perched where his son left it before the ex-wife took him away. David furrows his brow, puts his fingers to the temples while trying to breathe while counting down the minutes before clocking in signing on and dealing with the draw, the draw of what he’s come to truly loathe. The kennels are empty, but there’s a car door shutting in the distance, it’s still early, he runs to the door with a heavy hope they’re back, he imagines her coming up the sidewalk to the front door, wet eyed, silent, and nodding at him curtly knowing it was a mistake.
He swings the heavy oak door open wide, a meek grin on his aging, and tired face stops stunted by a lack of anything before him. He cranes his neck out the doorway and Peers, down the neighbourhood, glances to the far side past the garage, an inkling of hope still hanging, until a car door closing happens again, he sees the milkman, hangs a heavy head, waves with barring teeth and scurries back inside. David thinks to himself of all the fool hearted acts, the stupid antics, and naive hopes, that had to be the f****** idiotic and presumptuous move was that? His body rebuked the thought and he shook off what he could, while dragging his lumbering mass to the kitchen wallowing the ache of silence, and he breathes in the shadows, he breathed in the darkness.
It shudders, heaves, grows and billows, the mass reaches from corner to corner of that office, the breathing death throws shadows lurking and snarling for more. It watches the scenes, grasps at the sorrow, gobbles up the despair, and inhales his breathing anxiety with a glee that satisfies even the hungriest of the gluttonous.
David leaves a full plate of barely picked at left overs steaming in the microwave, the fragrance of garlic, onions, and asada doesn’t jolt him back to the counter, to being home. He looks at the microwave with anguish, knowing the food would do well, but decides to head back to the dampened office.
David finds it comfortable, oddly so, he feels an almost cathartic resonance around himself, exhales heavily while he plugs his headset back in, logs into Teams again, and looks to the corner where it festers, oozes, gnaws and watches. He sends a sparked message asking for peace, asking for a minute to talk to the kids, maybe wish them a goodnight, but ends with the self deprecation she expected leaving him without a response and a fading ellipsis in messenger likely to disappear.
The gunshots, lasers, and colors on the screens erase minor bouts of anger, dissolve brief whisps of agony for David, but unknowingly the shadows eat it up, their gestation, the silent gnashing and gnawing at his soul keeps him stoic, listless, and manic. He waves at the darkness, tugging at the blinds to shutter the sun and retreats to the office, scrolling again in Messenger, seeing that ellipsis blinking, fading, blinking, and blinking.
HER (Day 3, with Wombo.AI, 50%, prompt : ‘Let me eat your poison, let me take your grief to be angrier and filled with hate‘) by: M.R.Vega
It has gained more than half of the office, masticating the dreads, the horrors, fears, gnawing at those anxieties, mashing and gnashing the hate that plagues, boiling, and driving between ideologies, lost realities unforeseen, and a logic that is only to be further unraveled. Its hunger continues and deepens. It forages on to reach for the lowest, for the deepest, to consume and to take over.
His mind drifts, thinking of her, thinking of them, thinking of it, of red, of death, thinking of her.
David tires and rests, falling asleep to the blinking ellipsis on his phone screen, wanting, wishing to say goodnight.
Jacob was solemn with the fretting from the day before now trying to figure out the necessary steps to have Emily; the family pet, a proper end. He didn’t dare deal with the H.O.A., knowing their neighbourhood had numerous Glady Kravits feining for any opportunity to shout foul play and bring more worry and trouble to his family. It was bad enough having Emily stinking up the back patio, the Humane Service Department was closed for the next week due to a water pipe issue. He didn’t care to ask and had hung up wishing there was a six-foot deep pit to place her in if only he thought. Of course, it couldn’t be that easy and he grumbled, thinking of a friend that’d help with a ‘maybe illegal dig’ at the park they used to bring her to on Sunday Fun Days through the year but sadly came toe to toe with his acknowledging that they had no family and the last friend they did have happened to pass away two years ago in a car crash. It goes, doesn’t it?
His gritting and grinding had abruptly come back with a vengeance adding the spontaneous but dully noted migraines that trailed behind. He went to the kitchen cupboard where the Tylenol was waiting and popped three oversized capsules without a drink and thought of what had happened last night while they all slept. His deja vus were becoming more vivid, more like an elongated trailer of what was to come unlike the many prior that were scattered like a shredded magazine or a remembered green and forever falling characters illegible to an unaware eye. Knowing what was to be done next, at least assuming what steps he was to take, he scurried to the garage and grabbed a round-point shovel, an old over-sized duffel bag that had seen too many years and packed Emily as gently and cautiously as he could while avoiding spewing over the foul stench her body was emitting. Its flooding stench brought odd thoughts of long-sitting protein drinks, rotting fruit, veggies, and refried beans left in the fridge. He swallowed the bit of muffin he’d scruffed down earlier and was happy the taste of bile didn’t torch his throat and zipped up the bag with a weighted heart.
He dragged his body in through the house, lamenting over what was to come next, and quickly went to the car trying to discreetly put, what looked like a body bag, into the trunk. Upon finally getting Emily’s corpse in, he ran back to grab the shovel and kissed his wife as well as their child that she was clutching to. They both stared aimlessly at the moving screen that he just realized was muted and said he’d be right back. His wife though snapped to it and reached out to his hands delicately bringing his knuckles to her nose and whispered something he couldn’t quite catch an told them both he loved them, that he’d show them Em’s new resting place later tonight. His wife nearly glared at him with silent animosity he felt coaxed his everything and shook her head waving her hand at him as if to shoo-shoo like he was a fly.
‘So it begins’ he thought almost angrily and slammed his body down onto the driver’s seat after locking the front door of their house. He found that he was hoping they’d still be awake and willing to react to living after he shared news of Em having a safe place to rest for eternity. Shamefully though he found he was more or less appreciative of not having her body stink up the house or back patio. Even a dead dog, though heartbreaking, was a terrible smell to have dealt and he’d heard many a story of how difficult it was to remove such an organic scent from wherever Em’s body sat.
He drove in silence, regretting his abilities, regretting his knowledge and abundant collection of what he’d seen while he rested and realized, essentially he hadn’t successfully slept through the night quietly or dreamlessly for too long. His graying and unshaven beard brought to light the age he was and he regretted not telling his wife the harrowing capability still unsure of how to address what it was, how it was, and what it meant.
He didn’t feel like a soothsayer, Nostradamus, Southeil, or Baba Vanga could’ve choked on this ability for all he cared, he just wanted to feel typical again, plain, simple, and let it be boring. He couldn’t stand the nightmare of seeing what is to come, it wasn’t something that had been trained like a movie shows, the recollections came in a shattered mirror type of form that made his assuming near detrimental and he’d kept his lips tight to sharing what he could do with anyone, say but Em. That realization whacked against his mind leaving a rattling of woe and sorrow that had him wanting to be right back at home starting at the muted screen with his family. That’d have to wait if ever happen, as he pulled up through the long winding roads of the City Park.
He finally came to the older portion of the park grounds, it was an odd portion. One of curved, jutting shale, dirt, and pavement where the daring frisbee golfers practiced their trick shots but due to a murder or five, it hadn’t been graced by many if only to smoke the devil weed in what looked like years. The tree at the knoll heading back to where the large parking lot was so happened to be Em’s favorite marking ground and the stained burned grass showed that. Grabbing the round-point shovel he headed to the spot where his son and Em were captured every year by his wife. There was a branching collage of photos showing that very spot splashed against the fridge, the family room, and even his office, he smiled remembering those times with glee. Pushing down quickly with the tip of that heavy shovel into soft ground while trying to think of anything but why he was there. He’d known she was going to die, knew that and so many other tragedies that’d quickly be piling up but for the life of him, couldn’t do anything but shovel and shovel with tears streaming past his cheeks. They burned at his retinas and collected in a large hanging droplet in his scruffed beard until losing grip dropping into the hole where the blade ricocheted off the large roots throwing him off balance. He patted at his now blistered hands ignoring the sharp pain, looked at the dark hole in silence but his quiet sniffing at the remaining tears, and walked back listlessly to the car to grab that damn duffel bag.
But he couldn’t, Jacob was overcome by a grief he already thought was released and pushed absently away, he could barely stand and leaned against the car not aware that the trunk was already open and his jean pocket was rubbing against the bumper. The tears weren’t enough while he dug, now he struggled to breathe, strained to see the trunk of his car where Emily was waiting and he’d begged there was a way to had been able to prevent the next moments as well as the coming harrowing months. The anxiety had been waxing on his soul, tearing at the heart he kept strong for the only two he’d strived to bring light to and already he was starting to see the fraying of something within his wife. Emily’s passing was just the start.
