CEREAL AFTER SEX

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.

By
Aaron Echoes August
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

By
Aaron Echoes August

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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

By
Aaron Echoes August
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

By
Aaron Echoes August
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

By
Aaron Echoes August