The Memorial Day Incident

                “Just a little bit further Jason we need to get a good spot for your first parade.” The woman pulls her son through the crowd. The child looks scared and continues to mumble louder and louder after each person he brushes past. “What are you saying Jason?” The mother stops to hear her son in the large crowd. “I raped that little girl and it burns in my mind. I wonder if she even remembers, but she was so drunk she probably doesn’t,” the little boy says. “What are you talking about Jason?” the mother shrieks in horror. “I don’t like the crowd mom can we go back to the car?” “What were you saying before Jason?” “I didn’t say anything before mommy,” the boy says confused. The woman crouches down to be face to face with her son, “Yes you did and you should never repeat whatever it is you just said. You are much too young to be using those words or to even know them.” “What words? Are you mad at me?” The woman stands up and takes her child into her arms, “Never mind, I’m not mad at you sweetie.”  “Can we go back to the car?” the child asks once again. The woman puts him back on the ground. “Yes we can go back to the car,” she says disappointed. “We just have to go back through the crowd. Can you do that?” The little boy nods his head yes and she takes his hand once again. They start to make their way through the crowd and almost immediately he begins to mumble again as he slips by people in the crowd. This time however it is a different woman that hears him not his mother. “What did he just say?” the stranger asks his mother. “Sorry?” she asks the stranger. “What did your son just say to me?” Confused Jason’s mother tells the woman, “Nothing he doesn’t know what he is saying. The crowd is making him very nervous and scarred.” “That’s no excuses for lying about my father like that,” the stranger says in anger. “What?” Jason’s mother asks. “Your little bastard kid just said my dad like to touch me in my sleep and that I liked it. Which is bull shit lady my dad’s a fucking saint.” The crowd around them grows slowly quite to hear what they are saying. “Why is she yelling mom?” “Because she is confused,” his mother says while taking his hand again. “Fuck that I’m not confused your son is just a sick freak.” “Like I said he is scarred and nervous because of the crowd. He doesn’t know what he is saying and you are just making it worse for him.” “I’m making it worse?” the lady says while throwing up her arms. “I’ll show him what worse really is.” The stranger eyes the child as someone steps up to them. “Excuses me is there a problem here?” a uniformed police officer asks the two ladies. “Yes there is her fucking bastard child is making up stuff about my father and me.” “Ma’am the language is not appropriate. He is just a child he probably just doesn’t know what he said.”

The cop kneels down to be at Jason’s level. He places his hand on the child’s shoulder, “Why don’t you just say you’re sorry, and you and your lovely mother can enjoy the rest of the parade.” “I shot him because he was black. I knew he didn’t have a weapon, but I shot him anyways. What’s the world with one less black man? A better place,” Jason says to the cops face. The cop turns a lighter shade of pale, “Excuse me?” “Oh my god Jason I can’t believe you just said that. That is enough,” his mother says while picking him up. “I’m so sorry,” the mother tries to explain to the cop. The police officer ignores her. “That never happened. He had a gun so I shot him,” he says to himself. The crowd grows even quieter as the cop backs away from the mother and child. “Told you the kid was a freak,” the stranger says. “Shut up,” the officer says to the woman. The crowd murmurs while staring at the cop. “So what if he was black?” the cop asks while looking around at the people around him. “A criminal is a criminal and I did what I had to do to protect myself,” the cop mumbles to himself. “Mom I want to go home I’m scared.” Jason puts his head in the crook of his mother’s neck. He buries his head as deep as she begins to speak, “I’m just going to take my son home if that is okay with you officer. He didn’t mean what he said and doesn’t even know what he is saying.” The cop doesn’t look up as he speaks, “That is probably for the best ma’am.”

