Tag: Fiction

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

    The group emerged from the forest and onto the side of a broken and buckled road littered with debris. There were cars and trucks abandoned and now resting askew with skeletons at the wheel and other bags of bones trying to crawl out backseat windows. On the opposite side of the road was an immense parking lot, bleached dead gray by the sun, trash gently swirling in a whimsical and radiated breeze among upturned and wayward shopping carts. Beyond the lot stood a long line of connected buildings, a corporation-created wall of consumption now stained by human greed and rebellion — a vacant strip mall with windows boarded, signs broken and hanging by wires, exteriors spray painted with swirling poetry of all that went wrong, and once perfectly manicured merchandise scattered on the walks out in front of the stores atop a sea of shattered glass.  

    Linnifrid stepped forward. “What is this place?”

    Bucky turned to her. “It is our new sanctuary,” he said. “Our new place of peace and purpose.”

    “It doesn’t look peaceful at all,” Linnifrid said. “It looks like the undying love of cheap, sweat shop created products finally got the best of them. What an ignorant world it was… Full of ignorant, ill-informed people with priorities all opposite of any human value.”

    Bucky was worried about his friend and this sudden onset of depression and negativity she was experiencing. It wasn’t like Linnifrid at all, he thought. “How could a world with you in it be as bad as you say,” the horse said. “That’s nonsense.”

    “Is it, Bucky? What’s the point of going on in a world such as this? I’ve completely given up hope on people. People are awful. They’re selfish, greedy, hateful… Ugh! They’ll never survive…Obviously. Just look around. I wish I had been born on a different planet… Or not born at all.”

    “Linnifrid!” Bucky snorted. “Please don’t talk like that. What would I have done without you? What would your Papa have done without you?”

    “You would have all been just fine without me. The whole world would have been just fine without me!” Linnifrid said, and then she started to cry, and she walked away from the group toward the abandoned, busted up strip mall.

    “Wait!” Bucky cried out as he trotted after her. “You can’t just run off into the unknown. It’s not safe for a young woman to be alone in a world such as this.”

    Linnifrid stopped in her tracks and turned to face Bucky, pointing a finger, angry. “You got that right, Bucky. That’s the whole problem. Arrogant, judgmental men and their animals standing on our necks, denying us basic human rights while they wave around their little wieners and clutch their holy edicts.” She spread her arms wide before her. “And look what it got you. A dead world. Way to go, assholes.”

    “Please don’t blame me for the misguided actions of others,” Bucky said. “I agree with you. Women should have ruled the planet all along.”

    “Well, it’s too late for that now, isn’t it,” Linnifrid asserted, and she started to walk again.

    “Please don’t go,” Bucky cried out. “I have something very important to show you.”

    She turned and huffed, folding her arms. “What is it?”

    “Follow me.”

    They walked side-by-side across the trash-strewn field of asphalt. The sun was hoisting itself high in the sky, there was a slight breeze, a bird dropped out of the sky and landed at Linnifrid’s feet. She looked down and watched it twitch before taking its last breath.


    At the end of the strip mall was a standalone building: square, modern, sun-bleached, with large windows. Unruly green foliage lined the walk leading to the front entrance. Off to the side, there was a faded green canopy over a patio rung by wrought iron fencing. There were tables and chairs, all void of people.

    Linnifrid cocked her head to one side as she looked at a green and white sign on the building. It read STARBUCKS, but someone had sloppily painted a Y’ in between the K and the S.

    “Starbucky’s?” Linnifrid said.

    “What do you think?” Bucky asked.

    I don’t get it,” the young woman answered. “What is this?”

    “It’s my coffee shop,” Bucky boasted.

    “YOUR coffee shop? Bucky, this is a Starbucks.”

    “It used to be a Starbucks,” the horse was quick to point out. “Now it is abandoned, because of the apocalypse, and everything else that went wrong.”

    “So, you just took it upon yourself to commandeer an abandoned Starbucks?”

    “Yes. With the help of my little radiated friends, of course.”

    “I don’t think you can do that,” Linnifrid said.

    “They’re not coming back for it,” Bucky said in his defense. “I thought you would be proud of me for doing something positive with my life. We are offering a valuable service here that brings joy to others.”

    “I just… I mean. Does it even work?”

