Stories for long foggy days

Living in a Snow Globe

Three children lived in a life-sized snow globe. There was a snow piled yard and beyond that, the glass walls of the globe. The landscape beyond was almost empty flat snowy lands with sprinkles of trees and other snowglobes. Sometimes these other snowglobes would light up at night like their globe does at the flick of a switch. Some of the other globes were always dark. Timmy wondered if any children lived in those gloves that light up and if no one lived in the always dark ones. A couple snow globes he could see had shattered domes. He imagined the bones of dead children nestled within those houses.Little Timmy shivered in his bed. He had the coldest room in the life-sized snow globe. Drafts from the frozen yard sticking fingers through cracks in the walls. The wind always came from the North and that's where the big windows of his room faced. His brother and sister had bigger rooms on the other side of the house. That was the privilege of being older they said. The only heat from these rooms came from electric fireplaces. Molded out of plastic and realistically, but now cracked and faded made to look like a real fireplace. When on, and they only worked about three hours a day the fake logs would light up red and the room would get a little warmer in temperature and heart. Timmy's fireplace didn't work anymore. It was just a colder dark corner now. It stopped working thirteen weeks ago. All the fireplaces used to make popping, crackling log sounds. None of them do now. It's always winter, there is always deep snow on the ground on the snowglobe. Sometimes Timmy only needs a sweater to keep warm. But sometimes it's bitter cold and he spends most of his time huddled around the bigger fireplace in the living room. It still makes crackling wood like sounds and it lights up so pretty.

Time for dinner. His sister Mandy or his brother Kevin would always fix supper. Timmy was not tall enough to reach the stove without pulling a chair over. He had a low attention span and only knew how to heat up soup anyway. The stove was powered by being wound up. You get about fifteen minutes of low heat per vigorous wind. Little Timmy lacks the strength but more so, the body weight to spin that old crank. Mandy was the best cook. Tonight it was toasted bread with tuna on top. And kool aid! There is no way out of the snowglobe that the kids know about, yet somehow food and other supplies come in and the contents of the waste can go somewhere over night. Not every night, but in time they always end up empty and all the kids claim they did not empty them. Where would it go except to the yard under snow? All the kids believed in Mom and Dad. That's who brings the food in and takes the trash out. But they never see their parents except sometimes, mostly holidays where they manifest as warm soft yellow globes of light. Timmy doesn't remember them as people you can talk face to face with. But his older siblings do. They refuse to tell him much about those times saying he is from a younger generation and he shouldn't be here. Timmy has no right to live because he is generation G and they are generation F.

There was not much to do. Timmy got bored a lot. They used to watch Tv. There was an old black and white wooden unit with a built it radio and record player. The olders controlled what they watched most of the time. About the only show Timmy liked that his brother also enjoyed was the Twilight zone and Star Treck. His sister liked the rock concert films and boring soap operas about bad boys causing the stars all sorts of trouble desire and heart break. Turns out Tina's true love Brock as had the whole female cast and they all keep breaking up and going back to him. None of that matters anymore because the Tv stopped showing anything but grainy white noise and it flashes gray patterns. Timmy watches the patterns sometimes when brother and sister are not around to stop him. The radio lasted nearly a year longer. Timmy loved the radio, they all did. And they all even agreed on the same station. The rock n pop station with radio D J's Gay C playsome and Wolf Entity Mack. It was a hard loss when all the radio stations went to creepy simple repetitive electronic patterns. Timmy would toggle through the stations late at night when he would sneak into the living room to sleep in front of the electric fireplace. If he couldn't sleep he would drift through the electronic studders and blips. A few times he would pick up a signal, strange music, or people talking. Golden magic times were these. Music like he never heard before but which stirred him. Music he could feel deeper than his bone marrow. Music from some other life he had lived before maybe. Now he re reads his comic books for entertainment. He only owned six of them and they were wearing out from so many times being flipped though. He loved the locations in these comics. Snowless bounderyless outdoor scenes. Other buildings. Even under-water and flying scenes! Freedom!

It was the month of Wulpurkis. The beginning of four solid weeks of bitter cold. Timmy slept 8-11 hours a day all of this month. He is sleeping now having a dream.....In his dream he finds a cupcake outside! No one is looking so he pockets it before his brother can see it and take it. His brother was twice his height and bulbous fat. He ate 60 % of all the food and sometimes they had to skip a meal or two waiting for the mysterious night re-stock because Kevin had eaten up all the food in the house. Everyone had chores as assigned by bro and sis. Timmy got the nasty jobs like cleaning the toilet and washing dishes. The kids used to all hang out together in the living room all the time. Especially when the TV still worked. But now his brother and sister mostly just hung out along in their rooms. On occasion, they would play board games together. Little Timmy loved rolling dice and games. He would get the dice out of the games when they sit too long and make up his own games using pencil, paper, and scissors to make the board and pieces.

