the kid, the driver, the woman, and the child

by nick nelson

he kid walked down the highway. his feet, in his cheap shoes, were getting sore. he was tired. he was hungry. at least it was not too hot or too cold. he kept walkiing. finally a truck came along. it was painted dark blue, but had no signs or lettering on it. want a lift? sure. the kid got in. the driver was a surly looking individual, somewhere between thirty and sixty years old, though he imght have been younger or older. he needed a shave. where you headed? east. i can take you about forty miles east. you hungry? yeah. i’ll buy you something to eat. but you got to do something for me. right. you understand? i do something for you, you do something for me. it’s nature’s way. i get it. all right then. they traveled about twenty-seven miles east. neither of them spoke. they stopped at a mcdonalds on the highway. the kid ordered two big breakfasts, a sausage burrito, and coffee. the driver just had an iced coffee. the kid took his time eating, with the driver’s beady eyes on him the whole time. all right, i’m done. let’s go then. they drove another three miles, and came to the outskirts of a town and stopped. the driver opened the glove compartment and took a small firearm out of it. you familiar with guns? sure. the driver did not look too convinced. look - the safety is on. do this - and it’s off. get it? got it. then what? the driver took a photograph out of his pocket. it looked like a polaroid, of an ordinary looking woman in a blue sweater standing in front of an ordinary looking one story white house. see this? i see it. i will leave you in front of a little store down the road. wait for this woman to come out of it. then shoot her. there are three bullets in the gun. make sure it is her, and they should be enough. then what? there is a little woods behind the store. there is a path through it. i will be waiting for you on the other side. can i keep the picture? no, it might have my fingerprints on it, or dna, or whatever. are you ready? i’m ready. we will wait until it gets dark. * the kid waited outside the little store. it looked like a convenience store, selling mostly lottery tickets, but not a franchise like 7-11 or l’il peach.. a woman came out. she did not look exactly like the photo, because she was wearing a green coat instead of a blue sweater, but close enough. it must be her, the kid thought. she had a child with her. it looked about four years old. the driver had not said anything about a child. the kid took the gun out of his pocket. he almost forgot to take the safety off, but remembered . he walked up behind the woman, who had not seemed to notice him, and shot her in the back of the head. the child ran off screaming. the driver had not said anything about the child, so the kid not shoot it or chase it, but got away from the spot as fast as he could. he ran through the little patch of woods. the truck was waiting for him. they got back on the highway. they did not hear any sirens. looks like everything went smooth. i guess. there should be something in some news, or some paper. put the gun back in the glove compartment. make sure the safety is back on. oh yeah, right. the kid not say anything about the child, as the driver did not ask about it. you did good, kid, real good. you will go a long way in this world. you had a job to do, and you did it. you did not ask any questions. that is the way it is supposed to be. they drove another ten miles. i will let you off here. i said forty miles, and this is forty miles. okay. the truck drove off. the kid started walking again, in the same criummy shoes, so his feet started to hurt again. he wondered why the driver had not just shot the woman himself. * what did you think of this story? do you think it was as good as a story by shakespeare, or hemingway, or albert einstein? do you think the kid and the child ever encountered each other again? do you think the kid, or the driver, ever felt bad about what they had done? was the child a boy or a girl?

ham and cheese

by bofa xesjum

a square named cheese and a hipster named ham met in a sandwich at 4 ay am they both fell in love with a girl named mustard their attentions left her flustered she had her sights set on a media career and worked for an old man who called her, my dear but ham and cheese would not be denied and invited her on a moonlight ride after some thought she politely declined and decided to report them to a hotline she left a message but got no reply by the old mill stream in the sweet bye and bye

fault

by nick nelson

maybe you should reconsider. that would be unkind. pete came by last ight i don’t know what he was expecting. everybody says the same thing. let it go. you don’t understand. this is getting to be not a joke. remember the last time something like this happened. i remember very well. it was all eddie’s fault. some people blamed tony. not me. suddenly the doorbell rang. how can this happen? it was supposed to be guaranteed. can i help you? is fred ingersoll here? never heard of him. but does he live here? yes or no? no. you back there, are you fred ingersoll? no. do you know hm? ever hear of him? no, no, and no. i asked you two questions, not three. i do not know any fred ingersoll, and never heard of him. thank you. i have a message for fred ingersoll. leave it somewhere else. i was instructed to leave it here. since neither of us know fred ingeroll, or ever heard of him, it probably will not get passed on. i am going to leave it here. do what you got to do. all right - oh no! what? the piece of paper i had the message for fred ingersoll on - i don’t have it too bad. it must have fallen out of my pocket when i put my hand in it to make sure it was there. could be. these things happen. it must be blowing down the street right now. that’s always a possibility. which way does the wind blow around here? down the street. thank you, that’s very helpful. what are you, sarcastic? we didn’t invite you here. sorry, i did not mean to be rude. if i find the message, i wll be back. take your time. goodbye for now. where were we? you were saying it was eddie’s fault. and you were saying it was tony’s . that sounds about right. that guy. what guy? the guy who was just here. what about him? i bet he was fred ingersoll. i suppose he could have been. stranger things have happened. all the time.

