Snippet/Short Story/Something (shrugs) Saturday: Home

Zak walked into the living room, his eyes stopping on a head full of blonde hair. He walked up behind the little girl, kneeling and following her gaze toward the picture of Annie and Pete. He smiled, remembering how happy she'd been on that trip to New York, and he put a hand on the little girl's shoulder.

“Daddy, who's that lady in the picture with uncle Pete?” she asked after turning to look at him.

“Annie, that's your aunt. She had your name.”

“That's silly. Why would she have my name?”

“Because, she was special.” Zak looked at his daughter's round face. “Just like you are,” he said and tapped her little nose with each word before continuing. “She meant the world to me, and if it hadn't been for her, you wouldn't be here today.”

The girl's mouth made a little circle. A look of wonder crossed her face. “Oh. Why?”

Zak heard Kevin enter the room, or more so the gurgles of the baby boy in his arms. He turned, smiling at the man who had been his husband the past five years.

“Because, sweetie, if it weren't for your aunt Annie, your daddy and I would have never met,” Kevin said, and the little girl turned her head fast, whipping Zak in the face with her golden locks.

Zak blew and wiped at the strands of hair that had stuck to his mouth, and he laughed. “I wish you two could have met each other. She would have adored you.”

“I wish I could've, too. She's pretty.”

“Hey, you know what?”

“What?” she asked, eager.

“It's not just a name you two share, Annie. Your eyes are the same exact color as hers were. That same blue. It's beautiful. You're beautiful.”

Zak watched as a smile blossomed on his daughter's lips. His little Annie. He couldn't stop the tears that came to his eyes. Both tears of sadness and joy. It had been six years since he'd lost his sister. Four since his daughter had come along through surrogacy. He thanked Jenn, Kevin's cousin, every chance he saw her for agreeing to carry their first child.

He put his arms around her, hugging her tightly to him. Then he stood, and she wrapped her legs around his waist, giving his cheek a quick peck.

“I love you, daddy. Don't be sad.” She put her small hand on his cheek, wiping at his tears.

“Sweetie, daddy's not sad,” he said, looking over at Kevin who gave him an all too familiar look.

“But, you're crying.”

“That's because I'm so full of happiness I don't know what else to do.” He gave her a good squeeze and kissed her forehead before he returned her to the floor. “Hey, I think you should go check out your room. It's down the hall. You can't miss it; the door's open.”

She smiled and scurried away. Zak had been on the fence about giving his sister's old room to his daughter, but in the end, it felt right. It would have been awkward to have given her the master bedroom. He shook his head at the thought, and then he noticed Kevin putting little Ryan in his temporary crib.

“You sure you want to do this? We have more than enough to buy another house,” Kevin said.

“Yeah. I miss this place, and it's already paid for. With lil Annie starting pre-school soon, we agreed that a smaller school would be better. We're doing this for the kids.”

“It doesn't have to be here. I remember how hard it was on you to stay here after . . . I'm just saying that we can rent this place out and get another. I'd rather not see you go down that road. I don't think I can bear to see you that sad again, Zak.” Kevin walked over to Zak and put his arms on his shoulders, linking his hands behind his neck.

“Now's different, Kevin. When I lost Annie, I'd thought I lost everything. I didn't know if you'd stick around. I was horrible. The mood swings. The crying. I still don't even know why you put up with half the shit I put you through. Then you asked me to marry you.” Zak had been looking down at Kevin's shirt, but then he brought his eyes up to meet Kevin's. “Can't you see that it's different. Before I thought I had nothing, and now . . . I have more than I could've ever dreamed of.

“Yeah, I still get sad sometimes. I still miss her, probably more than I should at times. But, I'm more complete now than I ever was. I have you. We're married, and we have two beautiful kids. And if Annie were here today, I know she'd be so proud of me.”

Tears streaked down Zak's face, but his smile was big. He saw a glistening in Kevin's eyes. He maneuvered a hand around Kevin's arms to wipe at the wetness on his cheeks. Kevin just continued to stare at him.

Zak cleared his throat; he wasn't quite sure what was going through Kevin's mind. “We should go check to see how our daughter likes her room.”

Kevin's hands moved from the back of Zak's neck and were on either side of his face almost immediately. “Wait. Have I told you recently how much I adore you? How much I love you? Because I do. I love you so much, and I don't know what I'd do without you.”

Kevin's mouth was on his. A searing heat coursed from where their lips met and spread deep through his body. In that instant he knew they'd made the right choice. He knew they were home.

Snippet Saturday: The Coffin, an excerpt from 'Impractical Encounter'

Randy stood in an aisle. On both sides of him were long benches. Their seats and backrests were covered with red cushions that were stitched with gold. Pews. He realized that he was standing in a church.

He had no recollection of how he'd come to be there at that particular moment. He hadn't stepped foot in a church since before he came out to his family. He, unlike Billie, still believed that there was a God, but he held no compassion for religion or churches. Religion, or the beliefs his parents had about their religion, was what caused him to be cast away from his family at seventeen. Shunned, never to be spoken to by those who said they loved him but couldn't be associated with him for fear that their souls would burn in eternal damnation.