The mother turns to walk through the crowd once again. Two people in front of the crowd move right out of the way making sure to not touch the child as they pass by. “That’s it,” the stranger shouts before throwing her arms down and walking away. As his mother tries to go around a rather large man Jason’s dangling foot lightly touches the man’s arm. “I buried them under my house. The smell is starting to get to me but in a way I like it,” Jason says. The man has a face of shock as he tries to move away without anyone noticing. Jason mother stops dead in her tracks as someone from the crowd shouts, “Someone get that man.” “Why I’ve done nothing the wrong here,” the man says while trying to push through the crowd that will not move. “Just because a child says something that makes it true?” the man asks the crowd. Jason’s mother sets her son back on the ground, “What did you do?” “I didn’t do anything,” the man says nervously. “This is Officer Johnson, I need back up on the intersection of Fifth and Jackson,” the officer says into his communicator. “Backup?” the man questions out loud. “There’s no need for backup I didn’t do anything.” The officer pulls his gun from its holster, “Please put your hands behind your head.” “Hey, watch it there trigger finger I didn’t do anything.” “Then you won’t mind putting your hands behind your head? I won’t ask again.” “Okay so some crazy fucking kid says something and we’re all going to believe him?” The crowd is still silent as the people behind the man slowly move away. “My son is not crazy. I don’t know what is wrong with him, but he is not crazy.” The man grabs her throat and begins to choke her. “Your son is crazy,” the man grips tighter on her throat, “Fucking say it.” The man pulls her in front of his body as the officer fires two rounds. The two shots hit her right in the chest. The man releases his grip on the woman’s throat as she falls to her knees. Jason’s mother coughs up blood as the officer also goes down to his knees.

The crowd begins to cry out and run in all directions, “Nice job officer dip shit. I guess we will just have to add another innocent death to your list.” Jason has not moved from his spot as he stands there stunned. The large stranger walks up to Jason and grabs him by the shoulders as he raises him high into the air. “Why did you do this you little brat?” the man screams as he shakes the child. Jason begins to cry out a mixture of mumbles and tears. “I sliced her open like she was a deer or some other wild animal.” “Shut up,” the man says as he shakes the child harder. “Put the kid down,” the officer tries to say but the words just fall to the ground. “Another, I fucked her while she bleed out all over my garage floor,” Jason begins to laugh but it is not the laughter of a child. “Shut the fuck up,” the man says as he wraps his powerful hands around Jason’s throat. The man squeezes as hard as he can as Jason fights to say something, “I prefer to asphyxiate my victims and I save it for the special ones.” Too weak to move Jason hangs there as the man begins to shake him once again, “I said shut up.” “Put the kid down,” the officer tries again. The officer rises to his feet, “What’s another dead piece of shit?” The cop fires all of the remaining bullets, but one into the man’s body. The cop takes the burning hot barrel and places it into his mouth blowing out the back of his head. Back up finally arrives on the scene to find all the dead people on the ground.

True fucking story I tell the people across from me. A few of them are my friends and a few of them aren’t.  They even have a name for what happened even though most of the people back home like to pretend it never happened. “What’s it called I’ll Google it right now?” a naïve girl asks from across the fire. “You won’t get any signal out here. We are in the middle of nowhere,” another girl says. “Okay whatever I’ll write it down and look it up later what was it called?” As dramatically as I can be I tell them what it was called. It is called the Memorial Day Incident. “What kind of fucking name for something is that? That stories such bull shit,” the girl says. “No it really happened,” a friend of mine says. “Okay then what happened to Jason?” I start to say something, before being cut off. “I want him to tell me,” she demands. “What happened to Jason? That’s what you want to know?” my friend asks. The girl nods her head, “Yeah what happened to Jason?” “Jason died that’s what happened to him. The large man shook him so hard that his neck snapped,” the friend explains as he looks over at me. “I still think it is all bull shit, but whatever. Who else has an actual scary story to tell?”

