• The Amoopikans (Last part)

    Sally and Mary Jane were huddled around a candle in the kitchen, whispering.

    “I think you should call a doctor,” Sally said. “There’s obviously something very wrong with him.”

    “Look, he’s got this mental thing, it’s not a big deal,” Mary Jane said, trying to deflate the issue of Jack’s state of mind.

    “Not a big deal?” Sally protested. “I’m afraid he’s going to kill me for that Francisco remark.”

    “He’s not going to kill you,” Mary Jane assured her, and she put her arms around Sally’s delicate frame and hugged her. “I won’t let him kill my best friend.”

    “Thanks,” Sally said, and a few tears came out of her eyes.

    “What’s wrong?”

    Sally suddenly moved her hands to Mary Jane’s frightened face and kissed her on the mouth.

    “What was that all about?” Mary Jane asked, a bit bewildered, a bit turned on, as she stepped back a bit.

    “I’m sorry Mary Jane. No, I’m not. Look, this may be our last night on Earth, and I wanted to kiss you. I just did. Like I wanted to kiss Ollie. Oh my. You must find me crazy as well, but it’s almost as if I want to say goodbye.”

    “It’s okay Sally. I think I understand… And I kind of liked it.”

    “You did?”

    “Yes, I did.”

    Mary Jane moved closer to Sally, ran her fingers through her long, blonde hair, and passionately returned the kiss.

    “Where’s my dinner!” Jack suddenly blurted out from the other side of the wall.

    Mary Jane broke her embrace with Sally and stormed into the living room.

    “All right Jack, I’ve been nice up to this point, but you really got to stop being a complete A-hole, okay?! Everyone is under a lot of strain and stress right now… Please don’t add to it.”

    “I want a meat pie! Make me a meat pie! Make me a meat pie now damn it!” Jack screamed.

    “I don’t have any bloody meat pies, so if you want a meat pie go down to your own place and make yourself a meat pie! And stop acting like a little schoolgirl!” Mary Jane scolded.

    “I don’t have to do what you tell me! I have my rights! I have freedom of speech!” Jack crazily retorted.

    Mary Jane moved toward the telephone and picked up the receiver.

    “Do not call anyone!” Jack screamed.

    “Damn it. The phone’s dead,” Mary Jane said, and she slammed the handset down on its cradle.

    “What’s going on in here?” Sally asked as she threw herself into the couch.

    “I want a meat pie and she won’t make me a meat pie!” Jack screamed.

    “I’m trying to call the police, but the phone’s dead,” Mary Jane said with utter frustration.

    Sally stood up and pointed her finger at Jack.

    “Now listen here Jack, the party is over. You have to leave now, or you’ll be in big trouble! We’ll get the police.”

    Jack lifted Copernicus’ head to his ear and was acting like Copernicus was whispering secrets to him.

    “Uh huh, yes Copernicus, she is a bitch, I know,” Jack said in a mumbly wumbly childlike voice. “Uh huh, yes Copernicus, she is ugly. Uh huh, oh Copernicus that’s terrible, but I bet you’re right, she does look like a street walker.”

    Sally angrily rushed at Jack and snatched the stone head from his hands.

    “Hey!” Jack yelled. “Give me that back!”

    “You either get the hell out of here or I’ll throw Copernicus right out that damn window, and you won’t be too far behind!” Sally screamed.

    “Do not throw Copernicus out the window!” Jack commanded in a robotic voice.

    “Then leave!”

    Jack glanced over at Mary Jane with a sad and confused look on his face.

    “Please leave,” she said sternly. “We’ll talk tomorrow. Maybe you’ll feel better then.”

    “But there may not be a tomorrow,” Jack said, nearly beginning to weep. “We could all be nothing but cinders by the morning. That makes me a sad panda.”

    Jack reluctantly got out of the chair and walked toward Sally who was now standing by the open front door of the apartment cradling Copernicus’ head in her hand. Jack snatched it from her and barked in her face like a dog as he walked out. Sally slammed the door behind him and then there was this terrible yelp and the sound of Jack crashing down the stairs.

    “Oh my God!” Mary Jane yelled. “I think he fell down the stairs!”

    Mary Jane grabbed a candle and went out into the hall.

    “It’s too dark. Grab another candle, Sally!”

    Sally came out into the hall with another candle and together they carefully went down the stairs, saying: “Jack, Jack, are you okay?”

    There at the bottom was Jack. His body was cocked in all kinds of unnatural positions. It looked like his neck had snapped. They looked closer and there was blood, and they looked closer again, and there was the head of Copernicus cracked in half just like Jack.

    Sally and Mary Jane just stared at each other in the glow of the candlelight.

    “It’s my fault, you saw it,” Sally said, tears starting to roll down her face. “I slammed the door, and it must have hit him and knocked him right down the stairs.”

    “It’s not your fault. It was dark. It was an accident.”

    “Oh my God Mary Jane, I killed someone.”

    “Come on, let’s go back upstairs and wait for Ollie, he’ll know what to do.”


    Ollie Oxenfurd stuck his hands in his pockets as he walked down Castlebury Street, now dim, quiet, and desolate with some ash whirling around. All the shoppes and restaurants seemed to be shuttered and he worried his favorite Chinese joint, Bamboo King, would be as well.

    He turned right at Bonberry Street and jiggled the handle. The door opened and he stepped inside. The bright lights were a burning contrast to the dead of the streets. A neatly groomed Asian man came out of the back wiping his hands on a towel. He pumped some hand sanitizer in them and rubbed.

    “I’m so glad you’re open,” Ollie said. “Looks like everything else is shut down, and you’ve got power too.”

    “We always open. Even when war come. Everyone else scared, not me. I got generator. I’m an animal. People still need to eat. So, what you like?”

    “Pork and snow peas. Veggie Lo Mein. And… I’ll have the orange chicken.”

    “No soup?”

    “No soup.”

    “What kind rice?”

    “Fried rice… And throw in some crab rangoons too.”

    “Okay, you wait. I go cook now. Won’t be long.”

    _____

    Mary Jane sat with Sally on the couch, and they smoked some more grasspot to try and calm their nerves. Sally kept wiping tears from her puffy, blue eyes and saying: “I killed someone. I killed someone.”

    Mary Jane didn’t know what to do. She tried the phone again. Still dead. “Where the hell is Ollie?” she wanted to know.

    They heard fighter jets roaring overhead.

    “I’m really scared Mary Jane. I mean, what if this is it? What if tonight is our last night on Earth, and I killed a guy.”

    There was another explosion in the distance.

    “Then, I guess it doesn’t really matter, does it,” Mary Jane answered.

    ____

    Ollie nearly dumped all the delicious Chinese food when he tripped over Jack’s lifeless body at the bottom of the stairs.

    “What the bloody hell?! Mary Jane! Sally! Get out here!”

    The girls rushed into the hallway with their candles.

    “What is this then?” Ollie asked from the bottom of the stairs.

    “There was an accident. He fell,” Mary Jane answered.

    “I’m coming up.”

    ____

    The three of them sat at the kitchen table in Mary Jane’s groovy pad on the Isle of St. Manitou quietly slurping away at their Chinese food.

    “We ought to call someone, we just can’t leave him there,” Ollie said, breaking the silence.

    “The phone is dead.”

    “Well then I’ll walk down to the police station and tell them,” Ollie said, stuffing a piece of delicious orange chicken in his mouth.

    “No!” Sally blurted out. “No police.”

    “What? Why? You said it was an accident.”

    “It was no accident,” Sally said, and she began to cry again. “I slammed the door on him and that made him fall down the stairs.”

    “I’ve been trying to tell her it wasn’t her fault, but she won’t listen to me,” Mary Jane said, slamming her fork down in frustration. She got up, walked into the other room, and lit up some more grasspot.

    “Well, if you ask me, he had it coming to him. That bloke was a real A-hole.”

    “Ollie! That’s a terrible thing to say, even if it is true.”

    “Whatever. The only thing I know is we can’t leave him there. Why don’t we just move him into the street or something.”

    “I won’t have anything to do with such a horrible thing,” Sally pouted, crossing her arms.

    “Fine!” Ollie yelled, and he stood and threw his napkin down onto the table. “Mary Jane and I will do it.”

    ____

    Ollie peered out onto Castlebury Street. It was eerily quiet and still; there was a strange-smelling soft breeze in the air.

    “OK, are you ready?”

    Mary Jane nodded and then they lifted him.

    “Good gravy he’s heavy,” Ollie said, “must be all those damn meat pies.”

    “Hush now. Let’s just get this over with,” Mary Jane scolded.

    They got him out onto the sidewalk and had to set him down.

    “Why don’t we just stuff him back in his shoppe?” Ollie suggested, breathing hard.

    Mary Jane looked over her shoulder.

    “That’s not a bad idea,” and she went to jiggle the handle of the gallery shoppe door. “It’s locked,” she said.

    “Well, look in his pockets. I’m sure his keys are there.”

    Mary Jane reluctantly rummaged through dead Jack’s pockets going “Eww” and “Gross” while she searched.

    “Got them.”

    She went to the door and unlocked it and they carried him into the gallery and laid him out on the floor.

    “Well?” Mary Jane asked, wiping at her sweaty brow with her forearm.

    “Well, what?” Ollie asked.

    “Are we just going to leave him here on the floor?”

    “Yes, we are. It’s too dark in here to be messing around. We can figure something out tomorrow. It’s getting late.”

    “Wait, we forgot something,” Mary Jane said, and she went out the door and then came back in holding the two halves of the stone head of Nicolaus Copernicus. She set them down near Jack and they went out, locking the door behind them.

    ____

    The air raid sirens began to wail before Mary Jane and Ollie could get back inside. There was thunder in the sky, but it was not natural.

    The three of them sat quietly in the darkness — the only light being from the scattered candles, the orange glow of the grasspot in the pipe, and the sparkle of bombs bursting outside in the air above the Isle of St. Manitou. The sirens were still roaring. The Amoopikans were coming.

    “Wait, what is that?” Ollie asked, suddenly perking up and shifting his head around.

    “Stop it Ollie, you’re scaring me,” a tearful Sally said.

