Archives for April 2015

#122 The Card Game

#121 A Good Day to Die

# 120 Devotion

#119 God Sex & Everything you want

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#118 Love Hurts


Love Hurts

“This is going to hurt me more than it does you,” my stepfather always said when he beat me with his belt.

“Then why are you going to do it?”

“Because I love you,” was always his answer.

So I learned early on that love hurts. To show my wife how much I loved her, I’d smack her face, but before I slapped her, I always said, “This will hurt me more than it does you.”

When she told the judge what I said, he granted her a divorce. She got the kids and the dog. Everything I loved disappeared from my life. That’s why I took a job in the slaughterhouse. I loved animals of all kinds, but to show my love, I’d send them on to a better world and would try to kill them with the least amount of pain.

Working at the slaughterhouse filled my needs until Sue came to work, and I watched her skin animals alive. The sight moved something inside that had never moved before. This was real love. It wasn’t for her looks because, in the dark, she could have been mistaken for a pig hanging on a hook. My love grew from the pain she inflicted, but I can’t say why.

After watching her bloody her hands for over a month, I asked her to meet me at the Pigsty for a drink after work. When she agreed I almost shot myself in the foot with the bolt gun, I used to kill animals.

I had never been in the Pigsty before, but the name suited Sue to a T because she spent her day surrounded by dead and dying pigs. The place was full of slaughterhouse workers who drank every day. The aroma was the same as it was at work. Probably that was why only workers from the plant came there since no one else could appreciate the rotten smell of death and decay the workers carried on their clothes.

I arrived first and saw Sue waddle through the door. Silence descended as she walked down the aisle along the bar to where I sat. All the men in the place watched her ham-sized hips move and caught their breath at the beauty.

“Hello, Sue,” I said in a breathless voice, “I’m so happy to see you without a knife in your hand.”

“Hello Joe, I’m happy to see you without a gun in your hand.”

“What do you want to drink, Sue?”

“A Bloody Mary. What else?”

I should have known. Me, I drank shot after shot. I wanted to be sure she mellowed out before I told her of my love. Once my brain and tongue got numb, it was time to speak.

“I’ve been watching you on the killing floor, Sue. The gleam in your eye as you rip the hides off and the joy on your face, when you find they’re not quite dead, has filled my heart with love for you.”

“I’ll admit the feeling is reciprocal. When I see you use that gun sending a bolt of death into every brain you touch, thrills me to no end. I think we’re a match made in heaven.” Sue stuck out her chubby hand. I took it in my gun hand and watched her thrill from the power she must have felt flowing through it.

I murmured words of love into her ear, “Take my heart and nail it to a door. A trivial thing like that won’t stop it from beating just for you.”

“You’re so romantic Joe. Whisper more in my ear. Please?”

The way her eyes squinted and her nostrils curled, I could see she was getting excited by my words of love. “Rip out my tongue and words of love will keep flowing through my head for you.”

“Oh Joe, I’ll do anything you want, just keep those romantic words flowing.”

Telling her my feelings, I had her eating out of the palm of my hand. “Rip off my member if you want, but I’ll always remember the good times it had just with you.”

She swooned. I worried that if she passed out from ecstasy and fell to the floor it wouldn’t hold her 450+ pounds. I figured I’d give her the final line before that happened. “Nail me to a cross and I’ll happily give my life for you. All this for my devotion for you.”

I shouldn’t have used that last line because she did fall off the stool. As I expected, she went right through the floor into the basement. I jumped through the hole she had made to rescue her. I landed on her stomach, and she puked a bucketful of Bloody Marys.

“Are you hurt?” I didn’t see any blood oozing through the mess that covered her.

“Not seriously, but I feel like a stuck pig.” She rolled onto her stomach, put her hands on the floor, pulled one knee up under her body and then the other. Once she had both knees under her, she straightened up and put one leg in front, showing she wanted me to take her hand and pull her erect. I didn’t think I had the strength, but with her helping, we stood her up.

“You’re so romantic Joe,” she said just before she put her open mouth over mine. I tasted regurgitated Bloody Mary’s along with some sour bile.