Finally recuperating, he wiped the wetness from his face aggressively and lugged out the duffel bag. She’d gained weight since the beginning of this small expedition from house to grave or perhaps it was a weight of his that shared with the weakness he started to feel, not knowing how to take the appropriate steps in making everything better after covering her with the soil of the park grounds. Before taking the bag and slowly dropping her in, Jacob made a curious choice in jumping in alone and kneeling down as low as he could to see what the coolness may feel like for her, trying to gain a perspective on being dead and buried but even that was a silly joke, to think he could comprehend what death is to anyone. ‘We all die alone huh?’ he asked Emily while pulling himself out of the deep shoveled hole. Before shimmying her down he unzipped the bag, patted her head, looked at her grayed muzzle, nearly forgetting the collar and making sure to unclip and quickly pocket it before he kissed her crown. He zipped her back up, slowly straining to not have her break on entry and quickly set to push the soil over the bag.
He packed it down with a whack that became an almost cathartic cleanse of anger and futile remorse before realizing he had an audience now. A small crowd of four teens or college students were fifty yards away chuckling quietly to each other, while one was trying to shoosh them and wave them away. Instead, they shook the request away and waited for Jacob to pack up and drive away. Before doing so though he knelt on the newly packed dirt and whispered to Emily. ‘May I see you at the clearing when all is done old girl.’ and slowly got up, leaving the shovel behind, he got into the car, and drove back home with the windows rolled down, his music softly careening his loss.
Pulling up to the house felt surreal, knowing Emily wouldn’t be waiting, her tail wagging in anxious relinquishing of her bladder in the backyard as she did every other time upon arrival was something he needed to prepare himself for and breathed in a silent resolve for more moments than he’d care to admit. But then there was more to that he thought. Like watching a car accident at an intersection and how it seems to happen so slowly knowing that it was a mere blip of a fraction of a second. He thought this to himself, slowly getting out of the car, not feeling any lighter, taking each step with a leaded weight in his shoe, he thought how can he curtail what was to come and avoid the tragedies he’d been presented in those dire dreams? Seeing proof time and again that he wasn’t losing it, that somewhere through his time of experiencing these moments time and again with death, loss, family strife, and struggle among other lighter points, the deja vus never seemed to miss a truth or more than one. He shook his head, brought on a smile, and figured, he’d at least take it day by day, for now, and start his downward spiral tomorrow. Now he saw a moment of grace where he can share the grief he and his family all shared and have this time together, if only for this moment.
That thinning of chaos didn’t seem to ease. Fires and what became an incessant screaming, dying, with an addition of wild maddening swarmed around the truck, littered not only her visual senses but the skies and everywhere about her and the large truck she found to be her weapon and shell. Fifty miles and still the chaos consumed all she could see, after another hundred miles she started to feel an overwhelming weight of dire wanting for fresh water and smacked at her forehead with anguish and seeing herself as a fool.
She hadn’t the time before Dave’s bloody and likely already rotting body had barreled in through the house leaving her no choice but to run to the truck and flee. The water bottle she always had filled remained in the fridge, the little food she usually ate in the morning was likely on the floor of the kitchen now scattered and squashed and she licked at her lips remembering the plumpness of the blackberries Timothy and Nick had given her days before. They, with the store bought blueberries and strawberries were all that was out on the counter before chaos began earlier that morning and she knew it’d be a fool’s errand to go back but it was enticing enough to dream and keep the screams at bay, if only for a moment.
A loud thud came from the side paneling, its cacophony brought her back quickly while she whipped a side glance to the window and mirror only to see a young woman close in age ripped from the lifted step while still screaming to get in. The screaming echoed into the small crack allowing air from the window she finally gave herself. As she watched in horror the young woman’s arms were being shredded by multiple unknown and bloodied people all with enraged gluttony about their eyes. She hit the pedal harder with a stomp and went back to avoiding as many people running wild and losing their lives, During which she clipped a car or two and almost lost control until a large RV having the same idea somewhat saved her from tipping and she increased her speed getting in front of the RV and whoever was driving the blood-drenched RV leaving it behind. She couldn’t look around anymore, let alone waste the time with the distractions of havoc, encompassing her every direction. She needed to get the hell out of here, needed to find a tanker, gas station, anything to fill the truck up as it was starting to get low until she smiled with an almost maniacal grin remembering the second tank. ‘Oh, David’ she whispered and flipped the little node that allowed that second tank to start trickling into the remaining and almost empty first chamber for fuel. And to think of the fight that came from her inquiry about what need Dave would ever have for a secondary fuel tank now all made sense. The stupid almost monotonous man she loved had always imagined something such as what she was fleeing from to come eventually, regardless of how sick of a dream or fantasy it was, she was more than grateful at the moment that there was enough gas to at least get her to Louisiana, maybe Georgia, either one was better than where she was. At least she thought it’d be.
The morning left quickly as did the exhaust from her larger-than-life truck while it barreled through bodies alive or dead and all she could do was close her eyes while she mowed through what likely was the walking infected. Regardless she screamed that she was sorry, turned her mouth up to the sky, and choked on her tearing and sobbing ashamed of every move she’d been so willing to make and all for a life she wasn’t sure was worth anything anymore. The disgust swarmed over her while she thought of how many she’d driven by while they begged for her to stop or tried jumping on the truck to get a ride. How many had she killed by simply turning away or neglecting to slow, even for a moment to help them get into the bay of the truck? How many had she clipped or full-on collided with in avoiding certain death disregarding any knowing if whom or what was infected, if infected at all?
What had she become? To think she was doing Tai Chi fourteen hours ago, stretching to the rising sun and smiling at the gulls overhead while listening to the two men happily bicker next door over what to make for breakfast. Now she’d lost count of how many she left for dead, how many she’d piled through, and how many snapping bones she knew beyond a doubt she was responsible for while pressing on the gas pedal all to run away. She didn’t know where and if there was safety anywhere. She wasn’t an epidemiologist, and she wasn’t military trained, aside from knowing the truck took diesel fuel and how to use lint traps from dryers to start a fire, she felt that life was nearly pointless. But still, she kept her foot on the gas, didn’t turn to look anywhere but the distance to the next town while she begged within that she had enough energy to stay alive.
She was tired, more than exhausted, and after soiling the seat with filth and realizing there was no other option but to sleep, she found a parking garage that looked nearly empty and took the truck to the top level. Making sure to lock the doors, she pulled herself to the cab where thankfully there was an old jacket of Dave’s. Folding it up as a makeshift pillow she did what she could to sleep and was met by a flood of demons that egged her on with furthering and continuing the terrors she tried so diligently to escape if only for an hour or two.
I watched your throat get ripped from your body watched as the viscera was filleted from your head which you, then quickly drifted to the black. The blood quickly drenched my body and splayed about the ground. I screamed, l turned to run away from your pouring dead body while the world around us had died and was quickly enveloped by the gnashing and thrashing of what had become a dire fate. I’m writing to you while your body rises and wriggles with complete agony as you’re dying fate aches for another bite of flesh dying for the blood that is us and sure I am writing in what most would call pitch black but somehow I can see the paper that my pen is touching.
I’d say this is a journal but really this is the last testimony of the dying. The sheep would call this a ploy by the Democrats, the foolish would call this an act of God however would I call this is the world calling to tell us no more and shouting for us to be done? I watch your body wriggle and rise one more time until you then jump up with an erratic and ecstatic maniacal bout, my body trembles as I watch you struggle and walk. I look at you and ponder whether it be better to be like you or struggle to survive but when I look at myself being here on the third floor watching you beneath me watching the world crumble and rot I think this may be better.
I have a speaker on quietly Portishead is playing in the background their singer bouts out of wrangled and dying breath while she flies for her last love. I find myself moved and still here I am watching you beneath me watching as you stumble about stupidly idiotically looking for another bite of flesh looking for another virgin of the zombie world that you live in and here I am above you loving you and wishing you were here or… Wishing you were above with me holding me letting me become a part of you let me become a part of what this reality is now.
The days have become repetitive and monotonous where I find myself dying to be like you a zombified abomination of what humanity can be or apparently is those that were living with me or around me or now dead as well while they go and reach out for those that they loved not realizing that they’re not there anymore just like you aren’t there anymore you’re more of a memory. Not only are you more of a memory but you have become that of which is my nightmare I via to become you however I die to be everything unlike you. There’s this grasp of humanity that still alive Force still I love and here again I find myself staring down at you biting my bottom lip looking for you in the midst of the Dead looking for you among The crawling and the weeping will I slowly, slowly become so much like you we are nearly the same however my heart is still pumping.