More short stories and stories like this can be found in Drinking Bleach… my book of short stories… now available on Amazon… check out some more cool stuff on Threadless… and tell me how much I suck over on Twitter… I feel so dirty… but my doctors tell me I have to eat… and to pay their bills… bunch of quacks if you ask me…

Why Can We Not Sleep Forever?…

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Funny story… I spent the whole day collecting enough to get weird with… my friend thought it would be a good idea to run it through the wrapping machine… her heart was in the right place… by the time she hit the emergency stop… it looked like a massacre went down in the cutting room… it was a little surreal… what if a machine could bleed?… that was a fun day… you can purchase this design and a few others here at Threadless… 

 

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Drinking Bleach Preview (Vulgar)

The Trial

I’m feeling dangerous as the Judge call me to the witness stand despite the fact that I can’t even wipe my own ass if I wanted to. The law has me tied down. Got me on a leash, but they’re still scared. They don’t understand my madness. They don’t understand what makes me tick. That’s why I am here. So they can get some insight into what I am. Pussies. If they really wanted to know what I am they wouldn’t have me locked down like this. My lawyer says that if they question me on the stand at least I can get off with an insanity plea, but I’m not crazy. I’m the sanest mother fucker in the room.

As the bailiff walks me to the witness stand I get a smell of the perfume from one of the ladies in the jury. It smells of lilies and it smells so sweet I forget just what I am if only for a minute. Takes me back to when I was young. Takes me back to where I wish I could forget, but what’s done is done. I can feel my anger come back to me. I try to pull apart my chains, but it’s no use. I can’t tell which one of them is wearing it, but it doesn’t matter anyway. I’m locked down to god damn tight to do anything about it. Is there no human decency left in the world? When they sit me down in the chair I can see the crowd of people that was once behind me. A woman in a pink dress amongst the sea of black stares at me from the crowd, and she doesn’t look happy to be here. My lawyer said that some of the victim’s families would defiantly be here, but don’t let it get to me. I pucker my lips and give her a “kiss,” as I try to remember which one of my victims she reminds me of. I remember each one of the faces of the woman I have taken. The court is charging me with thirteen counts of murders, but I don’t have the heart to tell them it’s more like thirty. If they can’t find the bodies what concern is it of mine? Something about the woman in pink seems so familiar to me. It is her eyes. Yes, her eyes are the same as Heather’s eyes. They have the same look that Heather gave me as I strangled her to her last breath. God the fun her and I had after that. I have to assume that she is Heather’s sister or I’m sorry victim number six’s sister, but looks can be deceiving. There is no deceiving how Heather looks, however, not after I finished pounding that shovel in her face. No, no more pretty eyes for Heather. I can’t remember what I did with that shovel. Hopefully, I put it back in the shed. It was a really nice shovel I would really hate for it to get damaged. I wonder if they have found all of Heather anyways. They must have found enough of her or why else would the lady in the pink dress be here.

The lady in the pink’s dress is not the only woman with her eyes on me right now. What can I say the ladies love me and I’d hate to disappoint them all, but I’m a little too much to handle. The prosecutor is burning holes into the back of my head. I give her what she wants and give her a little smile to let her know I see her staring me down. She wears her emotions on her sleeve. My smile does nothing more, but piss her off which is all that I wanted. The things I could do to this woman would probably just get me thrown right back in this chair, but I’ll settle with just fucking with her mind for now. She’s not to bad looking either except for the butch haircut she is nearly perfect. If she grew her hair out she’d be easily fuckable with a knife. I can feel my dick getting harder just thinking about making her scream.

The jury looks hung or maybe that’s just how I want to see them swaying from side to side like twelve balls bouncing off one another. The judge breaks up my image of the jury swaying by demanding I put my hand on the bible. I tell the judge I’d rather not. The bible doesn’t do anything for me I say. I politely suggest if he wants me to swear on a book then he should bring me a copy of Everything Shits, as it is more relevant of a book than the bible. The crowd in the stands begins to sigh and talks like the sheep in the flock that they are. I’m the devil they whisper as if I can’t hear them. Wonder how many of them would put their hands on a book that used to be slammed across their face? The Bible reminds me of blood, the Bible reminds me that I have done something wrong, the Bible reminds me of God, and how there is no God. The Judge pounds his little hammer smacking the wood several times before ordering everyone to be quite in his deep voice between the horrible smashing. I ask him to please stop doing that. He tells me he will do as he pleases in his courtroom. A simple apology would have been sufficient, but no he has to be like every other asshole in the room. He asks me in a rude tone to put my hand on the bible so we can move on already. My lawyer reminds the judge that if I don’t want to swear on the bible it is my choice to do so or not. The prosecution adds another emotion to her sleeve, annoyance, before demanding we move on already. I am really beginning to enjoy myself up here in this chair. I feel so powerful as the prosecutor begins her questioning.