I really loved this woman, so when I said, “This will hurt me more than it does you,” she smiled.

“You’re so romantic Joe.”

I drew my bolt gun and shot her in the brain; she didn’t feel a thing.

The End


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#117 How Mars Became Uninhabited

# 115 Chicago

# 115 Chicago

Joe looked at the dark and misty sky through the picture window in the bar. “Look at it,” he shouted. “It shrouds the city for days at a time.”

“Think warm,” Kathy said, “Picture in your mind what we left behind.”

Joe closed his eyes and visions of ocean waves breaking on the, palm trees swaying in the wind, Bougainvillea covering walls, and imagined the bikini clad girls walking on the beach. Opening his eyes, he saw the swirling snow growing into monstrous piles of mush fit only for a sleigh or sled.

“I try, but when I close my eyes, it’s all right, but when they’re open, reality crashes down all around and I see that I’ll never enjoy this Arctic-like place, which La Salle probably should have passed on by.”

“It’s not so bad up above. “Kathy said. “Imagine your spirit flying above the clouds.”

Joe closed his eyes again and soared above the dark blanketing clouds. He found himself in rarified illuminating air with sunshine there.  If only when he was down below he could’ve know that the sun rays were mightily trying to burn through winter’s cold that destroyed roads, and any dreams of spring, summer or even thirty-two degrees?

“You’re right, Kathy, it’s not so bad up there.”

“If you like it there, you’ll love it where I come from. It’s always warm, and there are plenty of others like you there. Women walk around naked all day and to tell the truth no one wears any clothes.”

“Where do you come from?” He never asked her, but now she had him wondering. Joe met Kathy in Florida, and now she followed him wherever he went.

“I’m not allowed to say, but if you do all the right things, I can take you there.” Kathy gave Joe a handful of pills, “Start by taking these.”

Joe washed them down with beer. He closed his eyes and imagined the world Kathy had described. He saw naked women frolicking on a sandy beach under a warm sun. When he wanted to eat, food came on a silver tray delivered by women who wore aprons but nothing else.

There were dogs running down the beach. Trucks loaded with beer lined the road, and movies played in the sky if he wanted to see them. Music was all around if he desired to listen. All he had to do was think of anything, and it was his. Money wasn’t needed, and he didn’t see any who were sick in any way.

He opened his eyes to the dark, and couldn’t see a thing. He didn’t remember going anywhere. Kathy no longer sat beside him. Lightning flashed, and he saw he was no longer in the bar. He started to sweat from the heat. Better than the Chicago cold he thought, until it got so hot it burned his skin. “Turn down the goddamn heat,” he shouted to whom, he didn’t know.

It got hotter and brighter. He began to see, and happiness filled his heart when he saw a naked woman carrying a tray across sand toward him. When she got close, he saw she had no head. She carried it on the tray. So much heat made his mouth cry out for a drink of something cold. As though answering his thought, a woman who had a head appeared with a glass full of ice water. Joe grabbed it and took a drink. The water turned to sand as it passed his lips. He gagged, choked and screamed, “Is that supposed to be a joke?”

The woman who had given him the water said, “That’s the way it is here.”

Before he could ask where here was, a dog knocked her to the ground and in an instant other dogs jumped in and devoured her. He didn’t want to be here and tried to imagine being in another place, but couldn’t.

He ran to where the sand met the water. Hot and thirsty he ran into the water with his mouth open. It turned to flames, and he became a fire eater. He swam through the flames and came to an island where people were being turned on spits above roaring flames.

They were alive, and Joe tried to save one by taking him off the fire.

“Don’t do that. I was given a choice to freeze or cook, and I hate the cold, so I chose this.”

Joe couldn’t understand where he was or why the people here were so strange. He went to a hill and found n entrance to a cave. Inside it got cooler, and he was relieved until he saw the insects feasting on people who came there to beat the heat. He ran screaming from the cave thinking he’d rather be dead than endure living like this.

“You would have been dead, but you did the right thing and swallowed the pills I gave you,” Kathy came into view, “so I could bring you to where I come from. This is my home.”

