MicroHorror

Spade parts earth
Time and again
Across his face
A wicked grin

Memories of friends of past
And those he’s met not yet
Soon the soil will be replaced
Though some will be left over…
Or so it is I bet

In the hole a friend will be
Laid in their final nest
Chances are you’ll not escape
But end up like the rest

He’ll invite you for some supper
Perhaps a spot of tea
Lured to his lair
It’ll be just you and he

Dinner comes and goes
You throw some brewskies down the hatch
The spider spins his web
You’ll be an easy catch

Soon the sky burns amber
As daylight starts to die
He invites you to the basement
Says he’ll get you high

Beer in hand descending
The dank and slippery steps
Eyes peering eagerly
Into the darkened depths

Fumbling in the darkness
A finger finds a switch
Then a click, the room is lit
Your eyes adjust, your throat is slit

A bottle falls to the floor
And drains on stains of red
Stains of those before you
Stains of those now dead

Joel flicked the remnants of a Winston off the second-story balcony. He could hear the single mom below bitching in the corner of his mind: “My kids play down here; put your trash where it belongs.” Fucking cunt. She should not have spawned those worthless grease stains.

As he rose and turned to go inside he drew a half-empty pack of smokes from his breast pocket and tapped out a fresh Winston. Lighting up as he strode through the open sliding glass door, he decided it was finally time. Time for resolution, time for redemption, time for satisfaction, time for liberation. Joel strode easily along the path through dirty laundry, beer cans, and old microwave food cartons to the closet by the front door. He had gone over the mission a thousand times in his head. He grabbed the Army rucksack, packed months ago, and the black case.

Exhilaration, anticipation, accumulation of preparation. Joel stopped at the door, looked back, and flicked the half-gone Winston onto a pile of trash. Giggling, he easily descended the steps and quickly crossed the lot, heading toward his beat-up AMC Matador. He didn’t even break stride as he fired up a Winston, smiled around the cig, and flipped off Eugene the 78-year-old war veteran that lived three doors down.

Joel flung the ruck into the great expanse of a back seat and carefully set the black case in the rear floorboard. Hopping in the captain’s chair, he hit the start button; the key ignition quit working years ago. The 304 revved and left a one-tire peel-out mark as the yellow barge lurched into the street.

Heading to the core of town, to the clock tower overlooking the schoolyard, to the cliché that would be the final chapter of his pile-of-shit life, Joel envisioned the coming events. He was trying to adjust his jeans to free up room for his sprouting boner when out of nowhere a big yellow blur entered the left side of his vision. Then thunder rocked the car, immediately followed by strange silence. Joel felt nothing as he lay on the seat, watching blood pool.

The paper said he must have been heading to the gun club across town, where he had been a member for ten years, when the bus loaded with nuns suffered brake failure and smashed into his car, killing him on the scene.

Through the bars of my second-story window I saw him. At first he was only a strange shadow lurking behind the big oak. Slowly over time he revealed more of himself. Then yesterday without warning he suddenly stepped from behind the massive trunk, his bottomless black eyes staring menacingly through greasy, unkempt bangs. Then all was dark. I awoke to the bright white light of the padded room. I couldn’t tear my mind from those eyes. I craved them like a wino craves a bottle, guts wrenching and mind whirling. Then after my daily injection I awoke back in my room. After gathering my wits I clumsily gain my feet. I slowly stagger towards the window. My heart pounding like a war drum drowning out any chance of outside sound and… he is there! As his eyes lock on mine I feel the cold chill of Auschwitz, the warm embrace of a beautiful woman, a mother’s love for her newborn and hatred in its purest form. I feel all of everything; pure, whole and almighty. I writhe against the restraint of my jacket, pressing my face against the Plexiglas so hard my nose begins to bleed, but it is a minor wave in a sea of sensation. I uncontrollably orgasm as my mind becomes clear and mitigated. Beautiful colors fill my vision. As the smell of mountain wildflowers embraces me I hear soft surf lapping over warm sand. All fades to darkness as I drift into extinction.