    “No, I think there’s someone in the street. I thought I heard voices.”

    “Please Ollie, just stop…”

    And then there was a loud banging on the front door.

    “Amoopikan Marines! Open up!”

    Sally screamed and then the door was kicked in and men with guns in their hands and lights atop their helmets and waving the Amoopikan flag came storming in.

    “Nobody move!” the Amoopikan captain yelled, and he motioned to his troops, “In! In! In! Take a look around, see if there are any more.”

    A moment later, a young trooper came up to the captain and saluted.

    “Sir, they’ve been smoking grasspot in here.”

    “Whaaaaaat!” the captain screeched. “I thought I smelled something illegal.”

    “I have the device right here sir,” and the young trooper handed the captain the glass pipe they had been using to smoke the grasspot.

    The captain looked it over carefully; he sniffed at it. Then he looked at the three of them, Ollie, Sally, and Mary Jane, being restrained by other troopers, bodies shaking and faces looking scared to death.

    “Well, well, well,” the captain said as he strolled around the place. “Looks like we got a bunch of grasspotheads here.”

    “It’s just grasspot sir,” Ollie spoke up, “This is the future and it’s allowed everywhere here in our part of the world.”

    “Well, it’s not allowed where I come from punk, and you know why?”

    “Why sir?”

    “Because it’s evil. It’s devil’s lettuce punk. It makes people go crazy in the head and want to kill other people.”

    “That’s not true sir, it does nothing like that at all,” Ollie said.

    “I don’t care for your ways in your part of the world, and that’s why we came here — to make our ways your ways because our ways are the right ways and if anyone tells me different, I’ll just blow their fucking head off.”

    The captain turned and walked toward the door.

    “Boys, you know what to do.”

    And then Mary Jane Hankerbloom’s apartment on Castlebury Street in a quaint village on the Isle of St. Manitou was suddenly filled with a relentless barrage of gunfire directed straight at Mary Jane herself and her two friends, Sally and Ollie.

    When the firing finally stopped, their bodies had been reduced to ragdolls askew and full of holes. Their eyes were open wide, for they were still in shock; their lifeless souls stared upward at the skylight, and the bones still rained down upon them.

    “We’re done here,” a young Amoopikan soldier said, and he stomped on the grasspot pipe with his heavy boot and crushed it into the floor before walking out.

  • Fiona Blood Orange (End)

    I brought back two nice, fat fish and threw them into the earthen ice box. Fiona Blood Orange was still in the bed, and I kicked at it.

    “Hey, wake up. I want some flapjacks. Did you not get my note?”

    She stirred in the blankets and moaned.

    “Yes, I got your note. I’m sorry, I must have fallen back to sleep. What time is it?” she asked, yawning, stretching her big mouth wide and showing off some chipped teeth.

    “Time has no meaning here. Now get up and make me some flapjacks.”

    I kicked at the bed again.

    “You’re just plain rude, you know that? And where are my drugs?”

    “Make me flapjacks and I’ll go get your drugs.”

    “You don’t have them?”

    “I’ll ride into town and get them… AFTER flapjacks.”

    “All right, all right. I’ll make your damn flapjacks.”

    She got up out of bed. She was completely naked as she walked over to the cooking area I had there in my cabin. I watched her as she bent over, reached up, exposing her fleshy cracks and crevices as she searched for cooking implements and ingredients.

    “Is my little bunny cold?”

    “Yes. Can you get the fire going again?”

    I stoked the fire and added a few logs. Soon it was toasty, and the scent of flapjacks filled the air. She laid the plate out in front of me and set down some butter and the maple syrup.

    “These are pretty damn good, Bunny. You should have some.”

    She fixed herself a plate and sat across from me, still completely nude. I stopped eating and set my fork down.

    “What’s wrong?” she asked.

    “You’re naked and I am trying to eat.”

    “So.”

    “It’s gross.”

    She slammed her fork down and got up and put on her clothes. She returned to the table all huffy puffy.

    “Don’t be like that,” I said.

    “You said I was gross. That was very hurtful.”

    “Well, I’m sorry. There’s good naked and bad naked. Sex naked is good. Breakfast naked is bad. That’s just how it is.”

    After some quiet eating time, I asked her a question.

    “So, did you enjoy our lovemaking last night?”

    “It was fine.”

    “Just fine?”

    “Well, if you must know the truth, I’ve had better.”

    “Same here.”

    “Then why did you even bother asking?”

    “I told you, I am a very curious person who needs to know where I stand in the world and with the people in it.”

    “You’re weird.”

    “You can leave any time.”

    “I don’t want to.”

    “Because you love me or because I can give you drugs?”

    “How could you possibly think I love you?”

    “You told me in bed last night… When I was inside you.”

    “It was the heat of the moment.”

    “So, you lied?”

    “No, I didn’t lie.”

    “Then you love me right now?”

    “God no! Get over this love shit and get me my drugs. I’m getting nervous.”

    I finished my flapjacks and then went out to saddle up my fine horse, Chuck. I rode to Rock Ridge and tethered Chuck at the apothecary. I went inside and rang the little metal bell at the counter. A scrawny, wee man in a white lab coat came out of nowhere and looked up at me.

    “Hello there Wild Rick… Wha, wha, what can I get for you?” he said, pushing his thick glasses back against his face.

    I started to talk, but then some little old hobbly wobbly lady snuck in front of me.

    “Excuse me sir, but is this a daytime face cream or a night time face cream?” She held out a little jar.

    “Hey!” I said to the little old lady. “I don’t take too kindly to little old ladies cutting in front of me. I was here first. Now go bug off!”

    “Now, now Wild Rick, just settle down, she ain’t hurting nobody,” the trembling, bug-eyed apothecary said to me.

    “Hey! Mr. Apothecary,” I said. “I don’t take too kindly to you telling me what to do. I was here first, and I demand some service. My woman needs drugs!”

    “Oh my, you’re just a big ol’ bully,” the old lady said to me, and then she kicked me hard in the shin.

    I shoved her. She came back at me and kicked me straight in the junk. I grabbed my sack of marbles and nearly fell over.

    The apothecary rang for the sheriff. Chuck was impounded and I ended up spending the night in the Rock Ridge Jail for disruptive behavior.


    When I returned to the cabin the next morning, Fiona Blood Orange was climbing the walls like a wild monkey.

    “Where in the hell have you been!” she screamed at me.

    “I had a little bit of trouble in town,” I said. “Sorry.”

    “Where’s my stuff?”

    “I couldn’t get it.”

    She flew into a rage and started knocking all my personal stuff around. I grabbed her by the wrists and pushed her down onto the bed. She broke my grasp and slapped and kicked at me.

    “Get off me! Get off me!” she bellowed like a wild woman.

    “Shut up! Shut up!” I yelled back. Then I tried to force a kiss. She bit my mouth. There was blood. I got off her, holding my face. I was spitting red, red juice from my head hole. She ran out of the cabin.

    “Fiona! Fiona! Come back Fiona. I’m sorry.”

    I stayed there in the cabin for several hours waiting for Fiona to return. Daylight was quickly fading. I stoked the fire and decided to fry up the fish I had caught the day before. There was crackling and sizzling and the smell of good food. Then there was a soft knock at the door. Fiona had returned.

    “Fiona. I was worried about you.”

    She came into the cabin looking like a prostituted zombie.

    “Are you okay? Where were you?”

    She shuffled over to the bed and sat down on the edge of it. She lifted her legs, rolled in, and covered herself up.

    “Fiona? Would you like some fish?”

    She didn’t say anything. I left her alone and ate everything myself. After eating, I sat by the fire and smoked cowboy cigarettes real slow and just thought about stuff. Fiona fell asleep. I crawled into the bed later. She didn’t move. I had rough and wild dreams about some faraway place called Las Vegas.

    When I woke up, the door was open, and Fiona was sweeping the floor.

    “What are you doing? Are you okay? Why is there so much sun? I hate the sun.”

    “It’s spring. You’ve been asleep for a very long time,” she answered.

    “What?”

    And as I held my left hand before my face to shield my eyes from the bright light of day, I noticed there was a ring on my finger. I studied it for a moment. I twisted it with the fingers of my right hand.

    “What is this?”

    “What is what?”

    “This ring upon my finger.”

    She set the broom aside and came over and sat down on the bed. She held my hand.

    “It’s your wedding ring, dear.”

    “Wedding ring? What… Who… I’m married? To whom?”

    “You’re married to me jackass, who else. I’m Fiona Blood Orange hyphen Wild Rick.”

    “What? How is that possible. How long have we been married?”

    “Thirteen years. What’s wrong with you?”

    Then two little kids – a boy, a girl – came scampering into the cabin going “Daddy, Daddy,” and they jumped into the bed with me. They started crawling all over me and they smelled like piss and dirt.

    I pushed them away and jumped out of the bed. I slapped at myself as if there were bugs crawling all over me. The kids started crying.

    “What the hell is wrong with you?” Fiona snipped.

    I started jumping up and down like a madman, holding my head in agony.

    “This isn’t real! This isn’t real!”

    “Now just stop it Wild Rick, you’re scaring the children.”

    Then I heard familiar singing coming from another room that I never knew was there.

    “What’s that door for? What is that?” I demanded to know.

    “It’s the bathroom. What the hell is wrong with you?” she asked again.

    “A bathroom? I don’t have a bathroom. Not inside.”

    I went to the door and tightly pressed my ear against it – my solid black eyes were darting around all wild. I could hear splashing and then the singing came again… “I’m screaming in the rain,” – splash, splash – “just screaming in the rain…”

    I backed away from the door and started spinning around like crazy.

    “Ahhh! Ahhh! Ahhh!” I yelled, slapping at my own head as everything was tilt-a-whirl madness. “What the bloody hell is going on here!?”

    “Stop it Wild Rick! Just stop it!” Fiona Blood Orange hyphen Wild Rick shouted.

    She roughly pushed the children out the door.

    “Run children, run! Your father has gone well nutty!”

    I stumbled and fell to the floor. The door to the bathroom that was never there opened. The Sunday peacock came strolling out wrapped in a white bath towel.

