The Alternate Ending For A Romantic Comedy

The sun is dying just the same as me; the difference being the sun gets to rise tomorrow. Myself, I doubt I get another hour. In the fading light, I can see the splotches of red turning to brown on the cement of the outer wall. I’m kneeling facing the wall as I have been told to. There loading their clips right now and I think taking a smoke break. Nicotine would actually feel pretty good. Without nicotine, I turn to some introspection as a distraction from my current dire straits.

The worst part is I didn’t love her. No, that’s the second worst part obviously. The worst part is I never even found her. The third worst part is my impending death. There, now I’ve ranked the worst parts, killed a bit of time, all of fifteen seconds. Damn, bet they’ll take my watch too.

No, no, no, happy thoughts, happy thoughts, I gotta keep positive. Maybe Batman will save me. Yeah, it wouldn’t be hard for him. All Batman would have to do is to already have been tracking me and then somehow learn to actually exist. Damn, I could use Batman right now.

I’d love to see Theresa now, Those red curls, those green eyes, they drove me wild. Drove Me so wild I decided I’d follow her back home. Her homeland hasn’t exactly been inviting to me. To be fair I did kill someone, but he did try first. I guess self defense is the same as an enemy combatant with these guys. Can’t blame ’em really. I really can’t, it’s too much energy.

In fact, I think I’m going to lie down. Hope they wake me if they need anything important.

The Butcher Shop, The Swap Meet, The Bus

A bicyclist passed me full speed; almost knocked off my hat. Funny thing was, I was sort of checking him out. I looked at his legs and I knew those could be my legs. I have these little plastic tubes in my backpack and all I’d have to do is just bundle up all the nerves I can and shove’em into the adapter, then do the same thing with my knee. Hurts like hell but if you need a new leg, right then you do what you got to do.

I can’t believe I even have that thought in me. That guy’s a person and I’m judging him by parts. I guess once you’ve parted out a person, it gets easier to think of people by their parts. God, that was a bad day and it’s still in me I guess. My southpaw twitches, I think it might just remember.

Twenty years ago, I was on the bus going home with some new parts I found cheap. Basically same tubes I have in my pocket, back then I got them for five each and felt lucky. They have a lot of applications but I was using them to extend my speaker wire with minimal loss. They were a bit more than I needed but a bargain is a bargain.

Ten seconds before I get off at my stop, a mortar shell hits right next to us. We knew they were coming but you get use to the risk. The consequences however I find myself less adaptive to. The bus actually flipped, and then crashed to it’s side. A lucky few of us survived, cushioned by the unlucky. None of us were exactly intact. Ambulances were hours if not a day from actually coming around to rescuing us. If we wanted everything we had, we had to work for it.

Between us we had scrounged up basically everything you need for a… well we called them swap meets back then. The process is simple you first divide customer from product. If they have a pulse it’s a customer; if not product. Then you find the best part for the customer. Between us we had about fifteen of those special tubes, ten knives and three capable saws. We also had ten rolls of that special tape, you know the stuff, with the coagulation aiding germs.

Look, we pretty much walked around like hobo boy scouts back in those days. If we could see a function and we could we carry it, we did. Paid off too, we taped and tubed maybe three dozen organs and appendages together. Saved twelve people with only three ahem usable products. Helped myself to this here lefty, it’s a little small but I like it. Can’t shoot or cast a line but it can pick stuff up, punch, claw and pry. Really, I can’t complain.

It’s just sometimes I feel guilty is all.

Sorry, guess I ruined your lunch. Make it up to you later, I promise.

Hide and Seek à la Vahalla

You could hear the gunfire from the hallway, you could hear it in the lobby and across the street but no neighbor cared if Lee was shot. The only man who did care was standing next to Lee in the middle of his living room. Benjamin was admiring his grouping in Lee’s center mass. Yet, Ben found offense.

“Six bullets and you still stand? You show my revolver no respect.”

The bullets had pierced every chamber in Lee’s heart and he was having trouble remaining standing. His legs were giving out and Lee backed into the chair behind him. Benjamin was reloading his pistol but he was having trouble finding the bullets. Somewhere among his many pockets there were six more .45 long colts but they were being evasive.

“Ben, I don’t want to play anymore.”

