The Bookkeeper of the Grim, Hideous Ticket

Dawning of twilight comes before the world revives, a purgatory of sorts neither the dying bustle of evening, nor the hustle of working morning. Prying eyes are fewer and the streets nigh empty. No more perfect time exists for the disposal of sin, and Jacob Stevenson was only the latest of many to take advantage.

He glanced around the dock for possible witnesses. Empty boats dipped in the water, waves lapped softly against the shore, and the morning sun peaked lazily over the horizon. Satisfied, he kneeled. Twenty minutes later only soupy curls remained, big as bows and red as cherries on the murky water’s surface. The strands of hair straightened in the morning surf, then disappeared.

Jacob turned to leave, then a sound so deep it shook his soul stopped him. With puckered pores, he froze.

A geyser erupted up by his side, followed by a fetid stench that burned his nose. No matter how he tried he could not close his watering eyes.

Jacob whipped around just in time to see a figure rise from the gurgling waves. A boat and walking stick came to rest beneath the terrifying being. Maroon, voluminous robes wrapped around the body, revealing only piercing eyes inside the cowl. The being’s presence punched a hole in the morning, leaving only night where it hovered. Its mottled hand grabbed and slammed the staff against the bottom of the boat.

Shapely, dirt-coated legs rose from the depths, followed by intestine tendrils that trailed into the lake. Chunks of coagulated blood slid from the crudely cut waist and plashed into the water. When pink fingernails broke the surface, Jacob’s worst sin rose haunt him.

Her legs draped across the left arm of the figure, while the shoulders ascended to rest on the right arm. Slowly, the hanging gut coiled up and pulled the two halves back together.

Jacob screamed.

The figure’s gaze shifted from the re-knitting body. The sound coming from Jacob’s throat was snuffed out.

“No, you will have no such mercies.”

Voices in thousands of languages drilled into Jacob’s ear, and he grabbed his head. A piercing ache exploded across his forehead and above his ears. He howled with pain.

Unconcerned, the specter raised the woman in its arms. The air thickened with a curse, then suddenly she sat up, like a board snapped in half under too much pressure. A trickle of blood looped her abdomen. Without noticing, she tried to smooth back hair and a chunk of scalp came away in a knot.

The figure released her and she turned. The left foot swung out first in an elliptical dip – leg unbent – and froze at its peak like a toy soldier, then the right foot jerked forward. Jacob realized no life inhabited the visage of puppetry before him, even as it walked. When but inches away, her eye lashes shucked open, the curve of her eyes gummied by mucus.

Behind her the figure snapped.

The corners of her mouth shot up in a joker’s grin, and Jacob recoiled. Sweat coated him completely. When a rigid, clammy hand cupped his face, he fainted once again.

“Wake and witness my judgment upon you.” The voices assailed him without sympathy, and he cursed the lips that uttered them. Abruptly, he realiazed he was being choked. He opened his eyes and dug at his neck with a gasp.

Before him hovered a fuzzy image of himself, and he clawed at his throat to breathe. It was then he noticed a tiny, silver oval whipping left and right. His fingers slowed and he lifted his chin to see better. Even as the fingernails dug into his skin and sawed his delicate flesh, Jacob felt the answer rise in him and he burst into sobs. The tears burned his cheeks as they slid down. Cracked skin curled up in streaks after in their wake.

The locket had been the only gift her father had ever bestowed upon her to let her live a mortal life. Attached to her soul, the jewelry dug into Jacob now to find the whole of her hidden within him. Helpless, he watched as his blood spurted mist-fine into the fog.

The spray slowed and came to a stop. Jacob swallowed, but the necklace still obstructed his throat. He could only take in half of the oxygen he desperately wanted. He wheezed and a rumble crept across the water.

The figure laughed. “Did you think you would live a whole life after what you have done to my daughter?”

A snap cracked the air and the image of Jacob magnified. Beneath the peeling skin, new formed the color of deep honey. His hair turned a patchwork checkerboard pattern and the strands extended in long wisps. The brown of his eyes turned green, and even his colorless lips plumped with red.

He shot a glance begging for mercy toward the being, desperate.

“Oh, no,” the figure said and waved a bony hand in dismissal, “not for you; I felt the knife you plunged it into her heart; I paced the shore to comfort her on her journey. I could have accepted normal human violence. That was the world I let her live in. But her death was a tool to smuggle her into Hell. For that alone I would hang you in Tartarus, a resurrecting treat for the Hounds of Dinai. To save her, however, I condemn you to a century of death. Her locket will devour your soul.

With every tear you’ll uncover her skin. With every kiss you buff away your own lips. For every five years, needle sharp hair will replace your own in patches. And around your neck you will wear her soul, alive and waiting for the day her body is reborn. I am the Grim Reaper, I am Death, I am Charon, and my wrath is forever unequaled, because I have dominion over the eternity of your soul.”

