Gathered in a place of half-frozen winter grass and crooked black trees
Dropping acid in a cemetery
Dancing on the dead
Skeleton bones beneath the road
Seen in moon-green x-rays
Rage Against the Machine
Seeping up from the hallowed hollows
One named Ray
Has a distant head
Breaks off from the others
Stares up into space
One named Hal leaps from tombstone to tombstone
Sometimes losing his balance
One named Ashley tries to have sex
With a small statue of an ancient man from Rome
An orange and yellow spark arcs across the sky
Floats, fizzles, finishes over Finland
The committee squawks a conundrum of wishes
But a sudden car crash startles them
Someone has hit a deer out on the road
They hear a human screaming mad
But they only care about breakfast.
“Did you realize that the Geico gecko eats an English muffin in one of his commercials,” says the one named Todd.
“Why wouldn’t he? He’s English,” answered the grouchy one named Crow. He was the blackest of black vultures and then named a name of another bird.
“You’re both idiotic bitch chickens,” said the one named Caesar, the narcissist. “He speaks Western Lombard.”
“I don’t care what he speaks,” the one named Todd said. “I like him, and I like that he eats an English muffin.”
“You’ve never even had an English muffin,” snapped the one named Crow.
“How do you know,” the one named Todd answered. “Maybe I sneak away and have one. You don’t know everything about me.”
“Why are you getting all your feathers in a ruffle?” the one named Crow said. “We all know what you did in the newsroom back in your other life.”
“That was a different time. I was a different vulture, and I was going through some serious shit back then,” the one named Todd said. “I had personal problems.”
The committee of vultures all laughed out loud.
“It’s a weird sound,” said the grave keeper from a point out of sight. “When they laugh like that.” He liked to talk to himself. He did it all the time.
The grave keeper is named Santa, but he doesn’t resemble Santa Claus much at all.
Santa Vroyick is his full name. He’s an immigrant with Amorikan regrets.
The cacophony of the vultures slowly dissipates as Santa Vroyick walks toward the farmhouse. On the way he stops at the work shed and stows his favorite shovel. He walks up onto the porch of the house and sits down on the swing. His wife is there, and she’s staring out into space.
“Santa?” she finally says.
“Yes?”
“I’ve decided when I die that I want you to put me out in the yard and just let them vultures go at me.”
“You mean you want them to pick you apart piece by piece and eat you.”
“I said it, so I reckon that’s what I mean.”
“But, why on Earth would you want that, Clara?”
She turned to look at him. Her face was gray and grave. “Costs too much to get buried proper. Hell, folks can’t even afford to die in this crooked country because of President Pumpkinhead. And I don’t want you to spend all that money and make some fuss about a ceremony. Just throw me in the yard. If you want, I’ll have papers drawn up so you can’t deny me my wishes.”
Santa Vroyick rubbed at his salt and pepper stubble and looked at her with curious eyes. “Are you sure about this, Clara?”
“Yes, sir. I am.”
“But what if somebody just happens by and sees you out there? They might think I killed you and call the law.”
“Then don’t put me so damn close to the road!”
They decided to go back into the house and watch some television before bed. They sat beside each other on the living room couch and held old hands. Remnants of a fire crackled softly in the fireplace. Framed photos from their river cruise in Europe were lined up across the mantel.
Clara Vroyick operated the remote and went through the selections on Netflix. “What do you feel like watching?” she asked.
Santa Vroyick sighed happily. “I don’t really care. I just want to be beside you is all.”
Galaxy Pancakes restaurant dripped in the colors of outer space. The booth seats were pink and green faux leather, the tabletops had a see-through resin and underneath were all sorts of space trinkets. Moon-flavored light shades cradled bright white bulbs; gas giants were fashioned into stool tops. A person would step into black holes to use the restrooms. Wait staff wore uniforms with all the colors of a supernova and plenty of pieces of flair. Their faces were painted up to look like aliens, a variety of species at that.
Paul and Josiah sat at the counter sipping hot coffee as they waited for their food.
“Hey. Look over there,” Paul said, and he pointed with his eyes.
Josiah turned to his side to look. “Well, well. Is that the State Farm guy?”
“One of them,” Paul answered. “Check out his red shirt and tan pants.”
“Shit,” Josiah said. “You’d never catch me in a get up like that. No corporate entity will ever use my body as a billboard and parade me around like some buffoon scraping the floor for pocket change while they get rich… And besides I got a beef with them.”
“Oh yeah. Over what?”
“Shitty customer service and the fact they canceled my home policy after a couple of claims,” Josiah said. “They also over billed me for my car insurance for a year due to some mix up on their part and expected me to pay 1900 dollars in one fell swoop to keep my policy intact, and they weren’t nice about it.”
“Wow. This sounds like a negative, downbeat commercial,” Paul said as he laughed. “It’s nothing to dance to.”
Josiah rolled his eyes and grumbled at Paul. “I’m telling you the truth. They pay that Patrick Mahomes fellow millions to be in all these god damn commercials. Then a guy like me has his house broken into twice, and State Farm acts like shelling out a few thousand for my damage, damage that was not my fault mind you, is a villainous violation on my part. I mean, shit, that’s what insurance is for! I paid my premiums on time, all the time. It’s nothing but a scam so these upper crusties can buy another yacht and another mansion and another fancy car and another penthouse apartment for one of their bimbo mistresses with unintelligent breasts. And all along, all Josiah Peppercorn wanted was a couple of new doors and a window! The shame!”
“Wow. You’re getting kind of worked up about this.”
Josiah leaned back and studied the young man. “There really is something different about you lately.”
“What?”
“You seem so less ethereal and studious than you usually are.”
“Less ethereal and studious? I mean, I have been trying to relax more and not take everything so seriously.”
“Are you a Starman?” Josiah asked. He looked around the bizarre restaurant. “Is that why you picked this place? To feel more at home?”
It was then that a woman shaped like a shaved potato and stuffed into denim shorts and a tangerine-colored tube top dropped some coins into the jukebox they had there, and David Bowie’s Space Oddity came seeping out like a druid-flavored rainbow. People softly applauded, even the State Farm guy who seemed like the type that would lack any decent taste in music. He was just there, sitting in a wooden square, selling his body as a corporate prostitute.
That’s when Josiah called out to him over the music. “Hey, State Farm guy.”
The man smiled and waved. “Hello.”
“Shouldn’t you be out on the street corner?”
“Well, no. I work in an office building right around the corner. Why would you think I should be out on a street corner?”
