The trowel, oddly enough, was holding back a sizeable tide of brains and blood that gushed forth upon its removal.
"Now, there's a mess for ya'" drawled Cletus. "Who's gonna' clean that up, ya reckon?"
It was a purely rhetorical question as neither of us had any intention of standing around long enough to find out. Wiping the trowel off on the blue corduroy fabric of the trousers, I stashed it in the rattan valise, tying that shut with the thin leather straps that served as clasps, and turned towards the window. Cletus was already halfway down the drain pipe when I shouted, "We forgot the Miracle Whip!"
"You get it. I gotta' pee."
Honestly, Cletus's bladder must be about the size of a ping-pong ball. He can take a leek before leaving the house and need to go again before getting the car started. It's insane.
I dropped the valise by the window and headed for the kitchen, stepping carefully over what was left of that malevolent fiend.
The sun, shining through the old glass in the window pain, one of the few left intact, cast a pattern of refractive distortion against the dirty enamel of the sink. Tiny rainbows, slight and indistinct, danced across a thick coating of dirt and refuse, the grime of the ages, creating a strange contradiction of bright colors and dark hues. I wondered about the moments that led up to this one, how so many years of desolation could be endured minute by minute like a jail sentence, relentless, damned, only to end in deeper tragedy and further heart-ache. Could this really have seemed brilliant and full of promise at some point long ago?
The refrigerator door was ajar and the smell of rotten food stuffs wrenched me from my reverie. Against my nose's better judgement, I opened the door wider and a bottle of something fell over. Perhaps it had been leaning against the door and now, as I pulled it open, it fell, splattering on my clothes a sickly green-brown liquid that stank of decaying flesh. I stared in frustration at the reeking stains as Cletus started the truck up and put it in gear.
"You 'bout done in there?" I heard him yell from below.
There, all the way in the back, was the jar: clean, new, standing out amongst the filth like a lotus in the mud, the plastic safety seal still intact. I grabbed it, felt its cool round heft in the palm of my hand as my thumb and index finger wrapped around its neck as if to squeeze the life from it and drew it carefully from the depths of that disgusting refrigerator. Once clear, I wheeled around, and headed for the living room to grab the valise and make my exit. Only a few short strides, strides I intended to make with haste, stood between me and the rest of my life.
...
"Now, there's a mess for ya'" drawled Cletus. "Who's gonna' clean that up, ya reckon?"
It was a purely rhetorical question as neither of us had any intention of standing around long enough to find out. Wiping the trowel off on the blue corduroy fabric of the trousers, I stashed it in the rattan valise, tying that shut with the thin leather straps that served as clasps, and turned towards the window. Cletus was already halfway down the drain pipe when I shouted, "We forgot the Miracle Whip!"
"You get it. I gotta' pee."
Honestly, Cletus's bladder must be about the size of a ping-pong ball. He can take a leek before leaving the house and need to go again before getting the car started. It's insane.
I dropped the valise by the window and headed for the kitchen, stepping carefully over what was left of that malevolent fiend.
The sun, shining through the old glass in the window pain, one of the few left intact, cast a pattern of refractive distortion against the dirty enamel of the sink. Tiny rainbows, slight and indistinct, danced across a thick coating of dirt and refuse, the grime of the ages, creating a strange contradiction of bright colors and dark hues. I wondered about the moments that led up to this one, how so many years of desolation could be endured minute by minute like a jail sentence, relentless, damned, only to end in deeper tragedy and further heart-ache. Could this really have seemed brilliant and full of promise at some point long ago?
The refrigerator door was ajar and the smell of rotten food stuffs wrenched me from my reverie. Against my nose's better judgement, I opened the door wider and a bottle of something fell over. Perhaps it had been leaning against the door and now, as I pulled it open, it fell, splattering on my clothes a sickly green-brown liquid that stank of decaying flesh. I stared in frustration at the reeking stains as Cletus started the truck up and put it in gear.
"You 'bout done in there?" I heard him yell from below.
There, all the way in the back, was the jar: clean, new, standing out amongst the filth like a lotus in the mud, the plastic safety seal still intact. I grabbed it, felt its cool round heft in the palm of my hand as my thumb and index finger wrapped around its neck as if to squeeze the life from it and drew it carefully from the depths of that disgusting refrigerator. Once clear, I wheeled around, and headed for the living room to grab the valise and make my exit. Only a few short strides, strides I intended to make with haste, stood between me and the rest of my life.
...
cipher12665:
it's too early in the day for me to reveal personal insights and I'll be going out come evening.
psmith:
How could i fondle your bum? you are head on a platter, you have no bum.