    “Yes. We’ve managed to clean the place up, get all the equipment working… And we’ve even begun cultivating our own coffee beans.”

    “But, what about customers?” Linnifrid wondered. “There’s no one to serve.”

    “On the contrary,” Bucky asserted. “You’d be surprised how many people come through here — aimless wanderers, frightened widows, orphaned children, the soldiers and resistance fighters, and all sorts of other various breeds of survivors — all of them in search of a delicious cup of hot coffee, or a refreshing iced alternative if they so desire it. We’ve even begun offering delectable pastries. We’re all about meeting the needs of our customers.”

    It was just then that the band of radiated little people marched up to them, impatient and grumbling. The leader stepped forward from the pack. “Well, what the fuck is going on, Bucky? Are we going to open up the coffee shop or just stand here and play with our balls?”

    Bucky sighed. “Mick, could you please watch the language in front of the little lady here?”

    Mick looked down, embarrassed. “Oh, sorry about that. Guess I wasn’t thinking.”

    “But yes,” Bucky said. “Let’s go make some coffee!”

    Once inside, Bucky and the gods of radiation went to work. They all moved very quickly and soon the aroma of delicious coffee filled the shop and people began coming in the door.

    Linnifrid sat at a table by a window and watched all the hustle and bustle. A little while later, Mitch came strolling up to the table and proudly set a cup of coffee in front of her.

    “What’s this?” Linnifrid wanted to know.

    Mitch put his hands up in front of himself. He was being somewhat awkward and shy. “Um, well. I feel kind of bad about swearing in front of you. I mean, I’m usually a nice guy, but today I just… Well, you know how it is with the end of the world and everything. I just wanted to buy you a cup of coffee… I mean, I, I didn’t actually buy it, I just made it because you know I work here…”

    “Okay,” Linnifrid said, interrupting his nervous rant. “You can stop explaining. Thank you for the coffee.” She took a sip and brightened up. “Mmm, this is wonderful. What is it?”

    The small man shifted uncomfortably. “It’s my own special creation. I call it a Mitchucinno.”

    Linnifrid smiled. “A Mitchucinno, huh? This just may be the best coffee drink I ever had.”

    “You really think so?”

    “I do.”

    “Wow. That’s fantastic. I’m so glad you like it.” Mitch scratched at his round head and thought hard, a sudden serious look coming over his face. “Could I ask you a question?”

    “I suppose,” Linnifrid answered with some curiosity.

    “Would you like to go out on a date with me?”

    Linnifrid had just taken a sip of her coffee and the liquid suddenly exploded out of her mouth like a high-pressure hose had just burst. Then she started laughing. “Absolutely not,” she said. “Are you kidding me?” she said through a chuckle.

    Mitch’s face crumbled and his head drooped. “Oh,” is all he managed to say. “Forgive me for bothering you,” he added, and he turned and started to walk away.

    Linnifrid called after him. “I’m going to rule the world someday soon,” she cried out with purpose. “And the heel of my shoe will be pressed into your throat to hold you down — and you will remember me always, wee man, as I have remembered the false liberty and blatant injustices you brought upon us.”

    THE END


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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


  • Bucky the Horse and the Gods of Radiation (1)

    At the end of gravity, only the heartless still eat and smile and roll around in the dirty motel cities of the West…

    The dystopian nature of her guts made Linnifrid’s mouth taste like the moon. She looked up at it now as she sat on a grassy knob in some wayward rolling meadow of what used to be western Missouri. She was alone but smart, and the world was wired and dumb. She figured there just had to be a way back to her own time — maybe somewhere sweet and sunny and tame where she could really live the life she had always wanted — somewhere where she didn’t feel as if she had to erase her own birth.

    She drank from a small milk pitcher and watched the stars hurl themselves against the great ghostly apron light of the moon. Linnifrid heard her horse dig in the grass behind her and then he breathed out hard with a great rush and she knew he was somewhat scared. She was scared too — for in the distance the great metallic glows from the bombs dropping across the land lurched upward like grain silos on fire and the ribbons of sparkles casually fell back down to Earth to burn the walking and send them to wake.