Hello and goodbye here I sit stand crawl and die a lonely woman, hating you hitting a need hitting my need for water, for love I laugh at myself thinking how foolish how stupid that I am still here. I could have ran I could have moved myself I could have I could have sneakily drifted away from everything that this is now. And somehow even while dying while choking on my last breath I look at you my stupid Love gnashing and nine at the air while I above I’m quickly falling to the ground to feed you a last time know that my body though you may not remember is something of yours something of mind something that we share something that I call a testament of love a testament of grief and a vying for you and I hope that somewhere deep there comes A memory of me.
Jacob and his small family had finally pulled up to the house, the rain had become a heavy drenching matching their grief and he did what he could to cover them both as they wearily came to the door. The patio and its tin-roofed awning cracked through their senses and brought them all to an alertness that none but maybe Jacob could bear as he struggled to find the right key to gain entrance to their domain and the slowly decaying Emily. Once inside, their son shed off his jacket and backpack with a careless demeanor that matched the withdrawal he’d already started to show, almost as though he felt it was coming as Jacob did.
Jacob’s wife though was nearly unconsolable, her shaking had brought her to her knees before she had a chance to strip her boots off while she asked where her puppy was through tears and soaking snot. Jacob pointed to the mass atop her dog bed while he knelt down and unzipped the boots from her feet and slowly pulled them from her hot feet. The jacket stayed though as she quickly darted to the mass of what was Em with Jacob’s arms slowly missing the hood and dropping at his hips. He hung his head, shook it, tried to wipe the tears away but knew it was a hopeless endeavor and just followed her motion and fell at the foot of Em’s bed. He put an arm over his wife’s shoulder and pulled at her gently as she turned toward his armpit and wept uncontrollably, flooding his shirt and soul with the misery she felt and Jacob could only absorb it as he knew he’d have to.
He struggled though, as he kept wanting to relinquish the knowledge behind Em’s foretold passing, wanting to unfold all of the nights before for the last few years. But of course, now wouldn’t be the time. He rummaged through his mind library and debated how, when, and what would be told to his darling that wouldn’t make him look like a loon and have her screaming for help or calling a psychiatrist instantly. His past was already wrapped up in a flummoxed tragedy of suicide attempts as a teen, a psychotic break right before they were engaged, shortly followed by his mid-life crisis that she so eloquently avoided ever discussing. She always happened to see him in his best light and at points, this drove a wedge between them. He was a talker, the communicator, whether it was for the better, it helped and she was quite the contrary. Her lips consistently lay pressed tightly keeping the intrapersonal as she deemed it right. It didn’t matter though, least Jacob didn’t think it was, assuming at some point, rather soon than the latter she’d to know about the coming accident at her school and so many other moments that could possibly be avoided if completely halted. He signed heavily as the thinking became weighted and brought a mental fatigue through him that shook his head and disrupted his wife’s emotional flurry.
Luckily their son was nonverbal, and brilliant in his ways of communication, especially with his assistive tech but with this and the loss of his only pet, the family’s only pet, he didn’t grab his device. He just slowly and quietly whined emitting an almost numbing and hollow high hum that echoed throughout the house bringing a hollowing that each member of the household felt. Both Jacob and his wife looked at him and felt that pit deepen with seeing the tears collect at the corner of his solemn eyes and they both waved at him to come and be held. He was apprehensive at first, shifted in his comfortable and memorized spot on the cushion finally hoisting himself to the two, and began to cry with both of them. None of the family could hold it in any longer and they all sobbed loudly petting the sherpa-adorned family pet, kissing the slowly stinking and decaying body of Emily while saying goodbye. Jacob felt not only moved but crushed, walloped by the weight of seeing both of them remorseful in agony with this loss, and only wished there was a way of making this moment better. But knowing that wasn’t a feasible nor manageable feat he continued to cry with both of them kissing their head.
Yaretzi had two hundred to her name, it was left to burn a hole through the Vegas strip not teaching her a thing but to try again. The original three grand she flew into the city with had quickly been slapped against the green tables of the random casino after casino after bar and buffet. Now she found herself nearly broke, tear-soaked with a drunkenness and lingering flavor of something vile and bile ridden. The little she had won before finding herself looking at two solitary hundred dollar bills were quickly flushed away to glasses of overpriced liquor and buttered shellfish. ‘Of course, you were right’ she thought to herself acknowledging the argument she had with a disappointed father before heading to the airport. The echoing of his warning and how the idea of her solution after the breakup being ill thought was coming back and she scratched at her ears with intentions of striking away the talk four days ago away but nothing is ever that easy. She had already canceled the return trip with the idea of riches coming to her after winning a decent pull at a solitary slot machine shortly after landing in Vegas.
‘It was all a rouse wasn’t it?’ she thought with a scoff and looked around unaware of how close or far she was to a possible car, not sure of how’d she’d make it back to Pueblo. The year 2023 was too much to have made the impulsive move and she found herself kicking her own ass with shame and knowing she was a fool. She couldn’t imagine what pulling a trick would do to her, though she respected the ladies for doing so, she knew she’d never be able to look at herself nor be near her father after something like that and thought of any other way to get back…the phone she came with was lost on day two. Knowing that’d never pop up again, she took to walking, gazing at the nearby casinos, assuming one of these sites had to have a fluke to her winning and would grab big enough she’d be able to make it back home. But which one? she thought to herself. Which casino could offer a win big enough without the call and overly enticing solutions that offered more riches that she recently and stupidly fell for the day before? Her mind spinning, her idea of how casinos talked to each other, sharing the suckers of the strip and passing out pics like pokemon cards. She laughed aloud at the thought and shook it away with a wave of her head.
Whichever casino she chose had to have limited flashing signs, a lack of cars without people waltzing in and out so lackadaisical. The one in front of her had lights too bright, the blinding effect of its strobes and security had her thinking it was a place of too many ripoffs that’d end up placing her in a desert hole. The other two she mozied by were nearly the same just with minor color differences and too much Elvis blaring from the speakers near the valet stops. The last wasn’t even a casino, least she didn’t think it was and she skipped the option of looking in and instead turned around to look at the Pyramid and see if she could still see the rollercoaster atop one of the popular casinos but had lost direction and turned back around.
Upon that near immediate turnabout, the lame building she thought was shuttered looked to have a sheen, a glimmer or sparkle, one could say. She looked around, unsure if her eyes were tricking her, and thought she couldn’t be that wrecked with the liquor and headed to the door. Its doors slid open silently and she was astonished to see people inside. She quickly took a double take to the parking lot, able to count the few cars outside, and hesitated on going in any further but there was a call within her feet that carried her to the counter. Whether the drink was quickly shedding from her or helping her choice, she’d think about it later. No, instead she pulled out the last of her cash and asked for two hundred in chips, waited for the solemn clerk to tally up the amount and slide her back what was asked for. The smile came, quickly wiped away by her hand, trying to show more confidence and she slowly went about looking at the game options, deciding to stay clear of the slots and figured she’d likely be able to pull in close to five hundred before morning at one of the tables. Blackjack was out of the question, as was craps. Instead, she saw the spinning wheel, heard the clik-clak and cheer of “Come on Red!” and plopped down in the only remaining chair at the roulette table and crossed a finger.
The incessant and grizzly alarm went off like a banshee. Gerald adamantly settled his drool-soaked pillow over it and nestled over the blaring time. Bringing it to a muffled blurb of noise that was comparable to a trash truck hauling waste. ‘trash truck? Thought Gerald in a blind and sleeping stupor. His eyes were wide and opened in a blink of a moment’s breath. “Trash Truck! Fuck! Work!” He grabbed the alarm and saw that it had only been blaring for a matter of minutes and quickly jumped into the nearly still wet one piece with ‘Waste Management’ printed on both sleeves and the back. He cringed and clammed up while slipping the suit over his, what was dry a moment ago, and let out an angry grunt hoping his nethers gained temperature again and quickly. He looked at the tall and long mirror, thinking this must be what a wetsuit feels like while he angrily scrunched his face at himself shaking the image away with a brisk walk to the back of the house. The smell of mildew, though not manifested yet was all he could think about while grabbing his cap.
He’d already checked on his dad, his dad’s respirator and heart monitor were all in check. He also knew the morning nurse, JJ, who’d be in early to bathe the old geezer. Gerald had intended on bringing lunch for the nurse and him to share. But probably would cower from doing so like he always did. JJ was always sweet, always gentle no matter the day who’d happen to carry a curious look of gentleness that was shared with Gerald. He swore she gave him an eye. Secretly Gerald hoped it was one with wanting and an aspiring light behind the iris, maybe a wanting of something tender. Then again, maybe Gerald thought himself to be crazy.