    “Top of the morning to ya Wild Rick,” he said, and then he hopped up on a chair set at my roughly hewn table and began reading a newspaper, going “Ah, Hmmm, Oh,” as he scanned the headlines.  

    “Care for flapjacks Sunday peacock?” Fiona asked the wild bird and then she kissed him.

    “Why yes, that would be wonderful.”

    “Are you sleeping with that god damn peacock?” I bluntly asked Fiona.

    Fiona bowed her head in shame.

    “Yes, Wild Rick, it’s true. I’m so sorry.”

    “The kids then?”

    She said nothing, but merely glanced at the door. I went to it and looked out. The kids were romping around in the yard way out and when their backs were turned to me, I noticed the wonderful plumage sprouting out from them, much more pronounced and colorful on the boy mind you, but both had plumage indeed.

    “This is a nightmare,” I mumbled, and then everything was black.

    It was a few days later and I was sitting in the Rock Ridge Saloon drinking whiskey and playing cards with my cowboy friend Ralph Red Mustard.

    That’s when Fiona Blood Orange came in and plopped down her wedding ring on the bar.

    “Were done,” she said. “I love the peacock.”

    “I bet you do,” Ralph snickered.

    “Fuck off Ralph,” she snapped. “This doesn’t concern you.”

    “Now, now Fiona, just simmer down. He ain’t bothering nobody.”

    “Of course, I’ll want support from you. Money that is. Lots of it.”

    “You’re fucking a peacock and you want money from me? You’re crazy. Those aren’t even my kids. Hell, they’re not even real kids, they’re part bird. Oh, and one more thing, I want my Fiona Apple CD back.”

    “You’re the meanest son of a bitch I’ve ever known Mr. Wild Rick… And by golly, I hope you rot in hell.”

    She spat in my face and walked out of the saloon.

    I wiped her slime off my face, and I ordered up another drink. Ralph and I just laughed and went back to playing cards. Someone started playing the piano and more cowboys came in and then the showgirls came out and we all had a real good time, and it didn’t take me long at all to forget about Fiona Blood Orange. Not long at all.

    THE END


  • Fiona Blood Orange (1)

    I saw some Wild West cowgirl chick smoking crushed Opana off a piece of foil through a swirly, glass sarsaparilla straw as I turned the dusty corner from the Main Street drag to the side road leading out of the town of Rock Ridge and into the wilds beyond. I nearly tripped over her, and she looked up at me with the look of being way out dazed and far out confused.

    “Hey mister, do you have any of that fine, fine cowboy money?”

    I fiddled around in my big pockets like a fool.

    “Nope,” and I tipped my 37.9-liter hat her way and politely said “Mam.” Then I strode off all cool like with my rock-hard silver pistols dangling from my waist and ready to spit.

    She came scrambling after me, nearly knocking loose from my grasp my packages of sundries I had just purchased at the local general store.

    “But mister, I just need a little money, that’s all. Surely you got a little bit to spare?”

    “I’m sorry drug girl. I do not have any money to spare. Now please, leave me be so I can get home and build a fire before it rains ice.”

    I shoved her to the dusty ground and walked off.

    I stood at the banks of the stream that ran across the land not too far from my homestead. I studied the cool water as it rolled over the rocks. I bit into an apple. I hoped it was not a poison trick from the town witch. I thought about an old gun-slinging pal from back east who was in love with a chick named Fiona Apple. The air was full of autumn chill. I looked around for some good firewood. I spit out my cowboy-rolled smoke and gathered the wood. A colorful peacock wearing a fur coat slyly followed me back to my log cabin — when I turned quickly to catch him following me, he ducked behind a tree or some brush, but hell man, I knew he was there.

    “You’re not fooling me Mr. Peacock!” I said aloud to the ice-cold and wounded sky of the Wild, Wild West. “I don’t know what you want, but I know you’re following me… I hear peacock tastes like chicken, so you better watch your step, or I’ll cook you.”

    There was a colorful flurry in the brush and the peacock came out of hiding and then just started pecking at the ground as if he didn’t even see me there holding wood and breathing out frosty fog from my face.

    I turned and walked away. The wood was getting heavy, and I needed to dump it.

    And I dumped it right where I stored my wood right outside the cabin. It was a late afternoon of a Sunday somewhere around the year 1879 or perhaps 2079 — I had no calendar or sense of time and therefore did not know. Sorry about that, but let’s just say the world was completely different then you probably know it right now.

    I piled some wood in the fireplace and fondled it with flame and tinder. There was warmth and orange light. I lit some oil lamps and unbundled my bundles of sundries and laid them out nice and neat atop my roughly hewn wooden table. There was tobacco. There was rolling papers. There were matches, soap, biscuits in a tin, coarse twine, honey, paperback novel, small slab of meat, sugar, flour, fishing line, hooks, jerky, a Fiona Apple CD called Tidal, corn husk oil, bullets, new red pajamas with footies, wool socks, sharp knife, chilled butter, three eggs from a chicken, three bottles of root beer, candles, lamp oil, pencil and paper, map, big whiskey, maple syrup and black licorice.

    The Sunday peacock pecked at the window as I rolled a fresh ciggy wiggy.

    “What the hell do you want? Why don’t you just piss off and leave me be to my peace and being alone.”

    The damn thing started to talk to me.

    “But sir, it’s getting awfully cold out here and I was hoping you’d let me sit by the fire for a while. I won’t be any bother, I promise.”

    I rubbed at my wicked, scruffy face and pondered the words of the Sunday peacock.

    “You’ve got a fur coat on, that should be bloody well enough to keep you warm,” I barked back at him.

    There were a few moments of silence.

    “All right then sir, I’ll be on my way. Sorry to have bothered you. Good night then.”

    I went to the window to watch him to be sure he was indeed leaving. And he was indeed leaving, but he was singing a common tune from the new old world as he walked away … “I’m screaming in the rain, just screaming in the rain …” is how it went.

    It wasn’t even raining though. It was darkening clouds of ice cubes and a biting wind that began to kick up when I went out to fetch some more wood. It was then I realized something was out there — something, someone, some living, breathing being ducked behind the thick trunk of my favorite poplar tree.

    “Come out from there now!” I yelled. “Come out or I’ll find you and gun you down.” 

    “No!” some weepy devotchka shrieked and she jumped out of the shadows.

    I reached for my horny, rigid pistol.

    “Don’t come any closer or I’ll blast you!”

    “No sir, please, no sir.”

    “Who are you?”

    “I’m the girl you met in the street today, in town. You pushed me to the ground you mean bastard.”

    “What’s your name, and what do you want here?”

    “My name is Fiona sir, and I’m cold and hungry. I’m sorry, I followed you.”

    I strained to look. “Fiona Apple? Is that you?”

    “No sir, my name is Fiona Blood Orange.”

    “You some kind of Native American chick?”

    “My father was, but my momma was from New York City.”

    “New York City! Did she eat Pace picante sauce like a bitch?”

    “Sir?”

    “Nevermind.”

    “Nirvana?”

    “Huh?”

    “I’m cold. May I please come inside?”

    “Yes. Just don’t try to smoke everything in my cabin.”


    She sat near the fire wrapped in a thick blanket I gave her. She rubbed at her nose with the back of her hand and just stared at the flames. I sat at my table mindlessly gnawing on jerky and thinking about what it would be like to snuggle up with this little bunny.

    “Are you a bunny rabbit?” I asked aloud, not thinking.

    She turned and looked at me strangely.

    “What did you say?”

    “I was just wondering if you liked bunny rabbits.”

    “They’re fine, I suppose. Do you?”

    “They sure do taste good…  You just got to cook them right. You have to know how to retain the juices and keep the meat tender. I like juicy, tender meat. I don’t enjoy dried out bunny rabbit.”

    She licked at her lips and tried to smile.

    “I don’t eat meat.”

    “You don’t eat meat? Then what do you eat?”

    “Nuts, twigs, grains, plants… Apples.”

    “Blood oranges?”

    “When I can get my hands on one.”

    “Bananas?”

    “Love them, but only when they are nice and brown.”

    “Are you a woman lover?”

    “Sir?”

    “Do you lie down with women? Sexually speaking.”

    “No, I do not sir, and even if I did, I don’t see how it is any business of yours.”

    “My apologies. I was just curious. I need to know things.”

    She said nothing to me and went back to staring at the fire, clutching the blanket closer to her body as if it were some sort of shield.

    After several minutes passed, I broke the sexually tense silence.

    “I only have one bed.”

    She turned to look at me.

    “Sir?”

    “I only have one bed. It’s my bed and I plan on sleeping in it tonight.”

    “That’s fine sir. I won’t deny you your own bed. I can sleep on the floor.”

    “That will be awfully cold.”

    “Not near the fire.”

    “The fire will go out at the coldest hour of the night. Your blood will lock up and cease to flow.”

    “I’ll keep the fire going, sir.”

    “You can stop calling me sir. My name is Wild Rick.”

    “If you are trying to get me to share your bed, you can just put that thought out of your mind… Wild Rick.”

    “What if I gave you some drugs?”

    Fiona Blood Orange’s eyes suddenly widened.

    “You have drugs?”

    “Maybe.”

    “You’re a liar Wild Rick. You don’t have any drugs.”

    “What would you do if I did?”

    I could tell her inner thoughts were fist-fighting within her own head.

    “I don’t know!” she yelled. “That’s a terrible thing you are trying to do though, just terrible — seducing me by means of my own demons. You should be ashamed of yourself!”

    “You’re the drug addict, not me. I have nothing to be ashamed of.”

    “Bastard!”

    “Bitch!”

    “Pervert!”

    “Kiss me.”

    “Never!”

    I rolled over in the bed and my hand fell upon her bare breast. She stirred in her dream beneath the covers. I looked at her face as the first mellow yellow glow of dawn worked its way into the cabin. She was beautiful, yet strained and sickly. Pale yet flushed. Young yet old. Crippled yet full of boundless energy. I crawled out of bed and got dressed. I scribbled her a note and left it on the pillow beside her. It read: Dear Fiona Blood Orange, I’ve gone down to the river to catch some fish. I want you to make me some flapjacks when I return, that is, if you want more drugs. Best wishes, Wild Rick.