The last night of Wulpukis was Crestfoam! Seance night. That's when the three kids would gather around the kitchen table and try to bring their parents presence into the room by burning candles and chanting while holding hands. The only other time Timmy felt his brother's hand was when it was a fist. They would drink a sleepiness-inducing tea they saved for the occasion. Kevin would drink a pitcher of it by himself. Timmy could never drink that much without falling asleep and having distorted dreams. So by candle the hours pass. Sipping the potent tea and chanting. Timmy's favorite time of year. He felt like he was floating in his chair. Floating down a warm river to the soothing sound of birds. He had never heard a bird but his sister had wind up music boxes that she said sounded like birds too. Everyone's eyes were closed or mostly closed during this time. Four full hours into it, much longer then normal. Timmy was unaware of anything at this point, just swimming in a peaceful womb-like place. A light he could feel started at the center of the table. Everyone opened their eyes to see this two fist-sized warm balls of golden light, circling each other. There is no other light like these lights. Once when he was much smaller Timmy reached out to touch the warm lights and they blinked out. His sister slapped him hard and burst into tears saying she had waited half the year to see Mom and Dad and he ruined it. He never tried to touch the warm lights again. But when he did that time they felt like flesh. Now they took turns asking the lights questions. The lights could answer yes, no, maybe, by the patterns they swirled in. But the questions were asked silently by the kids so they had no idea what the others said to the golden parent globes. Timmy asked if there was a way out of this snow globe. The lights said "Yes". He lied when Sister asked what was communicated. The globes just told him something that differed from what his brother's readings from the good book said. Timmy often wondered how good the "Good book" was anyway. It's largely a punishment guide his brother who can read better, looks up to see what sins Timmy has committed and his punishments. Also, the rules were not consistent, at least not as his brother's readings shift from time to time. He will never forget the dream he had where he opened up the Book when no one else was in the room to read it and all the pages were blank. The questions asked and the globes spun wider arcs until on the last spin they spun a circle that went right through the kids. They all giggled with joy at this soul hug. The lights were gone until Veskurtess night. That's the next major holiday. Timmy had so many questions about the golden light globes. But his brother would repeat sternly. "To question is to be cast out in the frozen fields of hell".

Timmy used to have to take learning lessons that his sister enforced. He learned a little reading and the simplest of math but he was a reluctant and spastic student. Too much for an older child to handle. She gave up in frustration. He wished he could read better, a lot of comic book script was beyond him. The old dictionary helped a little bit. Timmy's brain spins. It's hard to learn much when your brain spins.

Timmy thought a lot about his parents telling him there is a way out of here. They had all searched. Even tried to break the globe to get to the sparse landscape outside. He never saw anyone else in the other snow globes. They were a ways off but he would be able to see children playing in their yards just not close enough to make out details. Some of the globes lit up at night still. Some used to light up and are now always dark. Timmy thought maybe the lights fail in time like how his fireplace heater failed and the TV and radio. His sister and brother had some records they played loud in their rooms sometimes. He loved it when they cranked the vinyl up so loud he could hear it plainly in the living room. They only had around fourteen albums between them and the best ones were getting worn out. Always in the back of Timmy's mind was how to get out of this globe. The only way that he could see would be under it. A secret passage under the house or under the circle yard. He listened as he walked about every inch of the house. Listened for a hollow sound. Some aspect of the sound that would be different.....Nothing seemed different and his stomps covered every inch of the place excepting his brother and sisters rooms. Even then he came in as often as possible to step everywhere he could. But there could be hidden spots under their beds, a pop-up or slide back door. He bided is time exploring when he could. In the meanwhile he was outside a lot. It was so cold, the bleakest part of the year but he kept shoveling back the snow section by section, marking off stomp checks on a map he made. This is how he found his stuffed Snoopy doll that his brother took away from him last year saying he was too old for it now and that he will burn it in the stove. Timmy thought it had been destroyed but instead his brother had just hidden it in the snow. He took the beloved toy to his room. It was concealed in his coat. That night he slept with his beloved Snoopy and he had happy dreams. He kept Snoopy hidden. Like a Pagan's secret concealed idol in a time of inquisition. There is a crawl space under the house and Timmy explored there, knocking on walls and still no secret passage ways found. The breakthrough day came when while eating lunch his brother told Timmy that since he don't participate in anything he will have to sweep and mop all the floors of the place today. It took hours. It revealed a secret passage. He had not thought to check the cleaning supplies closet. It was too small to fit into with all the supplies stacked inside but there was the hollow sounds of an open space under here. Timmy found a catch that opened up a small crawlspace. He was over joyed! This has to be what he was looking for, if nothing else a safe place to hide his Snoopy stuffed toy. He worked all day cleaning the entire floor space of the house. He would clear off space and then go down under the house for short explorations. What he learned is the place behind the house is basically four large rooms taking up the space of the floor level's six rooms. He could go down there and here his brother playing guitar or reading The Good Book aloud to himself in his bedroom. Kevin liked the stern parts about how it's God's calling for the strong to rule over the weak and make them bend to discipline. He had heard all these sadistic verses over and over again. It is sure that he will hear them again soon. Sounds from above are plainly heard, even amplified by this below space. And this below space goes on. Doors leading under the yard, branching off in four tunnels. Timmy was a careful kid and he did not explore any farther that day. That night he dreamt he took one of those tunnels, all dark and scary until it opened up on the other side of one of those hills in the horizon. Snow up to his ankle. Endless free space to roam in. A golden dream.