She asks me a general question to test my sanity. She asks why I am here in court today. Well she asks, “Why are you here in court today?” But is it not the same question? I explain to her that I was simply out at the local supermarket picking up some milk and accidentally wandered in here. She smiles in that way a woman smiles when she is very angry. In her defense she held back her anger quite nicely, but the armor is coming down. We all know why the accused is here Mrs. Nole please move on. The judge finally made a good point. “Since we all know why you are here Mr. Walters do you mind discussing any of the crimes you are being charged with today?” “No, not at all ask away.” “What happened to victim number six, Heather Woods?” “Going to have to refresh my memory, which one is that again?” “Heather is the young woman who went missing on December 30th three years ago. You claimed that you remember her and picked her out of a group of photo of missing people. Did you not do this Mr. Walters?” “Oh yes Heather, blonde hair?” The attorney nods at me. “Yes Heather was quite special to me. I let her live for a while before I dismantled every single part of her. I heard they still haven’t found all the pieces. Is that true?” “Sadly yes, but we found enough of her to link you to her missing persons case.” “Aww that’s too bad, but then again I imagined they never would find all of her. It’s quite impossible actually.” “Where is the rest of her?” “Hard to say it’s been three years now and medically speaking she is pretty much gone. Say why is she so important anyway? I mean I dismembered and raped and tortured a lot more than just one girl.” “He has a point counselor, but I have yet to hear yours.” “I have a point your honor. My point is why did you do all of this?” “That is your point? Really? There must be better things to ask me than why. I’m missing fucking shows here.” The judge slams his hammer down once again. “You will not use that type of language in my courtroom.” He is really starting to piss me off. I’m trying not to show my anger, but it is getting harder to keep my cool. “You liked to be in control don’t you Mr. Walters?” “What do you mean by that? Don’t we all like to be in control?” “What I mean is that you like to be in control and when you are not you act violently.” My lawyer stand up, “your honor what does that have to do anything? Mrs. Nole hasn’t asked a single question about this case. My client has already admitted to killing these women, what more can she really want from my client?” “I want to hear the truth. I want to know that Mr. Walters truly know what he did.” “Well that is a first I don’t believe I have ever heard of the prosecution trying to get a suspect off for insanity.” “I’m not insane your honor.” The judge slams his hammer. “No one said you were insane Mr. Walters.” My anger is at its peak.

“Stop slamming that fucking thing or so help me I will tear a hole in your throat just to watch you die you piece of shit”, I scream at the top of my lungs. The court goes into a frizzy and the judge slams the hammer yet again. “Order, order in the court what did you say to me, Mr. Walters?” But it is too late for words and despite how well they have me restrained I manage to get out of my chair. I jump as high as my limitations will let me which isn’t very high. The judge is scared out of his mind. He tries to move away from me as I lunge at him with my mouth open. I want to bite his fucking nose off or any part of him I can get my face near. The only part of him I am able to catch with my mouth is his right hand. My teeth grip the side of his hand and I can taste his skin in my mouth. I bit down as hard as I can on his soft flesh. I feel the warm taste of iron flood my mouth as he screams in agony. By this time the guards have gotten a hold of the back of my orange jumpsuit. As they attempt to pull away from the judge’s hand I can feel the soft tissue ripping further. I can hear the judge beginning to scream get this fucking psycho off of me. Get him the fuck off of me now. Just before a bailiff hits me in the face with the back of a shotgun I can feel a large chunk of flesh pull away from the judge’s hand. The hit hurts, but it doesn’t knock me out. I spit out the part of the judge’s hand that is still left in my mouth before telling the bailiff to go fuck his mother for me. The second hit to my face knocks me out cold, but I went out smiling.