“Because you’re an insurance whore!”
The man’s face disintegrated into disgust at Josiah’s words.
Paul clamped his hand on Josiah’s shoulder. “Hey, man. What the hell are you doing? That was rude.”
Josiah waved a floppy hand at the greasy air. “Eh.”
“I think you should go apologize.”
“Apologize?”
“Yes. You’re trying to turn over a new leaf. Remember? The price of your freedom. No more bitching at State Farm guys.”
Josiah took a deep breath and sprayed it out between his teeth. He sounded like a snake. He slapped the countertop. “All right. All right.”
Josiah went over to where the State Farm guy was sitting and cleared his throat. The man looked up stoically. “Can I help you?”
“I, um, just wanted to say I was sorry for that angry little outburst I had back there. See, truth be told, I just got out of jail and I’m a bit pissed off. I’m sure you can understand.”
“No. I can’t. I’ve never been to jail.”
“Well, just the same, I’m sorry about those things I said, and I hope you can forgive me.”
The State Farm guy was chewing his food with attitude. He took a napkin and wiped at his mouth. “I’ll think about it,” he said. “But may I suggest that the next time you want to blurt out something stupid and hurtful to a complete stranger, how about you don’t.” The man briskly stood up and threw some cash down on the table. “I’ll be going now. I hope you have a nice rest of your day. And if you are ever in need of some insurance…” He whipped out a business card and handed it to Josiah. “Give me a call.”
Josiah looked at the card. “Bergen Baystone?” And it showed his picture. A grinning, snippety idiot with a bristled head and a lone blonde moustache trimmed too neatly. He was wearing the familiar red shirt. Josiah crumpled the card in his hand and dropped it on the table.
From where she was, Serena could look up and see the moon. It was so close she felt as if she could reach out and touch it. But then she wondered about alien burns.
The cerulean rabbit had placed her and Reverend Savior up in a tree and tied them to it. Each was sitting on a large branch opposite each other. The thick trunk was between them and a rope had been wrapped around Serena and the reverend and the trunk to keep them bound tight.
The reverend was moaning and crying.
“Are you okay over there?” Serena asked.
“No!” he wailed. “Look at us up here. We’ll never get out of this conundrum. Someone will find our bones dangling from this very tree next spring.”
Serena worried about that very thing but tried not to show her fear. “That’s not true. Someone will find us soon enough. Think about it. He didn’t gag our mouths. We can yell for help.”
The reverend scoffed. “Yell to who? We’re in the middle of a forest.”
“People take hikes.”
The answer wasn’t good enough for the reverend. He tried breaking free from the bond, but it was seemingly impossible. He was very frustrated. “We’re prey. That thing will come back to eat us. We’re doomed, young one.”
Serena frowned and didn’t reply. The night air was growing cooler, and she shivered. She couldn’t even hold her own body to try and keep warm. Deep down inside she knew the reverend was probably right. “What was it?” she finally asked. They had been too silent about the whole ordeal.
“An abomination,” the reverend answered. “A demon of the woods.”
“Why don’t you try praying to help get us out of this unfortunate situation?” Serena suggested.
“Praying?”
“Yes. Isn’t that what you do. Hello? God will save us. Maybe.”
“Or this could just be his plan for us,” the reverend sighed. “But I’ll give it a shot.” The reverend clamped his eyes shut and talked to God within his own mind and soul. When he opened his eyes and looked around, nothing had changed.
Paul pulled into a parking space at the hospital and shut the stolen car down. He looked over at Josiah, who seemed nervous. “I’m going in to visit Sarrah,” he told him.
Josiah wanted to immediately protest but quickly relented. He knew life was different now and that he had better learn to adjust to the new ways. “Okay,” he mumbled, staring out the windshield. “Tell her I’m so sorry.”
Paul started to get out of the car. “Maybe,” he said before shutting the door and walking away.
Once inside, Paul stopped at the hospital gift shop and bought a bouquet of fresh flowers. Then he went to sit in an empty corner in a random waiting room to think about things. He needed to re-energize his powers with some rest and meditation. He sat down and smelled the flowers. They were nice, he thought. She should like them. He closed his eyes, leaned back, and went on a momentary, yet everlasting, mind trip.
Bergen Baystone went into a stall in the men’s restroom at his office around the corner from Galaxy Pancakes and masturbated. When he was done, he sat there on the toilet trying to catch his breath. “That was a good one,” he said quietly to himself. He looked at the walls of the stall and reached out to touch where he had written in black Sharpie ink: For a good time, see Beverly in accounting. He laughed about it. “Oh, Beverly,” he sighed. She was the one he was thinking about when he was polishing the banister. “I know I creep you out, but damn, baby. You are hot.” Somebody else came into the restroom and Bergen clamped his mouth shut. How embarrassing it would be if anyone ever caught him talking to himself about Beverly.
After he cleaned up, Bergen Baystone went out and strolled through the arena of desks occupied by other people in red shirts and tan pants. It looked like a sea of blood and sand to him with heads bobbing around at the surface beneath the blaring lights. Before he went to his own desk, Bergen went by the accounting section to see if Beverly might want to finally go out to lunch with him. She was at her workstation typing and looking at her computer. He sat down in a chair beside her desk as she worked. She noticed him there and sighed deep inside.
“Hello, Bergen,” she managed to say. “Is there something I could do for you this morning? Paycheck problems?”
He thought her voice was like velvet or a buttery croissant. He loved to watch her mouth as she spoke. Beverly’s face was pristine. She didn’t wear a lot of makeup which Bergen liked. Just a little touch here and there. Her blonde hair was pulled back off her face and made up nice in the back. Bergen liked that. He also thought her glasses made her look like a sexy librarian. Her eyes resembled cerulean pools on a distant planet. Beverly wasn’t a real librarian, but she wanted to be. She used to work as a pharmacy technician at a hospital, but her lazy, ignorant, nasty ass co-workers became too much, and she quit.
Bergen tapped his fingertips on her desk. “No paycheck problems,” he said.
She became annoyed as he sat there and stared at her. “Don’t you have work to do?” Beverly finally asked.
“Yes, I do. I just wanted to pop by, say hello, and ask if you’d like to go out to lunch with me today.”
Beverly opened a drawer and pulled out a large plastic baggie and showed it to him. It contained a sandwich, banana, oat bar, and a juice box of some sort. “I brought my lunch,” she said, and returned the baggie to her drawer.