This was usual of his mindless hopeful endeavors, an incurable hesitance that always seemed to manifest a negative contribution to his already loaded life. He shook the silly thought still keeping his fingers crossed for good intentions and hustled to the urn sitting atop the back counter near the door. It was narrow, flask like and near the same thickness. Though its weight was an absolute hull in that it was complete obsidian stone. What was within the sacred urn of Gerald’s was his Mi’ma. An old shrew, a woman who only shared her heart and kindness among love and care with Gerald. Little would she have ever thought it’d translate into him hoisting her dead soul with him everywhere. He kissed the stone gently with admiration and nestled it in a breast pocket of the jacket sticking to the damp jumpsuit he wore. He then walked out the door with a sigh of deep relief and jumped into his beaten sedan. Today he’d get to haul the shit, the cans, the mess of it all. He had the gloves, the boots, and the face mask in case and prepped for the foulest. Gerald drove quickly to the plant. Clocked in, grabbed the truck keys, route checklist, and clipboard. He threw the keys up at the awaiting driver; Eddie Viego. Their manager thought drivers and baggage handlers should be shifted, that way they all knew one another and helped with establishing a community camaraderie. It was gradually aiding in Gerald’s growing ambivalence to work communities. He begrudgingly jumped in the passenger chair gave a fist bump and kept his mouth tight. Thankfully he’d be hanging on the back end of the rig within twenty minutes. It was one of the luxuries of the job.
He came to realize he was vehement in his dislike of contact with others let alone the genuine niceties he was expected to relinquish through the day. He cringed at the thought of ‘chatting’ with another man, nodding at a woman bidding them a good day, or smiling at an elder, he felt he was always over the top and didn’t know when to zip his lip. Therefore he enjoyed not having to need those attributes ready to share at a call. The drive alone to the route’s start was a good beginning of the day, if he could only disregard the blaring alarms and wheezing machinery his father needed to breathe. Gerald grasped at the stone urn sitting in his chest pocket and smiled faintly. Eddie, as it so happened, had managed to weasel his way into riding this specific route for the last three weeks and made it where Gerald was always his trash hauler.
Gerald didn’t ask only assumed as he was likely right in the request. Eddie was one of those types, the ‘hands clean’ characters where even if a boss did see him tweak the system, they’d let it slide. Gerald didn’t mind. As long as Eddie didn’t burn his ears it’d be a peachy start to the beginning of the month.
They drove on and once at the starting spot, Eddie gave Gerald a tough tap and stated the “machine can’t feed if it doesn’t have a feeder bruh” then cackled softly to himself more than to Gerald and sipped at his 44oz plastic mug filled with likely coffee. Gerald smirked and hopped to the back going about his way. He jumped atop an anchor meant for his arm and kicked at the side making a loud echoing thud.
The weather was pleasant thought Gerald, his father was hopefully being tended appropriately and Eddie wasn’t all that bad a driver. Long as they didn’t deal with oversized hauls, today’s work looked as though it’d be wrapping up early. He smiled a big grin and nodded at the driver behind their rig. This surprised him and immediately he thought of JJ. Being aware of the ridiculous hope he laughed at himself and jumped off at the next house. The sun was barely making its appearance, the driveway’s lights were both on and bright. The extended drive curved to a three-car garage and Gerald scoffed. ‘If only’ he thought. The bushes were trimmed, the garden recently watered and the trash at the drive’s curve was abundant. Eddie opened his window and hollered ‘good luck!’ before sipping away at his coffee again. The boxes were nearly crushed and folded in a manageable spread that made hoisting them to the truck easy, the two company buckets also easy. The large garden green trash bag though was too much. He gave it a try and plopped on his back end with bad footing. Eddie ripped the door open, jumped out laughing, and came to give a hand. “You good? He laughed with riotous glee and apologized, “That was too funny Ger, your ass alright?” Eddie smiled nervously and helped Gerald up. Gerald brushed himself off and thanked Eddie to which Eddie brushed a fictitious foul critter off, letting Gerald know it was good. “Let’s get this lug to the compactor Ger.” Eddie said. He bent down to grab one end of the bag before quickly stepping back and waving the air around him. “Oh god! You smell that?” Gerald didn’t, his nose had grown blind to the smells wafting about and bent down with a quick jump regretting the choice “What is the hell is that?”
“How’d you not notice before Ger, fuck?” Gerald stammered and looked at the oversized bag, then shrugged and tried moving it again before gagging and almost wretching his morning coffee. “Don’t do that again! Whatever’s in there, moving it, makes it worse. Don’t touch.” Eddie straightened up and tapped his shoe on the driveway.”I’m just gonna rip it open and we’ll transfer it to more bags. Go get the bags behind my seat.” Gerald abided and was back in an instant where he found Eddie further from the bag on the floor pointing in horror at the bag.
Gerald slowly turned to look at the green trash and with an equivalent horror like Eddie’s shuddered at what he was looking at. “What do we do?” Gerald asked cautiously and softly. “That’s a dead body Ed, we can’t just throw it in the rig and crush it, we gotta call the cops man.” Eddie looked at Gerald with a grimace and wide eyes, he then got closer to Gerald’s face, scooting his rump closer “No.” He stated and slowly got up. “We’re gonna fold ‘em, bag ‘em in those” he pointed at the bags Gerald was holding. “and toss ’em into the rig. Kapeesh?” Gerald looked at him in horror and stepped back now far enough he could smell the cut grass of the neighbourhood and looked around in terror “What the fuck Ed? That’s insane, I’m not ‘folding a dead body’, we need to report this. I’m gonna grab the walkie.” Eddie puffed his chest a bit and stepped in front of Gerald aggressively and gritted. “You’re not calling anybody. You can’t. Plus its trash isn’t it? It looks like an old frail man or lady, Ger. I don’t think it’d take much.” Eddie shrugged clamping one arm over the other expressing ease.”Stop, shut it you filthy wretched Fuck! Ed, I’m not bending some old body, they deserve more.” Eddie angrily stomped a foot and hit the green bag with a boot. “I’m not losing my job for this, let’s just get rid of the body.”
Gerald gave a look of terror as he grabbed at the lump inside his jacket. “I won’t,” Gerald says while aggressively shaking his head back and forth, “and there’s got to be a better way of dealing with this Ed, come one man, let’s just put the bag and all in the passenger spot.” Eddie threw his hands up cussing and clenched a fist before glaring at Gerald again. “I said no to the cops, I’m saying no to it sitting with me while I drive, and I’m gonna clock you one if you don’t just help me out it into the rigs teeth…Got Me!”Eddie’s casual demeanor had evaporated and what stood before Gerald, was a brute. Ed reminded Gerald of his dad before the sick came. All that was missing was a gut and beer, he choked before letting the smirk and scoff emit from his throat.”Ed we just need to walkie this in man, they’ll tell us to leave it as is, call the cops and bingo. We’re outta here and back on to working tomorrow. I’ve read the manual through and through. Hell “if you think it’s too shocking” you could even get some personal time Ed. Go on a binger and breathe? You know?” He said as he tried playing his nerves off and smiled an excruciatingly difficult grin at Eddie shaking his head with absolute and adamant approval. He almost shouted “Sounds great don’t it!?”Eddie sighed a bit and let his fists loose. Gerald quietly whooped and slowly headed to the rig before Eddie clocked him in the back of the head, hard. Gerald felt each separate knuckle collide with the back of his neck right below his skull. He squinted as his legs buckled and fell to his knees while Eddie started for the green bag and once nabbed, dragged it toward the rig as diligently as he could. Eddie hoped Gerald’s dazed self would hopefully have passed out while he heaved and struggled moving the rotting dead to the awaiting rig. He managed to move it about twelve feet and was quickly surprised to hear a heavy grunt and feel the slap of a clenched hand against the flat of his back. Gerald stood there teeth clenched and teetered between wanting to smash a fist in Eddie’s face or just haul him to the rig and make Eddie use the radio himself. “Stop being a fucking idiot Ed!”
“Fuck you Ger, you don’t know how long it took me to get signed on this, especially after getting out, I’m not doing this. People die every day, hell ain’t your pops on the outs? At least getting closer and closer, yeah?” Eddie stood there clenching his jaw as though there was gum and shrugged his shoulders anxiously. Gerald looked at him dumbfounded. He thought to himself, ‘it’s that simple, just radio it in, and ta-dah!’. He looked at the open bag, and smelled it’s reeking, covering his nose all while still trying to figure out the gender of what was in the bag, rotting. He knelt down, patted the breasts pocket of his jacket, and lifted the bag a bit to see clearly.