    The horse’s name was Bucky and he was a big milky brown horse without a saddle. Linnifrid stood and went over to him. She ran a backward hand across the long face and she thought the horse’s chocolate eyes looked sad beneath the blazing sky. “What’s the matter, boy? Those damn bombs scaring you again?”

    Bucky nodded his head in agreement. “They sure are,” he said in perfect English speak.

    Linnifrid stumbled backward, startled by the oh so human voice emanating from Bucky’s horse mouth. “Did you just talk?” she asked in a crystalline dazed wonder.

    Bucky shook his head no and looked away as if he were trying to hide some deep embarrassing secret.

    “Look at me when I talk to you,” Linnifrid demanded, and she touched his head and pulled his eyes to face her. “Is this some kind of nasty trick?” she wanted to know.

    Shyly, the horse looked at her. “No. I’ve always been able to talk. I just didn’t want you to know about it.”

    “Why not? It’s an amazing talent.”

    “I was afraid you would sell me out for your own selfish gain.”

    “Bucky. I would never ever do that. We’re best friends for life.”

    “But …” Bucky struggled to find the right words. “What if you were riding me and you fell off and hit your head against a rock and died?”

    “Bucky! That’s a terrible thing to say. Why would you say something like that?”

    “I suppose because I’m just a paranoid realist,” the horse answered, his head down and his horse heart feeling a tad melancholy.

    Linnifrid softly smiled and then wrapped her arms around the horse’s strong neck. “Don’t be silly, Bucky. You’re just a deep thinker. That’s all. I always knew you were a very smart horse.”

    Bucky looked up and smiled at her as any animal would if they could. “Thank you. I always thought you were a very smart girl.”

    There was a sudden deep shattering blast in the near distance and Bucky reared and hollered. Linnifrid tried to calm him but the horse was too frightened and he bolted away into the deepening darkness.

    “Bucky!” Linnifrid cried out. “Bucky, don’t leave me here all alone!”

    Linnifrid started walking toward the small farm village where she lived when she could. When the raids came they had to leave and hide in the forests beyond. Tonight it was safe. They were all busy with the bombing. The air Linnifrid walked through was still warm even though it was January, and the ground was soft from the snow that so quickly melts. She walked tenderly through the crushed meadows, one after another, a patchwork quilt of starving green. She would stop once in a while and listen to see if she could hear Bucky chomping in the fields. Then she would walk again – toward the small huddle of dim twinkles cradled nicely where the land sloped down and spread out a bit. When she reached the last crest, she scanned the moonlit moors of America for any shadowy signs of her beloved Bucky. There was nothing.

    The house was meager and Linnifrid went straight to her room of red ambiance and opened up the window. It made the room cool but Linnifrid didn’t mind the chill. She was a thick-skinned girl of healthy farm girth, nearly 17, and her hair was long and straight and the color of writing ink. She sat on the sill of the window and gently scratched at her pale face. “Where are you, Bucky? Please come home,” she whispered to the night air. A spooky rush of wind lapped at the house. She shivered, closed the window, and crawled into her bed. The door slowly creaked open and in stepped Linnifrid’s father. He went to the edge of the bed and looked down at her, his face worn much too weak for a man of 51. He shook her leg. “Linnifrid,” he whispered. “Are you asleep?”

    She widened her eyes and looked at him. “No Papa, I’m finding it difficult to rest.”

    “Is something wrong?”

    “Bucky ran away. There was a blast in the far meadow and he spooked.”

    The man ran his fingers through the roughed up head of hair the color of bleeding rust. “I’m sorry to hear that, darling. There’s nothing we can do about it tonight, though. It’s late and the patrols are out. You’ll have to wait till morning.”

    “Will you help me look?” Linnifrid urged her papa.

    He scratched at his head and thought about it, but in a way that she could tell he was actually thinking about something far deeper. “I tell you what. We’ll help each other out with our chores and then we can go look for Bucky. Will that be all right?”

    “Yes, Papa. Thank you.”

    He struggled to smile and turned toward the door. “I’ll meet you downstairs promptly at six for breakfast,” he said on his way out of the room. “Goodnight. I love you.”

    “Goodnight, Papa. I love you too… Wait, Papa?”

    He turned back to her. “Yes?”

    “Why is the world such a messed up place?”

    He paused and thought. “Because love isn’t the most important thing anymore.”