    TO BE CONTINUED. THIS IS THE FIRST OF TWO PARTS.


  • The Amoopikans (First part)

    Mary Jane’s fine porcelain skin had a pinkish hue as she twaddled about her sun-drenched apartment watering her plants and trying to remember where she put her television set.

    Then she saw the busted window. Then she saw the broken shards of glass on her cranberry and gold colored carpet and remembered. She remembered how she was finally fed up with all the blubbery drudgery that is supposedly supposed to entertain, encourage, and enlighten.

    “That idiot box is rubbish,” she said to her plants as she watered them. “Pure rubbish.”

    Mary Jane Hankerbloom was 33 and a half and she lived in a pastoral village on the Isle of St. Manitou, a place surrounded by a cold and beautiful sea. Her cozy apartment was right above an art gallery shoppe, and she worked around the corner at the Red Lighthouse Bookstore as a wee book clerk, tattoo artist and tea server.

    On her days off she would read, water her plants, smoke grasspot, take walks by the water and watch the television set. Well, the television set was no more, so she will have to fill that gap, she thought to herself.

    “Maybe I’ll take up blowtorch making,” she said to her flying aspidistra.

    She stood still for a moment and thought about that thought.

    “But that could be quite dangerous, I suppose. Hmm. I sound like an old hag, don’t I?” she said, turning to her marijuana plant, gently holding up the glistening leaves and snuffling in the aroma of a rich bud. “Ah, now that’s not rubbish at all,” she said with a little laugh.

    The old timey radio that sat on a small table beside her favorite reading chair by the window suddenly changed from playing music to making an eerie beeping and crackling sound. Then there came “AN URGENT NEWS ALERT.”

    “We have just learned that Amoopikan forces have started bombing Eyeland.”

    Mary Jane dropped the watering can and water spilled out everywhere. She grabbed her purse and bounded out the door in a flurry and nearly stumbled down the narrow staircase and out into idyllic Castlebury Street.

    She peered into the open doorway of the art shoppe and waved to the odd Jack Kullyfrutz, the gallery manager, who was sitting at the counter eating fried sausages and intently studying stone heads. Jack looked up when he saw her and waved her in.

    “Hey Mary Jane, come look at these stone heads I have here.”

    “Sorry Jack, I can’t right now. I’m off to the bookstore. I’ll stop by later.”

    Jack waved her off and Mary Jane nodded and then ran straight over to the Red Lighthouse Bookstore to see her friend Sally Gruffunrump.

    Sally was shelving books when Mary Jane burst in, nearly knocking her to the ground.

    “Good grief Mary Jane,” Sally said. “What on Earth is wrong with you?”

    “Did you hear the news… About the Amoopikans?” she said, out of breath.

    “Now what did they do?”

    “They’ve attacked Eyeland! You know what that means, we’re next!”

    “Now Mary Jane, calm yourself. I’m sure the Amoopikans didn’t attack Eyeland. Why would they do that now? They do no harm to anyone.”

    “Well, let’s go over to the pub and it will show it on the television set they have there.”

    “I’m working Mary Jane. Tell you what, you go, and I’ll meet you when I finish up. Okay?”

    “All right then. But please don’t forget.”

    “I won’t,” Sally called out to Mary Jane as she rushed out of the bookstore. Sally shook her head and sighed. “Poor girl, gone mad she has.”

    Mary Jane lit up a cigarette as she walked and looked up at the sky to see if she could see any signs of war. It was nothing but a clean sheet of blue. She crossed over and went into the Smashing Miners Pub House and Supper Club, owned and operated by a redheaded Englishman named Ollie Oxenfurd.

     “Hello there Mary Jane, how are you doing today?” he said as he wiped out mugs with an animalistic white towel.

    “I’m a bit puzzled in the head today, Ollie. Could you put the television set on?”

    “Sorry Mary Jane, the TV set is broken. Some jackhole started pounding on it the other night ‘cause it wasn’t comin’ in clear enough for him. I had to throw him out and I think I have to get a new TV.”

    “Well, then the radio. Can you turn on the radio?”

    “Sure, but what’s this all about?”

    “Shhh. Just listen.”

    Ollie clicked the radio on:

    “The bombing of Eyeland by the Amoopikans has been relentless. Casualties are mounting. Durbirch is burning once again.”

    “You see! I’m not out of my fucking head then!” Mary Jane yelped.

    “Good gravy. Why would they do something like that? Bastards!” Ollie said, slapping the bar with his big, freckled hand.

    “They won’t be satisfied until they destroy the whole world with all their guns and bombs and tanks and aeroplanes, that’s what I say. Bunch of mad murderers and killers of culture, that’s what I say,” Mary Jane said.

    “Amen to that Mary Jane girl. “It’ bloody looney tunes to be doing that. Here, let me get you a drink.”

    Mary Jane and Ollie drank pints and listened to the radio in the afternoon lull of the pub. There wasn’t much conversation between them, just glances of sadness and bewilderment here and there and in between the mystical voice of the radio announcer.

    It was about 4:15 in the after lunch when young and sassy Sally Gruffunrump came into the pub. She immediately went to Mary Jane and hugged her hard.

    “Oh Mary Jane, you were right. I’ve been hearing about it all afternoon. People have been coming in the store and talking about it, and everyone is scared, really scared. What are we going to do?”

    “What can we do?” Ollie asked before taking another big gulp of beer. “They’re bloody bullies, that’s what I say.”

    El Presidente de Amoopikan via RADIO RADIATION in the Smashing Miners Pub House and Supper Club: “Today, the Amoopikan military launched its first strike against the Republic of Eyeland, and we will continue striking until our objectives are met. Those objectives were outlined in our original case for war, that is, the Republic of Eyeland’s adamant denial of its possession and use of, weapons of mass destruction. Not only have they used these weapons of mass destruction against their own people, but the innocent people of other nations, peaceful nations, mind you. As a nation of peace itself, Amoopika will not stand by idly while these mongers of war continue to sully our Earthly civilization with their killing machine. Now, we will kill them back, we will kill them until they know what true peace really is… And let it be known that any nation that comes to the aid of this island of evil, will face the same fate. Let operation Shardcock Freedom commence. May the peace and love of God be with you all.”

    Ollie threw his beer mug at the radio, and it shattered and smoked and fizzled.

    “Is he out of his bloody fucking mind!” Ollie screamed. “It’s completely fabricated. How can they possibly get away with this shit?!”

    “Again,” Sally chimed in.

    “And again and again,” Mary Jane added.

    “People been saying all day in the bookstore that the whole weapons thing is just a big lie and distraction, and what the Amoopikans really want is all of Eyeland’s magic and green and to enslave the fairy folk,” Sally said with a nod of her head and a tip of her beer mug.

    “It’s just like what they had in our history books back in school. You remember those, eh? The stories about those countries they used to have there in the middle of the world that are no longer there. You girls remember that?” Ollie asked, looking at the two worried ladies in his empty pub as day was quickly turning into night.

    Ollie shook his head in disgust. “Why can’t they just let people live in peace in their own way? Why do they have to force their looney beliefs on everyone else… And with violence, no less.”

    And then it was night, and Ollie Oxenfurd’s usually electric pub and supper club was eerily motionless and dead. Many of the people of the island of St. Manitou were sheltering in their homes, he guessed.

    Ollie left the girls at the bar and walked outside. He took a whiff of the air and he thought he could smell burning. The whole village was unusually dim and quiet. There weren’t any people on the streets. There were no bicycles or beeping autos running by. There was no laughing or music playing or people singing. There were no bells, no whistles, no balloons, no children scampering. There was no shuffling of feet, no dancing, no love. And then he thought, as he bent his ear toward the void of life, he heard the horrified screams of people on the other side of the water. His soul hurt, and he turned and went back into the pub.

    “I think I’m going to shut the pub for tonight. It’s dead out there. Mary Jane, would you mind getting the candles?”

    “Are you all right Ollie?” Mary Jane asked him.

    “It’s fine dear, just fine. Say, why don’t we finish this little party at your place Mary Jane?”

    “Sure, that would be far out. You want to Sally?”

    “I’m all for that,” Sally said, hopping off her bar chair. “Maybe we can try out some of your special medicine tonight, eh Mary Jane?”

    “You mean smoke grasspot like little schoolchildren?” Ollie said sarcastically. “I’ll bring a couple of these just in case,” and he yanked two bottles of whiskey off the bar display.

    “Can we stop by the gallery?” Mary Jane asked as she fished in her purse for another cigarette. “I want to invite Jack up as well.”

    Sally and Ollie looked at each other.

    “What? What’s the matter? You all don’t like Jack?” Mary Jane asked as she looked at them, an unlit cigarette dangling from her bottom lip.

    “It’s not that we don’t like him,” Sally said. “He’s just a little strange is all.”

    “What’s strange about him then?” Mary Jane asked as she lit her smoke.

    “It’s just that he seems to be a little obsessed with meat pies and heads is all,” Ollie said.

    “Ah rubbish,” Mary Jane said. “He’s an art gallery guy is all. They all like artsy stuff like heads and what not. And besides, it’s my place and I’ll invite whoever I want.”


    The trio arrived at the gallery on Castlebury Street and Mary Jane knocked on the red door. Jack pulled a small curtain aside and peeked out. His bearded face lit up when he saw that it was Mary Jane, and he opened the door.

    “Mary Jane, you came back as promised! I just shuttered the shoppe, but would you like to come in?”

    “Actually Jack, I’ve come around to see if you would like to join me and my friends upstairs for a little get together.”

    “That would be fantastic Mary Jane, and as I’m sure you well know, this could be our last night on Earth, and I don’t want to spend it alone. Let me just grab something and I’ll be up.”

    Jack closed the door, and the others could hear him laughing and singing in the dim reverence of the gallery.

    “He’s awfully jolly for it possibly being his last night on Earth, wouldn’t you say?” Ollie pointed out.

    “He’s just a happy-go-lucky guy is all,” Mary Jane said, trying to defend her friend. “He’s just excited to be around people. I think he is generally lonely in there.”