Timmy was up late every night. He would feign sleep. His bully big brother at random times would open his bedroom door as fast as he could and rush in. A triumphant look on his face. Knowing he would catch his little brother misbehaving. He seldom caught his little brother at anything bad though, Timmy normally was reading a comic book or doodling in one of his image cramped notebooks. Once he caught Timmy sleeping and having a erotic dream. Timmy had lots of sexy dreams about hugging full grown Women and pressing his crotch against them. In this dream he was hugging and humping a pillow. His holy brother burst in with the hunting dog like sharp face to catch Timmy doing something bad. The reward for Kevin was the sweet, sweet punishment. He would like to punish the little worthless kid all the time but the good book says find a reason first. Timmy dishonestly tried to act innocent. No he was not hugging the pillow. Kevin pushed him off the bed roughly and humped Timmy's pillow. That was his favorite pillow but it was soiled now. He used the lumpy one with the uncomfy buttons on it. Why would anyone make a pillow to lay your head down on with these buttons that bite into your flesh? All because it makes the pillow look better.

These tunnels! Timmy was under the yard and beyond! Walking in a space his older sibs would have to duck their heads in. And all along the walls are the prints of kid's hands, dipped in different colors of paint. As if kids have been coming back and forth from these tunnels for decades....Or longer. They are also all strung with Crestfoams lights that he assumes once light up.

Another day of exploring the tunnels a little. His greatest fear was getting caught and forbidden to explore any further. His brother was too fat to navigate these tunnels and it would be slow and awkward for his sister. Today he really noticed for the first time that it is warmer here. The place sometimes vibrates like from electrical or motor activity. Today he found a candy bar! It was named a Zestway. He ate it with slow release in the tunnel. White chocolate layered with caramel and apple nugget. A soft chocolate rush in the center. The outside of the bar sprayed in a honey mist and the excessive stickiness calmed a bit by swirled cotton candy.

Today Timmy fucked up. But not be revealing the tunnel. He slept with his beloved and recently recovered stuff Snoopy doll and that morning when his brother did one of his "Burst ins", He say the Snoopy in his sleeping brother's arms. Righteous rage filled Kevin and his "punishment eyes", began to glisten. This was going to be rich! He padded over soft and quiet. He grabbed the stuffed toy roughly out of Timmy's sleeping arms. The brat woke with startled and alarmed eyes. "I told you that your too old for baby toys! Now I shall destroy this trash once and for all!". That was the first time Timmy ever fought his brother. Snoopy, to Timmy was the symbol of love and acceptance. An imaginary friend what was never mean. And now his asshole brother was going to kill him! Timmy leaped off the bed onto his brother's back slugging him in ears over and over. Kevin dropped the toy and he pulled his little brother off him. Slamming him to the ground so hard it knocked the wind out of him. Timmy gasped for breath. His nose starting to trickle blood from the impact with the floor. As soon as he was able, Timmy was up and running. He found his brother with a pair of scissors. Gutting the stuffing out of Snoopy through a rip torn in his belly. "You fucking bastard!", Timmy howled the great forbidden word and ran. His brother grinned with sadistic joy as continued to systematically destroy the toy. Timmy ran into his brother's room straight to his "Good book". He opened it and began randomly ripping pages out. He scattered the pages all over his brother's room. Fuck you choke on that. His brother spent some time detailing the rendering down of the toy. It was now puffs of white fluff that he took to Timmy's bedroom to stick in the brat's disrespectful face. But no one was in the room. Keven got suspicious and he went to his own room to find Timmy standing above the torn and shredded Good book. The ONLY copy in the house. Kevin charged his little brother and decked him with a hard right. He kicked his little brother over and over again. Punched a couple teeth out. Blood streaming from his nose. Then he dragged Timmy outside. "You can sleep outside in the snow tonight you worthless Pagan brat! And don't think that's the end of it either. You are going to burn in hell for all eternity. YOU WILL BUUUURRRNNN!", Kevin screamed as he shut and locked the door.

