MicroHorror

April 29, 2008

Closure

When Laurie dumped Jonathon, he was crushed, and he kept it no secret. Soon his friends tired of hearing about it.

Jonathon’s desire to vent continued, however, and woke him up at night. He would sit there sometimes, like a child, his arms around his knees, and stare into the dark corners of his room.

The isolation was almost unbearable.

Jonathon began to slip at work. He was barely present elsewhere. Sometimes, during the day, he’d sneak off to try her on the phone. Or he’d go to the florist, have them send a bouquet.

Despite such efforts, Laurie was evasive about getting back together, and eventually, she stopped taking his calls altogether.

She had always been passive-aggressive.

Jonathon’s saving grace during those long nights was an image. He saw a rope. The rope led to a hole in the ground. The hole went some meters down, opened up into a small, earthy room. At the end of the rope was a small cage. Inside the cage was Laurie, squished, like a yogi in a box.

She swung lightly, back and forth, in the darkness.

She looked around, but could not see.

Screamed though no one could hear.

And, she could not, for the life of her, figure out how she got there.

She, after all, didn’t give him much of an explanation about it ending. So it served her right that she should be in the dark about this.

Sometimes Jonathon would see this picture of his, and sometimes even a laugh would escape his lips, piercing the silence in his room. Yes, this pain will go away, he’d think, even if this is the best closure I can get now.

Then he’d put his head back down on the pillow–and try to get some sleep.

Once, six months after it was over, Jonathon searched for her on the Internet. But this was the last time he did this.

Soon, during one spring cleaning, he threw out all of her old letters.

Then he joined a gym.

He became productive again.

Got a raise at work, a promotion or two.

Saved some money.

Got back out there.

Met a kind woman, married her.

They bought a house.

Had a kid.

He purchased some land up north, built a cabin, got a submersible pump for his new well.

One day, Jonathon sat in front of his computer at work, and thought of her, of Laurie. He nearly looked her up again, but, at the last second, he took his finger off the mouse.

Erased her name.

Be strong, he scolded himself. Remember how long you had to wait the last time you did that.

Jonathon then asked his secretary to bring him the phonebook. She knew, because Jonathon had told her, that he sometimes just liked the feel of paper in his hand. In fact, he preferred the computer, but this task required anonymity. He then flipped to the spot in the phonebook and, once again, verified the latest information.

On the way home, Jonathon detoured through a neighboring town. There, he stopped off at Kmart, bought the heavy rope using cash. Not credit–they can trace that, he thought…

April 21, 2008

Bring Back the Zombie Apocalypse

I arrive too late to save the idiot in the suit, who, cowering underneath a cement bench, is attacked by the throng and ripped to shreds. I however yank his screaming girlfriend out of harm’s way with one hand and, with the other, start blasting at the ones coming after us. We turn a corner. Another corner. Jump over a decaying, legless zombie, unable to get at us, but still gnawing at the air. I kick open a door, close it behind us, and we’re momentarily safe.

We sit down across from each other and I notice she’s a pretty blonde and, by the looks of her fancy suit, likely well educated. Though she’s also probably pretty dumb, if you know what I mean. She tries to catch her breath as I rip into her. “You executive types,” I say, her breasts heaving up and down, up and down. “All smart with numbers and investments, but not much brains when it comes to zombies. In case you haven’t heard, Wall Street is on lockdown.”

“I know,” she says.

“Those days are over, honey.”

“Yes. Thank you.”

I then take pity on her, tell her it’ll be fine. But I speak too soon as, behind her, from the other room, one with half a face looms over her. I reach out, grab her hand, pull her toward me. Simultaneously, I cock the shotgun, let the sick ghoul have it. The other half of its face flies off in a shower of gore.

She’s on top of me now, trembling, her fingers digging tightly into my arm. I try to push her off, but she clings tighter. “All right, all right,” I relent. Through a small crack in the wall, I can see that night is dawning on New York. “We’ll stay here tonight.”

“Thank you so much, she says, over and over. Her bosom nestles closer.

Wah-wah-wah-wah-wah. The sound of a siren, or worse, goes off. I wake up, disoriented.

“You idiot,” I hear. “You fell asleep on the couch again.” I look up, see her, my stinking wife, and her big ass, shuffling around the kitchen. The blonde is gone. Shit. “So, do you think you might try to get to work on time today?”

I look down in my hand. The shotgun’s also no longer there, replaced by the game controller. Damn, I think, if only. “Yeah, yeah,” I respond begrudgingly.

I get up, go into the bathroom and start the shower thinking of all those repulsive men in suits I work for, the ones without a clue; and of being locked in that cold, dank computer room all day. “The horror, the horror,” I mumble to myself as I pick up the soap…

The Reptilian Brain

After setting my partner straight about the money, I drove a few states over, holed up in a cheap motel.

Saturday, I ventured out with a bottle to sit by the pool, where she was sunning herself.

Got another one, she asked–and I threw her a cigarette.

She said her name was Gilda.

Johnny, I said.

She said she was 20. She said she was from Tennessee. She said she was a singer but for now worked at a steakhouse. She said she was bored.

I gave her a sip and she said she liked my eyes.

I said there was a brochure in the lobby for an alligator farm; that I’d like to see that; that she could come.

Sure, she said.

At the farm, I told her how these things’ve been around for millions of years; how they’re killing machines. I pointed to a long, mean-looking one and said if there was no gate there, and it was hungry, it would eat her right now–and no amount of conversation would change that.

Wow that’s scary, she said, as we walked back on the path through some woods.

They don’t care if you’re human; if you have brothers or sisters; kids to take care of; nothing.

Oh, Johnny, she said. She said lots of things.

You know, I said, I’m just like that alligator there.

She looked at me, giggled, and said, oh–no you’re not Johnny.

Are you calling me a liar?

No, Johnny.

’Cause I don’t lie.

I didn’t say…

And nobody calls me that.

It would have been better if she begged, though I guess when I grabbed her by the neck, it finally got her to shut up long enough to realize that, like I said, I’m no liar. Eventually she stopped squirming and kicking.

See, I said, as I dragged her by the arm up the path, deposited her behind a tree…



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