This is part of the Terrible Minds challenge!

http://terribleminds.com/ramble/2013/08/09/flash-fiction-challenge-random-story-title-generator/

20130820-211254.jpg

Silver Linings Daily Prompt

Silver linings, well, aren’t really a huge factor in my life. To me, they’re like platitudes, something which has always felt a little forced and a little half-assed at the same time. looking on the bright side is really just Poor Man’s Prozac.
I hate being told:
Aww, things will get better!
You know, it’s always the darkest before the dawn.
Chin up, sweetheart. Nothing lasts forever.
I’m sure it’ll be okay.
Don’t let it get to you.
It’s a beautiful day. C’mon! Cheer up!

I don’t need my thoughts salved (yes, slathered in meaningless cliched ointments) when negativity or sadness darkens my door. My silver lining to loss, heartache, or misery is these things are necessary for me to feel the weight of happiness. And, in a bratty, stubborn way, I also like to be in a good funky bad mood now and again. It keeps my balloon from soaring so high I crash back down to Earth in happy overload.
Being happy all the time is not a natural state. Constant happiness, just like constant misery, is exhausting. At some point you realize you were happy two weeks ago and have been forcing it ever since. The most natural state in this world is being content to feel the dips and dives and climbs happiness and sadness will lob at you. It’s simply being ready and present in the moment, whether it brings laughter, tears, or both. So, my silver lining is in a sad situation I have the ability to be immersed in the pain completely, then crawl out and feel it slowly evaporate from me. Accepting the moment and traversing the highs and lows with it leaves me refreshed and somewhat spent, like that comfortable sadness that hit at 8:00 pm on the last day of summer after an all day swim in the pool as a kid.

Videos for Bad Days, Number 6

This is another oldie, but holy hell, is it ever effective. Though a little grainy, the fantabulawesomeness cannot be denied.
After getting dumped by his girlfriend for his boss, the lead tells his ex he’s not mad, he’s just going to bang her Mom. What ensues is a comic triangle full of ex-girlfriend drama and comeuppance that just might earn a standing ovation from you. Between my husband and I, it earned a high five. Now that was epic!

Videos for Bad Days, Number 5

Any married woman can tell you what the Woo Woo Dance is. Think of the sweatpants/no undies helicopter dance, but completely naked. My husband has done this, your husband has done this. We women shake our heads or facepalm at your silly antics, because we took thee through sicknes and in health, for richer, for poorer, phallus flashed and dutch ovened, for as long as we both shall live.
For you nude chopper pilots out there, I will make a confession: we do think its funny as hell, mostly because few things remind us of the hilarious immaturity men all seem to possess when given the opportunity to flash their danglers at us. But! We will never actually admit that, because you have your role in this scene that will be repeated hundreds, if not thousands, of times, just as we do, too. Ours is to snort, chuckle, or grin while shaking our head, yours is to make woo woo sounds while shaking yours. Everybody wins!

Videos for Bad Days, Number 4

In this video, The Count takes a weird turn to Spankitville by announcing what he has in common with Afroman. The beauty is nothing is added, merely bleeped. What is left is pure comedy gold made possible by Jerry Springer and TNT censors who were to lazy to replace motherfucker with mother lover in movies with graphic language. All I have to say is: Those poor spiders!

Videos for Bad Days, Number 2

This video by Los Morancos is not only an awesome rendition of the Numa Numa song youtube was gagged by early on (and that rocketed the Numa Numa Guy to fame), it also has a fun message about accepting yourself for being gay. It has made it all over the world and been parodied by others (yes, parodying a parody) including two Peruvian street performers with sweetass Mullets.
In it, a man is telling another man he knows the other man is guy and he hide it. Then the door to Gay Narnia is opened and the video quickly becomes whips and transgenders mugging pouty lips at the camera and partying. When I first found it in 2005 or ’06, there was one upload of it. Now, there are dozens. Congrats, Los Morancos! I knew y’all would catch on finally!!

Videos for Bad Days, Number 1

This video is so enjoyable it could make Garfield love Mondays.
As far as this list goes, Steve Kardynal is the newcomer. He’s a strangely endearing little man sporting some Jeremiah Johnson hair on his chinny chinny chin, but looks remarkably like a woman when wearing a bathing suit (without a face shot, of course). After trolling shirtless chat roulette guys and pointedly laughing at them for being about to spank it to a dude, he put out this video. I had never heard Call Me Maybe all the way through until this odd little dude, but now I know the whole damn song. Since it makes me smile, however, I’m just going to Thank God It’s Not Friday by Rebecca Black and keep him as número uno on this list. Thanks, Steve!

They had the technology

 

Image

Since I created a new blog, I decided to start with the one people still mention to this day. The “incident” happened in 2009, which means I’ve known some of y’all wayyy too long to be a good thing. Now that this “incident” is firmly in the past, my husband feels he can laugh uproariously at it. At the time, he did not find it so funny (especially when it had 1500 views on Myspace). That opinion has changed, probably because he realized I was 1500 times more embarassed at the actual hospital where people could see my beet red face and my, ‘Oh God, Did I really just yell that?’ expression. He, however, had the comfort of being too drugged up to remember and too absent on Myspace for anybody to recognize in public.