    Linnifrid stood at the stove and fried him eggs and bacon while he sat at the table sipping coffee. “I sure do hope Bucky is okay,” Linnifrid said over her shoulder. “Just look at that frightful weather out there.”

    “He’ll be fine… It’s just supposed to rain some.”

    She put out his food on a white plate and brought it to him at the table.

    “Thank you, dear. You’ve always been able to make a wonderful eggs and bacon breakfast… But aren’t you having any?”

    “No, Papa. I’m too upset to eat anything… I could make you some griddle cakes if you think you’ll still be hungry.”

    “No. That’s all right.” Papa grunted and looked around the room, annoyed by something that was maybe or maybe not really there. “I miss the damn newspaper,” he said. “Nothing is the same anymore.”

    “Do you miss mother?”

    Papa wiped a napkin across his scratchy face and looked right into her eyes. “Of course I do. My heart hasn’t been the same since…”

    “I know, Papa. I miss her too.”

    “Did you hear the owls last night?” he randomly asked her.

    “I love the sound of owls.”

    “Owls are peaceful creatures,” Papa said. “The world needs more peaceful creatures.”

    “Yes Papa,” she slowly replied, for now her head was twisting toward the window and the through the glass she saw one of the manufactured tornadoes ripping across the landscape on a direct path to the village. “Papa!” she screamed. “It’s a twister!”

    Papa leapt from his place at the table and dashed to the window. “God damn! It’s a big one! We need to get to the cellar right now.”

    “But Papa” the girl pleaded. “What about Bucky!? He’ll die out there.”

    “Girl, this isn’t the time to be chasing down a wayward horse. We got to get to the cellar… Now!” He grabbed her by the arm and pulled her outside. The tornado was spewing dust and debris all around them as they made their way to the safe haven below ground. Papa pulled the doors open and ordered Linnifrid down the stone steps. He followed behind her and latched the doors tight from the inside but they still furiously rattled as the storm bore down. The girl had found the lamp and turned it on — the light casting a pale blue hue against the gray of the cellar. Papa squatted down on the stairs and listened to the havoc now stirring right above. “They’re trying to kill us again… Those bastards!” he cried out in fear and panic.

    Linnifrid looked at the riled man and was sad about that. He hadn’t always been so frustrated, she thought. He was once a very calm man; a man content with his pastoral life. “Come down from there, Papa,” the girl said. “It’s not safe so close to the doors.” He turned to her without a smile or a frown. “I think I may have some serious psychological problems,” he said, and he looked at her with troubled eyes. Linnifrid stepped forward and held the blue lamp in front of her so that she could see his long face. “Are you still taking your medication like the man at the medication store said to?” she wondered.

    Shakily he swallowed and said “Yes.”

    “Then maybe you need more.”

    “More pills? But I already take so many.”

    “The pills help cure all your problems. Don’t you listen to all the advertisements? Your druggist is your best friend.”

    Something fell across the cellar doors and the noise startled them both.

    “It’s coming good now,” Papa said, trembling and sweating in the dank of the insane moment.

    “Don’t try to change the subject, Papa. I think we need to take another trip to the medicine store.”

    “No! I don’t want any more medicine. It’s making things worse.”

    “Nonsense, Papa. They wouldn’t purposely give you something to make your condition worse. It’s a very proper industry. You just need to give it a chance to work.”

    “What is it girl? Why are you turning on me like this?”

    Another loud thump outside pricked at their nerves.

    “I’m not turning on you, Papa. I’m trying to help you but you’re being awful odd and stubborn about it.”

    He turned away from her and said nothing. He stood up and placed an ear close to the cellar doors to listen for the storm. “It’s quieted down out there. I’m going to go take a look. You stay here until I come get you.”

    Linnifrid stepped back and watched as her father pushed the doors open. A sudden burst of yellowish-brown light flooded the cellar. Softly she said, “Be careful, Papa.”

    TO BE CONTINUED


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  • The Machine Man in the Wheat

    It was on a Tuesday when the sun became different.

    I remember it clearly because Tuesdays I visit with the doctor because I have a hard time walking in a straight line.

    “You’re difficult to conform,” he says.

