Tag: sick

Executioner

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When the queen called for my head, I knew I was doomed.
But when she called for my head to be brought to her on a paper plate, well, thatreally bothered me.
“Shouldn’t that be on a silver platter?” I asked.
The executioner shrugged. “Sorry, man. I’m only following orders.”
He took me down to the dungeon, tied my hands behind my back, and knelt me before the chopping block.
“Maybe it has to do with the fact that it’s hard to wash blood off of silver?” I asked.
He didn’t answer. He just raised the axe and swung.

Count To Ten

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She tied me to a chair and broke each of my fingers, one by one.
As she did it, she looked me in the eyes, and her smile got wider and wider with every finger she broke.
She held my hand, my left thumb slipped between her lips and she sucked on it slowly.
“Don’t!” I said.
I felt her teeth against my skin.
“This is going to hurt,” she said. And with my thumb in her teeth, she broke it clean.
Tomorrow, she will sign my casts and leave.
And she’ll wait for the day they come off again.

Predetermined

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You can’t change fate. Everything is predetermined.
From the beginning of time to the end of time, everything has been planned for.
Even the roll of the dice has a set outcome.
Don’t bother trying to escape from your fate.
This doesn’t means you should just sit there and let things happen.
Because the times you make happen, well, those were fated to happen, too.
The fact that everything happens according to a plan means you are completely absolved from the results of your actions.
This is what I’ll be telling the judge about those seventy-eight murders you committed.
Psycho.

Floating

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It rained hard for a day, and the bayou looked like it would overflow, but it didn’t.
We watched tree branches and other junk flow with the water.
Then, a dead body. Jeans, jacket… face down and not moving.
Well, okay. It was moving downstream.
Around the bend, another body floated by.
Two bodies.
Instead of calling the police, we placed bets.
I bet on the first body. It had a good head start.
But the other one was coming up fast.
Mine got caught on a tree branch, and the other won.
Only then, did we call the police.

Hawaii

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I saved up for a year to go to Hawaii.
I kept a calendar, marked every day off until it was time.
First class ticket, champagne and leg room.
They put one of those flower necklaces on me.
Checked into the hotel, and then took a taxi to a party.
First time I ever had poi.
That’s when my throat locked up.
I’m allergic, it turns out.
Spent the whole week in the hospital.
I don’t remember the flight back.
Yeah, being allergic to bees or gluten would suck.
But I can’t help but think this was far, far worse.

Black Cat

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Superstition states that black cats are supposed to be unlucky.
Friday the thirteenth is supposed to be unlucky, too.
So finding a black kitten on Friday The Thirteenth is supposed to be double-unlucky.
I’m watching the little guy run around and scamper everywhere.
Then, he curls up in a ball in my lap and falls asleep.
“How old is he?” a friend asks me, looking around for the kitten.
“Barely fits in a blender,” I reply.
His eyes get wide, and he vomits the energy drink I made for us.
“He’s at the vet getting snipped,” I say, and laugh.

The Pie

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She asks me what my favorite scent is.
Pie. Pumpkin pie.
The best pumpkin pie I have ever smelled was a gift.
A woman who had scorned me had left it on her windowsill to cool in the gentle evening breeze as she slept with her new lover.
I took the pie and tossed in a Molotov cocktail.
The fire caught quickly, too fast for them to escape.
They burned to death while I watched, finishing every last bit of the pie.
Here I am, hiding in Mexico, waiting for the heat to die down.
Got any pie? Or matches?

Last Dance

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All the time, folks say they can’t wait for me to up and die.
My funeral’s gonna be one hell of a party.
Clowns and dancers and musicians and fire-eaters.
Hell, I got the perfect spot for it.
There’s this dancehall I grew up around.
Everybody there, they know me.
They’re the folks who wanna see me croak.
So, when I go, they’ll have a big party there.
And bury me under the dancefloor.
That way, for the rest of their days, they don’t have to travel to dance on my grave.
Hey, it’s the least I can do.

Goldberg

639158

In all my centuries as a creature of the night, there is one thing of which I am certain.
I hate Bach.
I hate Mozart and Beethoven, too.
Oh, how my ears ache to hear Goldberg just once more.
You have never heard of Goldberg. I know this.
I heard him, long ago.
One symphony to his credit. After its first performance, I was so inspired that I drank him dry.
Dead. Gone.
The city watch caught and nearly killed me.
I escaped, but returned to the burnt-out husk of a concert hall.
Not a single note remained. Gone forever.

Rape Is Never Funny

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There is a rule of comedy that rape is never funny.
But then, how many comedians are from Easter Island?
Yes, the place with the big stone heads.
I was raped there by the natives.
But they made if funny.
It started with a few jokes and light molestation, but by the end of the sex crime, they had me roaring with laughter as they thrust into me against my will.
I was left on the curb, half-naked and aching from both the assault and how hard I had laughed.
I was left shamed, but also saying “Never say never.”