Joe wished he was back in Chicago’s cold. He’d never complain about the snow or anything else if only he didn’t have to stay in this place Kathy called home.

When his eyes opened, he saw he was back in the bar, Kathy was gone. He ripped off his coat and ran outside and put a handful of snow into his mouth. It tasted so much better than sand. He looked to the Gray sky and saw Kathy up there.

“Think warm,” she said and disappeared.

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#114 Imagination

#114 Imagination

“Hello, reality. Are you there?” I shouted into empty space.

“What do you think?” I heard inside my head.

“I’ve been told you’re really not real,” I said

“Quantum ideas about me being imaginary abound,” Reality said, “but you’re real to me. Why do you think I don’t exist?”

“Physicists say you may exist only in my mind,” I shouted in Reality’s face if it was there; that is.

“If I’m not real, how do you explain the things you see and touch?”

I scratched my head. It was there all right. “How am I to know if it’s me creating these things? It could be another’s mind creating me.”

“So you don’t think you exist?” Reality asked.

I pinched myself, and it hurt.

“How can you feel if you’re not here?”

“I may feel because I’m the one who is dreaming, and I may be dancing in another’s mind and only take the steps I’m instructed to?” I took a few rumba steps to demonstrate to Reality that I could dance.

“You think your dreamer made you take those steps?”

“I used to believe that the dance I did was the one I chose, but the physicists have gotten me confused. Tell me, Reality, can it be that I’m not alone and that you are there with billions of minds connected by a gently flowing stream of consciousness benevolent to all with every part having a mind of its own?”

“Is that what you believe?”

Damn, Reality is answering my questions with questions.

“I believe this consciousness flows like a raging river filled with turbulence and rapids, rolling everyone’s thoughts that can never unify and meld into one.”

“Why would you think that?” it asked.

There it goes again, question after question. I can’t get angry though because Reality wants to know my thoughts. By answering the questions, I help myself to understand it.

“I think you’re nothing but a whirlpool of thought thrown against the rocks that I see as life, and I’ll forever remain fragmented and unknown to any others afloat on this tributary of consciousness that flows throughout space.” How is he going to answer that with a question?

“So you think that all the loathsome events facing you and what you perceive as the human race is nothing but quantum images, and not authentic at all?”

Damn, he did it again. “How do I know whose world I’m in? Is my life the topic of someone’s imaginary world, or another’s dream and once they awake, will I face what I see as death?”

“Maybe a lifetime to your dream person is only one night’s sleep to you.”

Hah, finally a straight statement from my Reality.

“Is that how my life is measured in reality? Are my years numbered by a sleeping giant? When I dream, do I create another life like mine and during the time I’m asleep allow it to live out its time. When I have sex, is my partner there, or is that part of the dream? When I think I’m awake and have control of what I do, am I experiencing this life as real or is it only a dream?”

“So many questions.  To find out, record your dreams to discover that if when you sleep in this life, you travel to another existence in another place.” Finally, some positive input from reality.

I did as told and discovered that reality is where my mind is. Here or there, it doesn’t matter if I’m not awake. I like this life and want to stay awake, so I don’t go into a dream state and live in that other place. I take drugs to keep me awake for days, and when I finally sleep, I learn my other self has transformed from a being into a star. That’s where people go after they die in my other place. I wonder if that’s why I think of hell as fire and brimstone now that I know in my next life, I’ll be a burning star.

“Is that true?” Reality asks.

“Get real, Reality, I can be anything I want and you can’t stop me because you and everything else is in the part of my mind that is called imagination.”

Doctor Jones, my psychiatrist, who had patiently listened to my entire conversation said, “What does your reality look like?”

“I just explained it to him; do I have to repeat myself?”

“No, no, I meant, the Reality you were speaking to, what does he look like?”

“Like one mean son-of-a-bitch.”

“You’ve got that right,” Doctor Jones said as he signed my release papers.