    He also thinks he is smarter than me, but I know better. The questions he asks don’t seem very bright to me. He lacks, say, electricity. So like I was saying, as far as the sun goes, I had come home and went to the back of the house and drew the long green drapes away from the large window there. I looked out and there was a bright spot on the fence where the sun was shining and it drew me in, the color of it, like golden metal pressed up tight. It was a cold color, flat, indecent yet proper. And so I looked up and even the whole sky itself looked different. There was a deeper blue confusion about it. The clouds seemed edgy. There was turmoil in the air amid the subtle change.

    The house is hidden in the hills surrounding a city. It’s an urban estate of modern aesthetics – tall glass, sharp edges, white and clean as snow and just as cold and empty and lonely, especially in the shadows. The furniture sits rigid and straight. Everything is strictly kept in its place. My home looks as if it has never been lived in.

    I have seven bedrooms and don’t sleep in any of them. I have four bathrooms and use only one. My kitchen is always clean. It hums in the dead of day, the big metal appliances stewing in their pipes and electrical cords. There is a window over the sink and I can look out into my yard – a trapezoidal patch of bright green grass surrounded by jungle. A small pool sits empty. There’s some lawn furniture but it’s all scattered about now because of the strong breezes we’ve had lately. The yard is as deserted as my home.

    I sat a drink down on a glass end table and the subtle sound of it echoed through the room. Then the telephone rang. It was Fred. I knew this because he was the only one whoever called.

    “Hello.”

    “I’m always amazed that the telephones still work.”

    “I’m glad for it. At least I can call my doctor.”

    “Not feeling very well? Is it the crooked walking again?” he asked.

    “Yes. He doesn’t know what to do about it.”

    “I’m sure it’s nothing. Would you like me to come by tonight?”

    “No. I’m just going to stand here and not move for a while.”

    I hung up. Fred hung up. I knew this because he was the only one whoever hung up on me. Fred used to be an accountant of some sort, maybe a lawyer too. But not anymore. I used to be a geology professor. But not anymore. There are many things that are no longer the same. I used to have a wife and twin daughters. But not anymore. I used to park a car in my garage. But not anymore. Walking is all we can do now. If I need something from the city, I have to walk. I walk to the doctor, the grocery, the bar. I even walk to the post office and occasionally send a letter to someone I don’t even know – but no one gets mail anymore.

    Sometimes I walk to the city with Fred. I really don’t want to because I don’t like him that much even though we consider each other to be friends. I would even say he is kind of boring, but not boring in the way of going to sleep, rather, boring in a way that makes me want to avoid him at all costs because I have better things to do. And the things he talks about are so pointless. It almost makes my stomach hurt when he starts in on how poorly the sidewalks were made.

    “Just look it all the cracks,” he always points out, his long arm nearly touching the ground.

    “There have been a lot of earthquakes,” I tell him.

    “Even so, they should make better sidewalks.”

    “They did their best,” I remind him. “The world was a mess.”

    Fred picked up a small stone and threw it. It hit a light post. The sound echoed down the street.

    “It’s still a mess, Frank. C’mon, you’re hip to it. You know it will never get better than this.”

    I stopped and looked at him. I blew into my hands to warm them.

    “Damn it’s cold. I thought we lived in California.”

    There weren’t too many people at the grocery store. There were never too many people anywhere. I liked it like that, even though the place reminded me of a morgue with sparse shelves.

    Fred strolled off to the produce department, but there wasn’t much there. The stores are never stocked that well anymore. I followed him over and together we looked at a handful of oranges as if we were visiting a zoo for fruit.

    “They don’t look very fresh, do they?” Fred said, cocking his head and studying the oranges with a bent eye.

    “They never are,” I listlessly noted. “I’m going over to the pharmacy.”

    “More pills?”

    “Yes, more pills.”

    “All right then, I’m going over to the meat department,” Fred said. “I want to look at a piece of chicken.”

    I walked down the main aisle in the front toward the pharmacy. I knocked on the glass.

    “Hey. I need to get my pills,” I said to someone, somewhere.

    There was some sort of person fidgeting around in the darkened back. I had to wait. We still always have to wait.

    “Your name?” he asked when he came to the window – a little man in a white lab coat all alone with the medicine and a broken heart.

    “Frank Buck. Why do you always have to ask? You know who I am.”