“Oh,” Bergen said. “Maybe we can hang out in the breakroom when you eat. I could go grab something and bring it back.”
“I think I might eat at the park today,” she quickly replied.
Bergen brightened. “Even better! I love the park.”
She reached out a hand and placed it on top of his to make him stop tapping his nervous fingers. “Look,” she said. “You’re a nice guy, Bergen, but I’m just not interested in you in that way. I’m sorry, but it makes me uncomfortable.”
Dejected, Bergen pulled his hand away. “I see. And what way is that?” he wanted to know.
Beverly sighed and bit at her lip before speaking. “Romantically,” she breathed quietly. “I’m not ready for a relationship right now.”
Bergen nodded his head in faux understanding. He suddenly stood up. He stared at her for a few moments and then walked off without another word.
He went and sat down at his own desk and fired up his workstation, the taste of bitter rejection still simmering in his mouth. He strapped a headset to his scrabbly yet clean-cut head. He fingered his moustache, and started going through some files on his desktop, but then stopped. He picked up a pencil and held it between his fingers. He was thinking about Beverly and the man at Galaxy Pancakes who had verbally assaulted him earlier. He shook, gritted his teeth. “Why do people suck so much,” he said quietly to himself. The pencil snapped.
Someone suddenly came up behind him and put a hand on his shoulder. “Hey Bergen, how are you today?” The man tried to look over what Bergen Baystone was doing at his desk. He was checking to see if he was doing his work duties or just messing around on Facebook.
Bergen Baystone turned to look up at his boss, a grinning, fake fool in a red shirt and tan pants. But he was also wearing a tan suit coat to signify that he was management. His cologne was heavy and nauseating. “Fine. Just getting fired up for my day,” Bergen answered.
His boss patted him on the shoulder. “Good man,” he said, and then he strolled over to where Beverly in accounting was working. Bergen watched from a distance as he sat on the edge of her desk. They started talking and laughing. His boss reached out and playfully touched her hair. Bergen suddenly felt sick, and he ran to the restroom to throw up.
By
Aaron Echoes August
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“Why are we letting a small group of stupid ass morons decide how we live?” Serena asked as she walked outside with Reverend Savior. The sun was bright. The sky was endless blue. She stopped and spread her arms outward to the entire world. “It’s nothing but a society of brainless idiots out there.”
The reverend paused and looked out at all the beyond that was there and sighed. “It’s not everyone,” he said. “There are plenty of good, smart people in the world.”
“Well, that may be true. But I wish there were many, many more. If this keeps up, we’re all doomed.”
The reverend put a hand on her shoulder and squeezed. “Have you lost your faith in God?”
“I think I may be starting to,” Serena said. “There’s just too much bad shit in this world. Why would He create such a mess?”
“It’s the sinful soul in all of us brought upon by the original woman who did not obey,” he answered.
“No sir,” Serena snapped. “You can’t blame the state of the world on women. That’s absolutely bullshit. This toilet world was created by the hands of hateful, greedy men.”
The reverend stepped back from her. His face crinkled into meanness. “Stop using foul language you little bitch!”
“Oh, so you can swear, and I can’t? Isn’t that the typical stance of a man.”
The reverend sighed. “I thought we were going to take a nice walk. I don’t want us to be bristled with each other.”
“Bristled?” Serena said, laughing.
“What? It’s a word. You know, the bristles of a brush can be very hard and hurtful.”
‘Sure thing, Socrates.”
“And I’m sure there are plenty of hateful, greedy women in the world.”
Serena shook her head. “I’m so tired of worrying about the planet and humanity. I’ve prayed and prayed, and God does nothing to change things down here for us. I’m beginning to believe we are living in Hell. Earth is the Hell of the universe. But what did I ever do to deserve this?” Her wide eyes were begging for an answer from the holy man.
“Now, now, young lady. Do not let your faith waver. These are the times you need it most. I know the world is a horrible place at times, but believe me, God has a plan, and it is good.”
“If that was true, I wish He would let it be known.”
“In time. It will come to you in time.”
“Reverend?”
“Yes.”
“What’s the worst thing you have ever done?”
They were near the edge of the forest at that point and sat down upon the trunk of a fallen tree. A babbling brook babbled off somewhere. The air smelled of pine. The breeze was quiet.
“The worst thing I’ve ever done?”
“Yes.”
He prodded her with his elbow. “Just between you and me?”
“I don’t rat people out.”
The reverend turned his head this way and that to make sure no one else was around, which was an odd thing to do since they were out on the land. He spoke softly. “I was in a shopping mall down in Salt Lake City. This was a couple of years ago. I was going up an escalator and an old woman was coming down on the other one. She became unbalanced and teetered, and fell down the metal, grinding stairs. And I just laughed out loud.”
Serena scrunched her face. “That’s terrible.”
“But what I remember most is the noises she made as she tumbled. They were painful hoots, high-pitched hopeless cries. It seemed like a movie to me. She finally hit the bottom and was just lying there moaning. She must have been in a lot of pain.”
“Did you do anything to help her?”
“No. I just laughed. A small crowd had gathered around the old lady, and I recall a woman rushing over and saying she was a nurse. Once at the top, I went down the escalator she fell on so I could get a closer look. By this time more people had gathered and so I sort of hid in the background, but I still got a good look at her. Her face and body were all beat to hell. Scratches, bruises, bleeding, twisted limbs, and her shopping bags were strewn about, items spilled out. It looked like she had bought some fancy soap. Then someone recognized that I was a minister, because I was wearing my minister clothes, and they wanted me to kneel over the old woman and pray for her.”
“I hope to Mary and Joseph and baby Jesus you did.”
“Yes. I did. I knelt beside her, and I recall her wide, terrified eyes staring up at me, her old mouth gaping in horror, like she knew her life would change drastically now. I went to hold her hand and it was fragile and trembling. But then I closed my eyes and began to recite a prayer of healing, and I started to giggle.”
“Reverend Savior. That’s awful,” Serena said.
“I know. I know. But I just couldn’t help it. I did the best I could with the prayer, but mostly stumbled over it, giggles sprinkled throughout.”
“What did the old lady do?”
“Nothing, really. I think she was in some sort of shock. But then someone grabbed me by the shoulder and told me to get up. The EMTs had arrived, and everyone needed to disperse. After that, I just ran to the other end of the mall and went into Dillard’s to look at sweaters.”
“Wow,” Serena said. “I wasn’t expecting a story like that.”
“Not one of my finer moments.”