    The four of them sat in Mary Jane’s apartment looking at the moon through a big window and thinking about the bloody war raging not too far off. Ash was falling from the sky. Bone fragments clinked and clanked like hail on the rooftop. Skeleton dust began clouding Mary Jane’s skylight and obscuring the once charming view of the universe. They all pretended not to notice as they passed the grasspot and whiskey around.

    Ollie noticed Jack was holding something in his lap.

    “What’s that Jack?” he asked.

    “Oh this?” Jack said, and he held up a stone head. “Why, this is the head of Nicolaus Copernicus. Well, not his actual head, it’s made of marble or alabaster or something like that. It’s hard though.” He tapped his knuckles on it to demonstrate.

    Ollie took a long drag on the grasspot and exhaled a large plume of smoke straight at Jack.

    “Didn’t he invent electricity or something?” Ollie asked.

    Jack glanced at Mary Jane with a hint of exasperation.

    “Well, no, he did not. He was an astronomer who lived a very long time ago.”

    “Oh yeah, that’s right, man. Now I remember. Hey Mary Jane, you got anything to eat?” Ollie wondered.

    “Take a look in the …” Mary Jane began, but Jack cut her off.

    “I’ve got some meat pies downstairs. I’d be glad to cook one up for you.”

    “No, that’s okay, I had one for lunch,” Ollie said.

    “Really? How was it?” Jack asked with disturbing fascination.

    “Um, you know. It was pretty good I guess.”

    “You know, the Lumpy Plum has the best damn meat pies in the neighborhood,” Jack said enthusiastically. “Have any of you ever been there?”

    “I used to work there, a long time ago” Sally chimed in. “My boss was a real A-hole, though. Always trying to grab my twat. What was his name again?”

    “Francisco?” Jack asked somewhat sternly.

    “Yeah, that’s it. Francisco. What a douche biscuit. How’d you know?”

    “Francisco happens to be a wonderful friend of mine,” Jack said.

    There was a long period of uncomfortable silence. The remains of war victims continued to tinkle down upon the rooftop. Jack held the head of Copernicus in front of his face and just stared at it. The others continued smoking grasspot and talking about their hopes and dreams for the future.

    “I want to adopt a Chinese baby and name her Christmas and never let her eat ice cream,” Mary Jane said.

    The others snorted and giggled.

    “I want to go to the Lumpy Plum and eat a meat pie every day for the rest of my life,” Ollie said.

    They burst out laughing and then turned toward Jack who was curled up in a chair with the head of Copernicus, and he just stared at them with a snarly, devilish look on his face.

    “I want to… Eat a meat pie, and then have whimsical and bizarre conversations with a stone head,” Sally said, giggling the whole way through her sentence.

    Mary Jane and Ollie burst out laughing once more, the kind of laughing where tears roll down the face and hands clutch the belly — not because it was truly funny, but because the grasspot had sent them to the wayward oddities of the stratosphere.

    But Jack was far from amused, and he just sat there in the chair, motionless, creepy, staring at them, the snarly and devilish look on his face growing even more snarly and more devilish. He clutched Copernicus’ head tight to his breast and petted it as one would an evil cat.

    Then the lights suddenly began to flicker and then went out completely.

    “Oh bonkers. Hold on, I’ll get some candles,” Mary Jane said as she got up, giddy from the grasspot and strong drink.

    “Hey Jack,” Sally began, “I’m really sorry about that whole Francisco thing. I’m sure he’s a fine fellow. I… I just didn’t enjoy getting groped all day.”

    Ollie repeated her words, “a fine fellow, groped,” and he just couldn’t stop laughing.

    Jack said nothing in the darkness, and when Mary Jane lit up the first candle, Jack’s face glowed with an even more sinister stare than anyone could possibly ever have.

    “Damn, Jack. You truly look like a Jack-O-Lantern,” Ollie joked.

    Somewhere far off there was an explosion.

    “What the hell was that?” Ollie asked, looking around bewildered and clutching the fabric of time and space.

    He got up and went to the glass doors leading to the veranda and looked out.

    “Well?” Sally asked. “Do you see anything?”

    “No, nothing but a blood-red glow of death off in the distance. I think I’ll go get some Chinese food. I’ll buy it and bring it back. Anyone?”

    “Pork and snow peas for me please,” Sally said with a big high-as-a-kite grin on her flawless face.

    “Mary Jane?”

    “Veggie Lo Mein.”

    “Uh, Jack. Would you like any Chinese food?”

    “No!” Jack barked out, his jaw tight, his eyes tight. “And I am not a pumpkin!”

    “Ok, you know what, if you’re going to act like a complete tool all night… I think you should just leave,” Ollie said to him sharply.

    “No!” Jack blurted out again. “I can make my own lunch!”

    “But Jack,” Mary Jane said, crawling closer to the chair and nearly touching him on the arm, “It’s late, don’t you want any dinner?”

    “No!” Jack blurted out again. “I like turtles!”

    “All right, whatever crazy man. I’ll be back later,” Ollie said, waving a hand and shaking his head.

    “Be careful out there,” Sally said to Ollie, and she got up and ran over to him and surprisingly kissed him before he walked out the door.

    WATCH FOR THE LAST PART OF THIS STORY COMING SOON


  • Bucky the Horse and the Gods of Radiation (6)

    Linnifrid darted to him and wrapped her arms around his large neck. “Oh, Bucky. I was so worried about you. Wherever did you go?”

    “I’ve been to a very magical place, beyond the veil of the forest’s edge. It’s a wonderful place full of wonderful things. I know you’ll love it.”

    “What forever do you mean, my dear horse?”

    “I’m going to take you there and we can live together, forever and ever and ever. Won’t you like that?”

    “No. No, Bucky. I’m going to take you home.”

    “But that is my home now. It’s where I belong. I have value and purpose there,” Bucky asserted.

    “No. You belong on the farm with me. I think you are confused. Maybe you are dehydrated. We’ll make a torch and I’ll lead you to the water.”

    Bucky grew stern. “You can lead me to water, but you cannot make me drink. Now climb on and I will take you to the special place.”

    Linnifrid backed away from him slowly. “There’s something different about you, Bucky. You’ve never been a mean horse, or a pushy horse, not ever in your whole life. You seem so jittery. What happened to you out here?”

    Bucky scraped at the ground with a hoof. “I’ve found a new way for me, a better way.”

    “I don’t understand what you are talking about. What’s this about a new way? There’s been some rather large thoughts going through that head of yours, hasn’t there? Hmm. And behind my back, too.”  

    “Come with me and you’ll find out. If you don’t like it, you can go back home. I swear to you on a big bucket of oats.”

    “I can’t come with you, Bucky. It’s Papa. He’s passed. I have to go back for a proper burial. I have to!”

    Bucky paused in the dim light and the girl could feel his warm breath lightly glance her face. “Oh, I’m so sorry to hear that,” Bucky said. “He was a nice enough man, I suppose, but he will turn to dust one way or another. Your life must go on. Come with me.”

    “That’s a terrible thing to say, and I’m not coming with you. I’m going home!”

    It was when Linnifrid turned to gather her things that the shrunken and deformed people came out of the darkness and formed a ring around her in the firelight. They pressed the tips of their walking sticks firmly into the ground and gazed at her with psychotic purpose. There were about ten of them, dressed in rags, burned by fire, beaten down by a world of greed and war. Some were bald, or half bald, and others were full of wild hair, but they were all dirty and grumbly, and somewhat cold of heart. They studied the girl with great interest as she fell silent and afraid before them.

    One of them stepped forward and grunted. “Is this the one? Is this the girl you were talking about?”

    “It is her,” Bucky answered. “I’m afraid she is refusing to come with us. You’ll have to… Persuade her.”

    The one that came forward moved closer to the girl, looked her up and down, and sniffed. “You haven’t bathed recently, have you?” he wanted to know.

    Linnifrid looked at his grossness and made a face. “And I wonder if you even know what a bath is.”

    The turnip-like little man made a commanding gesture in the air, and Linnifrid cried out as they came at her — all of them, sticks hoisted high and then down hard upon her. The girl struggled. She did her best to shield their blows. But it was too much, too furious, too violent of an attack, and so the girl fell into a deep and dark unconsciousness that lasted for a seemingly long time.


    When Linnifrid awoke, she was on her back and looking up at fresh splashes of morning sunlight soaking a green forest. There was rope tied around her hands and ankles and she was being dragged along the floor of the woods in something like a tarp. She was sore and dirty, and her dress was torn and her once perfectly beautiful hair of raven black was now caked with wet dirt and leaves. The girl tried to cry out, but she was too sore. She craned her neck and saw that the little people were the ones hauling her along like a pack of sled dogs; Bucky was out front and leading the way. She tried again to speak, and the words came out scraggly. “Hey! What are you doing to me!?”

    The ten small people stopped, all were men she thought, but there might have been a woman or two, it was hard to tell because they were all so caked over with grime and burns. “Where are you taking me?” Linnifrid demanded to know. They said nothing to her but simply grumbled and turned to Bucky for an answer. The horse turned around and came back to where she was lying on the ground. He put his long face close to her and butted at her shoulder with his nose. He sniffed at her. “We’re taking you to sanctuary,” Bucky said. “The world is no longer a safe place for you to live as you once did. It’s over. Your old life is over, and you must come with us now. There is no alternative.”

    Linnifrid looked up at him and licked at her dry lips. “But must you tie me up and drag me along the ground like an animal? I’ve done nothing wrong and yet you treat me like this. I don’t understand.”

    “You’re an animal just like me.”

    “Yes, but …”

    “Will you walk peacefully?” Bucky suddenly sympathized.

    “Yes.”

    “If you try to run away, I will tell them to kill you. Do you know that? I have no problem with doing it.”

    “I understand… But at the same time, I don’t. Bucky? Did you join a cult?”

    The horse looked at her and was hesitant to answer the question. Then he ignored it all together and ordered some of the small people to untie her and help her to her feet.

    “Are you cold?” the horse asked her.

    “Yes… But…”

    “Bring her a cover,” Bucky ordered, and one of the small people came over and gave her a smelly blanket and patted her arms. Linnifrid was convinced it was a female. She had a sweet look beyond the scared gray eyes, and she may have even been a mother to someone in the past. “Thank you,” Linnifrid said softly.