That night was brutal. That low whirring sound started up and the winds began to blow. Snow swirled and cascaded. The warmest place was huddled against the front door. A little bit of heat escaped out the crack between door and floor. Timmy huddled against it shivering and shaking. Teeth like castanets. While Timmy had a horrible and painful night in the bitter cold, thinking he would die....His brother and sister went through his room. They broke all his toys. Ripped all his notebooks to shreds. He had thirty-four notebooks full of sketches and weak attempts at writing fiction. They took all his blankets and pillows for themselves. This was just another phase of a long-term punishment that would last until next holiday. Only then because it's the time when punishments are reset and little children get vanilla pudding, or fudge brownies, or whatever is available that's sweet. The sibs hated that aspect of the holiday but it was the other visit of the parent globes. Only two a year. Timmy dreamt about those broken snowglobes. Packed with snow and the glass walls now filled with ice. He dreamed of frozen children. Blue skinned and coated with ice. heavy coat collars rippling in the winds. The high-pitched wailing of the winds like damned souls in a frozen hell. Timmy never knew hell as a place of fire. His brother read from The Good Book that hell is cold. Frozen cold. Heaven is fire! A warm loving fire that burns not but fills the chosen with joy and warmth! God's fireplace. The good shall lay here forever. Drinking hot chocolate but never pee'ing. For that is vulgar. Just keep absorbing that eternal love and warmth. It just keeps getting better.

When Timmy was let in that morning he couldn't feel his fingers and toes. But he survived the night without frost bite. The little brat is so spoiled even nature holds back it's harshest cruelty's. Timmy more and more wondered about the naturalness of nature. Why is there always a mechanical whirring sound every time there is wind or snow? Where does the food come from? Why has he never seen a bird or animal beyond the snow globe? Why is his big brother mentioned by name in the Good Book? Timmy was set down and given the new terms of punishment to work off this sins will take ten years they say. No more candy. No more laying in front of the living room fire, etc. When he cried and ran to his room he found everything was destroyed. Even his bed mattress ripped open and the fluff pulled out. All his comic books, meager toys etc. Gone. Destroyed. He cried and shivered in his destructive littered room. They had taken his blankets for their own as a just punishment. All they left was his two changes of clothes. Now he had to scrub and clean all day every day. No playing. Only soup to eat that he had to warm himself. It was so hard to twist that crank that winded up the stove. Timmy often ate his soup cold. Salted by his tears.

But he was serving his all times now. Cleaning the fuck out of everything. Even the roof of the snow globe. He had to fetch plenty of supplies and that meant chances to explore. He found tools in a closet in the underground tunnels. a wind-up drill machine that he used to make holes in the floor of his room. This let heat up from below. Not much, but every little bit helped. He slept on the holes at night. Cold sleep 12 hours a day of chores. Cold sleep in his ruined room. The evenings before sleep he was allowed to have his own time. But he had nothing to entertain himself with. He took to staring out the window for two or three hours before he slept. Once he saw a strange purple-red light flash across the sky. It reflected in the snow for a second or two and was gone.

The next breakthrough came when he woke up early from a nightmare of his brother and sister coming into his room while he slept to kill him. Timmy went in the under space at 3 AM. His siblings slept til 9:30 that morning. Timmy followed the tunnel a long ways. A lot farther than he had done before. He was scared and it was dark. But never totally dark. A very dim light gave him just enough to see by and he stole one of the holiday candles from the drawer. He found a way up to another snow globe like the one that led him down here. The door was jammed shut. It probably was stacked with things making it too heavy for him to lift. He spent a long time working at it, got nowhere. So he explored even further, while thinking about ways he could get inside the other snow globe. Maybe if supplies come there too, he can live there. In a room with a real working heater. He didn't know if that above globe lit up or not. It could be a broken globe for all he knows. Timmy moved on. He found big double doors. They opened to a control room. levers controlled telescoping viewing lenses that could be panned and zoomed on the snow globes. It took him a half hour to get the hang of it. It was hard to tell the globes apart in the dark. There was a panel were levers and dials. Patterns of buttons. He played with some of them. He found he could point out a globe with the lens and control aspects of it from this room. He turned the light on in one of the globes. The house lit up that moody soft light like their home has. He flicked the switch and the light went off. Well, almost four hours had passed and Timmy hurried back to his depressing room. He made it again without being caught. That morning his brother decided that he didn't clean up well enough yesterday so no cold soup breakfast this morning. He had to clean up under this brother's bed. His big brother helped him push the big king sized bed aside. It was full of trash, empty soda cans, paper plates with dried food, etc. "Have fun", His brother said. Timmy spent an hour cleaning. He found among the pile of debris, two packages of banana cream moon pie. He was hungry! Two pies per plastic container! So good! He had never seen these pies before in the kitchen stock. Nor the grape crackers, melon twists, or Golden Montana beers. All this and more among the empty, devoured mess. He found a pocket full of cookie fragments as well. He hid them in the control room. In case he needed food like if he runs away or gets trapped down there. He has been saving little bits of bread and meat and such from the after meal cleanings. As many scraps as he can to store below. He is so ready to go. To escape that prison/workcamp home.