“I think you have mental problems. I’ve read about these sorts of things. You have the indications of a sociopath.”
“Thanks… But now it’s your turn. What’s the worst thing you’ve ever done?” the reverend needed to know.
“Well,” Serena began. “I haven’t lived as long as you have, so my resume of misdeeds isn’t as polished. I could tell you one thing. But it’s gross.”
The reverend was intrigued. “Gross?”
“Yes.”
“How gross?”
“So gross that they probably wouldn’t show it in a movie.”
“Really? Go on then.”
“This was a time when I was much younger, probably about six or seven years old. We lived somewhere else at that time, in town. I was playing outside with the neighbor kids in their backyard. It was a nice enough day. But then I had an accident.”
“What kind of accident?” the reverend asked.
Serena paused for a moment. “In my pants. Some dirty little dumplings came out.”
The reverend made a face of disgust. “They just came out?”
“Yes. I wasn’t expecting it. I was horrified.”
“What did you do?”
“I went up into the treehouse they had there, pulled down my pants and looked. I was relieved to see it was just a few well-formed balls, like donut holes. Nothing too messy.”
The reverend gagged. “Geez. This is getting to be a bit too much.”
“It’s almost over,” Serena assured him. “So, I went back down and went over to the side of their house. It was a big, yellow house. I sort of hid away from everyone else in the bushes, reached into my underwear and started taking the dirty little dumplings out, and then, one by one, I threw them at the side of the house. Some stuck, others just fell to the ground.”
“What!? Why would you do something like that!?”
“I don’t know. I was scared and embarrassed. I didn’t want anyone to find out and make fun of me.”
“Well, I wasn’t expecting that kind of story,” the reverend said. “Seems we’re both a little weird. Did you at least wash your hands?”
“Of course I did. And I think we may be a little more than just weird.” Serena took out a cigarette and lit it. “I mean, we’ve determined that you’re a sociopath, and me, I believe I was born maladjusted. I think both of us are cursed somehow and our futures will be filled with oddities.”
The reverend choked. “Must you smoke those?”
“You’re always getting on my ass about this. Why?”
“Because it’s a dirty habit and very unhealthy for you. You’re not even fully grown yet. Don’t you realize what you’re doing to your body?”
Serena exhaled a grimy cloud of smoke, coughed a bit. “I know. I know. But now I’m addicted. I can’t stop.”
The reverend stood and held out his hand. “Hand me your pack.”
Serena reluctantly did what she was told.
The reverend mashed and twisted the pack with his hands.
“Hey!” Serena yelled. “Those were my last ones.”
The reverend looked at her sternly. “You’re right. Those were your last ones, except for this.” He grabbed the one burning between her lips, threw it down, and stomped on it.
“God damn it,” Serena said. “Now I’m going to go even more crazy. That was my medication.”
“You’ll thank me for this someday. And don’t worry. I will help you through the cravings. I’ve done this kind of work before.”
There was sudden silence between them, like a record player just stopped. Something in the spring air had changed and they both could sense it somehow. A breeze twirled around them. The sky ached baby blue, but now clouds were beginning to form in the distance. Dark, gray storm clouds. Streaks of lightning illuminated those roiling puffs in the sky.
Serena was the first to scream when the cerulean rabbit appeared from seemingly out of nowhere.
They woke up in the far reaches of a grocery store parking lot. When Josiah’s eyes cleared, he saw before him a windshield. He turned left and saw Paul sitting there. “When did you get a car?” Josiah asked.
Paul yawned wide, and for Josiah, this was the first time he saw the young man as just a plain old human being. “I stole it,” Paul answered. “Don’t you remember? After the bar at the bowling alley?”
“Hmm, I must have had too much to drink.”
“You did, but I figured you were due after spending time in that hell hole. Do they really think stuffing a person into a miserable cell is going to make things better?”
“It didn’t make me better. I wanted to die,” Josiah said, his breath smelling of old beer. “I’m so glad to be rid of that place. But what are we doing at Park N Shop?”
“Jesus, man. You sure do ask a lot of questions. Chill out. I’ve got a hangover.”
“Do you think you could at least open the windows a bit more. If I get too warm, I’ll barf all over the place.”
Paul reached out and pressed the ignition button halfway. Red and yellow lights illuminated on the dash. “There. Try it now.”
Josiah pushed the button on his door and his window went down. He stuck his head out into the early morning air. Birds chirped and walked among empty shopping carts drifting like refugees of materialism. The parking lot was dirty looking. A homeless man sat on the ground. Just a few cars were parked near the front of the store. “God, this place is ugly,” Josiah said.
“It’s all ugly, even here in Chandelier, Idaho. Just look around the town. Nothing but buildings stuffed with meaningless things to buy and crap to eat. It’s the scar of capitalism,” Paul told him.
“I’m hungry.”
Paul readjusted himself in the seat. “What do you want?”
“Pancakes with syrup and melted butter. Sausage patties. Eggs. And a couple of cups of good coffee.”
Paul nodded, started the car, and drove to a place he already knew was there. Galaxy Pancakes it was called.
Sarrah was awake in her hospital bed. They had her sitting up and eating. Her breakfast consisted of sliced can peaches, some cottage cheese, toast, and wet scrambled eggs.
She was alone in the room and had the television on. The news was all bad. Sarrah was so saddened by that. Wars, violence, environmental damage, disease, starvation, greed, hate, crooked and ignorant politicians… The list rolled out in her mind like a red carpet. The red being the blood. The lights were not Hollywood, but police lights red and blue stirring up the molten air that seeped out of the bullet-riddled bodies on the street.
“Day one, and we’ve already failed once again,” she said to herself. She fell back in time and heard the song New Year’s Day by that Irish band U2, and Bono sang the words with rebellion in his voice, “Nothing changes on New Year’s Day…”
Sarrah clicked off the television. She couldn’t stomach it anymore. She looked around at the room. White walls, a window, her bed, a chair, medical machines making noises. She finished her breakfast, slurping up the peaches last. It was all very good, even if it wasn’t.
She pushed the tabletop away and leaned back. She took a deep breath and let it out. Now what? she thought. What will my life be like now?
There then came a light knocking on the door.
“Come in,” Sarrah said.
A large, cerulean-colored rabbit came into the room. He had a white surgical mask strapped to his nose and mouth. Sarrah snapped back in the bed. She could barely move or even speak. The walking, hulking rabbit came to her bedside. He bent down a little bit and looked at her face. He breathed heavily through the mask. Sarrah’s eyes were as big as a full moon in October, her mouth stretched open in a frozen scream.