guy

by dog e relaford

some thought he was a monster some thought he was a saint some thought him the epitome of style others that he was quaint some thought he was nasty some thought he was rather sweet some would follow him to hell and back others not across the street some thought him courteous some thought him rude maybe he was both depending on his mood he came out of nowhere and took the world by storm they took him down to headquarters to fill out a form he wrote “name here” in the space marked “name here” he was a rebel and had nothing to fear they put him in a cell marked three twenty one the moon was in the sky but he was the sun some thought he was a robot some thought he was a plant when pressed for an answer he said, no such word as “can’t” some thought he was a monster some thought he was a saint some thought he was wood others thought he was paint many did not care other wondered why deep down inside he was just a guy

harlequin

by genghis gilgamesh

henry had a harlequin he kept it in the yard the creature was not amusing but it tried hard it couldn’t sing and it couldn’t dance it could not bake brownies and was not suited for romance it couldn’t juggle wineglasses or balance bowling balls on its head it stayed up all day and went to bed henry left the kingdom and went on a trip with a golden sword held firmly in his grip let to its own devices the harlequin stayed home with the happy that was greece and the sad that was rome someday the sun will revolve around the earth snakes and dinosaurs will dance in a ritual of rebirth

mailbox - 2. vince and gus

by bofa xesjum

part 2 of ?

for previous episode, click here

in the safety of his room, with the door securely locked and the shade pulled down, augustus took the mysterious letter from his pocket with trembling hands. the envelope was addressed to - vincent r tomlinson 128 blueberry pancake highway unit 1 parkersville oregon. 96744 with a return address of - gus b kringleton 1279 zane grey boulevard apartment 63496 yokahama nippon 564-gd3 dear vince, the letter began. i hope you are well, i got to thinking of you the other night when i shot and killed a man just outside of vladivistok just for something to do. it reminded me of the great old days when you and me and poor old stace terrorized the northern territories and kept the so-called establishement on the hop - or on their toes. ha ha. anyways, i was wondering if you would like to join me in getting back to those days, when guys like you and me had so much fun. they called us serial killers and he scum of the earth and such, but hey, isn’t life about enjoying yourself in the short time we all have on earth? i got some good places all mapped out where we could start. hoping to hear from you, old buddy, your old pal, gus raise a fuss the letter fell from augustus’s hand. he was horrified. he had to contact the authorities. but he was not sure who the authorities were, or how to contact them. a terrible thought flashed through his brain. he had opened the letter! a letter not addressed to himself. was that not a crime? he had a vague notion that it was. augustus did not want to go to jail, or to a prison camp in a desert or an arctic waste. to be continued

mailbox - 1. in the shadows

by bofa xesjum

part 1 of ?

it was a dark and windy night. a man stood in the shadows watching a mailbox. you do not see as many mailboxes as you used to on city streets, but they are still out there. as the man in the shadows watched, the wind picked up a piece of paper - a letter? - that was stuck in the opening of the mailbox, and lifted it so that it, still stuck, would be visible in its whiteness to any random passerby. perfect, he thought. * augustus brown went for a walk every saturday night no matter how good or bad the weather was. he had been doing it since he was fourteen years old. it was just his way. when he was introduced to people, which was not very often, he would try to bring the conversation around to the fact that he took these walks. augustus was five feet nine and a half inches tall and weighed 176 pounds. his favorite movie was “the animal”, starring stanley o’hara and zora young. his favorite song was “wild is my heart”, as sung by norine sue. he did not have a favorite book. he preferred taking long walks in the dark city streets, to reading books. but he did spend hours reading the online posts of strangers, especially on the most inflammatory political issues of the day, even though he never posted anything himself, about anything. on a scale of 1 to 100, 1 being the least interesting and 100 the most interesting, augustus rated an average of 14 to his fellow inhabitants of the planet. on the dark and windy evening on which our narrative commences, augustus approached a corner at which a mailbox stood beside the traffic light. he noticed a white piece of paper - a letter? - stuck in the slot of the mailbox and fluttering in the strong breeze. you do not see as many mailboxes as you used to on city streets, but they are still out there. augustus’s curiosity was piqued. he gently removed the letter from the slot. not only was the address handwritten, but the return address on the upper left corner of the envelope was handwritten as well. you do not see that very often these days. augustus was a somewhat inquisitive person - 53 on a scale of 1 to 100 - and had no particluar respect for the privacy of others, so he put the letter in his pocket, to open and read at his leisure when he returned to his room. the man in the shadows smiled. next