So a few days go by with Timmy, or Tim as he has come to think of himself as has been learning the controls. During the day he can clearly see the other snow globes using the lens. He can look in windows. And yes, a few of them have other children going about their lives. He could see one of the broken globes. It looks like the kids made some kinda of explosive device using gear from the house. It blew a hole right threw the globe. But the front door of the house is open and he sees the bones of a child's feet and ankles sticking out the door. Did the cold from the broken globe kill them?

Timmy found paper and he started to map out the points where the globes have entry ways from beneath. He found a door that opens to the bare landscape between the globes. It was hard to force the trap door open for it was covered with snow. But Timmy stepped out into the open world! His heart raced with excitement. But he couldn't breathe! He retreated back and with great effort he got the trap door sealed again. There is no air between the globes! If kids break one open they suffocate!

More days of work and cold shoulders. Of exploring and messing with the control room. But one day there was an ashtray on the control panal with a stubbed out cigarette in it. That was not there before! And he never learned anymore about this mystery. He worked the controls and he learned that he could make a snowglobe flood! He tried it first on a broken globe and it filled to the broken point. He had a wicked idea now. He could drown his siblings! He thought about it for a long time. He would start to pull the lever then hesitate. Then he thought about how they had talked over the idea of killing him. They agreed it was OK to do it but thought the mom n dad lights would stop visiting them if they did. Or withdraw food re stocks. Timmy threw the switch down fulll on! He watched this former home slowly fill up with water. He brother and sister left the house and climbed up the roof trying to stay clear. But the bubble filled up all the way. Before long two bodies swirled in the globe, lifeless.

• The Moral of this story

• Don't rely on other people for happiness. People are no good. Just when you think you have them knuckled under. Just when you seem to have dominated and You are tall because you made em small. They may grow balls and revolt. They can even be dangerous. This is not a fair world and you don't always get to hurt the deserving and get your honest kicks. It is a bad world, but in the afterlife. All those you failed to make bow to your abuse will be in hell. And you shall be their punisher.

The end

After some vague apocalypse

• 1

It's not clear what happened. I was asleep at the time. Maybe we all were. There is no federal government, most towns and cities have no government to speak of. Society has broken and no one holds the big picture to fix it with. This is all disturbing and shocking enough. But why doesn't anyone I meet have a clue about the details of what happened. Even the time that society fell is some foggy muddled memory. More like a collection of uneasy feelings then memories. A strong feeling that below the surface hard cruel details lurk behind a veil of confusion and numbed reaction. The deepest part of my back brain is clogged with the unsettling feeling that we are all dead and that this is a strange and somewhat disappointing afterlife.

It didn't take long for electricity to go out. For TV and radio transmissions to stop. The internet on my phone lasted a couple weeks after everything else went but it has stopped too. I remember a few weeks of panic and confusion. Not having hardly anything to eat and the roads getting broken from the earthquakes that rumbled the heart land in pattern like waves. Finally while I was out walking for entertainment a quake opened up a sinkhole that ate my home. It was a hovel anyway but I hated to see it go. Along with the meagerness of the everything I owned. I didn't know hardly anyone at this point and my job had closed it's doors a couple of weeks ago.

My first temporary home was a big hay barn that is never used for anything anymore and in bad condition. It is on a farm where the descendants of the dead farmer are tied up wasting away estate credits in court. Cold and drafty with gaping sections missing from the roof. Coyotes howling at night waking me with the mad moon full in they star sprinkled sky. The moon like a bloated nut sack desperate to unleash its load onto the sexy black felt of the sky.