    Bucky moved to the front of the line again and everyone started marching along once more. Linnifrid was glad to be up off the ground and walking by her own will. The horse had ordered two of the small people to walk closely behind her, to watch her and make sure she didn’t try to get away.

    They made their way through the long and endless forest at a steady pace. Linnifrid was tired and thirsty. She wanted to stop and rest but they would not let her.

    “Almost there,” one of the tubby ones grumbled. “Almost there, and you will be free at last.”

    TO BE CONTINUED


  • Bucky the Horse and the Gods of Radiation (5)

    Linnifrid walked, arms outstretched, teetering as if she were on a thin high wire. She was whistling something sweet when something came out of the brush, sat there, and just stared with big eyes. The girl stopped and looked at the cat; it seemed to be voraciously studying her. “Hello there, Mr. cat,” the girl said. “Are you lost?”

    The cat moved toward her and started circling her legs and purring. “Now that I’ve found you, how could I ever be lost,” the cat said, looking up at her with a big grin that pushed its whiskers straight out to the side.

    “What a strange day it’s been. First a talking tree, and now a talking cat. What’s your name?”

    “I’m Fred.”

    “Fred the cat?”

    “That’s what I said. Right, right. My name is Fred. What are you doing around here? Not many people come around here anymore. I like it that way. People are pigs, but not you. You seem different somehow.”

    “You’re being silly. I’m just a simple farm girl living in a police state. I’ve lost my horse and now I’m trying to find him. Have you seen a horse around here anywhere?”

    The cat wound around her again, slobbering and pushing its head against her calves. “Indeed, I have seen a horse today. In fact, we shared a few pints and became friends.”

    “Bucky’s been drinking?”

    “Like a horse,” the cat chuckled.

    “Well, what happened? Where did he go?”

    The cat stopped and scratched behind one ragged ear. “I don’t know where he went. Last time I saw him he was trying to talk to a tree. Hey. Wait a minute… Didn’t you just say you talked to a tree today?”

    “Indeed I did,” Linnifrid said. “He wasn’t the nicest tree in the world, though.”

    Fred put a paw to the side of his face and played with his whiskers. “Hmmm, I didn’t believe him, and now I feel like a complete ass,” the cat said.

    “So you have no idea where he went?”

    “No, I don’t. But I would be honored to help you look for him.”

    “Thank you, Fred. You’re a very nice cat. “I usually don’t like cats. I think they smell bad.”

    “Thanks.”

    “Oh, no offense to you. I was speaking in general terms.”

    “I feel a whole lot better. So, do you want to continue walking along the lake or should we make for the forest?”

    “The lake. I think Bucky would go to water.”


    The two walked together along the oddly twisting shore of the lake. Fred scuttled ahead so that he could stop and smell everything. Linnifrid’s heart grew doubtful as the day wore on. The sky was growing chilled, and the light was beginning to fade. The girl stopped and was worried. “I don’t have any supplies for the night,” she told the cat. “I’m afraid in my rush to go after Bucky, I left unprepared.”

    “It’s okay,” the cat smiled. “I’ll keep you safe and warm,” and then he winked at her in a very creepy cat way.

    Linnifrid ignored the boorish gesture and looked around. “I think we should build a shelter.”

    She pointed. “There. That’s a perfect spot between those trees over there.”

    Fred looked but he really didn’t care. “I don’t think I’ll be much help.”

    “You can help me look for wood.”

    Fred snickered, but kept his naughty thoughts to himself.

    “I can look for it, but I can’t carry it. Unless you want to strap the wood to my back, but then again I’m afraid I’d only be good for a bundle of twigs.”

    Linnifrid took a moment to bend down and pet the cat’s head. “Don’t worry about it, Fred. I’m a big strong woman. I think I can handle it.”

    The girl and the cat moved away from the shoreline and closer to the edge of the forest that began like a wall atop a short golden and green bluff. Fred scavenged ahead and when he found a few good sticks and logs he called out to the girl and she would come running.

    Linnifrid carried the wood in her arms and piled it at the campsite. The cat ran up behind her and pushed himself between her ankles and just stayed there. “How are you going to make a fire?” Fred asked.

    The girl frowned and wondered. “I think maybe I need to rub two sticks together, really hard and fast. I saw it on the television. It makes a spark on something really, really dry and then you have to blow on it real gentle until there’s a flame, and then you feed the flame into the wood.”

    “Sounds too complicated.” Fred complained. “Don’t you have any matches?”

    “No. Of course not. I have no reason to burn anything.”

    “I say we forget the fire. We can just cuddle.”

    “Oh, Fred. Stop being so fresh, and foolish. I’m a young woman and you’re a cat. I have no romantic interest in you at all.”

    “Whaaat? I didn’t mean anything by it. I’m a cat and I happen to like warm places. If you know what I mean.”

    “There it is again, Fred!”

    “What?”

    “Those… Those sexual innuendos you keep dropping. It makes me uncomfortable and I wish you would stop!”

    “All right, all right,” Fred said softly. “I’m sorry. It’s just me being me. I talk like that with everyone. You know. I’m a fun cat.”

    Linnifrid crossed her arms and looked down at him. “I think you should sleep outside the shelter tonight. Better yet, why don’t you just run off and hunt or whatever cats do in the middle of the night.”

    Fred looked down at the ground and somehow he felt very hurt inside. “Oh. I understand. You just want to be alone, or maybe you have a human boyfriend.”

    “It isn’t that, Fred. You just kind of creep me out… When you talk like that. I don’t like it all.”

    “Can I ask you a question?”

    “What’s that?”

    “Are you still a virgin?”

    Linnifrid grew angry and her face flushed to the color of an apple. “That’s none of your business! How dare you ask me such a question.”

    “I’m just curious. I thought you might be experienced and could tell me some things, very detailed things.”

    “That’s it! I don’t want to be friends with you anymore. You’re a vile creature I must say. Simply vile! Now get out of here before I throw a rock at you.”

    Linnifrid reached down, palmed a stone, and then threatened him with it. “Leave me alone!” She threw the stone and it landed with a thump, barely missing the cat’s head. Fred jumped, his ears went back, and his fur unfurled, making him look more like a porcupine than a simple, dirty-minded feral cat of the wild lands.

    “Go!” Linnifrid yelled. “Go or I swear I might cook you for supper!”

    Fred calmed and looked at her. “Fine. I’ll go. Good luck finding your stupid horse, and of course, be safe tonight. Lots of things happen in the night.”


    The cat turned and walked away, and it didn’t take long for him to disappear like a ghost among the grasses and the dips of the land.

    Linnifrid was glad to be rid of him, she thought as she laid out the last of the boughs across the top of her shelter. She sat down on the ground near the fire she managed to make. Seems she was so mad at Fred the cat that she was able to muster up enough friction between those two sticks to birth a spark. Now she felt safer as the dark grew deeper. She’s seen many a night skies, but the one that night was darker than any other dark she could ever remember.

    She held her arms close to her body and gently rocked back and forth on the ground. The orange flames were clean and crisp and somewhat see-through. She thought about her Papa and how that it was his great wish for when he passed that he be turned to ash and scattered somewhere out on the farm. He had always said to her that the wind would steer his next boat.

    Linnifrid was hungry, but she had nothing to eat. Her stomach grumbled. “I would give anything for a steaming pot pie right now,” she moaned aloud to the flames and the darkness. “I can just imagine the flaky crust, the creamy gravy, the crisp garden-fresh vegetables.”

    Then she heard something move in the grass. A twig snapped. Then there was a voice. “I think you’ve lost your mind,” someone said through the air.

    Linnifrid jumped to her feet. “Who’s there? Who’s out there!?”

    “Why it’s me. Your beloved horse, Bucky.”

    “Bucky!” Linnifrid yelled. “Is that really you?”

    The horse stepped into the glow of the fire and smiled at her. “It is indeed me. I’m so glad I found you.”

    TO BE CONTINUED


  • Bucky the Horse and the Gods of Radiation (4)

    The girl and the man waded through rumpled meadows as they headed toward the lake. The sky was full of sun and a blue-white light. Papa began to sweat, and he wiped at his brow with his forearm and stopped.

    Linnifrid looked at him, concerned. “Papa? Are you feeling all right?”

    The man who was too old for his age was panting like a bear in Death Valley. “Just let me rest for a minute. I have to catch my breath.”

    Linnifrid helped him to the ground where he slumped in the grass. “Papa,” Linnifrid began as she nuzzled up close to him there. “You’re not acting right. Are you sure you’re okay?”

    It was then the man winced and clutched at his arm. The sweat was pouring down his face and dripping into his pained-looking mouth. “I can’t breathe very well,” he mumbled, and then another jolt of pain shot through his arm and chest and he laid down flat.

    Linnifrid screamed, “Papa!” She rested her head on his chest and there was no beating heart in there. She put her ear to his mouth and felt for breath but there was none there. The girl touched his clammy face and it had already begun to turn cold. She tried to hold his hand up but it just slumped back down to his side.

    Now Linnifrid cried as she kneeled there beside her dead father. She cried and cried and cried for a long time and then the sky was grayed over, and the clouds up above began to softly rumble. She looked down at the man and didn’t know what to do. A girl her size could never lift such a large man. Maybe she could drag him to the church and set him down on the stairs and leave a note attached to him while she left to look for Bucky. The rain started to fall lightly and so she went to work covering her father’s body with long grass and tree boughs until he could no longer be seen. “I’ll be back for your body, Papa. I promise. Then we can have a proper burial for you.”

    The girl took one last look at him and then walked away in the direction they had been heading. Even the cool rain wouldn’t keep her from getting to the pub by the lake in hopes of finding Bucky. She was a very determined young lady. Determined yes, but she was still afraid of things — most especially the far distant laughter rolling on the waves of the air all around her head. She stopped and strained her ears to listen. There was nothing but the sound of the wind, the gentle patter of the rain, and some far off unattended drilling. She whipped her head around and saw that the same wind was blowing the coverings from her father’s body and scattering them all about. She sighed and turned away, and then kept on walking.