    He blinked his eyes and barely smiled.

    “It’s just procedure sir. It’s company policy. It’s a corporate rule and I cannot break it under any circumstances.” He looked around to make sure there wasn’t anyone else nearby. “My life depends upon it.”

    The corporations still have all the power.

    “All right. I guess you can’t break the rules. I understand. You need this job. Not everyone has a job anymore.”

    “Did you know that being a pharmacist is the best job a person can have these days?” he boasted.

    “I believe it. You’ve got 14 bottles for me, right?”

    “Yes. Any questions?”

    “Do I ever have any questions? Does it even matter if I have any questions?”

    “Sorry. I have to ask. They’re watching me. They’re listening to me, too.”

    “Sounds like you’re trapped.”

    “I am,” he tried to whisper through the glass, and I only turned once to look back at the poor old soul as I walked away. 

    “Do you think we should buy that last piece of chicken?” Fred asked me in the Something Resembling Meat department. “We could have a fry out.”

    I peered into the glass case at the lone piece of raw chicken breast sitting dead and gross in a bloody wet tray beneath a bluish-green light. I stepped behind the counter and slid a door open and flipped the piece of chicken over.

    “It doesn’t look too pale,” I said.

    Fred was hungry and wanted the chicken.

    “Go ahead and wrap it up. I’ll pay for it.”

    I wrapped up the hunk of chicken like I worked there or something and we made our way toward the front of the store and through the sliding doors. Something scanned us from above as we walked out.

    “When they come for the money, we’ll tell them the chicken was mine,” Fred said to me.

    “Absolutely.”


    The chicken sizzled on the charcoal grill I had out back. Fred and I went to the yard and plucked two toppled chairs out of the lawn. We set them up on the patio. We lit some torches. I poured Fred a strong drink. He watched me suspiciously as I withdrew a cigarette from my pack and stuck it in my mouth.

    “I thought you quit those damn things.”

    “I did, but why bother now?”

    “I suppose you’re right. Not much to live for anymore is there?” Fred agreed.

    “I don’t like to talk about it. Why is it we always end up talking about it such horrible things?”

    “I don’t know,” Fred wondered. “What else is there to talk about?”

    “Tell me about your dreams.”

    Fred thought for a moment.

    “I don’t dream anymore.”

    “I know. I don’t either. Why is that?”

    “I suppose it has something to do with that brain evolution stuff they’re all talking about. You know… What they say about us being able to survive when the others didn’t. They say we don’t need dreams anymore.”

    “Leaves the night awfully blank though, doesn’t it?” I said with a downcast head, sad about it.

    “Yes,” Fred moaned with a slight nod of his head. “I don’t sleep as much as I used to… Wait. I think the chicken is burning. Flip it over.”

    I got up and flipped the meat and there were deep dark burn marks on the side already cooked.

    “It might be a bit well done by the time I’m finished with it,” I said.

    “That’s okay,” Fred said with a quick laugh. “Chicken is chicken and I’ll take it any way I can.”

    The doorbell rang. I went through the house and opened the front door. Two officers from the Debt Police were standing there in a cloud of threatening menace. They had come to collect the money for the chicken and the pills.

    “Wow,” I said. “It’s been only two hours or so and you’re already here. I swear, it seems you guys get here faster and faster every time.”

    “Just give us the money, sir,” one of the officers said. “We don’t have time for idle chit chat.”

    I stuck my hands in my pockets and dug around.

    “Is there a problem, sir?” the other office asked as he stepped forward a bit. “Do you have the money? Yes or no?”

    “I know I have it somewhere,” I said as I began to panic. “It’s in the house somewhere. But look here, that man outside, he has the money. The chicken was his idea. It was all his idea.”

    The officers pushed beside me and well into the house. They went out onto the patio and Fred quickly stood up. I went to help him.

    “This guy says the chicken was all your idea. Is it your chicken?” one of the officers wanted to know.

    Fred shakily adjusted the eyeglasses on his face.

    “Yes. I was the one who wanted the chicken. He just walked to the store with me to get his medicine. I told him I’d pay for the chicken.”

    “Then give us the money,” the other officer demanded.

    Fred nervously dug into his front pants pocket and pulled out some dirty cash. He flipped through the bills with his fingers.