I stayed a couple cold miserable nights there in that barn. There was an old pump for water that still worked so I had all the water I wanted. I even washed my face and hands. Such luxury. Already having a home seemed like an old memory. But I was hungry and I scavenged all over the abandoned farm. Going through a couple broke down cars I found a dollar thirty-seven. Enough for one of those skinny burritos at the Trip Quick. So off I started the nearly hour and a half long walk to get one. The road there is dangerous. Cars always driving fast and they will fucking hit you on purpose if there is no one else on the road to witness it. The cops are harsh. So it's a risky journey. I encounter no one on the dirt roads that lead to the paved one to the convenience store. About fifty minutes walking to go. The ditches along this road are mostly deep holes. A straight six-foot drop. Steep enough so it would be hard to climb out. There is a narrow concrete border. You can walk along it fine but running or jogging would be risky. The pit is full of rain water and trash. I see a stuffed dog floating in the filth. I see items like high school text books and single shoes in the pit along the walk. A huge black semi-trailer hauling who knows what barrels past me honking angrily. The wind thrust has me weaving trying not to fall into pit or against the side of the fast moving truck. It takes everything I got not to fall. I lose my balance and fall onto the road as the truck hurries off still honking that deafening protest. It's a long walk. Other cars flash by. None of them slow down but at a few don't roll down the windows to call me a faggot or honk the horn in staccato outbursts.

• 2

I arrive at the store. There is a bench in front for folks to buy a drink and or a snack and sit and socialize. I sit and rest for a few minutes. Only a couple cars parked here. A guy pulls in for some gas re up as I enter the store and buy that burrito. Tastes like liquidy cardboard. It don't fill me up but it takes the edge off my gnawing hunger at least. I eat it on the bench. Some of it drips onto my shirt. It cannot be avoided this burrito is almost liquid. Nothing much to do so I wait on the bench. Probably only a matter of time before I need to squirt that bogus meal out the other side. Yes, it took seventeen minutes. That taken care of I chatted with the cashier, a lumpy middle aged lady with flowers and hammers tattooed all up and down her arms. She thought she knew me. Maybe she did. At my age I have met so many people. But by now there seems to be about sixty types that I associate with others like them I have met in the past. It's starting to rain outside. The sky dims a notch. The conversation so far as been about industrial bands they have seen in concert. They both saw Nine Inch Nails and Skinny Puppy. Also, they talked about the strange weather. The reddish hued tumbleweeds that blew on windy days. But where do they come from? Even in the cities, these red tumbleweeds collect after a storm. She takes an unfriendly turn when the sky starts to darken. "We close when it gets dark, it's our policy. Looks like it will get dark an hour and a half early today". I took the hint and I left with a lame wave.

• 3

There was no way I was going back on the fucking road I walked up to get here. I still had a little bit of field and the length of my shelter belt on the farm. Maybe I would return there. While walking I found a snicker's bar, unopened beside the road. I unwrapped it and dug into its dark hearty taste. That made the walk worth it. Hell, I decided to walk back to what was home. Who knows maybe I will find another candy bar or something along the way. A small length of empty houses start the walk off. I stopped at one of them. Maybe I should stay here. No one seems to be living here anymore. Maybe there is food in here. Yeah, I decided I might as well check a house or two out. I have nowhere else to go and it seems the local population has dwindled a lot. I don't even know why. The first house on the left is one of the original farms from the town. It takes up any eight yards of the other property around here. A faded peeling greenhouse. Poor upkeep, I'm sure an old lady or couple live/lived here. I walk up to the porch steps and go to the door. It is hanging ajar. "Hello!", I call out as I enter. The fine wooden living room floor has a nasty dried up rope of shit some kind soul has left here to show his love for the human race. However did it must have been moving while shitting to get it spread out like that. Seriously nasty although dried and almost scentless. All sorts of vandalism evident past the fecal statement. So I decided to check out the next house, maybe the vandals ran out of vomit, piss and shit.

The first thing I noticed was that this old house had an the entrance to a root cellar on the side on the house. My mind filled up with visions of canned green beans and jams and peaches and what not. I can smell the rotten preserves going down the steps. The door busted and left open. Endless mason jars smashed against racks walls and the floor. So much food gone to waste when it's needed the most! What fucking pricks. I searched through the basement and cut my hand twice, but I found three unbroken jars of grape jelly! I opened a jar and stuck a finger in for a taste! Delicious! A rare treasure sure to be much more rare now things have gone to hell. I then went inside the house. The front door was smashed open like the cellar door. In easy chairs an old couple's bodies sprawled. heads broken open by a hammer or something. Dried blood on their clothes. Maggots crawling in the holes punched into their skulls. I ran out of the house and I vomited out the precious burrito onto the lawn. Fuck this world I kept chanting.