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#113 Dueling Options

# 113 Dueling Options

One gloomy day on my way to the Park Street Subway station, I walked through Boston Commons and felt a tug on my arm. I turned to see a gypsy girl. She motioned for me to follow her. For some strange reason I felt I didn’t have a choice but to do as she commanded. She sat on a bench concealed on three sides by the shrubbery that grew in the Commons.

“You think your life has been a great journey, but I’m here to show you how wrong you are,” she said in a voice that somehow hypnotized me. I couldn’t move, nor think of anything but what she said. Entranced, I sat there staring at her two shining gold teeth.

“Wrong?” I said.

“You’ve experienced a terrible passage here on this terrible world called Earth.  A worse experience I can’t imagine. A better life here can be had if you make use of my magic mirror. It’s not usually needed, but to change the direction of this life, you must make use of one.”

My brain began to function, and I wondered what the hell she was talking about. “Who are you, and what is this ‘magic mirror’ you’re talking about?”

“Follow me,” she said.

Just like a puppy dog, I did. I knew if I had a tail, it would wag because I felt so happy to trail along behind her. What kind of hold did this woman have over me?

She walked into Murray’s, the largest antique store in Boston and went directly to the third floor, filled with every type of mirror imaginable. She stopped in front of one that was six feet in length with a gilded frame and a stand to keep it erect placed.  When I gazed at the reflective surface, I looked into space.

“This is the one you need. Buy it and pay to have it delivered today,” the gypsy said as she walked into the mirror.

What the heck? Was she a shill for the store? I mean did she just use some illusionist magic trick to make me think she went into the mirror? Regardless of what I thought, I was compelled to purchase the mirror. When delivered later that day, I had it carried up to my bedroom and set up at the foot of my bed.

I lay in bed that night and peered into that so-called magic-mirror, wondering if the gold-toothed woman I had met actually went into it. Impossible! I knew better than to believe in magic until I saw her in the mirror at a distance walking towards me. The closer she came, the bigger she became.

I went close to the mirror to watch her approach. Where my image should have been reflecting back at me, she soon stood full-size, opposite me. Light glinted off her shiny teeth when she smiled. Without a word, her hand came from the mirror, took me by the arm, and yanked so hard that I fell head- first toward the mirror. I braced for the crash I was sure to experience, but when my face and head contacted the mirror, I sank into the vast space I saw inside the mirror like a marshmallow sinking into a cup of hot chocolate.

“The life you’ve been living is a life endured, and I’m not thrilled with the way you’ve lived. I’m thankful now for this chance to show you what you can have if you only imagine it,” the gypsy said.

I imagined a new car, and one appeared, but it was black, not my favorite color. “Make it  red,” I said, and it changed to a candy apple red. “Make it a convertible,” I said, and the top rolled down. Wow, this is great. I imagined a woman, and one appeared. “Bigger breasts,” I said, and her chest expanded until I said, “stop.”

She didn’t look right until I said, “Smaller waist.” Her waist shrank until she looked like Pamela Anderson. That satisfied me. “A million $100 bills,” I said, and stacks of bills appeared around my feet. Life would get better now, I thought. I put the girl, the money, and myself in the car. Wanting to drive out of the mirror, I wasn’t sure how to accomplish that. Revved the engine, put the gas to the floor, took my foot off the brake, and sped toward the glass.

I hadn’t thought ahead. My bedroom was on the second floor. Heard the smashing sound as we crashed through my bedroom wall, and the car flew down the stairs landing on the living room floor. The girl died from a broken neck. The car and money caught on fire. I panicked and ran upstairs intending to save the mirror so I could imagine another girl and car, but it wasn’t there. The gypsy was though, and through her glittering teeth she said in a sneering voice, “I fulfilled your dreams, and you abandoned me.”

“Please, give me one more chance?” I pled as flames licked at my pant legs.

“Maybe I will if you can love me for who I am. Look at me!” She demanded.

I watched her jowls grow and sag as her face turned into that of a pig.

“Okay,” I screamed. I knew if I could imagine her to be beautiful, I could love her, but I didn’t know I had already used up all the imagining I was allowed, and I’d be stuck with a pig for eternity.



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