Demented… Insane… Perfectly human?… who knows… this is the end of the story arc that runs through out my short story book, Drinking Bleach… Now available on Kindle and Amazon… Don’t forget to leave a messed up review… every little bit helps… Also check out my Threadless shop if you are looking for something new to wear… Storming the beaches of my mind for more to say… Got a playlist up on Spotify… Lemonade and Glass… check it out…

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And Other Things From This Time Preview

Anything at All

If I was to do it
I’m sure that I’d fuck it up somehow
It’s not in the method but the effort
At which we fail
I couldn’t do it so I sat staring
At the windows with the little bits
Little drops of water
They won’t go anywhere but disappear
Not the same but just like me
I know this must seem like a call
But in the end, I’m telling you it isn’t
I tried to write a letter
To explain just where my head is at
Though to be honest I’m not sure
If it is even attached anymore
Some days it feels as though it has all but vanished
That I am nothing more than an empty shell
And that’s okay but it isn’t
I wish I had better words to express how I feel
Though sadly I do not
Always wanted all the answers to all the questions
But lately, I find that I don’t want anything at all

Before They Hurt

Everything feels isolating
On a grander scale
Between one and a hundred
Between heaven and hell
There exists a place no one knows
From bad to worse
Things become uglier
Before they hurt

Everything feels indifferent
On a daily scale
Between Mondays and Sundays
Between this week and last
There’s not much in between
From day to day
Things never change
Before they hurt

Time ticks by becoming
Worse, becoming better
What is time but a scale
For depression, for life
What is done can’t be undone
Life on a scale between
Heaven and Hell
Before they hurt they will finally know

Two more from my poetry collection, And Other Things From This Time… Now available on Kindle and Amazon… Free on Kindle Unlimited…. I have wears available on Threadless as well… Things are coming together… Slowly, but more and more is happening… Don’t forget to leave a review… even a this is writing?… helps… Thank you for stopping by…

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And Other Things From This Time Preview

New America

Woke up with little to say
Now should be the time to strike
At a loss for how I feel
The words circle my mind without a thought
Miss guided, maybe
Lost as always
A constant need to say everything I am thinking
When will I ever shut up
My mind is always repeating
Coming up with more and more
Some of it worth saying, most of it the same shit as before
A bent helix and nothing more
Page turner is hard to come by
Wouldn’t understand unless you are already at my level
Zero sleep, pumping caffeine directly into my vein
Could OD and feel the same
An absolute with absolutely nothing at all
Foreign ideas lost in familiar land
Said we are the same but I have no idea who these people are
Learned to live so far away from here
They said it was the same and they couldn’t be more wrong
America failed itself over and over
Each generation a lost nation soaked in blood
A dirty mind lost in thought

All Fucked Up

I’d like it better if you told me
What I already had to lose
I’d like it better if you lied to me
As you already do
I can’t stand this feeling
Of having nothing left to lose
I can’t stand this idea
That I never meant anything to you

My brain is a screaming child
Always hungry never full
Begging and pleading until there’s nothing
Left to lose
It’s on pins and needles
Forks and knives
If I could stop believing I know this
Feeling won’t subside
I started, reasons sound stupid
I’m giving up, for no real reason at all
I’ve hated you, since the moment I found out
It only takes a second to go from
Stable to get the fuck out
I don’t want to go but I’m too weak to
Know for sure, what it is I will do

Two more from my poetry collection, And Other Things From This Time… Now available on Kindle and Amazon… Free on Kindle Unlimited…. I have wears available on Threadless as well… Things are coming together… Slowly, but more and more is happening… Don’t forget to leave a review… even a you should stop helps… Thank you for stopping by…