It was an old bloodied woman, probably 140 pounds, black hair, graying, wrinkled, and bruised. She was clothed but probably broken, Gerald could see an ulna sticking from the forearm and saw the neck looked peculiar, surreal, he thought it’d probably be found to be broken. He was enveloped by a morose notion and looked at Eddie with a saddened general look at nodded at the bag.
“We gotta call the cops man, somebody brutalized her, look!” Gerald said as he pulled the bag open further and made sure Eddie saw the broken bone and neck.”I told you, I’m not doing it Ger, I’d rather toss you and the bitch in the rigs teeth and tell ’em you just walked off.” Eddie growled through grimy teeth and checked Gerald who quickly slid back on the driveway and looked around for anything to use.
Eddie took another step toward him continuing. “It’s not like anyone will miss you Ger, you’re a droll, your fathers been stuck in a bed since I met you, no one sees you bru. You’re like a fly on the wall man. And now you’re trying to be high and mighty, does this make you better? You think it will get you stardom bitch? It’s an old dead hag, she just needs to be dumped, she’s fucking trash Germ.”
He took another step toward Gerald, which Gerald copied toward Ed. Eddie scoffed at Gerald and smirked while taking an empty swing at him who was too far to meet with skin. With the miss and Ed nearly losing his balance Gerald charged quickly and pounced on Ed who yelped and fell to the ground. His face hit the concrete hard and Gerald saw the blood first before seeing a tooth loudly clatter as it hit the hard ground. Gerald pushed off of Ed and quickly stood up with his hands rolled into fists and awaited a banshee of force. Gerald looked at Ed, he still was on the ground, almost crumpled and unmoved. “Ed? Come on Ed, get up! Ed!” Eddie didn’t move and Gerald swooped down to the ground on hands and knees checking the vitals on Eddie’s wrist. He felt nothing and Ed’s arm moved fluidly at the grasp, he went to move Ed and felt a crack within the body and was sure something snapped. He breathed heavily and nudged a shoulder of Ed’s while looking at the green bag. He nudged Ed’s foot, looked at the time, nudged Ed’s body again, stood up wiping his hands off on his thighs. He breathed a heavily weighted sigh and walked to the two bodies. He gazed at them for a long time before seeing the sun was almost fully up and grabbed the green bag. The hydraulics could be heard squealing their agonizing screams as the trash loader compacted the remaining trash while Gerald placed the green body bag into the passenger seat. He waited to hear the hydraulics release and lift then hopped over to the driver’s seat. He patted at the lump in his breast pocket, gave a subtle smile to the mirror, thought of asking JJ out for a drink before shifting the truck to first gear and heading to the next pickup.
“Oh my god, oh my fecking god, this isn’t, this can’t be real! What the hell did I miss, there’d be news about whats happening, right? What about David? Oh my god!!! I need to get to the house, I need to get to my car and drive off, they’ll see me, I know it, what the feck do I do? What about David, He should’ve been pulling up if not already here. The boys are gonna rip me limb from limb and I’ll end up being their dessert while they engorge on my eyes and intestines! Fuck me!!!”
The internal argument of Josie’s was a reflection of an inner truth she’d faced when watching the myriad of horror flicks David insisted on having her watch with him. She didn’t mind a good thriller, C.H.U.D. being a favorite, and the select few intellectual and enthralling horror pieces but the zombie route was getting old. David always stated it would end like this. They’d get ripped apart by mindless hordes somewhere down the line. She’d roll her eyes toward him and say he was silly, cuddle into his nook; right at his pit where he smelled of work, sweat, and their loving. Her eyes got wide, having the thought of David and his body molting, rotting, acquiring the odor of the walking dead within a week’s time became too sick to bear. She started to cry. Hand over her mouth, still hugging the grass and waiting while the boys devoured the lot of their rabbits. She could hear the squelching of the rabbit’s bodies being torn and gnawed and an eerie yelping and squawking of the terrified rabbits still breathing awaiting their doom.
She held her breathing and slowed it as much as she could without choking at the terror she was succumbing to. The sounds reminded her of the revolting scenes David would get gitty with watching George Romero’s collections; this was worse and had her holding in gagging and a sampling of her own bile a time or a few. She looked at the sliding door and slowly started to crawl or slide along the grass not wanting to move too abruptly. Hoping she’d not bump into one of the few pink flamingos or stone cairns she had decorating the grounds, her silent prayers were for both her neighbours to be too enthralled with their morning feast. Her biggest wish though was that once she was close enough she could hop in the building, latch the door, and run to the car without anything being aware. ‘Fingers crossed’
After her slow-going slide and pause that nearly lasted thirty minutes, she found that she was almost there, she was sure that the last of the rabbits had been ingested now. She didn’t care to inspect or for that matter even know. She just wanted inside, somewhere safe…safe?
That word had a new meaning now, didn’t it? she thought to herself before coming to terms with how quickly and quietly this next move would have to go or she’d likely have teeth jutting into her flesh. She inhaled quietly, gulped slowly, feeling her heart palpitate and almost silently slid the door open and swooped in without anyone or thing recognizing her movement. She slid the door slowly and once she felt it stop, latched it quickly and turned on her heel, grabbed the keys to her car and ran to the garage. Grabbing a phone hadn’t registered, let alone her thought of phones seemed likely more of a trap to any issue if she survived getting out of town. It’d be her luck that a forgotten phone alarm would end up blaring and letting anyone know exactly where she was in her distant future and the thoughts needed to be about survival not getting ripped to shreds.
The garage was already open…and David’s truck was idling with the driver’s door open. She could even hear his crap music playing on the radio quietly and with the door to the garage open gasped quietly. She whipped her head around and whispered into the house. “David…David…Dave, where the fuck are you?” She said this all within the decibel of a whisper and debated whether turning back into the house and searching would be an enlightening or detrimental choice. Hearing a crash and incoherent jabber of gnashing teeth told her to run. The truck though was blocking her car so she took her chance with the open door of Dave’s stupid truck and jumped in. There was blood everywhere, the seat had a puddle that her butt became accustomed to quickly and she threw the vehicle into reverse before giving a moment to the sound she ran from. It was surely David but it wasn’t worth the risk of getting her body ripped up for and drove away recklessly bashing through her mailbox and nearly hitting the neighbour’s silver Miata while speeding out of the cozy neighborhood she’d grown to love within the last couple years. Before getting to the stop sign though she made the idiotic choice of looking at the rearview mirror and saw a bloody, stumbling David lurching out of the garage, holding Timothy by the hair and flinging an arm of someone across the pavement. She screamed, swiping her sweat from her brow and tears from her eyes, she kept her foot planted to the pedal and refused to let up till the chaos around her started to thin out.
Harold had nearly stripped the apartment as though the two bedrooms, living space, and bathroom were a renovation. Lucy had left, taking the keys with her after cursing at him while he grabbed all the items from the boxes and closet still unpacked and rummaged through every orifice and nook. Whether it was a purse, backpack, gift box, jewelry case, or anything that he could envision holding that wallet he’d peek through.
However, now he sat defeated. He grabbed at the hairs laying against the nape of his neck and tugged angrily, plucking at himself like a peeved gardener does at weeds, and continued to do so until he felt blood trickling down his neck. Once that dripping was flowing he got up shaking his head. He’d already pushed the one person away that mattered most to him, the whole of his family was either gone or dead, and he found not peace but destruction to be his vice. Still feeling the trickling droplets slide down his sweating neck, starting to feel the burn from his self-mutilation he walked to the bathroom sulking and crying at the foolish man he’d become in a matter of the few hours he’d wrestled with this dilemma. Once in there, he gazed at the mirror, eyes bloodshot, and tear-soaked, seeing the blood start to stain the neckline of his shirt he started to mockingly laugh. Almost going about to punch the mirror, he held back his fist and shook a finger at himself, coming to terms that anyone watching what he was doing would call the cops, he took to the porcelain seat. He cried for a moment and in that innocuous moment of complete but coincidental randomosity flushed the toilet. With the lid closed the sound was muted but at that crucial pulse of a moment he heard a soft fabric thud to the ground.
He quickly turned, almost hopping with excitement and crouched reaching behind the toilet at the black wallet and pulling it to his chest sighed with great relief. He went to call Lucy, thinking of how he’d protest and convince her to their apartment. After crushing her noteworthy collection of wondrous reads, why would she come back? He asked himself silently and sent a text instead of begging her back with a call that read simply ‘I FOUND the wallet, come back, let’s get you to the book stores and I’ll replace em all. I’m sorry…and I’ll show you the wallet and explain my idiotic and infantile behaviour.’