• 4

Just out of town in the dirt roads country is an overpass. I had been there before drinking beer and wandering around playing "dodge cop", by being up past curfew and drinking beer but avoiding the law who wandered the small town in repeating circuits. We would hide the beers under this overpass because it had a strange niche on each side deep enough to put a sleeping bag on. That's when I had the idea it would be interesting but noisy to live under there. Well, I have had enough of the horrors of town. It's just a five-minute walk from the last house and I may as well check it out. Maybe I can gather supplies and stay here until the world makes sense again. I start up the slope of concrete leading to the wide niche when an angry voice suddenly screams at me. It's amplified by the acoustics of this concrete enclosure. I am shocked by this and I nearly fall over backwards to roll down the slope. It's some young Man, maybe he's 22. He has bushy red hair and a green shirt with some new band on it. "Get out of here you bastard! This is mine, find you own place. You fucker you fucker! Leave now you fucking bastard! How fucking dare you how dare you", The guy is like an angry chirping bird. I first tried to apologize and explain but my calm voice was drowned in his desperate and angry barks. I just flipped him the bird and I started walking farther up the dirt road, kicking at cans and bottles. His voice followed me. I turned around to see he was behind me at a safe distance still screaming and waving his arms in a fit of rage. I just turn around and I keep walking. A little faster now. Still the little bastard follows and goes off. I flip him off while still walking. Twenty fucking minutes later and still the little bitch is following and cussing me out. I turn and yell "Chill the fuck out you little fucking bitch. I'm over a mile from your precious home and not coming back. Shut the fuck up already!". I face the kid who stand with his arms folded across his puffed out chest. He stares silent and hard till I'm done. Then instantly he starts up his angry barking again. He stands there just screaming. I try to stay cool, I think maybe he will tire himself out. But he shows no signs of wearing out or calming down. I have SO wronged him and he is going to have his word. never mind he has been barking for over forty minutes now. I walk some more with him following. Every time I stop and turn around he stops. If I walk towards him he backs up. This pattern repeats a few times then I suddenly charge him at full speed. He is taken by surprise. He tries to run away but I tackle him and start punching him in the face and neck hard as I can over and over again. Sometimes I yell "Shut the fuck up!", Between punches. He covers up as best he can. Dude is screaming like a girl and crying and flailing arms and legs in random patterns. If get up and start walking away. That was ugly but at least I will be left in peace now. Not so, I had been walking about three minutes when I heard the trembling squeaks behind me. They got louder and louder into high-pitched staccatos of rage. Will this asshole never let up? I start looking for good sized rocks. Around here half the size of a clenched fist is as large as they come. I get five nice ones and stop and turn around. The young bastard appears to be out of breath from all that screaming but he is far from done. He stops and points a shaking finger at me. He has a half swollen shut eye and a bloody nose that has painted his shirt. I pitch a rock and miss. Another and another and miss. He does not even flinch he just keeps on yelling his sermon about what an asshole I am. This time I clip him right in the mouth. He jerks back and holds his face. I throw the last rock and it bounces off his ear. He screams in pain. I turn around and walk still looking for rocks. I find a big fist-sized jagged piece of metal some redneck truck. As I expected it didn't take long for him to be back cussing me out from behind. I feel like I am suffocating from all this accusation and my ears are raw from his screams. I turn and run at him. The little bastard is faster, he is able to keep a safe enough distance. But when I stop running to catch my breath, he is breathing too hard to yell at me. I mean to really fuck him up now. It's fucking on, I just need to recover from that run. The chill winter wind drags across the sweat on my forehead. I still have that big nasty hunk of metal in my hand. I hurl it with all I got and it catches him on brow with a hollow sounding Clunk! He is staggering, stunned on his feet. Before he can recover I run forwards and hit him in the face. He falls to the dirt road with a shocked cry. I kick him in the left ear as hard as I can and I jump up and stomp his balls with both feet as he covers his face. I find that hunk of metal and I grab and slam it into his face over and over again. Blood is on it and on my sleeve. Still I howl "Shut fuck up!", and hit and hit. I think he is dead when I walk away. He is still and silent and this is all that matters to me now.

• 5

I find myself walking faster and faster away from that bloody scene. I just pushed the body into the ditch with my foot and I started walking away. No traffic. No one saw the encounter and I walked two miles, taking a right turn at the first intersection. I couldn't think straight. I had no plan, every thought seemed interrupted midway by another. I keep on thinking, I'm dead everybody is already dead. This is the after-life. And I just keeping walking. I shall walk forever and never stay anywhere for long. So be it.

Dusk tastes best toasted

Save it for the dank bus. I have bacon wrapped toes I ain't going nowhere unless you give me no-doze. Go low across my greasy soul. Biscuit sop up the duck broth. I lost a lot and I owe what I've got and tomorrow and nothing loser's row. Living under a cot and eating grubs shattered in salt. Another cold day sucking exhaust from the air through a thick rug to seep out the water vapors. I think it's going to snow. A brown-yellow snow from cancerous clouds that trickle from below. Shame upon this early dawn shame upon the meats you stash morsels you stash between your toes. The very air smells like a week dead puppy floating in a tub on vomit in a metal shed on a hot rainy day. Makes you want to flap your arms til they come off. Stiff necks pop in unison turning to scowl at me. I see scowling skulls meager mice beads in a tomb of need. I see the bloated empathy.

