With the state of the world such as it is, I look to Log Cabin syrup to bring some sense of peace. I guess I always have. I would consider it one of my favorite food packaging labels of all time.
“What a lunatic,” someone might say. “Who could possibly find comfort in a bottle of pancake syrup?”
Have you ever looked at the picture on the label? I mean, REALLY looked at it.
There’s a cozy, finely crafted little cabin right in the middle. It has four windows and a door, each aglow with golden light. There’s a chimney on the snow-covered roof, and out of the chimney comes a swirl of smoke from the fire crackling away below, a man inside stoking the logs with a harpoon-like poker.
The cabin is surrounded by angelic-white snow – deep snow. There are seven pine trees, their boughs slightly weighted down by the same snow that surrounds them. Misty mountains stand as sentries on the horizon. A golden-yellow sun looms large over it all as the dawn of a new day undresses.
Even though the interior remains unseen, I imagine what it must look like. It’s square. The fireplace is in the far corner, and an area to prepare food and drink sits to its right. There’s a large table in the center of the cabin, a sturdy wooden table with four chairs – even though I would wish to be alone here. I imagine a homemade bed off to one side, thick blankets unfurled atop it, some sort of pillows, an opened trunk at the foot, a small table with an oil lamp within reach.
The whole place smells like camping.
There are no tracks, neither man nor animal, outside in the snow. It must be fresh powder, or the man inside just hasn’t had to go out in a while. Or maybe he can’t. Perhaps the Earth has drifted too close to that enormous sun and the world is set to burn, but wouldn’t the snow be completely melted?
“It’s simply a representation of the welcoming of a shiny new day. You should buy a bottle of our syrup to celebrate,” says the man from the marketing department.
“Oh,” the man inside the cabin says. “You have convinced my simple mind. I will buy some of your beautiful pancake syrup.”
“And be sure to buy more when you run out,” the man from the marketing department insists. “You will need this syrup forever. You will need it to survive.”
“Here’s all my money,” the man inside the cabin says.
“Great,” the man from the marketing department says, reaching out a hand and snatching the cash. “You’ve got a good job, right?”
“Yes, but I hate it,” the man in the cabin replies. “But it pays for the high-speed internet… And the syrup.”
“What do you do?”
“I’m a black-market human butcher,” the man in the cabin answers.
“Sounds like a lifestyle that must be stained in blood.”
“Much more blood than you can possibly imagine… But I don’t want to talk about that. It upsets me… So, the sun isn’t real?” the man in the cabin wants to know. “Am I merely living in a simulation?”
“Oh, it’s real alright. The world is melting away. I’m just here to convince you otherwise. You’ll be safe. As long as you buy our syrup.”
“I will. It’s delicious… There are many other products on the shelf, but this one is the best. I love the picture on the bottle. Absolutely love it. Just the thought of eating pancakes in the wilderness calms my anxiety and tenderizes my angst. It brings me hope at the end of a dark day. Goodbye now.”
The man inside the cabin slams the door and goes back to sharpening his knives.
The group emerged from the forest and onto the side of a broken and buckled road littered with debris. There were cars and trucks abandoned and now resting askew with skeletons at the wheel and other bags of bones trying to crawl out backseat windows. On the opposite side of the road was an immense parking lot, bleached dead gray by the sun, trash gently swirling in a whimsical and radiated breeze among upturned and wayward shopping carts. Beyond the lot stood a long line of connected buildings, a corporation-created wall of consumption now stained by human greed and rebellion — a vacant strip mall with windows boarded, signs broken and hanging by wires, exteriors spray painted with swirling poetry of all that went wrong, and once perfectly manicured merchandise scattered on the walks out in front of the stores atop a sea of shattered glass.
Linnifrid stepped forward. “What is this place?”
Bucky turned to her. “It is our new sanctuary,” he said. “Our new place of peace and purpose.”
“It doesn’t look peaceful at all,” Linnifrid said. “It looks like the undying love of cheap, sweat shop created products finally got the best of them. What an ignorant world it was… Full of ignorant, ill-informed people with priorities all opposite of any human value.”
Bucky was worried about his friend and this sudden onset of depression and negativity she was experiencing. It wasn’t like Linnifrid at all, he thought. “How could a world with you in it be as bad as you say,” the horse said. “That’s nonsense.”
“Is it, Bucky? What’s the point of going on in a world such as this? I’ve completely given up hope on people. People are awful. They’re selfish, greedy, hateful… Ugh! They’ll never survive…Obviously. Just look around. I wish I had been born on a different planet… Or not born at all.”
“Linnifrid!” Bucky snorted. “Please don’t talk like that. What would I have done without you? What would your Papa have done without you?”
“You would have all been just fine without me. The whole world would have been just fine without me!” Linnifrid said, and then she started to cry, and she walked away from the group toward the abandoned, busted up strip mall.
“Wait!” Bucky cried out as he trotted after her. “You can’t just run off into the unknown. It’s not safe for a young woman to be alone in a world such as this.”
Linnifrid stopped in her tracks and turned to face Bucky, pointing a finger, angry. “You got that right, Bucky. That’s the whole problem. Arrogant, judgmental men and their animals standing on our necks, denying us basic human rights while they wave around their little wieners and clutch their holy edicts.” She spread her arms wide before her. “And look what it got you. A dead world. Way to go, assholes.”
“Please don’t blame me for the misguided actions of others,” Bucky said. “I agree with you. Women should have ruled the planet all along.”
“Well, it’s too late for that now, isn’t it,” Linnifrid asserted, and she started to walk again.