After pressing send on his phone he waited anxiously but with a convincing to himself that she wouldn’t be stepping inside this place again. Hoping he’d hear a door close from the car they shared or hear her breathing a heavy sigh through the open window of the front of the apartment. However, he was astonished to find that she was sitting out there the entire time, just waiting. Her favorite wicker chair that she’d wished and jokingly begged for months ago was adorned with a cushion that she now used as her support sitting on the concrete step of their second-floor apartment. Luckily it was an odd and quiet night so only a few of the neighbours were either at the complex or even cared to open a door or walk about the area. This meant that she had all the time to listen to his fit throwing, rolling an eye at the idiocy, snickering and sticking a tongue our at the manchild behaviours she’d come to see from brothers plenty. Until today sadly, this was a first for her in being witness to his stupidity but she shrugged and figured, ‘that’s love, putting up with the stupid.’ Oddly there was a sense within that told her not only would he confess and relinquish so much that he’d never alluded to before, but tonight was going to be something of a special night.
And deep down she knew she’d be cleaning the shelves of the two book stores the lame town had available and she was starting to get antsy waiting for that text to come.
Upon finding the text at the same time Howard stuck his head out, she grimaced and then gave him a meek smile with a hand out, obviously awaiting the fated wallet to be placed in her hand. Howard grumbled a peevish and embarrassed apology looking her deep in the eyes and set the wallet firmly in her hand.
“Let’s go.” She said and they mozied down to the car with keys and wallet in hand.
Jacob woke before the rest of the home did, as he often did, and went about doing his morning routine. Jacob packed the lunch for his son, the assistive tech device, and nestled that into the convenient pouch with a peanut-butter cup in the tiny hide-a-hole. He prepped the iced protein coffee for his wife and sliced some fruits & veggies for her knowing the day would be long and grueling while making sure to pack an extra protein drink in her lunch sack. After that was done he grabbed his favorite mug, a white and black dog head capable of holding 28 ounces of coffee, and started his personal prep before hitting the office.
The second, no the third alarm for his wife and son, had just gone off and with a smile, he kissed her gently giving her a bit of a nudge telling her he’d turned the shower on. After that he egged his son out of bed with a chiming of his name that had the young boy pad into the parent’s bed. There he pulled the blanket up to guard him against the light and Jacob left a pair of jeans and the boy’s school shirt along with some fresh socks, on his wife’s side of the bed he left a pair of rolled panties and long socks for her, a pair of gray slacks and a tank-top. He kissed them both gently knowing they’d still likely lay in bed for an additional ten minutes but knew he couldn’t just gaze in wonder at them and hustled to the office across the house. His piping hot coffee and a water bottle in hand, he gently plopped in his office chair and got settled for the day. Headset already atop his crown and the coffee pad warmer on, he got his computer warmed up and put in the needed keycodes, waited for admittance and while that took a moment longer as it usually did, he ran back to his bedroom, kissed his wife and son one last time and wished them a good day.
He hadn’t looked at Emily, their dog, hadn’t noticed the rotting scent yet and plopped down at his chair, entered in the appropriate codes for the VPN, got the virtual desktop going, and started his morning with a cheery “Good morning, my name is Jacob Vincente. Thank you for calling…” and went his next two hours uninterrupted while he punched in credentials and policies over and again, patching this client to this team and this agent to the third-party group and so on till his first break.
When he came out of the room to freshen up with a fresh cup of coffee, the house was empty and quiet. Thinking his son or maybe his wife had forgotten to flush he checked the bathroom but already knew the smell wasn’t emitting from that room. He looked at the dog bed, and gazed at Emily hesitantly inching toward her as though she had turned into a feral beast but once he stepped a foot closer was walloped by her dying body’s reeking mass and inhaled through his shirt, already bunched and at his lips. The tears were pouring uncontrollably while he grabbed at the nearest blanket that was left draped across one of the couches. He knew, or at the least, hoped his wife wouldn’t get sully about a sherpa being used to adorn their dog with but knew she’d ladle gold over the old girl if it was deemed appropriate.
He saw this moment, many times through the last few months, and had assumed he’d carry this weight more adequately, he couldn’t contain his grief however and curled next to Emily’s decaying old body for far too long. If it wasn’t for his landline ringing thirty minutes after he began swaddling her he’d have stayed there til his wife and son got home. He jolted in horror at the ringing but quickly came to realize it was likely a team member or TL trying to find out if he’d fallen or worse. Grabbing the phone, he first looked at the caller I.D. and was heartbroken that it was actually his wife calling. He’d done this so many times, but still in every dream never found the words right to tell her, never knew how to console the situation in a manner that wouldn’t have her getting weak at the knees and being able to hear the tears drop over the line.
“Hey Babe, everything okay? I tried texting you to let you know our boy and I are at the school, and just in time too, you gotta really shake me up sometimes Boo, you know how I get when it’s cold. Everything okay?” His wife had such a cheerful disposition and all Jacob could do was inhale as silently as he could and put a knuckle to his teeth trying so hard to not elude to the saddening development but knew the next thing he’d utter would tell her something was definitely not right.
“I’m sorry Honey, she’s gone…Emily passed away sometime through the night…I couldn’t bring… myself to call you when I realized…I just fell to the ground and cradled her til you called…I’m sorry Honey.” Jacob stated it all through sobs and sniffling, doing what he could not to choke, and was at the least, thankful that he had the words now. Regardless of the dreams he’d walked through night after night, at least he finally had something to say with emotion and a steeling of recollection to the moments before just blurting out that their dog was dead. He could hear his wife sniffling through the phone, asked if she was okay, and said he was sorry again. He could hear her start to sob and felt wretched that he didn’t see Emily earlier in the morning, or god forbid, smell her before his wife and son left for the day.
He didn’t want her driving in this state of grief, the last year alone hadn’t been all that kind as his wife lost her mother early the year before and then near Cabrini Day lost her Grandmother as well. Those were the last of her family and many times had she uttered to Emily not to take that path for at least another year. She begged to have a year, at the least to gain her feet, but no Emily chose her own time…and Jacob could feel a deepening pit inside as the monumental loss was likely hitting his wife in the heart heavier than anything he could equate an understanding to.
“Leave the car, we’ll pick it up later, I’m going to call my boss and ride over to the school and get both you and our boy okay? Honey? Just stay there, if you can tell your Trina what just happened and I’m sure she’ll cover your room. I’ll be there within twenty minutes, I love you.”
He could hear her sob a gobbed and wet love you too and okay into the phone before hanging up, afterward he quickly grabbed his keys and hustled to the car. He was thankful that they at least got two vehicles as one of those nightmares he wrestled with had shown his wife dealing with tears flooding her eyes and losing both his wife and child in a horrific accident, at the least, he was able to turn the finger to fate and say it wasn’t taking them today. He pressed on the gas and barely noticed getting to the school with all the chaos that was flooding his head and how he needed to start reconsidering some of the recurring dreams that have been following him through the nights as of late.
That wasn’t something to think about now. He needed to get his wife and kid from the school, thankfully and tragically they were outside waiting under an umbrella while the morning rains were starting to come in, he ushered them into the car, thanked Trina for the assistance, and consoled them while he sped there as legally as possible. She gave him a tight hug and pressed her hand against the passenger window blowing kisses at his wife and boy while he got back in and headed back home to dig Emily’s grave. His head burned with worry and dread as he last night knew this was going to happen. But unlike all the other times this dream had happened, it came to a full fruition, what had changed, or what was it that Jacob had done or not done that made it happen? Was it something so easy to consider that a lack of action made this happen? Did this mean that fate caught up, that his path was turning to point of fitting the nightmares that kept him sweating through the night and restless every other?
He drove through the soft rains, hearing both his wife and son sniffing quietly, the radio was muted and all that could be heard was the pattering of droplets from up above while they drove home…to say goodbye to dear Emily.
Luca and Tyler Sykes were playing monkey in the middle with a friend while anxiously awaiting their mom to pull up post haste. She’d reminded them to be ready so they can get to the fairgrounds quickly and get in before the lines were beyond a patient wait time. However, once again, Angela neglected them, as she so often did when she’d sounded so collected and ready to have all set.
Luca, the oldest of the two, kicked the grass of the green that wrapped around the pickup lane and peered past parents already waiting for their own children to file in like any other day. Most of the kids for both his 7th-grade and Tyler’s 6th-grade class were all cheering for the rides and elated that it was Friday. Most bragged about how much they’d likely be given for the Ag Palace; known by all to have the best candy grabs a kid could find in town and embarrassingly neither of the boys had even known if they’d had enough for tickets to the rides let alone candy to lug back home after. They’d skirt the inquiries as they both so often had to, knowing they came from little money and it showed every year when they’d come to school wearing shirts from the year before or Tyler would be seen gluing his sole of the Adidas he treasured so much, again. They didn’t like drawing attention to themselves and both were happy that they managed to get some part-time jobs cleaning up the alleys around the neighborhood and the park. The crap of the matter though was that neither of them started until next weekend after the fair was gone. So they both made sure to dress in the cleanest and best clothes they did have for their excursion to the fair. Luca figured it wouldn’t matter how good they looked if they ended up missing out on the startup like their mom had promised would be taken care of perfectly. He kicked at the grass again and gritted his teeth when Angela blared her horn, rolled the window down, and told them to run to the side of the school and jump in.