Ben ignored his brother’s whining as he had for centuries past. Lee was always whiny and whimpering until he found that old Savage under the skirt. The moment he has hold of his gun, time out is done and Ben’s legs get shot off. They always grew back but it hurt like hell. The whining was getting to Ben and he was considering ending the match with the butt of his pistol.

“Ben we’re forever, have you ever though of doing something than shooting me.”

Their eyes met and they both remembered the mud, the arrows and those last gasping hopeful breaths. Six hundred years ago, they died brothers in arms. Dying bloody and bloodied, some wretched god had seen fit to make them just blood thirsty in new life. The damn celestial though it a reward. For six hundred years, they hunted each other.

“Hell Lee, what else am I going to do?”

“Fall in love?”

“We tried that remember, I found you clingy and overbearing.”

“I meant with somebody else.”

“Look, I found a bullet, let’s just end this match. Promise I’ll let you get the first shot next time.”

Lee expelled his breath and simply leaned back. His stall tactic was fruitless and the black toyetic German submachine gun was still under the cushion of the sofa adjacent. As the bullet came into Lee’s brain all he could remember was an awful headache.


15-11, Ben was leading four head shots.


The next day Lee awoke and immediately found his Excedrin. Then came a bath and a less blood soaked shirt. He had ten years until Ben came back, perhaps it was time to move to a better neighborhood.

Natalie’s Affair With A Blender

Natalie was in love with her blender but she didn’t want the toaster to know. The tension between them was palpable. The toaster had always hated the blender, the smug bastard was always showing off it’s brush steel finish. The white plastic race of small kitchen appliances had always had problems with the shiny steel ones. Natalie knew this because she was very astute. As she buttered her toast, she slowly inched towards the blender trying to be nonchalant as she fed it’s daily sustenance. She would then slowly drink the wheat and butter.

Back when she was actually employed she didn’t think about these things. She rarely even fancied appliances. How blind she use to be!

My Little Electric Puppy

I stand against the southern wall of my house, a foot from the safety of the interior. The bricks are not very comfortable on my back but I still cling to the wall. The winds sweep everything including the torrents of rain. Out of a moving downed wire five feet from me. sparks fly and little imps of blue and white emerge. They run for my house, knowing that is the way their river flows. A desperate pilgrimage ensues, little creatures dying in sizzles, steam and screams just to remind you that they are alive.

I find myself the next morning with my mind less addled. The hallucinogens are dying, leaving me a foggy consciousness; sober but bound to limited capabilities. I tie my bathrobe together hiding my sallow briefs. Inside my robe’s depths, I grope for my keys. Among the debris, I find a battery. It’s glowing blue and white and I swear it’s whimpering.

Luckily, it’s a rechargeable. I think I’m going to call him Sparky.

Deep In A Dream Chamber

It still bleeds through; a fuck here, a bitch there, but then you just have to turn up the little dial. As long as you keep your eyes closed you won’t have to come back. The music you hear is an old boom box and not the headphones far away in your bedroom. A woman sleeps next to her stereo subathing. You are on a beach and there is a horse there and you know you two will be best friends. You’re running towards it. A plate crashes to the ground and you believe there to be a Greek wedding procession nearby.

The woman talking about a knife is actually an old cop show. In the forefront of your mind, there is the horse who is now at apple feeding distance. He’s beautiful and looks like a speckled dove. You mount without any real trouble. The TV gets louder, angrier. You feel contempt for the old man in his lawn chair whose watching the show; you feel contempt for the characters although you don’t know why. The feeling is passing. You mount the horse easily even though he seems to be a few hands taller than a Clydesdale.

Then there’s a gunshot and you can’t explain it. The horse starts into a full gallop and your hanging on to it’s neck for dear life. He knows that the noise is bad and he’s running away. It’s an awfully simple reaction but it makes more sense than yours. The sirens blare, warning you of dangerous tides. You know you can’t hide or find shelter from the waves. Soon they will find you and then you’re back in your room, in your parents’ house where everything has gone wrong.

The Imagined Phantom of Abebe Bikila

Between the sole and the tongue, there was fire. Jerry was running and hell was following. It was coming up on him with a sloppy gait. It’s feet was moving with no technique and all power. It snorted and sounded rage. The ground seemed to thunder as the creature bounded towards Jerry. Suddenly the line was crossed and Jerry had ran four thousand meters. The beast inhaled deeply and quickly found his inhaler.

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