    Linnifrid reached the crest of the hill that overlooked the long shimmering lake and the pub that sat near its far shore near a shaded cove. The red metal roof glistened, now that the sun made another appearance. The girl saw the car sitting out front, the car with the dead man she was presently so unaware of.  She glanced over the edge and then leapt down. When she landed, she slipped and flew down the side of the hill on her backside. She came to an abrupt stop and twirled when her legs met the gravel of the road.

    Linnifrid looked around to see if there were any people who may have seen her circus act. But of course, she was being foolish; there were no other people around. There were never any other people around. She got to her feet and brushed off her cornflower blue dress and wiped away the pebbles from her knees and the backs of her calves. There was some blood, and she wet a finger and ran it across one of the scrapes and then stuck it in her mouth. “Everyone likes the taste of their own blood,” she softly said to herself. She pushed her raven flying hair back and looked straight up the road. The girl began walking with purpose, but then the heat blossomed once more, and she began to drag. She wiped at the forehead beaded with sweat. And then someone said something.

    “Hey you. What are you doing around here? Shouldn’t you be home playing with dolls?”

    Linnifrid startled, whipping her head around in all directions to see who it may be. “Who’s there!?” she cried out. “Please don’t scare me. I’m just a young woman all alone looking for her horse.”

    “A horse, you say?” the voice came again. “Why, I was just talking to a horse earlier today.”

    It was then that Linnifrid saw the great tree just ahead and off the road a bit. She moved toward it carefully and wondered. “Was it you that just said something?”

    “Yes, it was,” the tree answered, and Linnifrid was shocked. “I don’t believe it. How can you talk? You’re just a tree.”

    “Believe me, I hear that all the time,” the tree grumbled. “I don’t understand why you mammals think you’re so superior. Your species is so egotistical.”

    “I don’t care about that,” Linnifrid snipped. “Did you see my horse today?”

    “Well, I did see a horse. But I don’t know if it was your horse.”

    “What did he look like?”

    The tree thought about it hard. He was an old tree and his memory wasn’t as sharp as it used to be.

    Linnifrid grew impatient. “Well?”

    “He was a big horse, I know that.”

    “What color was he?”

    The tree scratched at the bark above his eyes. “I’m pretty sure he was brown. Yes, he was brown.”

    “That sounds like Bucky. Where did he go?”

    “He went to the pub,” the tree said, and he pointed with a twig at the end of one of his branches.

    “Thank you,” Linnifrid said, and she began to trot away.

    “Wait!” the tree called out. “Just so you know… There’s a dead guy in that car over there.”

    Linnifrid scrunched her face. “Eww. Why would you tell me something so horrible?”

    “I thought you might want to take a look.”

    “No I don’t want to look. I’m trying to find my horse. I don’t have time to look at dead bodies!”

    Linnifrid shook her head and huffed before turning and continuing on to the pub. The door was open, and she went in. The place smelled like booze, she thought, and then she stepped in something sticky. “Bucky,” she called out through an opening that led into a long room with a pool table; not a green one, but a red one. “Bucky?” There was no answer and Linnifrid was disheartened, and she walked back out into the sunlight and didn’t know where to go next. Maybe, she thought, he went to the lake for a drink of water. She decided that was her next best move — walking along the shoreline of the lake. The beach was narrow and rocky and when she touched the water it felt cold and somewhat greasy. She looked deep down the shoreline to scan for Bucky. He would surely stand out against the background of the world, she thought. He was a horse, and a horse would be easy to spot.

    TO BE CONTINUED


  • Bucky the Horse and the Gods of Radiation (3)

    The air was dead still and full of natural carnage. Papa shielded his eyes from the strange bright light with a worn hand. He moved his head against the horizon and surveyed the landscape — everything was wiped clean. He turned and yelled down the cellar.

    “The barn is gone, and all my new fencing, too.”

    “Can I come up?” Linnifrid called out from beyond a veil of invisibility.

    “Yes.”

    The girl poked her head up into the light. “Oh my, such destruction. Do you think Bucky is all right?”

    He answered her without looking at her, his eyes still glued to the land. “Oh yeah. He’s all right. Animals have a sense about these things. Though… I can’t say he’s anywhere near now. I’m afraid you’ll just have to let nature takes its course.”

    Linnifrid stepped completely out of the cellar entrance and stood toe-to-toe with her Pa and looked up into his steel-colored eyes. “Are you saying what I think you’re saying? You expect me to just let him go like that?”

    “Be realistic, girl. That horse is probably miles from here now. And look at this place. I’m afraid there’s too much work to be done around here and I need your help. He may find his way back.”

    “Sometimes you can be a cruel man,” Linnifrid steamed.

    “Watch that now, girl. You’re not too old for a whipping.”

    “Go ahead and whip me then. But it will have to wait until I get back from looking for Bucky!”

    Linnifrid stomped off in the direction of an unrecognizable horizon and Papa called after her. “Now what do you think you’re doing, young lady?”

    She turned and pouted. “I’m going to look for my horse.”

    The man who felt old sighed. “Hold on. I won’t let you go alone. But we’re not going to spend all day doing this.”

    Linnifrid brightened. “Thank you, Papa. Where do you think we should look first?”

    The man scratched at his head and looked off into the distance. “We may be right to try down at the pub by the lake first. You know how that horse likes to drink.”

    “That’s a good idea, Papa, but which way?”

    Papa scanned the horizon, looked back at the house, and then his eyes moved to the never ever lands again. He pointed a shaky finger out into the air. “That way,” he said.


    Bucky saw that the pub inside was dim and quiet as he nudged the door open and stepped inside. “Hello? Is anyone here?”

    There was nothing at first, but then a cat jumped up onto the bar with a screech, startling Bucky a bit. “Hello there, Mr. cat,” Bucky said as he drew closer. “What are you doing in here?”

    The cat’s eyes glowed wide as it studied the looming animal before him. “What do you want?” the cat hissed.

    “To tell you the truth, I could really use a drink. Do you think you could pour me a beer or two or sixteen?”

    The cat grinned. “Well, I’m no bartender, but I suppose I could try.” The cat got up on its back two legs and pulled down a mug from a rack above him. “This big enough?” the cat asked.

    Bucky shook his head in approval.

    “What kind of ale do you want?” The cat asked him.

    “What kind do you have?”

    The cat scanned the bar. “I don’t know. I can’t read. But there’s a white one, a blue one, and a red one.

    Bucky thought about it for a moment. “Red,” he squarely said. “I’ll have the red one.”

    “Ok,” the cat grinned, and it strategically worked a paw to pull on the red handle. Out came the beer, missing the glass and running onto the floor. “Damn it,” the cat said. “I’m just not coordinated enough to get it in the glass.”

    Bucky leaned his head over the bar and looked around. “I have an idea,” he said. “Yank the tap handles and let the beer spill all over the floor. I’ll just lap it up.”

    “That’s pretty smart, horse,” the cat said, grinning some more, and then he pulled the handles and the beer began to flow like a river all over the back of the bar. Bucky smiled, came around the corner and started drinking at the growing pool of ale.

    “I’m getting in on that action,” the cat purred, and then it jumped down into the beer pond and began to move its tongue furiously until its fur began to swell.

    After the horse and the cat got nice and drunk, they went outside and rested in a field of grass. The yellow of the sky was somewhat fading and there were now growing patches of pale blue. The cat looked up, and then over at Bucky. “Hey, horse. Are you married?”

    Bucky sighed. “Don’t be ridiculous. How can a horse get married? Are you married?”

    “Well, no. I’m not married. I just thought that with you being such a fine looking horse you’d surely have a wife.”

    “I don’t have a wife. But I have met up with a lot of female horses, and well, provided services, if you know what I mean.”

    “Huh? You mean you have a lot of girlfriends?”

    “Yes. Something like that,” Bucky boasted.

    The cat scratched at its head with a wet paw. “Then you’re sort of like a polygamist.”

    “A poly –ga-what?”

    “A polygamist.”

    “What the hell does that mean?” Bucky wanted to know.

    “You know, those guys who take on a handful of wives. They live in the desert, I think.”

    Bucky scrunched his face and blinked in the emerging sunlight. “I’ve never heard of such a thing. It sounds illegal.”

    “I’m just saying. Your life is sort of like that.”

    “It isn’t anything like that. Maybe you should just stop talking for a while.” Then Bucky tried to change the subject. “Did you know that tree over there is stuffed full of money?”

    The cat’s eyes widened. “Really? How do you know?”

    “The tree told me. He can talk.”

    The cat eyed the horse suspiciously. “You’re drunk and full of shit. Trees can’t talk, even I know that.”

    “Well, he talked to me. Just before I went into the pub.”

    “Oh yeah? Then prove it.”

    “All right, foolish cat. It’s right over there.”

    The two got up from their spots on the grass, crossed a wide gravel road to the other side, and went down along the very edge of the wooded wild lands until they reached the tree.

    “Well,” Bucky beamed. “There it is.”

    The cat went to the base of the tree and sniffed. It slowly circled the tree and looked it up and down. “It’s just a tree, you damn fool.”

    “No, no. He can talk. He can really talk!”

    Bucky moved closer and butted his nose against the spot on the trunk where the face used to be. “Hello?” he mumbled. “Mr. Tree. Are you in there?”

    The cat shook his head at him as if he were a complete fool. “Have you ever had brain surgery?”

    Bucky turned to him. “No. My brain is perfectly fine. Perhaps it’s the wrong tree.”

    The horse carefully examined the tree all the way around. Then he saw all the carvings and was relieved to know that he wasn’t that crazy. “Ah hah,” Bucky said. “See these? These are the exact same carvings the tree had me take a look at. The exact same ones! See, I was right.”

    “But the tree still isn’t talking,” the cat said with a shifty snark.

    “Maybe he’s sleeping. He’s an old tree, he’s probably tired.”

    “And where’s all this money?” the cat asked.

    Bucky moved his eyes up through the wayward branches, but no matter how hard he looked he could not see the opening that used to be there, the opening where all that money was. “It was here. I swear it was here.”

    The cat seemed disappointed and started to walk away. Bucky called after him. “Wait. Where are you going?”