Billie had been fourteen when he was thrown out of the house. She'd call him in secret to see how he was doing. And, she'd come to see him when she was supposed to be visiting a friend. When he'd turned eighteen, Billie voiced her outrage, knowing what would happen, and then she came to live with him when their parents kicked her out a few months later. Those first couple of years were rough, but they made it. Then when Billie was twenty-two, he thought he'd lose her. Randy shook his head, trying to rid his mind of the line of thinking it was on.

He looked around, noticing that he was alone, and sitting in front of him at the end of the aisle was a wooden coffin. Randy stiffened at the sight of it. He didn't want to go to it, but something caused his feet to move forward. He wanted to turn a run from the church. He didn't want to face what the coffin held, but still, he walked toward it.

He was several feet away. Mere steps past the first row of pews when quiet sobs broke his attention away from the glossed cherry-wood. He turned his head to the right. Billie lay curled in the fetal position on the floor. Her hands covered her face, but he could see her cheek was wet with tears.

He wanted to go to her and pull her into his arms. He wanted to tell her everything would be okay. That they still had each other, and that would get them through anything, but he was drawn to the casket. He had to look. He had to find out who could possibly make her cry like she was.

Randy took the final few steps, glancing back to see that Billie was still curled up on the floor. Her chest heaving with each sob that left her lips. He couldn't understand whose death would cause her so much pain, and then he looked back to the coffin.

His breath caught in his throat as he stared at himself lying on white satin. His hands sitting on his chest, one on top of the other.

He turned back to his sister. She had managed to come and stand next to him without him noticing.

“Billie, what is this?”

Short Story Saturday: Plan

PLAN

BOOM!

I crumple to the floor in agonizing pain. Well, that certainly hurt more than I thought it would. Why does it still hurt? This isn't how it's supposed to go.

I open my eyes, which I'd pinned shut right before. Well, I open my right eye as the left doesn't seem to want to cooperate. Speaking of things not wanting to cooperate, I can't get either of my legs or arms to work. I try to focus the vision in my lone eye and work to make sense of what I'm seeing.

Of all the junk in this old, abandoned barn to land in front of, I'm unlucky enough to have fallen on my side in front of a dingy mirror. I can see every bit of damage I've done to myself, purposely and not. I didn't mean for that piece of rebar to jam itself through my neck. I guess I figured out why I can't move. But, my face . . . that I did on purpose, though I had no intentions on seeing the aftermath.

I'm not sure what my dad had loaded in his shotgun, but I'm betting it wasn't the best thing for killing yourself with. My angle must have been off too. Also, I now knew why I couldn't see anything with my left eye. Somewhere in the pile of blood and meat bits that is the left side of my head is the eye, but I can't decipher which pile of goo and gore it is. I also can't seem to pinpoint my ear. There are a few teeth sitting in the bloody flesh, though.

I should've done this on a Friday, so I know someone would show up, and they could put me out of my misery. But, no, I just had to be a dumbass and do it on a Tuesday. Nobody comes to the barn during the week.

***

It's dark now, and I can't see. The sun set a while ago. There's a scurrying on the floor. Then something tugs at the mutilated flesh until it rips a chunk free and runs away. It happens several times during the night.

***

I wake to the sun shining on my face and an irritating tickling sensation. I look at my reflection. The blood has dried and has more of a brown color to it now. The meat bits have paled from their bright pink color, and there are areas of bone showing from where the animals in the night stole chunks of flesh.

Something catches my attention in the mirror as it flits around. More than one, and I register the smell as I figure out what's flying around my face. Blow flies. A whole swarm of them. I quickly process what they're doing and cringe inwardly. I guess the cringe wasn't as inward as I thought as the pungent taste of pus wets my overly dry tongue.

By mid-afternoon, the gore that is the left side of my face is coated in a sickly, yellow tinted slime that if looked at carefully moves and slides. It's not the pus itself moving, but the newly hatch maggots that are feasting on it. I've long since felt the original pain and am left with a dull sensation of the squirmy little fucks slipping in and out of the dead flesh they feed upon.

It takes a much shorter amount of time than one would think for the maggots to grow. Once barely visible specs are now easily seen in just a few short hours, but it'll be dark soon. By the last of daylight, I watch as they begin to make their way into my nose from my mouth where there are just too many of them—some must find other places to go. The pain as they burrow themselves into undamaged flesh is becoming unbearable. Though, there's nothing I can do. I try to scream, but the sharp intake of air forces a clump of maggots down my windpipe, and I feel as if I'm choking.

***

It's dark now. I know I will never see daylight again as I feel the slimy creeps begin to dig into my good eye. I don't know how much longer this will go on, but the last thing that comes to my mind is that this situation is so much worse than what brought me to this old barn, to begin with, and I wonder why I thought it would be a good idea. I wanted to end my suffering, not cause more. Nothing ever goes the way I plan.