2009 – My husband had a medical procedure done yesterday. He was roto-rooted. Once it was done, they called me in to the recovery area and I sat there waiting for him to be wheeled out.
I’m beginning to think they let family go back while people are still under anesthesia because they get a fucking kick out of it.
When I am under anesthesia, I am one pissed off Texas midget. I have a foul mouth and even worse temperament.
Unfortunately, I didn’t know this until I had my wisdom teeth out and cussed/bitched so much that they allowed my mother to take me home way before they normally do.
In my defense, though, they left my face smeared with blood after the procedure, and I was apparently mad they would not wipe it off. I
Anyways, people have some of the most amusing reactions under anesthesia. My grandfather, Poppa Joe, would speak Spanish, even though he didn’t speak a word of it, normally. He’d also try to talk dirty in Spanish. I don’t know how that would sound, but maybe something like ’Yo needo tu vagin-o’, since most people think they can speak Spanish by putting an O on the end of every word.
My father will fart a lot and mutter, ’That ain’t right.’ Pffffrreeeitttt. ’Oh, hell, that ain’t right, either.’
My husband does something different. Marriage is an adventure, folks.
When they wheeled him in, he looks up at me and smiles. “Hi, hi, hi, baby. I’m so glad you’re here. I wouldn’t want anybody else here.” He says, barely mushing his words together.
“Well, I’m glad, because I’d be a little pissed, otherwise.” I respond, taking a seat next to the bed on a stool. I fluff his hair away from his face and kiss his forehead.
“I love you. I know I probably don’t tell you that as much as you deserve to hear it, but I do love you.” He says, earnestly. The look on his face is so sappy I am almost shocked, then I remember how deep he is in anesthesia-land.
Chuckling, I told him I loved him, too.
A conspiratorial gleam dove into his eyes, and he tried to whisper, in one of those more-loud-than-whisper voices, “Can we do the nasty when we get home? Tonight?”
Closing my eyes for a second and shaking my head, I glanced up at the ceiling and then back to him, “Yes, we can do the nasty tonight. Shhh.”
“Good. I don’t even care that you have a hairy pussy, right now. I want to do it all.”
SMACK went my hand over his mouth, or he would have continued regaling the nurses with vivid descriptions of my furbox.
Hey, shoot me. My period made a visit after a seven-month absence, I can damn well skip shaving if I fucking want to. It’s my prerogative..
I am now trying to withhold the laughter bubbling in my chest, while deciding whether or not I want to kill him. With all the nurses about, I figure this would be the best place to do it. He’d only be dead a minute, tops, I’m thinking. I mean, they had the technology. They could revive him.
“We could do something with your coochie hair. Braid it, or something.” He jokes, so proud of himself.
“My vagina hair is not long enough for corn rows, damnit!” Yes, I retorted this with a lot of volume, judging by the four amused faces that swung around to look at us.
I cleared my throat, shrugged my shoulders, and used the little pull curtain to give us the illusion of a room.
Bad idea.
“Are we going to do it, now?” He asks, anxiously and completely stoned.
I shoved his back down onto the bed. “If you don’t shutup, baby, I’m taking your clothes and leaving your ass here. And if you mention my un-groomed genitals one more time, I will never shave it, again. Comprende?”
“Okay,” he whispers, in his five-foot voice. “You wanna do it in the hospital? I’m already naked. You’re so hot. You look so pretty. In a few minutes I could be balls deep-”
I cover his mouth for a second time, “Baby, there’s a twelve year old girl standing by her dad next to us. Can you stop expanding her vocabulary?”
Then he started on his I’m going to make you rich one day-rant.
“-because I want to know you’re always taken care of.”
I was relieved he’d switched subjects.
“That’s great and all, baby, but I’d kind of like you to be there, too.”
“The doctor was nice. He was kind of like a Kentucky Money Mike. Are you sure we can’t do the nasty right now?”
STOP! Pillow time!
I’d fully expected to blog this up last night, and then go make hours of happy whoopee with my man of choice, but man of choice got on the computer.
So, I put on a tight shirt with no bra.
Man of choice stared and stayed on the computer.
Woman of rage flashed him boobies as a last resort.
Man of choice said ‘Sweet.’ and stayed on the computer.
“Fine. Fuck it. I’ve had my boobies jiggling all day for you, and you won’t get off the computer to make them jiggle horizontally. I’m eating a pickle, exercising, and going to bed.”
“Hey, I noticed the boobies-”
“Yeah, that’s your problem. You noticed them, you didn’t play with them.”
“Five minutes!”
“Honey, you had five minutes when I put the top on. I think me and my hairy vagina might masturbate, too. You should have RSVP’ed when you got the invite.”
“You suck.”
“I would have…”

Do you have a similar story? Share it in the comments!