    “How much is it again?”

    “Fifty-five dollars for the chicken and four-hundred and twelve for the pills,” one of the officers snapped.

    Fred glanced over at me. “I’ll take care of it all,” he said, and handed them five 100-dollar bills.

    “The rest is your tip,” Fred said.

    One of the officers made a disappointed face. “Not much of a tip,” he said.

    “But thanks,” said the other. “We’ll be going now. Make sure to lock all your doors and windows and load your guns. There are lots of creeps out there milling about in the night.”

    We watched as the officers quickly moved back through the house and out the front door. I sank down in my patio chair, sighed and looked at Fred.

    “Where do you get all that money?” I asked him. “You’re not a pharmacist or a cop.”

    “I saved my money,” Fred said. “As I worked and lived my life I also saved money… For the times like these that I always knew were coming. I funded my survival.”

    “Do you have a lot left?”

    “No. The Men of the Wars took most of it.”

    I glanced inside at the banner on the wall. It was the banner we all had now – and in big capital letters of red, white and blue, it read: True Freedom Has a Price Tag — and there was a big green Uncle Sam with devil eyes on the banner, and he had his big fists in the air, and he was clutching money in one and a pair of women’s high-heeled shoes in the other. And in smaller capital letters near the bottom, it read: In Greed We Trust and In God We Wonder.

    I didn’t really like the banner, but we didn’t have a choice anymore.

    After the chicken, some more drinks and a cold handshake, I said goodnight to Fred and closed the door behind him. I locked it just as the officers advised. It was a big cold deadbolt and it made me feel safer even though I knew deep down inside it didn’t really matter anymore.

    I walked crooked through the rest of the house turning down lights and making sure the other doors and windows were all locked up tight. I went to the bathroom and brushed my teeth. I looked in the mirror and my face looked old. I ran some water in a glass and washed down a handful of pills. I flicked off the light and quietly closed the door. I turned on the ceiling fan that runs right over my bed and sat in a chair by the window. I knew I wouldn’t sleep. What good is sleep without dreams? I looked out the window but all I saw was dark punctured by a few painful points of light. It was my personal jungle surrounding me. I liked it like that. I didn’t want to know everything about the world on fire out there.

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  • In a Blue Park in London and the Night of a Different Sandwich

    In a blue park in London

    The windows have fires on the other side

    Stars lie still in their pitchy silt and listlessly swim

    The ground is crusted over in white

    And the way the day death light falls

    It looks like blue frosting on a Christmas cookie.

    There was me sitting on a bench in this Christmas blue park in London and I was wearing red socks. I heard the ice skate blades grind against the glass pond they had there, and I watched small people glide awkwardly, trip, then fall. Their tears added to the slickness, and it was a comical chain of events — the ballerinas in plaid wool coats and the shining knights in silver boots skimmed across the pond on their bellies like a stone skipped over the ocean.

    I unwrapped the white paper and rubbed my hands together in anticipation. Chucky’s Super Fresh Fish N Chips was the best damn chippy place I’ve found after coming over here. I was eating painfully delicious deep-fried cold-water haddock and thick cut potatoes with the traditional salt and vinegar. It was kind of cold outside. I took another bite of the fish and shoved in a chip after it. I washed it down with sweet, milky tea from an on-the-run cup.

    I looked around at the beautiful, peaceful world, and I thought about life and was wondering what it really was all about, and wondering why we are here on Earth and… Just where the hell is Earth? Seriously. Have you ever really thought about it? Where is the Earth? Maybe that question is just too much for our primitive brains to comprehend, and we probably shouldn’t attempt to.

    And so there I was, sitting on a bench in a park and eating fish n chips, oblivious to the ways of the universe. Then the joy of the glowing and ponderous day was suddenly shattered with screaming. A young girl had fallen through the ice.

    I got up and ran over to look, leaving my food on the bench for the birds or a wanderer to eat. There was a thin man stretched out on the ice and he was thrusting his arm out in an effort to reach the girl who was bobbing and struggling in the water. I hurried to the edge of the pond and gathered there with the others, looking over at the struggling child.

    “Has anyone called for an ambulance!?” I yelled, frantically searching for an answer from anyone.

    One man put his phone in the air, pointed and looked over at me.