Both the boys looked at each other with shock and a smile and quickly adhered to the demand made by their mom.
“Hurry it up you two, get in get in.” she said, ashamed of her lateness but elated to grace them each with an additional 40 dollars to split aside from the amount she scrounged from the couches and cleanup earlier that day. Turned out her parents had set aside some funds for this very day to make sure they could be kids without the worry of making ends meet as they usually did every other day and week. “Open the glove compartment Luca, give half to your brother, and make sure to keep that for you. Let’s get you two to the fair, make sure you have your tickets too, and I’m sure you’ll both have more than enough to get those ride bands so you can be having a blast till it’s shutdown time.” Angela was excited for them and didn’t think bringing up her reason for being late would need to be shared, her intention was to get the boys to the fair, and her investigation would be her own, even if her pops had eluded to hearing something too after sliding her that 40 dollars for the kids before she peeled out on the pavement and sped off to pick them up moments ago.
Luca, with a smile and grimace, said thank you while passing Tyler his portion and asked her what had been the hold-up.
“Don’t worry bout that son, let’s get you boys to the fair so you could have a good time, but don’t you two forget to thank your grandparents when we all come to get you tonight. Maybe we’ll even cap the night with a stop at DQ before crashing for the night. Sound like a plan Lu and Ty?” They both smiled at the idea and grumbled at thanking their grandparents, they never would dare to forget or else they’d get a chonkla, they’d both learned that lesson the hard way and didn’t want their mom to fret any more than she already does and had.
Angela swerved and faired a good time after all and found that she was just in time to drop them off before the rides were starting to rev up. They both happily wished her a thank you and kissed her curly-haired head avoiding a lip print she loves to leave them. She waved at them and told them to keep track of time and to be ready for pickup, same spot at 10:30 tonight.
“Me and your Gramps will be waiting for you. I love you boys, be safe!” they quickly thanked her, scrunched their faces up to hers, and shimmied out of the car. She watched them shuffle in, get stamped, and disappear into the crowds with smiles. She was elated to have been able to do that at the least, whispered a secret thank you to her Pops, again, and drove off back to the shanty home. It had only been a bit over 45 minutes since she heard the scream and god forbid there were screams still, but she had a tug at her heart that something was afoot. She pulled up slowly to the house while peering around at the familiar houses she’d grown up watching. She knew most of the houses were old and filled with elders. Only a few had new residents, mostly young and loud groups of college-fueled ideals needing to make noise or cause a ruckus for the sake of attention. Her assumption was that the scream came from a house with the younger renters in lieu of an elder who’d likely not have the strength to hurt anything but kick a dog away or push a cat off a couch.
She pulled into the driveway, slowly rolling the windows closed and anticipating a curdled scream like she heard before she ran to get the boys. It was silent, eerily quiet except for the man pulling that dog again and avoiding eye contact as she waived again and walked up the steps to the front door. Once in the house, she peeked through the blinds to see if the neighbor and dog were in view and decided to go on a small walk up and down the block to see if she was just losing her mind or making things up for the joy of dismantling the monotony she’d come to know so frequently. She took off her slides and grabbed an old pair of sneakers, put her bare feet in them, and went looking for anything out of place. Realizing she’d have an hour if not more before her parents would need a pickup she decided to make it a three-block walk and took her time. Trying not to be a Gladys Kravits, but still needing to know if there was someone begging for help, she mozied about glancing through yards, looked for broken windows perhaps. She felt crazy doing what she was doing and blamed her decision on the old joint that brought her curiosity to this point.
Once she hit that third block, she rolled an eye inwardly at herself and chuckled at her mere stupidity, turning tail to go back home and get cleaned up. She decided she needed to clean up, her feet were already sweating in the shoes tore-up shoes and she could feel the squish between her toes but then came a loud crack and what sounded like a gagged scream, or was that just the shoes she thought.
She turned her head slowly, pinched her eyes shut knowing she likely looked like a mad woman, and waited to hear something out of the normal everyday hum of the city. The cars rumbled by, echoing in her ears, the critters, birds, and televisions within the block could be faintly heard but then there was a faint muffled whine and an angry growl. But it was further back, closer to the house and she clenched her knuckles tightly thanking her intuition. She straightened back up, faced her house, and slowly stepped forward quickly. She knew she couldn’t run, she had to find the source of where the trouble came from, but also knew most of the neighbors were bored and either starting to come out to watch the sun head down or cool off with a beer. Her assumption was that it was only houses away and likely in a shed or a basement. Most of her side of the neighborhood was either falling apart, broken down, or barely hanging together. Meaning that the structures thankfully had cracks enough that the sounds were audible. Even to her. She prayed for her tenacious endeavor and hoped she’d be quick enough to find whoever it was being harmed. She couldn’t tell, not yet.
The roads were busy, the heat lingered atop the pavement and the fair was starting with a flurry of the city’s energy. Its enthralling, reverberating, and tenacious emotion lay just shy beneath the skin of Pueblo. The incessant chatter and hollers could be heard echoing off the slabs of pavement around the fairgrounds. It was a rejoicing time for the youth, an inpatient length of noise and mess for the elders while it coaxed the restless and weary keeping their minds deterred from work or off of the monotonous schemes of clock in-clock out. After all, it was a mimic of the same, reminding everyone of last year, the year before, and before…
Angela Sykes was on her weekly mission for her boys while she slowly yearned for a ticket to anywhere else. She scrounged up the change of the kiddos left in the jeans, thrown on the counter, and shook the couches and loveseat to their little divets she made them, allowing all the loose change that was inevitably going to be there to fall to the floor with a clang and chime. Along with the school’s fair tickets given every year, she had acquired enough to pay for two ride bands and maybe a basket of fries for them to share. It’d likely go to something like candy or a cheap lemonade but that was up to the boys. They were finally old enough that she could drop them off at the gate and come hours later to pick ’em up and shuttle ‘em back to the shanty house she and her old folks still managed to own.
Aside from the one drawer of her own with old clothes and perhaps a dish set or two, that run-down house was the only thing her parents and her owned, the lease on the car was late on payments, likely to get seized before the fair was packed up and she knew it was either the car or food enough to feed the family. It was bad enough that the two boys were nearing adulthood and lacked control when they ate. Like locusts, they consumed most of what was bought for the week before Wednesday had come around. Luckily they started part-time jobs in a week, and to say she was proud was an understatement, knowing how hard it was to even get an interview in this town, she could clap and holler a ‘yippee’ if she knew it wouldn’t make them blush and deny her the gratitude a mom deserves.
After cleaning up the muck and dust from finding all the loose change, taking it to the nearest Coinstar machine, and cashing it out, she had an hour to herself before having to pick the boys up from Pitts Middle School. She rinsed off her dust-covered face, embarrassed realizing that she walked into the Soopers store like that, and dabbed at her face with a dry rag. Being 29, she was starting to see the years hang on the corners of her eyes and damned her Abuela for the lazy eye she managed to get as it apparently skipped her mom and decided she was beautiful enough still, makeup could wait for a rainy day. She’d rather use up the last of her mascara, foundation, and highlight for work. Maybe she’d be able to stretch it out the next week and treat herself to the E.L.F line they had at Walmart. She rolled her eyes, scoffing at the idea and knowing, likely her boys would need something more important, at least for them. 45 minutes left and she ran to the closet of the room her parents and she shared, reaching up to a nook that saved an old and drying joint, now all she needed was a lighter and prayed her dada still had one in the silverware drawer in the kitchen.
Luckily, the red Bic was still there, still moderately full and she went out to the patio to sit and bask in the sun for the next ten minutes, knowing she’d need to pull up to the school earlier than later if she didn’t want mouth and drama from her two boys.
She closed her eyes, pursed her lips to the dry paper, flicked at the lighter, and took a long drag. It eased her senses, or clouded them, she had met a point in life now where either or, was better than nothing and shrugged it off while she exhaled slowly and stared out past the yard and waved at an old man walking his aging dog. The man ignored the gentle wave and hurried his steps, nearly choking the dog trying to get out of eyeshot. She snickered and smiled, knowing how the people were these days, she shrugged it away while taking a second and last drag until maybe tonight after the boys were in bed. She hid the remainder of the joint on the corner of the porch banister, put an old rock atop it afterward ran inside to grab her shoes.