“I just came to see if you’ve eaten all your breakfast,” the rabbit said, his voice slow, deep, warped. He shook his head in approval. “Good. Good. You gobbled it all up. Gobble. Gobble.”
The rabbit removed the tray from the bedside rolling table and set it aside. He snatched an antibacterial wipe from a dispenser on the wall and cleaned Sarrah’s table. He put that aside, pulled the chair closer to her bed, and sat down. He pulled a book out from some hidden place. It was Things Fall Apart by Chinua Achebe. “Would you like me to read to you?” the rabbit asked her.
Sarrah didn’t answer. Couldn’t answer. But her eyeballs were frantic.
“No?” the rabbit asked in that dark, tarry voice, and he was somewhat disappointed. He set the book aside and stood over her. “Then how would you like me to punch you in the face?”
Sarrah’s eyes grew as wide as the Grand Canyon. She was screaming inside. I must be dreaming, she had thought. This could not possibly be real. But then she felt the curled-up paw of the rabbit strike her. Hard. In the face. She thought she felt something crack.
“Again?” the rabbit asked. “Yes. No. Maybe so?” He laughed like a wicked witch, but deeply, like he was in a cave. And then he punched her again. “Still not enough?” And he punched her three more times.
The rabbit stepped back and grinned. His paw was bloody and he licked it off. He turned his head from side to side and admired his work. Sarrah’s healing face looked even worse now. She must have blacked out. No response at all. The rabbit went to one of the medical machines and yanked on a cord, then another. Alarms started beeping. That’s when he rushed out so quickly that no one ever even saw him.
By
Aaron Echoes August
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Morning cracked open like a hopeful universal egg as the rabbit emerged from under the house. The air was wrapped up in a spring chill. Everything seemed dripping wet.
He was no longer inside a can; he broke out and could now unleash himself upon the world. When he stood, he looked more like an ape than a rabbit — on two feet, colored cerulean-blue, the size of a large man, bulky, muscular, big ears like antennae, fangs, bloodshot eyes, otherworldly. He took his first steps and moved further out into the yard, turned, and looked up at the old farmhouse. He knew what thrived and died inside. He felt the bad things, sensed some good things. Then he thought, “I need a name.”
The farmstead felt vacant as he moved about. But the house was not vacant and perhaps he should have known about this. The padre was asleep on the living room couch and Serena was upstairs in her bed. It was early morning after all. The rabbit thought again, “I need a name.” He lumbered off into the open landscape, directionless.
Serena suddenly opened her eyes. Her bedroom was awash in the light of dawn. She popped out of her bed and went to the window. Something had driven her to it. She looked out and saw the yeti-like rabbit moving across the landscape. The blue creature suddenly stopped and turned. Serena felt his eyes suck her in. It was so creepy, she thought. It was dark and mysterious. She put her hands all over herself to make sure she was still real. That large thing out there was sedate as a statue yet breathing and watching and even recording with its mind’s eye. Serena wanted to step away from the window, but her feelings were glued. Her mind and body were locked in place. She was scared, though. “What is he doing out there?” she whispered aloud. She pinched her eyes tight and watched the vision on the big screen of her mind. “Oh, I see now. He’ll be coming back.”
Her bedroom door suddenly swung open and there stood Reverend Savior. “What are you doing in here?” he asked.
Serena’s eyes ballooned and she turned from the window and looked at him as if he was completely out of line. “It’s my bedroom. What are you doing in here? Come to take a peek at me or something?”
The reverend stepped further into the room and shook his holy head at her. “You always have a smart answer, don’t you.”
“That’s because I’m sharp as a whip.”
“But I’m as sharp as two whips,” the reverend snapped back.
“That’s a totally stupid thing to say.”
Reverend Savior stepped closer to her. “Now, young lady. You should really watch that tone of yours,” he said, wagging a thick finger at her.
“Or what?”
The reverend’s voice fumbled. “Or something secret suddenly coming at you. You won’t like it.”
Serena stepped back from him. “You’re being creepy.”
“I’m a man of God. How on Earth could I possibly be creepy?” He reached out as if he were about to grab her arm and violently yank.
“If you touch me, I’ll scream.”
The padre paused. He reached into a pocket and pulled out a cloth and wiped at his sweating brow. “Scream? Right. We don’t want you to be screaming. I, I, don’t know what is happening.”
The padre stepped back and looked past her. “Was there something interesting outside?” he wanted to know. He bumped her aside and went to the window and peered out. “Hmm. It’s shaping up to be a beautiful day. How about after you make breakfast, we go on a nice, long walk. Would you like that?”
Serena went and stood beside him at the window and looked out, but the rabbit beast was gone. “I was just soaking in the beauty of our creator’s world,” she answered. “And yes, a nice long walk would probably do me some good.”
Paul paused in the radiated glow of the corridor. The jail was strangely silent, but then again, he had made it that way. He went back to Josiah’s cell and peered in through the window. The poor man was balled up on the floor, his arms protecting his head. But from what? Paul opened the cell door and went in. Josiah seemed startled when he saw him there.
“What do you want now? Are you going to slay me some more?” Josiah asked.
“Truly you are suffering.”
“Yes,” Josiah agreed. “The most suffering of my life.”
“But you’ve made others suffer, isn’t it right that you should suffer as well,” Paul said with harsh judgment in his voice.
Tears slowly ran out of Josiah’s eyes. He trembled as he spoke. “I deserve suffering. It’s only right.”
Paul moved a hand to his chin, looked down and thought about it for a moment. “Is it?” he said, addressing himself more than Josiah. “What if I set you free?”
“Yes!” Josiah cried out. “You can do that?”
“If I wanted to.”
“But surely they would come looking for me.”
“I could make it to where they won’t. I will hide you.”
Josiah stood up and looked at Paul’s face as if he were trying to figure something out. “Are you some sort of Jesus figure in disguise?”
Paul laughed at that. “No. I’m not any sort of Jesus figure, as you put it. I’m merely an apostle of magic, like I’ve been saying all along, a mysterious vessel of space and time and all the secrets of the universe.
Josiah flapped his hand in the air. “Yeah. Right.”
Paul sighed. “Believe what you want. It doesn’t matter to me. So… What’s it going to be?”
“Of course, I want to be free, but what about Sarrah? She would never want me back.”
Paul smiled calmly. “You’re right about that. Things are going to be different for you back home.”