    “Yes! I’m doing it now.”

    “Tell them to hurry or she’ll be dead!” one woman cried out.

    It seemed like forever before I heard the sirens and saw the flashing red and blues splashing against the bruised cotton candy sky. The emergency vehicles came to a screeching halt and the men jumped down and pushed through the crowd. They pulled the dad in quick to get him off the ice and out of the way; then they sent out the smallest rescuer with a rope tied around his waist and he snatched the girl out of the hole, and he passed her to another, and she was limp in his arms as they rushed her to the waiting ambulance. She was carried to a gurney near the ambulance and she was soon smothered with blankets while the mom and dad wept over her and kissed her on the head. The gurney went up and into the ambulance and the doors shut with a rude thud and the tires spun and they tore off toward the hospital.


    I read about the girl being dead in the newspaper. It was that cold and creamy Sunday afternoon when everything was still and quiet except the floors creaking as I gently walked about the old flat in a t-shirt and boxer shorts and a pair of reading glasses slipping on my face. The fireplace crackled with fire. I sighed at the table. I sighed about the dead girl. I glanced out the window. Not much was moving. The mists of winter crawled up out of the streets, over brown rooftops, and floated into the forests like gray syrup. I tapped at my teacup and then got up to throw another log on the fire. Somewhere far off I could hear the ringing of a handbell. Then I heard the caroling. It was nearly Christmas.

    I sat in the chair near the hearth and watched the orange tongues of the fire lap at the sooty brick. An ember popped. The old clock on the mantel struck seven and chimed. My wayward mind drifted and I wondered about the ghost of Santa Claus steering his sleigh through another dimension. The carolers drew closer to my building and so I went to the frosty window, rubbed on it, and looked down at the old street. I looked at the faces there — bright eyes lit up by candlelight, steaming mouths moving open and shut as they sang. I could smell the bones of autumn’s leaves through the glass. Then there was the clop clop of the horses as the old-time carriage rolled by all lathered in garland and bells and shiny glass balls of red. The people inside were laughing and waving and crying out — “Merry Christmas! Merry Christmas!”

    I drew the curtains, but the bells still rang, and the voices still floated upward. But soon they got quieter and quieter until drifting away completely. I sat back down in my chair near the hearth. I opened a book all about Christmas in the past and started reading it. The doorbell rang and then there was a knock. I had nearly forgotten.

    The young man at the door wore a coat over his uniform and a wool cap on his head. His shoes were covered in slush. He handed me the white bag from Chucky’s Super Fresh Fish N Chips.

    “I’m going to give you 12 quid tonight… Since you’re having to work so close to Christmas.”

    He tipped his hat at me and smiled.

    “Thank you, sir. Enjoy your fish n chips… oh, and Merry Christmas.”

    I closed the door and it clicked. I turned a knob and the deadbolt snapped in place and kept me safe from the outside world. I dropped the white paper bag on the table and reached inside. It wasn’t the fish n chips I had ordered. But what I pulled out was magical and amazing nonetheless — a little stuffed black bear about the size of a half-loaf of bread with a rubber face and a red plastic collar around its neck and a silver chain leash.

    “How did they know? … This has always been my favorite.”

    I had gotten one as a child in the gift shop at the place where the high bridge gapped the canyon in some western American place under the sun. It was right after when a cable broke and the bridge went smashing down into the canyon and there was so much dust and screaming — and I had stayed behind so I could set my bear on a rock and just look at him in peace. None of my family — father, mother, brother, sister, grandmother, an aunt, an uncle, two cousins — came back through the dust. They all got smashed against rock and then were dropped nearly 1,000 feet, down into the raging Arkansas River at the bottom. I waited and waited and waited through the chaos until a policeman finally took me away in his patrol car, and then I had a long and challenging life.    

    I sat the bear on the mantel over the fire and stood back and looked at him. I thought about the fact that Chucky’s Super Fresh Fish N Chips really knew how to deliver. The clock struck eight and chimed. I rummaged around in the refrigerator and made myself a different sandwich. I turned on some soft lights in the living room and plopped down on the couch and began to eat. The carolers were drifting by again. Santa’s magical dead sleigh swooped by on stardust, right near my window. I settled back, powered on the television, and watched all about the latest godless war for sale.