“Please don’t go,” Bucky cried out. “I have something very important to show you.”
She turned and huffed, folding her arms. “What is it?”
“Follow me.”
They walked side-by-side across the trash-strewn field of asphalt. The sun was hoisting itself high in the sky, there was a slight breeze, a bird dropped out of the sky and landed at Linnifrid’s feet. She looked down and watched it twitch before taking its last breath.
At the end of the strip mall was a standalone building: square, modern, sun-bleached, with large windows. Unruly green foliage lined the walk leading to the front entrance. Off to the side, there was a faded green canopy over a patio rung by wrought iron fencing. There were tables and chairs, all void of people.
Linnifrid cocked her head to one side as she looked at a green and white sign on the building. It read STARBUCKS, but someone had sloppily painted a Y’ in between the K and the S.
“Starbucky’s?” Linnifrid said.
“What do you think?” Bucky asked.
I don’t get it,” the young woman answered. “What is this?”
“It’s my coffee shop,” Bucky boasted.
“YOUR coffee shop? Bucky, this is a Starbucks.”
“It used to be a Starbucks,” the horse was quick to point out. “Now it is abandoned, because of the apocalypse, and everything else that went wrong.”
“So, you just took it upon yourself to commandeer an abandoned Starbucks?”
“Yes. With the help of my little radiated friends, of course.”
“I don’t think you can do that,” Linnifrid said.
“They’re not coming back for it,” Bucky said in his defense. “I thought you would be proud of me for doing something positive with my life. We are offering a valuable service here that brings joy to others.”
“I just… I mean. Does it even work?”
“Yes. We’ve managed to clean the place up, get all the equipment working… And we’ve even begun cultivating our own coffee beans.”
“But, what about customers?” Linnifrid wondered. “There’s no one to serve.”
“On the contrary,” Bucky asserted. “You’d be surprised how many people come through here — aimless wanderers, frightened widows, orphaned children, the soldiers and resistance fighters, and all sorts of other various breeds of survivors — all of them in search of a delicious cup of hot coffee, or a refreshing iced alternative if they so desire it. We’ve even begun offering delectable pastries. We’re all about meeting the needs of our customers.”
It was just then that the band of radiated little people marched up to them, impatient and grumbling. The leader stepped forward from the pack. “Well, what the fuck is going on, Bucky? Are we going to open up the coffee shop or just stand here and play with our balls?”
Bucky sighed. “Mick, could you please watch the language in front of the little lady here?”
Mick looked down, embarrassed. “Oh, sorry about that. Guess I wasn’t thinking.”
“But yes,” Bucky said. “Let’s go make some coffee!”
Once inside, Bucky and the gods of radiation went to work. They all moved very quickly and soon the aroma of delicious coffee filled the shop and people began coming in the door.
Linnifrid sat at a table by a window and watched all the hustle and bustle. A little while later, Mitch came strolling up to the table and proudly set a cup of coffee in front of her.
“What’s this?” Linnifrid wanted to know.
Mitch put his hands up in front of himself. He was being somewhat awkward and shy. “Um, well. I feel kind of bad about swearing in front of you. I mean, I’m usually a nice guy, but today I just… Well, you know how it is with the end of the world and everything. I just wanted to buy you a cup of coffee… I mean, I, I didn’t actually buy it, I just made it because you know I work here…”
“Okay,” Linnifrid said, interrupting his nervous rant. “You can stop explaining. Thank you for the coffee.” She took a sip and brightened up. “Mmm, this is wonderful. What is it?”
The small man shifted uncomfortably. “It’s my own special creation. I call it a Mitchucinno.”
Linnifrid smiled. “A Mitchucinno, huh? This just may be the best coffee drink I ever had.”
“You really think so?”
“I do.”
“Wow. That’s fantastic. I’m so glad you like it.” Mitch scratched at his round head and thought hard, a sudden serious look coming over his face. “Could I ask you a question?”
“I suppose,” Linnifrid answered with some curiosity.
“Would you like to go out on a date with me?”
Linnifrid had just taken a sip of her coffee and the liquid suddenly exploded out of her mouth like a high-pressure hose had just burst. Then she started laughing. “Absolutely not,” she said. “Are you kidding me?” she said through a chuckle.
Mitch’s face crumbled and his head drooped. “Oh,” is all he managed to say. “Forgive me for bothering you,” he added, and he turned and started to walk away.
Linnifrid called after him. “I’m going to rule the world someday soon,” she cried out with purpose. “And the heel of my shoe will be pressed into your throat to hold you down — and you will remember me always, wee man, as I have remembered the false liberty and blatant injustices you brought upon us.”
THE END
By
Aaron Echoes August
Check out all the episodes of this fiction serial on Cereal After Sex. If you haven’t already, sign up below with your email address to receive updates of new posts. As always, thanks for reading and supporting independent writers and publishers.
It’s such a bigger world than we realize we tend to ignore the full scope of all that is alive… while we’re busy shopping someone else is starving, while we are walking down the aisle someone else is in need of love, and when we are crying surely, someone else is crying harder.
And while we drive our cars someone is walking barefoot, while we watch our TV screens someone is looking out a window at the rain, while we adorn our hands with jewelry someone else is scratching at the disease, and while we relax in our comfortable homes with the AC blasting away and our sedated carcasses lumped down in the cushions stuffing our faces with fattening snack foods talking about others behind their backs and laughing at all those who are less fortunate because they are ugly or poor or homeless or uneducated… We should be looking at ourselves from the inside out.
And before we get too comfortable tonight — think of those on the other side of the world.
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.
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.
CEREAL AFTER SEX 