Josiah stretched out his face with his hand and looked at the young man with suspicion. “Something tells me that this whole deal is going to serve your needs more than my own.”
“Do you really have a right to your needs being filled? That’s rather arrogant and selfish.” Paul strolled around the small cell as he spoke. “Like I said, things are going to be different. You can’t live in the house where we will be. But freedom comes with sacrifice.”
“I’ll live out in the barn,” Josiah said as his eyes followed him.
“Yes. You will live out in the barn. Like an animal,” Paul declared.
“I can absolutely be an animal,” Josiah said with half-hearted joy. “Look.” He went down on his hands and knees. He made pig noises as he moved around the cell. Josiah went to Paul’s ankles and wrapped his arms around them. He started to lick at his shoes.
Paul raised his foot and presented it to Josiah. “Make sure to get the bottom nice and clean.”
Josiah stuck his tongue out as far as he could and did exactly that. He didn’t even mind the dirty, germy taste.
“And you’ll get our leftover scraps for food,” Paul told him.
“I love scraps,” Josiah said, eager to move forward with the plan. He pushed his face into the floor of the cell and pretended to sloppily eat while oinking.
Paul stopped and watched the pathetic creature below him. “And most of all, there will be absolutely no touching of Sarrah.”
Josiah jumped to his feet. “But a man needs something. Just allow me an occasional squeeze of the breast or a palming of that sweet caboose. That means her ass.”
“I know what it means,” Paul said. “But I don’t like the sound of any of that. It’s crude and disrespectful.”
Josiah did not care for his answer, and his eyes narrowed. “But the law says were married. I’ve got papers.”
Paul made it clear. “We’re not going to follow that law anymore.” He paused for a moment, then smiled. “But I could allow you to watch.”
“Watch what?”
“When I make love to her.”
Josiah winced from the emotional dagger stab, but then considered it. “Sarrah would never go for that.”
“She doesn’t have to know,” Paul said. “You could hide in the closet.”
“Yes. I could hide in the closet,” Josiah said, growing more excited by the second.
“You’d be a creepy peeping Josiah,” Paul said with a humorous smirk on his face.
Josiah went to a corner of the cell and crouched down. He put a hand in front of his face, fingers tight together, and then moved the hand slowly down until all that could be seen were his eyes wide and popping out. He flicked the eyeballs back and forth like an automated doll. “How’s this for creepy?” he said.
“Very creepy,” Paul answered. “Are you ready to go?”
Josiah stood and leaned his back against the soft wall. He looked around the cell with nostalgia on his face. “I know this sounds crazy, but I may actually miss this place.”
“You are crazy. You do know that, right?”
“I am?”
“You’d have to be, considering all the crazy things you have done in your life.”
Josiah eyed Paul with an untrusting face. “Like what?”
Paul looked up and rubbed his chin. “Do you recall the time when your cat was lying on the stovetop, and you turned on the gas?”
Josiah looked down. He felt shame. “Her tail caught on fire. It smelled funny.”
“That’s right. I’d say that was crazy.”
He looked up at Paul with wild eyes. “But, how did you know about that? I was just a kid then. You weren’t even born yet. Did someone tell you that story?”
“No. I watched it happen.”
“But how…”
“Enough questions! I don’t need to explain myself to you.” Paul turned his wrist and looked at his watch. “It’s time to go.”
By
Aaron Echoes August
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I sit down at the table and sip my morning coffee. The house is still as space, except for that ever-present hum of the refrigerator and the wandering movements of the dust through sunlight. I’m thinking about rapid-cycling madness this morning and how it has transformed my life. It’s nothing serious, mind you, it comes and goes. It’s akin to turning the light switch on and off. One day I could be standing in the grocery store staring at bananas for hours, and the next I’m driving through a town I’ve never been to in an entirely different state. Geographically and in the mind.
I work an at-home job doing customer service for a travel agency. Imagine a bright white call center with hordes of people in cubicles wearing headsets and all talking at the same time. Then picture me doing the same thing but in a small upstairs room of the same bright white. All by myself. I chose the upstairs room because it has a large window. I don’t enjoy feeling like a caged corporate piece of machinery or human capital. But now there are rumblings of dismantling the remote worker program. That’s too much freedom. They can’t beat us down as well. They need physical meat to mistreat.
For now, I’m able to look out onto the large park across the road. There’s worn down tennis courts, but people still swing and sweat. There’s a playground, ancient picnic tables, and tubular trash cans that resemble R2-D2. In the center of the park there is a huge bowl with steep green sides all around. It’s a place used for high school graduations, and it’s where people of the township go sledding and tubing after a good winter snow. I used to go down on a plastic disc with a smooth underside. It may have been green. I sailed untethered. There used to be a small zoo over there, too. But it’s all gone. I imagine the animals were fed to underprivileged schoolchildren. That would be more cost-effective. Humanity will fail to save itself because it just wouldn’t be cost effective. I shake my head at this big, cracked blue marble. Is this the hell spoken of?
I’m off today because it’s a Sunday Funday. I hate the job, but don’t we all. I’m so tired of dealing with absolute morons every day. How did people get so stupid? Brains rotted by technological magma, the commune commercialism, the overdramatic melancholy of the truth-altering media. It’s a nation of idiots. A nation void of meaningful thoughts, decency, justice, honesty, empathy, unselfishness, hope. Pass along the fakeness with thoughts and prayers. Pro-life my ass. Childhood cancer? They don’t care. School shootings? They don’t care. Homelessness, poverty, hunger, sickness, school lunches? They don’t care. Health care CEO gets shot dead. The outrage! A new multi-million-dollar football stadium built over people sleeping on the streets? Absolutely! How can anyone be proud of swimming in this aquarium of hollow hearts and backward minds?
I want to move to Finland or maybe Namibia; to peer down upon the indigo sea from atop a rusty-orange sand dune. Or even Armenia. Half the country couldn’t find these places on a map. Ding dong dumb. A nun at Catholic school used to call us “Dumb bunnies.” All of us. I was offended. I’m pretty sure she’s dead now. She would have to be. She was old back then. She taught art. How dare she judge us! What about freedom of expression! Perhaps I should have duct taped a banana to a wall. Mediocrity is praised. Soulless, hateful men and women are placed on pillars. We need to untangle this oppressive social system. But then again, just look to the heavens for all the answers. Some multi-tasking god looking back down at us fucking and dying.