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A Lie Preview

Classes Start

It’s ten a.m. and I’m nearly a hundred percent certain that I am in the wrong class room, but I have no plans of leaving. The teacher, a young woman who is probably a few years older than me with rather large breasts, passes out the syllabus to the class. A two to three page document detailing everything we are supposed to go over in the course of the semester. Fucking gag me, the syllabus is more or less an excuse to mow down a few more acres of trees in South America. Considering our teachers will flood our emails with the same shit anyway. I’m sitting in the far corner of the room, far away from everyone else. The teacher goes into a speech about showing up late, her breasts bouncing with each word. Is she even wearing a bra? I find myself more entertained with her bust line than trying to figure out where I even am. Her words bleed together and I can’t tell if it is me or her who is not making sense of the words. It takes a moment but I finally look down at the syllabus to figure where I am. The paper says that I am in public speaking and I can start to feel the blood drain from my face. Things only get worse when I start to realize that each student is standing up and telling everyone in the class their name and a little bit about themselves and why they are in college. Most of the students here are going for degrees in criminal justice or something as stupid as that. I can feel my heart rate go up and I begin to wonder if anyone else can hear the pounding of my heart like I can. It sounds like an Edgar Allen Poe story in here. Am I fucking dying or am I losing my mind? I hate speaking in front of a single person and speaking in front of all thirty people in the class is making me feel like I am having a heart attack. I can feel the sweat bead up at the top of my head and drip down my face. I was not prepared for this nor would I ever sign up for this. I calm my shaking hand long enough to grab my backpack and slowly make my way to the exit in a near crawl. How this isn’t any worse than just standing up and saying my name is beyond me. The latest victim stops speaking as the teacher asks me where I am going. I stand up from my crouched position and give her a blank stare before running out of the room. My heart is racing a mile a minute as I wander the halls for what seems like days. Everything feels as though it is in slow motion but I keep trekking on. Wandering the halls isn’t an unusual thing for me. I do it a lot. Despite the fact that I hate this school I just can’t seem to leave. I’m never in class, but I’m never not at the school on school days. As confusing as that sounds I think it is because I feel guilty for not attending classes and it also has to do with the fact that I can’t afford to put more gas in my car. So, I might as well stay here and make the best of it. It doesn’t hurt that my drug dealer takes a lot of classes here as well. He says it helps him expand his mind. “Always got to be smart for the streets man, always.” When really he is just going to the school to expand his business, which has worked out pretty well for him in my opinion. It is here in a class for retards that I first met him. The class in question was a basic English course that all students have to take if they didn’t score a certain amount of points on the assessment test to get into this prestigious college. It can’t be over stated that I never wanted to go here so the idea of even trying wasn’t an option when I took the test. I just breezed through the test selecting any answer without reading the question. I was hoping that maybe they would deny me, but nope they accepted me with cash symbols in their eyes since my whole first term wasn’t worth a single credit. I decided today that I will walk around the campus. No use going through another embarrassing first day. The first day doesn’t count anyway. I stop by the bathroom on the first floor before heading outside in the cold. The ground looks much more interesting when I’m high on drugs. The school uses a special kind of salt that is blue-green in color and it does a really good job of clearing off the sidewalks. In the center of campus there is a pond that has long been frozen over. I walk across the wooden bridge that goes across the narrow part of the pond connecting one side of the campus to the other side. In the summer this is where I like to stand, but in the winter the wind comes across the pond and hits me like a cold hard slap to the face. I’m starting to really feel the trip as I walk past the library and head for the main building. I’m making my way to the cafeteria to purchase the overly priced food I really can’t afford and steal one of the overly priced energy drinks. I usually don’t steal things, but I’m not paying three fucking dollars for something I could get for a lot less someplace else. Plus, what’s the worst they could do to me? Kick me out of school? I walk into the cafeteria from the side door of the building. This door is on the opposite side of the student union, a place I try to avoid at all costs. I can’t stand this school and I can’t stand the students that go here even more. Most of them are so pretentious it makes me sick. Half the time I get trapped in some stupid conversation with one of them, and all I want to do is scream, “Look the fuck around.” They all like to live in some fantasy world that they are learning or attending some place that is giving them a higher education and we are not. I get nauseous thinking of the conversations I could get trapped into, but it is probably only the food.  The cafeteria is nearly empty, there must still be classes going on. I walk up to the cooler and pretend to get a drink, but really I just slip one of the energy drinks on the lower shelf into my jacket pocket. No idea what I grabbed but it is that simple, and free and simple is the name of the game. Today’s menu is beef stroganoff prepared by the master chefs the school hires. The smell from the food is close to that of a bowel movement. I never get the prepared meal so I decided on a cheeseburger that I am pretty sure is made of ten percent rubber. This is more of an impulse buy than a decision after the glorified lunch lady asks me if I was going to get anything or just sit there staring at the food. Don’t get me wrong I like being high but it has its negative effects too, such as time and how much of it is not perceived by my mind. After dropping three dollars and fifty cents on a cheese burger even the shittiest fast food place wouldn’t sell, I head back outside and walk to the Art and Science building to eat. Once inside I pound the energy drink down as fast as I can, hoping that the shit tasting cocktail and the drugs will keep me awake long enough to get through the next class. If I decide to even go to that one. My eyes feel like anvils as I eat the only food I will probably have today. A nasty side effect of the drugs is that I don’t eat and in the last couple of months I have lost over twenty pounds. I have always been a little bit heavy set so losing twenty or more pounds really isn’t as drastic as it sounds. Since I can’t afford new clothes no one has really noticed either way, but for once in my life I’m starting to think that I look better than ever. Maybe I will get my own commercial on TV from all the weight I’m losing like that fat fuck did from that restaurant chain or those fat bitches from the eighties. Then again I will probably die and everyone will forget about me. Good lunch, now I’m all set for more drugs. It is best to not have a full stomach or an empty one, this rule stands more tested before bed as the odds of dying in your sleep on your own vomit increase with such activity. I randomly use nearly every bathroom on campus on any given day, I even use the women’s room in the main building once because the men’s was to full. I use the bathroom on the second floor before checking to see what my next class is. Despite my best efforts I am ten minutes late for class, but it is the first day so no one notices. I take my usual place in the back of the room. The teacher, this time a man, passes out the same piece of paper I’m pretty sure I already have detailing what we will be doing in class this semester. It takes me a minute to actually realize that I have in fact seen this paper because I have already taken this class. Maybe it will be easier the second time around, who gives a fuck. I’m starting to feel even more tired now that I know it doesn’t matter.