    “I’m going to suck up some more suds from the floor of that dirty pub. I have a great life. See you around, horse.”

    Bucky watched as the cat wandered off and then it disappeared beyond the door of the bar. He felt sad and puzzled and somewhat tricked. He worked to try to make his mind make some sense of it, but no matter how hard he tried, his head was all fuzzy.

    “I’m getting old,” Bucky said to himself and the empty space around him. “There’s no more use for a horse like me in this world anymore.” He looked straight into the wind and wiggled his ears. Then he walked off and went through the curtain leading to the wild woodlands and vanished.

    TO BE CONTINUED


  • Bucky the Horse and the Gods of Radiation (2)

    Bucky carefully stepped out of a low hollow in a meadow and looked around. His glossy brown eyes surveyed the land, and he was crushed to see all the damage. He sniffed the air and it smelled like old metal in dampness. With everything so flattened, his sense of direction was out of whack — then he remembered the old pub by the lake, and he started out in that direction, as best as he could guess, hoping the place was still in one piece.

    He trotted on slowly and carefully and the world seemed entirely vacant. There was a subtle settling of dirt and dust in the air and it made the horse sneeze a few times. Bucky saw no other signs of life except for a few wayward birds with no real understanding of what happened below. He was hoping for some sort of neon miracle on the horizon, and it was a long time before he came to a narrow crest and looked down upon the lake — a haphazard shape of utter confusion and jaggedness.

    The pub was still there at the southern end and so Bucky picked up the gravel road below and followed it. Everything was eerily still and the air was the color of diluted pollution. As the horse drew nearer to the pub, he noticed there was a dirty beat-up old car resting out front. He went up from behind to see if he could detect a body inside behind the wheel. Someone was in there, but because the light was so askew Bucky couldn’t make out much except that it seemed to be a man. He carefully stepped to the front of the car and peered in through the cracked windshield. Whoever it was sitting there in the car, they weren’t alive, Bucky could tell that much.

    The horse looked around and then poked the tip of his nose inside the driver-side window and sniffed at the figure. He nudged the man but of course there was no movement. Bucky looked over the rest of the car and noticed there was a lot of trash — mostly fast-food bags and beer bottles. The ashtray in the dash was overflowing with cigarette butts and there was a pile of dirty clothes in the passenger seat. Bucky pulled his head out because the smell was just getting to be too much.

    “Gross,” Bucky said aloud, and then some birds above him in a tree squawked in agreement. “People can be so disgusting at times,” the horse said to an old tree standing in the hay beside the road.

    “They sure as hell are,” the tree replied with a sarcastic sneer. “You’re lucky though, you can at least walk away if they start getting on your nerves. I’m stuck right here, forever, and I got to listen to all their bullshit talk all the time. Especially on Saturday nights when they come pouring out of the pub right there all drunk and obnoxious. Hey, horse. Come around here and look at my backside.”

    “What?” Bucky said, puzzled as puzzled as a horse can be. “You want me to look at your… ass?”

    “I don’t mind tree huggers, but I draw the line at ass lookers… No, you dumb horse, take a gander at how much I’ve gotten carved up over the years. I imagine there are a ton of goofy love hearts and chick’s names back there, but I can’t really see so you have to tell me.”

    Bucky went around to the rear of the tree and looked at the bark. It was covered as high as a human could reach down to the base with symbols of foolish love. “Does it hurt when they carve on you?”

    “No, it feels great! What do you think?”

    Bucky swept his eyes over the carvings one more time. “I suppose it’s something like getting tattooed, right?”

    “How the hell would I know,” the tree whined.

    “You’re not a very nice tree. In fact I think you are quite crabby. You wouldn’t happen to be a crabapple tree, would you?”

    “A crabapple tree? That’s ridiculous and I am somewhat offended by that. I happen to be an Amur corktree.”

    “I never heard of that kind of tree. It sounds made up,” Bucky said.

    “Well,” the tree stammered. “What do you know? You’re just a horse. How could you possibly know anything about trees? If I was a bucket of oats perhaps, then maybe you’d be able to offer some intelligence to this conversation.”

    Bucky turned his head and looked over at the pub. “I’m going for a beer,” he said to the tree. “I’ll try not to bother you on my way out.”

    “Wait!” the tree demanded. “Aren’t you a bit curious about the dead man in the car?”

    Bucky had started walking but then stopped. His ears pricked up and he turned his head. “What do you know about him?” the horse asked. “Did you do something to this poor old soul?”

    “No! Of course not. How could I possibly kill a human being? I’m a tree for crying out loud. I can’t even walk. Can’t you see I’m attached to the ground, permanently?”

    Bucky found his argument to be logical and so he scratched him off the list of possible suspects that he had started in his brain. “I suppose you’re right about that. Well, then it must have been one of the bar patrons. Maybe there was a fight inside? They came out and the fight continued and one of the fellows pulled a bowie knife and stabbed the other in the guts. Am I right?”

    “No, you are not right. In fact you’re way off. It wasn’t an act of animalistic violence. Did you see any wounds on the body of the deceased?”

    Bucky thought about it. “No. I didn’t see anything but his lousy gray face.”

    “And what makes you so sure he didn’t just die of natural causes? Why do you mammals always assume death is caused by violence? There are many, many other ways a mammal could die.”

    Bucky bowed his head and scraped at the ground, feeling somewhat embarrassed by his inability to keep up with the tree’s powerful wisdom. “I didn’t think of that,” the horse grumbled. “But what makes you so special that you think you know everything?”


    The tree’s branches creaked as he spread them out like arms in a manner of instruction. “Mr. Horse, how long do you expect to live?”

    “What?”

    “How long do you expect to live?”

    “I… I don’t know. I’ve never really thought about it.”

    “Then I’ll tell you… You’re going to only live about thirty years.”

    Bucky’s cocoa bar colored eyes widened at the sound of that. “What? Only thirty years? Well… That’s terrible and I think you are wrong. You’re making it all up to frighten me.”

    The tree folded his branches in front of his trunk and sneered at the dumb horse. “I’m afraid I am very correct, my dear horse friend. Don’t get too excited about the future because you won’t have much of one. On the other hand, I can expect to live up to 100 years, that’s a century.”

    Bucky squinted his eyes and squished his brain as he thought up something clever to say. “At least during my lifetime I can walk around and go different places. I can see the whole damn world if I want to. You’re just stuck in the same place, day after day after day. You can’t go anywhere, and you have to look at the same damn scenery every day. I tell you what; if I was a tree I’d shoot myself in the face.”

    “Be careful what you wish for, dear horse. A bullet may be the end of you yet.”

    “Oh what the hell do you know? You’re just a crazy old tree. You’ve been sitting in the same spot for so long that you’ve lost your mind.”

    The tree twirled his twig tips against each other and grinned. “Maybe I’m a bit insane that is true, but at least I don’t have to worry about dying at thirty years of age.”

    “Shut up!” Bucky snorted. “I don’t want to talk to you anymore.”

    “But wait! I still haven’t told you what happened to the dead man.”

    Bucky huffed and glanced back at the tree again. “So hurry up and tell me. What happened to him?”

    “I bored him to death.”

    “What are you talking about?”

    “He came to get a drink here at the pub, just like you, but he never made it inside. I kept talking and talking to him and I just wouldn’t allow him to depart. Oh yes he tried, but seeing that most mammals have a hard time saying no, he felt obligated to stick around and listen to me. He eventually grew tired and sat down in his car but I managed to draw his attention for several more hours, well into the evening and even to the crack of dawn. When the morning fog lifted a bit, I could see he was slumped over and not moving at all.”

    Bucky motor-boated his mouth. “You’re being ridiculous. He probably had a heart attack. And why would you even admit, and even seem proud, that you bored someone to death? Don’t you have any self-esteem?”

    The tree stroked at his face bark with his twig tips and felt stumped. (Do you get it? Stumped. You know, because he’s a tree). “I have plenty of time to build my self-esteem,” he gloated.

    Bucky drew as close to the tree as he could and spoke into his face. “But what if someone comes and cuts you down? I suspect you’re a non-native species, and you know what that means, right?”

    “What!? What does it mean?”

    “It means they’re going to try to… Eradicate you.”

    “No! They can’t do that! I’m a very important and beautiful tree!”

    “I bet whoever does do the deed will use a nasty old chainsaw … Bzzzzz … Right through your guts.”

    “Stop it, horse! I demand you stop speaking to me like this!”

    Bucky shook his head at the tree and grinned before turning away and walking down the path toward the front door of the pub.

    “Hold on now, horse!” the tree yelled out. “How do you expect to get a beer if there’s no bartender?”

    Bucky turned to look at the dead man in the car.

    “That’s right, horse. There isn’t anyone to pour a drink for you,” the tree teased. “You have hooves. You’re screwed!”

    “I also have a brain. I’m sure I’ll be able to figure something out.”

    “Oh really?” the tree sneered. “I’ll bet you one million dollars that you can’t pour your own ale.”

    “And where in the world would you get one million dollars?”

    “Can I tell you a secret?”

    “Yes?”

    “Come closer. That’s good. So the secret is… Many, many years ago, a farmer who lived just up over that hill, well, he came right to me and he climbed up a ways on me, and you know what he did?”

    “What?”

    “Well, see that opening a bit of a ways up my trunk?”

    Bucky looked and he saw a wide crack in the tree that looked like a sideways mouth worn by time. “Yes.”

    “The farmer put a sack of money in there, and over the years he came every so often and put more and more money in there. One day he just stopped coming. He hasn’t been here in a very long time and no one else ever went up there to retrieve the money. It’s still there. Lots of it.”

    Bucky scrunched his face in disbelief. “I have no need for money, tree. Just forget about your stupid bet.”

    “You think I’m lying?”

    “Of course you are. Everyone is a liar. Everyone is a back-stabbing liar!”

    “Fine, suit yourself. Go fetch your beer and leave me alone. I have no need for a grumbling horse in my life.”

    TO BE CONTINUED


    ENTER YOUR EMAIL BELOW TO FOLLOW CEREAL AFTER SEX AND RECEIVE UPDATES. THANKS FOR SUPPORTING INDEPENDENT WRITERS.