The men returned to the house early the next morning, cold and unrested. Sarrah was in the kitchen brewing a pot of coffee and cooking eggs and bacon. The house was filled with the smell of it, like a greasy café on a busy Sunday morning in a lost western town in Idaho.
Sarrah turned her head and looked at her husband and the reverend when they came to the table, roughshod, expecting to be served. Serena came in through the back door and went to wash her hands at the sink with tomato vine scented soap. She reeked of cigarettes.
The reverend spoke up. “You’re going to stunt your growth if you keep smoking those,” he said to the girl.
She was visibly upset when she turned. “It doesn’t matter,” Serena snapped. “I’m unlovable.” She glanced at her mother, threw down the towel she was drying her hands with, and charged off.
“What the hell was that about?” Josiah asked his wife as she came to the table with three cups and the coffee.
“She’s getting to that age when she starts hating everything, even herself,” Sarrah said. She brought over a platter of eggs and bacon, cold toast, plates and silverware. She plopped down a butter dish and a jar of huckleberry jam. “I suppose it won’t do any good to fix her a place.”
Josiah studied his wife as she moved around the kitchen and talked. He knew something was different, wrong. “What’s going on with you?” he finally asked.
Sarrah looked at him with frustration plastered to her face. He was bothering her. She hated when he bothered her. “Nothing. Nothing at all.”
She sat down at the table with displeasure, purposely banging the legs of her chair on the floor of green-speckled linoleum. She bowed her head and silently prayed. She reached for the coffee pot and poured herself a cup. She was there, but also somewhere else. Her mind was split in two. Her heart and soul were split in two. Her whole life was split in two but still connected by sinewy threads. She needed something very sharp to complete the division and escape. Sarrah began to ferociously eat her breakfast. Like a wild animal tearing at a fresh kill.
Josiah and Reverend Savior watched with disbelief as Sarrah shoveled the food into her mouth and mashed at it with her teeth. She started to choke, coughing out bits of food. She wiped at her mouth with her sleeve and then kept eating.
“What the hell are you doing!?” Josiah yelled, slapping his hand down on the table. “You’re acting like a pig, Sarrah. Now stop it!”
She let the huge wad of half-chewed food in her mouth plop out back onto her plate. It was a sloppy mess, disgusting. She grinned at him with her crazy face. “Fuck off, Josiah,” she said, bits of food shooting out of her mouth. “I’m trying to eat my breakfast.”
Josiah’s entire face widened and flared.
Sarrah watched as Josiah rose from the table just like the underrated Super Friends team member Apache Chief. And as if in slow, ferocious motion, he became large like some diligent monster. His hand held high in the air, his teeth tight together and grinding, his face red as a poisonous mushroom. She saw it coming down at her; that big, vicious paw. The reverend leaped up to stop him, but it was too late. Josiah’s hand struck her face so hard that she was knocked from her chair. Food and teeth shot out of her mouth as she fell to the floor. Sarrah didn’t move much after that. She just moaned and cried as Josiah stomped on her with his soiled boot.
The ambulance raced up the long dirt drive that ran between the golden and green farmstead and the old highway. The siren pierced the air like a war warning. Josiah was sitting on the worn couch in the living room with his head in his hands, sobbing, as the deputy questioned him. He was eventually led to the car and placed in the back seat, handcuffed. The deputy told Josiah he was being arrested for domestic assault. He looked out the window as Sarrah was taken from the house on a stretcher and loaded into the back of the ambulance. Josiah put his face against the warm spring glass. “Oh, God,” he groaned. “What have I done?” He turned his attention to the deputy climbing into the front seat. The door slammed with damnation. “But that wasn’t me,” Josiah pleaded, his face horribly pained, warm tears streaming down the rough skin. “I’m not that kind of a person.” The deputy glanced at him in the rear-view mirror. A pathetic creature, he thought. The tires ground into the gravel as the car lurched off. Josiah watched as his homestead slowly became smaller and smaller until it all disappeared completely, and the long, aching drive commenced.
Reverend Savior and Serena sat on chairs in the dim hospital room. Serena only glanced at her mother briefly. The face was too much for her. The damage, the swelling, the unnatural color of the skin. She was resting. Eyes closed, and mouth with a busted lip slightly parted.
Serena turned her attention to the square window. She looked out at the trees and the grass and the flowers. Cars were pulling into parking places. People were moving on walkways. Doctors and nurses and pharmacy technicians were coming to and going from work. Life was still growing and active, she thought. Life goes on despite how many people die. She wondered if anyone would miss her when she left this Earth. Serena got up and walked toward the open doorway.
The reverend’s eyes followed her. “Where are you going?” he asked in an authoritarian tone, as if he was now her sole guardian and in charge of her existence.
“None of your beeswax,” she said, and Serena walked out. She went outside to smoke a cigarette and thought about all the things rotating through her mind. She felt the browning sun on her unmuddied white skin and tasted the soiled air left behind after the corrupt government of Immoral New America auctioned off the environment to the highest corporate bidder with unbridled polluting on their wish list.
She felt alone and wanted to cry, but she was a tough girl, and she didn’t. She longed for a future of hope, but in Immoral New America, hope was dissipating by the day. She longed to sail off to Scandinavia for a better life. She had read about those places in books and how all the people who resided there had much better lives. Serena looked up at the sky and watched an airliner sputter across the bluish-brown background specked with a few listless clouds. She wondered where they were flying off to. Omaha or Okinawa? What if the plane crashed and everyone died? she thought, and she felt morbid. What if some survived, but then ended up eating each other?
She watched the cigarette smoke slowly swirl around in front of her, directionless and unsure. Serena suddenly realized how much she missed Paul. Her soul was basking in pure sunlight thinking about him taking her away from this horrible country and all that sordid life she was drowning in.
And strangely enough, like in a fever dream, when she went back inside the hospital and was walking down a long sterile hallway that smelled like clean death, she saw him.
Was this even real? Serena thought. She squeezed her eyelids tightly shut, then opened them again. How could it be? she wondered. Serena suddenly ran to him. He was wearing a white doctor’s coat and holding a computerized tablet and tapping on it with a straight finger as he stood by a window. He would momentarily look up and out the polished glass and then back down to his… work?
“Paul!” Serena called out as she got closer. He quickly turned and saw her. He smiled as she pressed herself against him and hugged his waist. “Paul. What are you doing here?”
He pried her off, but not rudely. He wasn’t sure what to say at first, but then he knew. “I’ve come to check on your mother,” he said. “I heard she had been violently attacked.”
