Tag: sick

The Champ

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It is the Fourth Of July.
Thousands of miles from the Coney Island Boardwalk, Hodo blindly crawls on the cracked earth, flies buzzing in and out of his nose.
There is no food.
There is no water.
There is nothing but dirt, flies, and death.
A pack of hyenas catches his scent, and Hodo doesn’t feel them as they tear into his flesh.
Back at Coney Island, the winner of the hot dog eating competition congratulations the runner-up.
They laugh, throw up on each other, and laugh again.
To Hodo, the pool on the ground would have been a banquet.

The strange coffee

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Mary watched the last drop of coffee slide out of her cup and on to the floor.
There was a sizzle, then a whiff of steam. The drop of coffee burned through the tile to the basement.
Mary looked at the coffee pot, swirling it carefully. She’d used a free sample she’d received in the mail.
After a moment of panic, she realized it hadn’t burned a hole through her.
She went into the bathroom and checked to make sure.
After she got dressed again, she shrugged and filled another cup.
This time, she added sugar, igniting a massive explosion.

The Locksmith

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It’s midnight, and I’ve locked myself out of my house.
I take a pen-knife out of my pocket, cut my palms, and rub my hands together while reciting the chant of The Locksmith.
From the shadows, a robed figure emerges, reaching into a large burlap sack.
His pale hand pokes from the sleeve of his robe, a shiny key in its fingers.
The Locksmith nods and unlocks the door.
“Thank you,” I say, reaching for my wallet.
The Locksmith shakes his head, holds my wrist, and his tongue licks my bloody palm.
“Delicious,” it croaks, and returns to the shadows.

Pocket watch

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For his three hundredth birthday, Papa Smurf wanted a pocket watch.
So, the Smurfs stole Gargamel’s pocket watch and brought it to him.
“Not only will this not fit in my pocket, but it still has the inscription from Gargamel’s mother in it,” he grumbled.
As smart as Brainy Smurf was, he couldn’t quite wrap his head around the delicate engineering necessary to make a pocket watch, and he went mad from the attempt.
The potion needed to cure him required five tongues of humans.
The tiny blue creatures armed themselves with scimitars and bags, and headed to the village.

Hockey, My Love

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My first love was ice hockey.
I spent more time on the ice than I did anywhere else.
Especially the shower. I could kill a moose at forty paces with my stench.
I stank on ice. After a while, nobody would play with or against me.
One day, I got dragged into the shower and blasted with the fire hose.
Broke my leg, never quite healed up right.
When I couldn’t skate no more, I went to center ice, chipped a hole with my skate, and put a flower in there.
Then I slashed the throats of those firehose-waving bastards.

The Knife Tossers

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Two men toss a sharp knife back and forth.
They catch it each time.
One man tries to catch it in his teeth, and with a head-spin he comes up smiling, blade in his mouth.
He tosses it to the other man, who leaps and kicks at the knife, catching it in his toes.
This goes on for hours, until one man is lying on the sand, knife buried in his chest.
The other man pulls it out, wipes the blood off on a sleeve, and says “So, what do you think of my suggestion to flip a coin now?”

Jackals and Jokers

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Jackals and jokers line the streets.
Licking their lips as the coffin goes by.
A nice juicy leg would make such a treat.
You bite through the knees while I tug on the feet.
Don’t lock down the lid.
We all want a peek.
No? Not this time?
What if we promise not to suck out the other eye?
We made him. We own him. He is a part of us.
Let us tear him apart. Let us scatter his bones.
When we are done all is left is his suit.
What size did he wear? I take forty-two long.

Sunday Brunch

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I was cleaning the litterbox when I came across a human skull.
I’m pretty sure it’s human, unlike the past three skulls, which turned out to be chimpanzees.
My kitten is asleep on a chair.
Should I have stopped him after finding the first skull?
It was only a chimpanzee, right? Where’s the harm in that?
I haven’t seen any posters about missing chimpanzee skulls. Or, now, human skulls.
I tried to put a camera on the litterbox, but the power cord had been chewed on and pulled out.
The kitten is awake. I smile, and cautiously wiggle a ribbon.

Hangover

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How many shots of tequila did I drink?
Five?
Six?
I can’t remember.
But what I do know is that I feel the worst I’ve ever felt.
I always remember how bad I feel.
So what I will do is wait until I feel better, then I will do five shots of tequila.
When I wake up hung over, I can then compare how bad I feel then to how bad I feel now.
If it’s the same, then I know I had five shots of tequila.
If it’s not, then I know I had six.
Pass me the bottle.

Mr. Fist Around My Throat

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My throat hurts.
It feels like someone clenched a fist around it.
But you can’t see anyone with a fist on my throat.
Maybe it’s my old imaginary friend.
His name was Mr. Fist Around My Throat.
Looking back, he wasn’t much of an imaginary friend. He was more of an imaginary bully. And he beat the crap out of me day and night.
I got even with him, though. I took medicine which stopped my imagining him, and he vanished.
Now he’s back.
Are these the right pills?
I knew I should have drilled a hole in my head.