Haven’t shared much fiction on the blog. But seeing as how I have been possessed by someone else’s Muse lately, thought perhaps I’d share these in hopes that the writer who belongs to this Muse will call Her or Him back home. Enjoy.
Over heard at a coffee shop.
“Have you tried that new bar be que joint out on Harris?”
“Yeah. Didn’t like it meat tasted funny.”
“Yeah, I thought so too. Me and the wife went out there last night. She’d heard somewhere that the meat was ‘humanely butchered’, whatever that means.”
“The night we went, the guy, owner I think, was out front talking to customers. Think I overheard him say the same thing, only that he’s the one who does it.”
“What do you mean?”
“He apparently owns a farm where he raises the cows himself, does all the butchering right there on the farm. He opened the restaurant just for kicks. Said he wanted to give corporate america the finger, or some such nonsense.”
“Hmmm. Well, I doubt he’ll be in business long enough for that to happen. That meat was off. If that’s what fresh, ‘humanely butchered’ meat tastes like. I’ll pass.”
“Me too. Hey, did you see on the news where another couple went missing from that camp site?”
A moment frozen in time. Kids on a playground, smiling despite the one taking those too fast, nauseating spins on the merry-go-round. There’s two on the swings you’re sure will be racing each other to see who can get the highest fastest, one of them a straight daredevil secretly hoping this time she’ll make it loop the top bar. There’s a kid mid way of crawling up the ladder to the top of the slide and another one at the bottom, just having finished his descent. They look so happy that you wonder what promises the photographer must have made to get them to look that way. It brings a smile to your face, until you realize the faces you’re seeing match the pictures of the five missing kids in the files on your desk back at the precinct. And you’re not looking at a photograph but at the playground in a small park tucked toward the back of the subdivision where the hysterical lady on the phone had taken her toddler for a play date. You manage to call it in before shock sends your mind back to your childhood remembrances when kids played outside until the street lights came on and then had to make their way safely home.
“Harry! Come get the cat”
The furry weight crept up her back obviously coming in for a morning nuzzle on her exposed shoulder and neck. “Harry!”
Harry was her husband. The one who insisted they adopt the fat fur ball to begin with. I say “was” because he was lying on the cool tile in the bathroom, toothbrush still clutched in his hand, uncontrolled drool mixing with the drying toothpaste around his mouth. The poison hadn’t taken long to render his nervous system useless save for now being an elaborate causeway for the chemicals to cause needless spasms.
“God damn it Harry!” She turned her head, opening her eyes, ready to glare menacingly at the cat whose body was hotly pressed against the skin on her shoulder. She was just in time to see the spider as it sunk its fangs into her skin, ensuring that the horror of the creature would follow her thoughts into death.
The crows sat high in the tree tops, laughing at Marie as she struggled to feed her husband’s torso into the industrial wood chipper. The limbs had gone in so easily, she’d been lulled into thinking the rest would be also. Not so much. That’s what she got for falling for the guy with the broadest chest. She shook her head, letting the meat drop to the ground for the second time. She was an engineer damn it – figuring out how to hoist this unwieldy chunk of human anatomy should not be this difficult. Maybe another sip of the brandy would help.