“It was my horrible father,” she said. “He’s in jail now. But how did you find out?”
He looked up at the bright hospital lights in the hallway. “I just knew,” he said. “I have a very, very strong intuition about things in this world.”
“And you’re a doctor?” Serena asked.
He turned toward the window again. “Yes, I suppose I am.”
“You work here, or are you just pretending?”
“Both,” he answered with a strange smile. “Are you hungry, Serena? Would you like to go to the cafeteria with me and get something to eat?”
She couldn’t refuse. “Yes. I would love that.”
Josiah sat in a solitary cell because he had blurted out that he wanted to kill himself when they first dragged him into the Chandelier County Jail on the desolate outskirts of Chandelier, Idaho.
The walls inside the cell were a dingy tan and soft so he couldn’t smash his head open. His bed was a simple shelf-like platform that stuck out from one of the walls. Smooth. No edges or sharp corners. He wasn’t allowed to have a blanket or a pillow. He wore a white smock, something akin to a hospital gown even though he wasn’t in a hospital. A grated, nasty opening on the floor served as a toilet. There was one black security camera high up in a corner of the cell. A light flashed. They were watching. The door to the cell was big and heavy, like the door to a commercial freezer in a restaurant. There was one window in the door. It was a small portal of thick, cloudy glass where the face of a guard would occasionally show itself. Josiah would watch with a sense of fear and sometimes even hope as a pair of eyes snapped quickly back and forth then disappeared.
Josiah would stand by the portal and look out. It was his only connection to the other side of the cell. He only saw bright lights and a barred door. But the noises were the worst. The screams and howls of other inmates. They never seemed to shut up. They were the sounds of torture releasing from the guts of very wounded men, Josiah thought. Animals in cages were coming out of their skins. Josiah felt hopeless as he slid down the wall to the floor. He could not stand what he felt. Freedom had never been taken from him like this. For the first time in his life, he felt that there was absolutely nothing he could do to ease his uncomfortable situation. He was truly trapped in a nuthouse.
They wouldn’t turn the lights all the way off at night, just dim them. Josiah figured it was a way to keep insane people from going more insane. He couldn’t stand the thought of being in complete darkness, not in there. It would be exactly like death. He wanted to throw up as he tried to sleep on the protruding shelf. It was miserable. He was cold.
After a long while of just staring at the ceiling, there came a light knocking on the solid door. There was a voice coming from the other side. “Hello?”
Josiah shot straight up and went to the window and looked out. “Yes. I’m here. Can you help me get out? I’ve got to get out!”
“Stand back,” the voice ordered.
There was a clinking, clunking sound and the door slowly opened. A guard made his way into the cell forcing Josiah to move back to his sleeping platform and sit down. Then the door closed and locked without force.
“I know you,” Josiah said.
The guard looked around at Josiah’s situation and grinned. “How’s it been going for you,” he said. “Maybe not too well?” He prodded at him with a nightstick, gesturing for him to slide over. “Mind if I sit with you for a bit?”
“You’re that Paul fellow. You were at my house, and you did magic.”
“Right, right, Josiah.”
“What are you doing here? Do you really work as a guard, or are you just pretending?”
Paul smiled. “Everyone keeps asking me that.”
“Can you help me?” Josiah pleaded. “I can’t stand being locked up like this anymore!”
Paul chuckled. “That’s what they all say. I suppose you are innocent, too?”
“Of course I am!” Josiah snapped. “It was an accident. She slipped and fell, hit her head.”
“I saw her earlier today, Josiah, at the hospital. Your wife was pretty badly beaten up. Like a farm-fresh egg. Cracked open with all her magma spilling out.”
“Why are you talking like that?”
“You mean truthfully?”
Josiah turned away. “I never put a hand on her.”
“The reverend was there. He saw everything. And you didn’t know it at the time, but I was there, lurking in the crevices. And I saw everything, too.”
Josiah looked terrified and he went to the door and started pounding on it. “Help!” he screamed. “Someone, help me!”
“It won’t do you any good,” Paul said. “No one will hear you. Everyone is asleep, even the other guards. I made that happen because I can.”
Josiah turned to face him. “What the hell are you?”
Paul shrugged the question off. “I’m a person just like you.”
Josiah moved closer. “No, you’re not. You’re a demon who fooled my innocent, God-fearing daughter out in the woods. You came into our home and infected us with evil trickery.”
Paul laughed out loud. “A demon? Oh, please. You’re reading too much of that Bible of yours. And even if demons were real, I would never be a demon. I despise the lore of demons. They’re just so horrid and gross and hateful. Just like your people.”
“You’re not going to help me, are you,” Josiah said.
Paul shook his head. “No.”
“Then why did you come?”
“I just wanted to let you know that I’m in love with your wife.”
“What!?”
“That’s right, and she loves me, too, passionately.”
“Impossible. She does not.”
“Yes, she does.”
“But she’s my wife!”
Paul grew angry. “And you beat her! You nearly killed her today and you sit in here acting like you did nothing wrong and whining like a little schoolgirl to get out. But here’s a news flash, holy diver. No one will ever believe you. People around here know your temperament and your history. You’ll never get a fair trial, on Earth or in heaven. You will be found guilty because you are guilty! You are doomed to rot in prison.”
Josiah slid to the floor and started to weep in his hands. “Why did you have to tell me?” Josiah groaned. “Why?”
Paul stood over him like a Greek god with that hair the color of burnt rust flowing. “I told you because I want you to feel the pain of knowing another man is fucking your wife and there’s not a single thing you can do about it. You’re going to be locked in a box for a very long time. And now every day you will think about her and me together. I’ll live in your house. I’ll eat your food. I’ll work on your farm. I’ll use your favorite toilet and sleep in your bed beside your naked wife.” Paul kicked at him. “Think about it! Not only the horrible guilt over what you did to her, but now the added pain and misery that will invade your head, heart, and soul when you think about how deeply I will taste her and how deeply I will penetrate her. You’ll ache far down in your guts when you realize what a failure at love you are. You’ll ache knowing that I will love her far better and will never hurt her like you did. This is all the price of your sins, not mine.”
“Stop!” Josiah screamed. “Please, stop.”
Paul stepped away and went to the door.
“Wait!” Josiah begged him.
“What is it?”
“Will you please just kill me. Murder me now. I won’t be able to live like this.”
Paul turned and looked at him without pity. “I already did.”
CEREAL AFTER SEX 