Unfurl this bitch banner. Wet or dry rasp of coughs the percussion of the workplace. The birds on the branches of the cold bare trees stare at me, their eyes bright jewels so pretty. We cannot stain the stars but we would do it it profit ensued. Tufts of human hair blowing across the field. Rattle of empty cans like dice rolled by the wind. Skitter across the asphalt, a parking lot symphony. They learned how to shoot ads into the sky. I have not seen a cloud for a couple birthdays. Drones above us with loud-speakers give us our leader's words of the day. They follow us we are tagged.

Last rattle of the meadow. All the asphalt is in place. Buried protesters lay below with agonized dead faces. We pulse off into space looking for a place that still has trees. Flight becomes a fire work in the polluted rip field of space junk. It makes a warm fine site for the children that night. Looking up to recite the prayers leveled from earliest speech ignite the social bite. All is well sleep now, the muscles stay rigid. Fight or flight. Frisking for dinner among our meager stock. We tried to nail it down but they stole the clock. We used to tremble and shake, writhe to the sound of clacking wooden beaks. Nude festivals pop up spontaneous in the streets. The new utopia was short and left us jealous of our memories.

Newtopia, I laughed and ran naked fields of bright flowers. I could suck tiny bright flavors from the liquid crystals of the bulbs. Those days are gone. I wear a road kill coat now. It doesn't stink much in the winter. I sewed all these heads together. Ugly snarling car murdered faces accuse you at every angle. I steal a hot dog off your grill when you go inside to re up on the cheap beer fill. Back yards are routes I take. I steal toys to sell cheap or trade for cake. Summon back the fiber witch to the cork of the grim son's king.

Roaming bands of jaded underage clams, a roar in the sky from a future event. Tongues are tagged to log what treats you eat. The water is tracked. Each drop a microphone. Ketchup of solid sound glitters red on my all meat hot dog. Even the bun from protein and fats is spun. Now let's take a walk across a field of chalk.

Caravans of looters and scavengers stripped the houses down to just the walls. The mirrors and metals hauled away. Furniture packed into trucks and away away. Even a short time away from your home is a risk that you will return home to bare emptiness. Happens to the best of us and none of us are the best of us anymore.

Every pitch fork tells a story donut. I regret I have but one strife to live for my country. The scum will come out, tomorrow. Bet your bottom belly there will be sand. Just freaking about tomorrow melts that meaty sorrow in my hand.

Gone below the snowload and I glow now. Bright eye rings sparkle in logs red glare. I am painting Bison on the walls of my home. I am having dreams about the deep future past. I shall rise again in a full robe of woven tacos. I shall rule over the shelter belts and sand hills of our land. I shall spite high on cheddar mountain. All will smear of me as I ride along the spidergod's web. I am here to stay. Til like vapor I react with a hiss to the rain. Two burdens defected, my pillow plays in the meadow. Stilted legs raise me above the pegs.

In this twisted world

I shall attach my spray-on grin the next time I step out. Look the other way my flashy painted on teeth command. I am friendly I will get in your way they say. And everyone dodges off to obscure pockets. Time to get the groceries and whistle the national anthem back-wards. Time to nap in the parking lot with the back seat full of potato chips. Submerge this urge with a bucket of chive dip. Send croutons to the moon. The break of day makes me bank processed hay. The night of sore binges. Beyond the laughing map. Beyond the lack of cuffs. The birds that peck holes in the roof to nest. The people who put up tents in your backyard to live in. They didn't ask. The mole races. The unified handstand interrupted by domestic terrorism. The shampoo you lather twice then set on fire. The return of spent suds. The bubbles that re-inflate. Popped balloons crawl off under dark furniture caves to heal.

Gods of carved wood. Rubbed with scented oils. Poured over with blood. Nights of musical rain. Dreams along the edge of the minds curled map. Unrest among the dullish Americans. A march against the creative explodes into a bloody riot. If all the artists are found and killed will this bleed it out of our DNA? The purple baton does not play but slowly clinks the blue tooth stick, he smiles as the puppets stalk up behind you with sharpened bricks. Paths to lanes of crushed sea shells. Ladders to orchards of venomous pairs. Stone idols rise from underground still green from petrified moss.

Bring me the tongues of ten young puppies. Cast me in a tight wooden keg into the sea. Salt infiltrates my bone marrow. A forest of yawns. Punch in punch out and doubt the lines the form the plan. Never a simple wind again. Giggled masses hang from rafters forever after. Wiggle into this meat grinder me want a little taste of you. The nubile pants aftermath. The shower of frosted puddings. Robes rise like worms from the shops floor. Wrestle with a meat cloud. I am dressed in a smoke shroud and butter heart, a bitter cap.