My drug abuse doesn’t allow me to sleep as often as I would like. My depression and my drugs have very different ideas on the topic, but when I do sleep I dream of many things. I dream that I am a woman in a minivan and I’m emptying a shopping bag onto the passenger seat so I can place it over the head of one of the crying children behind me. I scream things as I hold it there. The words don’t make sense but given the context what would it really matter any way. I dream that I am chasing a school bus in a place that I once lived. The sky is blood red and all I can hear, all I can see is the children laughing before vomiting gallons of blood out the window of the moving bus. The blood washes over me as I run with everything I have. I never reach the bus and it never stops. Wave after wave till finally I give up. I dream of her, touching her, feeling her, fucking her. I roll over after coming and fall off the bed into nothing. I can’t move as I fall and I try to reach for the bed that has long since disappeared in to the darkness. I just keep falling and falling with no end. Farther and farther, and I never stop falling, never stop feeling confused until I wake up. I dream in blood and I dream in liquids. I dream so many things that sometimes it is hard to figure out what has been a dream and what has been reality. I often wake up confused to where I am or if I am even alive anymore. I imagine myself standing in the middle of Times Square with a gun to my head screaming, begging for someone to help, but no one stops to help me. I imagine that I pull the trigger and I can feel the bullet digging into my skull in slow motion so, I can feel every bit of pain as it rips through my head and exits the other side. I snap out of my state and realize that I am now sitting in an empty class room. I wonder if I am awake or am I still dreaming. There is a note that sits in front of me. It is from my teacher, “Maybe next time you can try to make it more than ten minutes before falling asleep.”

