moonfever
I saw my mother one day kneel down in prayer in her room. I watched silently from the crack door. She asked God to help me.
We come up with the most cruel ways to kill moles. They eat roots and damage gardens, but the poor little mammal can't help itself. It has just as much right to enjoy the garden as I do, but the poisons and the strange killing contraptions still decorate my shelf if of my garden shed.
He had fought in the first world war. The bodies of children, men and woman strewn about like gray lifeless hay.
I can see them all pile up like a stack of dominoes, and with no resistance they all collapse like a house of paper cards.
I looked up at the sky that night and I saw what I believed would be God's freckled back, billions of stars looking back at me in awe.
If I hadn't been paying attention to that ugly prostitute standing on the corner of Prospect and Maine, maybe I would have seen that owl before it hit my windshield. The bitch saw it happen too and she ran towards the car her sagging ass threatening to fall to the floor.
It turned into a hot black burned marshmallow in the microwave. I watched it rotate as the tiny kingdom of foam collapsed in on itself. The popping and hissing sounds it made sounded like millions of little bacterial souls evaporated into nothing.
It spins like a gold wheel constantly burning hot sparks, blue, gold, red. It's violent and full of rage and it is unforgiving to mortal flesh.
The gun went off and I looked down and saw my own blood. "You've got me."
I feel it washing through my throat like a fire and my lungs expand from the shock, electrical and painful. I hate whiskey and I hate the memories I try to drown with it.