Monthly Archives: August 2012

A Sympathetic Burden

It was 2pm when she came home in her shitty ride. (He bought himself a white BMW because he was like that.) She didn’t pull into the driveway because her child was playing basketball there. So she parked along the street and got out. Her child noticed: she was still wearing her bathrobe, looked ghastly, and had oatmeal in her hair. She gave her child a mild hug as mothers do when they are distraught but trying to hide it and went inside.

The guy who drove the white BMW threw a pot of oatmeal at her because she refused to go to Catholic mass given that it was the second Sunday of the month, which meant that it was Protestant church week per their agreement. But the guy who drove the white BMW didn’t want to go. So he threw a pot of oatmeal at her. A very reasonable thing to do. She ignored his obscenities and threats and went to IHOP. Her child had stayed the night at a friend’s house.

Her child began to play the lottery when he was of age. He knew there were people who could fix problems like this for lots of green.


Amidst Artfully Scattered Leaves

K found a doll’s head out in the dirt when he was gardening one day and it turned out that this doll’s head could talk and so K and it began a conversation and then K fell in love with the doll’s head and it with him and then one day he asked it if it would like to take the place of his own head because, like, he just loved it that much and although the doll’s head was apprehensive it agreed to take the place of K’s head and so K got a big sharp knife and severed his head to make room for the doll’s head but  then and unfortunately for K the doll’s head changed its mind and left K and so K died because he had cut off his head and that’s just too bad.


Events Like This

The very last conversation they had went like this probably:

K: Why are you being mean to me?

Her: I’m not being mean. I’m trying to be indifferent.

K: Trying to be indifferent? Seems like a contradiction to me.

Her: [Slams door.]

The next morning, K zipped his suitcase, folded the linens, and left. He made sure to wake before dawn so she wouldn’t hear. But he knew she was awake and listening from inside the guest bedroom, where she had taken to ensconcing herself everyday since all the bad stuff happened.

By now she had monsterized K to her friends. He could do the same, you know? But who would he tell? And who would care? And wasn’t there some kind of implicit confidentiality pact, besides?

As a final menacing gesture to prove a point that was mediocre at best, K nicked her brand new Clearasil before he left. Later, he will smother his cat o’ nine tails in it before flogging himself.

Much later he will hear–through the usual outlets–that the man she met on the internet two days after they broke up kidnapped her and demanded a handsome ransom.

K will try to be indifferent.