White Roses

            They came through town last night, burning through some sort of plane no one really thought was there.  I’m afraid no one remembers exactly what happened, except for me.  I asked a few of the clerks about it, and they thought I was crazy. Go figure.

            The sky had looked a bit different that morning. Almost like it was on fire, but not quite. I’d seen that happen before, but it still came with a kind of ominous feeling you only get once in a lifetime.

            At 7:13  last night, the town lit up with the overwhelming lamentations of every single, sad motherfucker in the town.  My mind was full of fire, singular demons of incense, ancient Coptic incantations sang by inside out raccoons, and a chain reaction of things that never made sense. There aren’t any words for some of the things we saw, or I think we all saw.

            What else would have caused that screaming? They all matched my fear. Everyone in the town. It was glorious, in its own way. I don’t know if that is even believable, though. I wish I could tell you more about it.

            The only thing I found that could have been any evidence of their awful visit was a crystal vase full of white roses. They were dead, of course. My mind scarcely survived their presence; the roses didn’t stand a chance.

Four Letters

            “Are you fucking kidding me?” Joan screamed into the receiver.  “All time I’ve put in, and you’re pulling this shit on me?!  Wait until Jeb hears about this, your ass is gone!”  She was starting to pull out her hair again.  This kind of shit was why she was reduced to wearing hats almost everywhere she went.  What the hell was this kid thinking? Their operation had been running smoothly, bank robbery, extortion, black mailing, the whole works. Then this new recruit comes in thinking he knows how to do things better than everyone else, and wound up getting sexually assaulted by a mall cop. “I just remembered, why the hell were you even IN THE MALL?!”

            “Look, it’s not my fault, ok?  I had to stop by the mall to pick up something for my roommate, you know? He wanted some new shorts, so he gave me some money for ‘em as I was goin’ out the door. Only thing was, the security guys are supposed to be stupid, right? This guy wasn’t so stupid.  He saw me wearin’  the shorts on my way out of the store. Next thing you know, I’m a fuckin’ volunteer in a public porn exhibit! How the fuck was I supposed to see that coming?”

            “You were supposed to see that coming by not going to the fucking mall and doing your job!” Joan couldn’t believe this kid.  Now he’d be plastered all over the news, denied entrance to almost any public event, and so many more bad things. They didn’t need someone calling this much attention to the operation.  No, no, this kid had to go.  She took a deep breathe, and decided to cut this loose end off, herself.  “Ok, kid. Ok. This can be fixed. I have an idea.  In about half an hour, check your P.O. box, you’ll have some instructions on how exactly we’re gonna pull your ass out of the fire.”

            “Thanks! I owe you one, Joan! Seriously, I think everyone else would have beat my ass to a pulp and left me on the curb. I won’t let you down this time! See you when I get done!”

            Joan hung up, chuckled quietly to herself, and whispered “No, you won’t.” That was the last anyone would ever hear from that kid.

Morning After

            “Oh, fuck, my head hurts. What happened?” I mumble to myself, unwilling to open my eyes.

            “You mean you don’t remember, Broseph?” I hear, much to my surprise, somewhere else in the room. Only guys call me ‘Broseph’, I think to myself, that narrows it down to 50% of the population, at least. Keeping my eyes closed, I sit up and lean against the wall. At that point, I realize I’m on the floor.  I wonder if the mystery guy is on the bed, or on the floor, too. I don’t care enough to open my eyes just yet, though.

            “Remember when I asked ‘What happened’? That would be a good indicator that I don’t have a fucking clue what happened, or that I don’t remember. So, I’m on the floor. Did I fall, or did I do this on purpose?” I try to open my eyes, to see where this guy is, and maybe figure out who he is without asking him. Immediately, pain shoots through my eyes and my head like a lance. I mumble “… Shit…”, grab my head, and roll back onto the floor, belly-down.