*This story can be found in my short story collection, Images from a Wandering Mind: a Sick and Disturbing Collection

Short Story Saturday: ROPES

Ropes

Blurring. Spinning. Colors swirling. Greens of grass and leaves. Greys of dirt. Browns from the trunks of trees. Trying to focus, but the faces of Joe and Elise are warped and twisted as they zoom by over and over. The only things that stay steady in my view are the rough, scratchy and frayed, nylon ropes I hold onto and the tire the ropes are threaded through. The tire is, of course, black, and even though the ropes are old and dull, their yellow clashes brightly against the darkness. Jan is also in clear view as she throws her head back and laughs with the thrill of the spinning tire swing.

Round and round. Faster and faster. I grip tighter to the rope, feeling it bite into the flesh of my hands. I squeal as the direction of our spinning suddenly changes, but it also begins to slow with the change.

"Again! Again!" Jan chants, excitedly.

Thump! Thump! Thump, thump, thump! Joe and Elise's hands slap at the tire to keep it spinning. The tire turns quicker as the sounds from their hands making contact with the rubber meld together with an odd yet rhythmic beat.

Looking up, I watch as the three separate ropes twist together. As the twist gets closer to my hands, the tire raises ever-so-slightly away from the ground.

We're not going 'round and 'round nearly as fast as before, but the thrill of knowing that speed is coming closer with each turn brings a gleeful screech from my little throat. My insides feel much like the twisting ropes look. A nervous laugh bubbles through my lips, and Jan joins in; her happiness sounds equal, if not more so, to my own.

A slight tug gets my attention before turning into a pull. The feeling is uncomfortable, at first, but it quickly becomes painful. Seconds feel like hours as my head is turned sideways drawn closer towards the twisted ropes. It dawns on me what's happened, and I try to scream or say something, anything, but the sound is stuck.

I finally manage to form some kind of noise, but what should have come out as, "Stop! Please, stop!" is more garbled nonsense than actual words.

There's a searing sensation shooting throughout my body. Its origin, my scalp. I let go of the rope, reaching up to try to ease the pain, but it's no use. A scream echoes through my head. I'm not sure if it came from me or Jan. It's too late, though, as I feel the tension release from my head. I'm falling; my vision is a burst of hot, white flares blurred with bits of color.

I find myself lying on the ground. There's a thudding in my ears and a burning sensation on the side of my head, which sends a shocking sting to my extremities when the wind hits it. My hand shoots up to block the wind, but it's much too small to cover the entire area.

Making contact, the skin of my palm and fingers is greeted with tiny wet areas upon the now smooth area in the absence of hair. My eyes look past Jan, who stands in front of me, and to the yellow rope, stopping only when they locate the clump of dark-brown strands that are stuck within the frays of roughness.

I feel the prick of tears come into the corner of my eyes, then the wetness as they slip down my face.

"Sunny," Jan's yelling. "Are you okay?"

I hear other voices, but they're a distant mumble as I pull my hand from my scalp, bringing it inches from my face. Bright red splotches of blood cover the skin. I wipe them away on my shorts.

I register gasps and even a laugh here and there. Joe is one who opted to laugh, and I frown at him. Elise is crying, and Jan has stopped asking if I'm okay; she's has a look of fear on her face. Glancing around further, I notice that adults have arrived. Some try to hide their chuckles and looks of enjoyment at a child's pain, while others have looks of sadness and confusion on their face.

I get up and spot my mom. I go to her. "Mommy, I want to go home."

She's angry. "Maybe instead of just standing there, someone can get something to clean this up so we can see how bad it is?"

Once inside, away from the onlookers, I'm left standing in front of the mirror. Half of my head is free of hair. The skin is red and looks similar to raw hamburger meat. It looks slightly better once my mom wipes away the blood, cleaning it with water first and then with something that makes it sting further. She coats my scalp with an ointment, and we leave to go home.

My sister complains about having to leave so soon, and my dad doesn't seem to care either way. There's a gallon size baggy on the floor of the van in between the two front seats that's filled with the hair that had been ripped free from my scalp.

***

It takes nearly a year for my hair to grow back. Every day, I have to have my head slathered in an ointment and a cream several times a day.

The first couple of weeks are the worst. My mother's solution to coverup that half of my head is bald from my kindergarten class is to pull my hair over in a side-ponytail. It works the first week, but then the next week is lice check. She's forgotten about the monthly checks.

The teacher gasps as she pulls the elastic rubber-band from my hair. I hiss at the pain that shoots through my still sensitive scalp. The classroom bursts out in laughter, and I'm brought to tears. After a meeting with my mother and teacher, there's a class discussion that doesn't keep the kids in the class from making fun of me. If anything, it only brings more attention to my missing hair.

This story is based on an actual event that happened to me; it's how I remember it happening, but it's my truth, which I've learned isn't always the same as the truth of someone else involved. I'm lucky the hair grew back. I'm lucky that my scalp didn't completely rip off. But if there's one thing I learned, there will always be people in your life to laugh at your pain. There are far fewer that are willing to help. Then there are those who will always judge.

Find the few, and appreciate them the best you can.