She grabbed the money from her small Coinstar stop and the fair tickets for her kids, got the keys and her purse, locked up the house then jumped in the car. The school was minutes away so she took her backing up seriously, not wanting to muck up the car. She had already messed up the backend bumper once or twice before and didn’t want an extra, exorbitant fee hitting her later. While backing up though Angela, knowing the radio wasn’t on yet heard a muffled scream. It was almost blood-curdling, however, she figured it came from a neighbour watching a film with the windows open. Still backing up and turning the wheel to steer her towards the school she heard it again. The fair was too far away for that to be it, she peered about the neighborhood, didn’t see anything amiss, and shrugged it away…
The laundry had been tossed across the master room, the sopping washer load had been strewn across the linoleum leaving puddles to be traipsed over and across. Harold looked at his girlfriend Lucy with an ambivalence that could have anyone else’s skin molt and wither. Lucy wasn’t that type of woman though as she continued with a tenacity admirable even to the grump of a man glaring at her as he followed the wreck left behind going through pairs of sweats and jeans to no avail in a search of a wallet. A velcro-sealed wallet so easily purchased at any Wal-Mart from their city to each coast of the states. They both knew this. They both ignored the beguilement one another felt as they tore through the bedsheets, the hamper, the couches, and the rest of the small apartment. Harold went to the bookcases after soaking up a good amount of moisture in the socks he continued to wear on his stinking feet with an indistinguishable grumbling that neighbours under and above can hear but not even Harold was aware of. They needed this wallet.
Harold needed it, and at the moment could care less if Lucy was in the apartment or was attesting to his pulling the books down lazily and so carelessly. Lucy’s cries and wallowing were ignored as Harold; the brute began tossing them over his shoulder unabashed by where or how they landed. They had no difference to him than that of the sopping and likely still seeping wet load of laundry aside the washer. These were wastes of space in Harold’s eye, an argument that had continued since they moved in together. He didn’t get the sense of such a collection if she just let them bask atop a shelf. Rarely did he see her open them let alone know or share what they were about, but that was Lucy’s secret and not something she cared to waste his time discussing. Luckily for her, until today, her covering rent while he was still job searching kept them safe, kept her secrets and loves untainted.
Gibran, Dumas, Bradbury, Vonnegut, Morris, Christie, and many more met their fate to a blind toss with a flutter of pages let loose from their bindings. Tolstoy and the older collections she most treasured were luckily tucked in a footlocker hidden in the back of a closet but still, Lucy raged on. Lucy infuriated, screamed for Harold to stop, and begged for him to quit his childish fit and look at what he was doing all for a silly wallet. It was just money, something a week’s worth of working and slouched behind a counter or stocking shelves could replace, but unbeknown to Lucy that wasn’t the full truth.
Harold, only knowing Lucy for but two years of his thirty lived, felt that minute aspects of his life needed to be told. Histories of his family and what they carried were to be kept to sealed lips until he chose to wed if ever that came to be his choice. He whipped his head around and started to shout at her, baring down on her with ridicule only an idiot man can stoop to. Kicking and stomping on Palahnuik and King, shredding Tolkein and Yeats with his teeth and a smile. He spit out the papers with a grin, told her she couldn’t understand and continued looking through the shelves while throwing the last of the books to the floor with a behooving and dripping in vile sweaty anger.
“It’s not just a wallet Luce! It’s not just money! It’s my family’s legacy!”
Lucy wide-eyed and starting to quiver began to give him a look of curious audacity, an almost incredulous expression wanting to pull that statement yelled at her, still feeling the spittle on her cheeks, she wanted to know exactly what that meant. She mocked him with a meek scoff and rolled an eye pulling herself to the wall, knowing, more unsure if the books would be the only thing abused and shrugged.
“Meaning? Your family legacy, really Harry. You damage most of my books all for a velcro-sealed wallet cheaper than a joint on the street and you state it’s a family legacy!” Lucy looks at the torn and tattered smashed books she’d taken years to collect and slumps to the floor with tears falling quicker than her knees gave out.
“And you do this?” Luce waves her hand across the living room, looking up at Harold with hate he’s never seen protrude from her tear-strewn eyes.
He looks at her remorsefully, ashamed and confused of how he got so angry and so quickly.
“You can’t understand, Okay? I’m not excusing this bullcrap, I know, I fucked up, I’ll replace them all okay? I just need that wallet. It’s not a foolish want, I need it Luce, that wallet has so much and I can only show you if we find it.”
Lucy scoffs again and slowly, ignoring Harold now, crawls delicately to the broken collection and starts stacking them while tracing her finger across the spines. She sniffs at the nasal drip pouring from her nose and almost chokes.
“Find that fecking wallet then Harry! Get out of this room and find that stupid wallet and then you’re going to show me what’s so special and allow you some shit excuse for damaging these. She holds up Stephen Kings Carrie, its binding nearly torn in half, a first-edition hardback she bought after getting her first grant for college, and starts to cry. Harold still stupidly negligent to the emotions flooding her senses nods and goes about the apartment continuing his search in silence. All he hears aside from his movement and the slapping of his still wet socks is Lucy’s sniffing and begins to feel a heat exude from the woman he owes an explanation to.
The t.v still rings with that familiar hum we’ve all come to know. A warning of the impending shutdown at the bottom of the screen eludes the remaining minutes before its screen shares nothing till another person comes to stare at the box the next day. The souls within the house are tired and restless and Jacob stares at the dog. An ailing pet of fifteen years now, if not longer, can’t but help to stink and rumble unknowingly. Jacob grimaces at the smell that wafts slowly to his nose and he gazes to his right to see his wife scrunch her nose unconsciously as she’s already in her dream realm parkouring over stairs and saving humanity or their son from dire darkness. His dreams never mimic such dramatics. He’d be so lucky.
However, the tales of the night’s endeavours always bring a smile when they ready themselves the next day. If asked what he dreamed, he grimaces and states nothing per usual, and leaves it there. He grabs the lunches, packs the car, kisses both their child and wife goodbye before moseying on back to the office, day after day to punch in policies, daydream silently, and hate the decisions that have brought him pounding in number after number, coaxing angry clients to a cool zen mood while he clenches at his teeth with a smile.
To Dream… : Dream by Wombo
The remote life, in comparison to his usual nightmare, keeps his soul regulated. Keeps his demeanor casual and more coagulated than he cares to admit, however, his wife would say otherwise as she feels the heat radiate from his body in the night once they find themselves in bed later than planned each night. What she doesn’t know or neglects to inquire about is what it is that truly digs within her husband. A couple of years now and he’s not had a night’s rest that hasn’t been interrupted by his bladder needing draining, his legs needing movement, or the nuanced repetition of reading yet another chapter of another book. If only he’d open his mouth if only he’d mention the shit that tramples his dreams or drowns his thoughts giving him foresight. A thing he never asked for, though, knowing him, the wife wouldn’t be amiss to think he’d had wished to have a power of a similar type as a kid.
Jacob the angered man still glaring at his dog starts to cry, it’s subtle, almost ignored even by him until the treading tear tickles at his nose and he wipes the moistness away. Matter of fact is, this dog, the ailing pet, is dying. It’ll be quick, the heart will stop, and her body will give a last shudder in an attempt to wake one last time. Her brain will have clicked off, her eyes will flutter, her oversized torso will give one last heave of hot breath, and slowly but surely the stink of her already rotting body will begin to deteriorate. Jacob will phone his wife in a day or two that Emily is no longer, but still can’t think of the proper way to drop such a heavy note while she teaches her students about important figures of Black History Month. This is the dream of the last month, just like the one a couple months back of the grandmother saying goodbye for the last time and him not knowing what to say or how to tell her the love she brought will never be matched. How the drive for the week after and the coming funeral won’t amount to the silent grief his wife feels quietly unanswered because that’s how she is and just to be held will be all she wishes for and like usual he’ll be there but still will never know how truly lost she is now. These are the nightmares he feels and sees, these are the silent missiles he carries throughout the days and he mentions little if ever at all.
He’s learned painfully that mentioning anything of the preordained only sullies the truth and takes fate out of it’s motion. Atop that he’s found that making certain strides, and the little nuances within those of his dreams can tell him if it’s this life or a life of another plain that will soon be lost. How can one determine where and when it’s right to warn if even Jacob can’t tell, will never be able to tell or truly know when it’ll happen?
But then again…there goes Emily, whimpering, grappling at the last of her life and this he’s certain will be her last night. So it goes.
Dream Dark Stories 