            The guy laughs a bit, and says (too loudly, in my opinion), “Dude, you were so awesome! No one knew you could pole dance like that! I thought it was gonna be gay as hell at first, but you fuckin ROCKED, dude! I don’t even know where that pole went, but we need to get it back. You could be, like a professional, man! Seriously! And, by the way, next time you play beer pong, just stick with beer, please, man. For our sake. You tried to stab that one guy… Karl, I think, you tried to stab him with the table, dude, you got so pissed. I didn’t think anyone could move a table like that, but you did. It was balls, dude! But, seriously, no Bacardi Pong for you, bro. That scared the shit out of the chicks. You see how you’re on the floor by yourself? That’s why, man. No stabbing people with tables, bro.”

            “Who’s Carl?” I wonder aloud. I’ve never known a Carl in my life.

            “No, bro. His name is Karl. You’re gonna know him if he runs into you again. You don’t forget that stuff, man.”

            “That’s what I said, Carl. His name is Carl, isn’t it?”

            “No, bro. His name is Karl. Get it right.”

            “You seriously said that exact same thing last time. I get his name is Carl, right? Leave me alone about it.” I try to get up, realize it’s a bad idea, and fall back down. I’ve got to quit doing this. Hangovers just aren’t worth it, I think as I continue to cradle my head.

            “But you’re saying it wrong. His name is Karl, man. You’re saying Carl, don’t you get it? Karl, not Carl. He’s picky about that. I think he’s got a tattoo of his name on his back, or something.”

            “Just leave me alone, whoever the fuck you are. I’ll talk to Carl Not Carl, mother fucker that he is, when I have to.”  I find a random pill in my pocket, dry swallow it, and pass out again in a matter of minutes.

             

Just Like the Past Few Weeks

My coffee reminds me of something,

Everything I’m doing is what I’ve done.

These days just blur together

With the newspaper,

Just repeating stories we already knew.

So, why is it called news?

How many times

Have I sat in this chair,

Drank the same coffee,

Read the same stories,

Saw the same walls?

It happens every day,

But the days don’t care

If I get bored, do they?

So, just like every other day,

I sit here, drinking my coffee,

And try in vain to talk with my wife.

Her skull is taking on

An interesting

New hue.

So nice to see that

The dog hasn’t moved the bones yet.

He always avoids them,

Every day.

Answers

            “Hello, this is the Vermillion residence. We aren’t at home right now, please leave a message.”

            “Cocksuckinmotherfuckinpieces OF SHIT! I should have hung up before I said that, sorry. If you’d just answer your fucking phone! Where the fuck are you?!” James punched the end call button on his phone as he ran down the sidewalk, desperately trying to get away from the suits behind him. He had seen these assholes get Chimmy and Gin, and he’d be damned if they got him.  If only there weren’t so many people out walking today!  Why the hell are there so many people downtown on a Wednesday afternoon?! He thought to himself as he ran and pushed past people, knocking a few off-kilter and getting yelled at.  Frantically, James looked at his phone and dialed a different number, hoping for an answer.

            “Come on come on come on come on PICK UP!” He told the dial tone, panting as he continued his sprint through town.

            “Hey! What’s up?”

            “Jesus Christ, tell Jerry they’re after m-“

            “Ha! Gotcha! Sorry I missed your call, this is a recording. Leave a message, and I’ll get back to you as soon as I find my phone again. It’s probably in the couch or something.” –Beep-

            “Fuck you, you son of a bitch! The plan went sideways, where are you? Answer your fucking phone!” James screamed, again, and ended the call with a vengeance.

            Out of a building Jerry thought had been closed for years, three of those bastards with the shades and suits seemed to appear in front of him.  They tackled him, and drug him kicking and screaming to an alleyway close by.  As is the custom, no passers-by noticed, or seemed to care.  James was tossed violently against a wall, and one of the suits pulled a small pistol from some interior pocket of his horrendously normal sport jacket.  As the guy pointed it at James, the murderously inconspicuous ass hat asked him, “So, where are your friends, now?” What an odd accent.

            James spat on the ground, and said “What friends?” right before his head grew a brand new tunnel from forehead to the bald-spot that had been on his head since 10^th grade.