I stop by the bathroom one more time before going outside to smoke. I decide to blow the rest of the day off and return to my tomb. I get into my car and I sit there. I can still feel the bullet hole in my head. It is twenty degrees outside, but I don’t turn on the car. I don’t do anything. I just sit there. I sit in my car until I can no longer feel my toes from the cold. I sit there and I feel nothing. I sit here and think of nothing. I take another hit and begin my trip back home.

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People With No Name

“Is there anything I can help you find?” The customer looks over from the entry way of the store at the short stubby clerk standing behind the counter. The customer only came in for one item and has no idea where in this store it could possibly be.
“Yes you can I’m looking for. Oh it’s right there. Right in front of me the whole time.” The customer smiles as she reaches for the simple item on the shelf in front of her.
“Glad we could be of some help,” the clerk smiles. The customer gives off a short laugh as she carries the item to the counter.

“Me too. Does that happen a lot?”
“What do you mean?” The clerk asks the customer.
“Someone asks you where something is and they find it right in front of them?”
“Yes it happens a lot. They say it’s my gift.”
“That’s funny. Who says that?” the customer asks.
“The people with no name.”
“Who?,” the customer asks puzzled.
“The people with no name,” the clerk says calmly.
“Is that other customers?”

“No, I’m sorry I’ve said too much. I didn’t realize you didn’t know, never mind.”
“Know what?” the customer asks taken back.
“I’ve said too much. Are you ready to check out?”
“Where are these people you speak of?”
“If you must know they’re all around us. Can’t you at least feel them?”

The customer shakes her head and starts to become even more confused.
“They control everything and everything controls them. How do you not know about the people with no name?”
“Is there a manager or someone I can talk to?” the customer asks politely.
“Of course there is but why would you need to speak to them?”
“Because I do. In private if that’s okay?”
“Of course, of course just a moment please.” The clerk turns his head and begins to whisper as if someone is there, but there is no one the customer can see.

“The manager will be here in a moment.”
“But you didn’t even page or call anyone.”
“Yes I did,” the clerk says sternly.
“No you didn’t. Can you please page the manager for me?”
“Ma’am I already did and she will be here in just a moment.”
“What the hell is going on here?”

“How may I help you today?” A female voice asks.
The customer turns around to face the woman. “Are you the manager?”
“Yes I am, how may I help you?” She asks again.
“I need to talk to you in private,” the customer says as if to test the manager’s sanity.
“We have a non-believer,” the clerk informs the manager.
“Just because I don’t hear voices that make me a non-believer in something?,” the customer asks irate.
“You don’t hear them?” The manager asks politely.
“Hear what?” The customer demands.
“The people who have no name,” the manager says.
“There are no people here. Have you two lost your minds?”
“Ma’am there is no reason to be rude,” the clerk says.
The manager turns her head and begins to whisper and again no one is there.

“They say you are just not ready.”
“Not ready for what? Are you saying I’m not ready to hear voices in my head?”
“We don’t hear voices in our head ma’am. The voices are all around us. I tried to explain that the people are all around us, but I don’t think she understands.”
“How can she understand anything we are talking about if she does not believe?” The manager asks as if the customer isn’t even there.
“This is all just madness. I am calling someone I hope you know that and I’m never shopping here again.”

The customer throws her item up on the counter and storms out of the store. The manager calmly walks over to the counter and picks up the item, “Some people just aren’t ready yet.”
“I know it saddens me, but maybe one day.”
A hand reaches out from behind the clerk and rests on his shoulder.
“One day they will all believe,” the owner of the hand reveals.