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.
-
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
CEREAL AFTER SEX 