Surprise Couch

When Paul awoke, it was to the taste of stale beer. His back hurt like a bitch, but even as he wondered about that his legs were automatically propelling him out of bed. He kicked dirty laundry and empty beer cans out of his way as he hobbled stiff-legged towards his bathroom.

As he pissed the symptoms of his hangover made themselves known, and his back was still killing him. A quick search of his memory didn’t help, but a quick fumble through the medicine cabinet turned up half a bottle of aspirin. Paul tipped half dozen pills out, and washed them down with the flat remains of a beer that had avoided use as an ashtray. His stomach churned dangerously. Cereal. That was the ticket. As long as his damn roommates hadn’t eaten all of it. No milk though, no sir. Not that you could drink the stuff they had in the fridge. Chew it, maybe.

He squinted against the mid-morning sun that stabbed through the blinds as he went back into his room. Paul flicked back the sheets, and was unsurprised to not find anyone else there. He figured he probably would have remembered getting some action, but it never hurt to check. He had a moment of dizziness and his stomach lurched again. He staggered down the hall, a man on a mission. His mind was already in the kitchen, hunting down a bowl or Tupperware and his cereal. His shins, however, were still in the hall, which meant that they collided sharply with the coffee table that had been left there.

“Wha-fuck!” Paul cried as he nearly toppled forward on to the unfriendly and unexpected object.

“Wtsfgl?” something grunted in reply from the living room. Paul could see the lumpy shape of that fat, party-crashing bastard (Dean or Dan or something) sprawled out on a couch he had never seen before. Nobody ever invited the guy, he just showed up and drank their booze. Here he was now asleep, in their living room.

Speaking of the living room…

Yesterday it had contained two mismatched sofas, a TV on milk crates, and a three legged end table. Now you couldn’t walk through the place.

“What the hell is this shit doing here?” Paul asked.

“Holy crap, dude!” said an excited voice behind him. “It’s like we won the couch lottery!” Paul’s roommate, Brett, was standing there eyeing the stacks like a kid on Christmas morning. Denise, the girlfriend of his other roommate, was standing behind Brett.

“I don’t see how you guys can’t remember carrying all that stuff up here,” she said sulkily.
Well that explains my back, Paul thought.

“Oh yeah, totally, dude!” Brett’s face lit up with sudden remembrance. “Where’s that leather chair at? Hands off, that bitch is mine!”

“Where did it all come from?” Paul asked as he rubbed his bruised shins.

Denise rolled her eyes; “You guys went around and grabbed all the stuff that people left on the curbs when they moved out yesterday. It was your idea, Paul.”

“Fine,” Paul said. You couldn’t argue with your own logic, drunk or not. “I’m getting some cereal.”

“Oh man, I wouldn’t eat any of that if I were you,” Brett said as Paul started to climb over the pile.

“Why the hell not?”

“Cuz Dean puked in the box last night, dude.”

“Fuck!”

collage!

Strangers

“Wanna know how I knew you were a girl?” the woman drawled, taking a long drag from her cigarette. “I had a dream. I was walking through the desert when I saw this gleam in the sand. I bent down, and you know what I found? A gold ruby ring. That’s when I knew. I didn’t need the docs to tell me, I knew it in my gut.” She gestured to her diaphragm, her breath suspended in warm gossamer puffs.

Ruby. My birthstone. “Pretty weird, huh?” She asked as she ground out her cigarette with a worn canvas shoe. I shrugged. I had never really bought into any of that new age crap. It wasn’t that I was a skeptic, just a realist. This was probably why I didn’t have too many friends. People often found me to be somewhat detached and cold.

At an uncle’s funeral the year before, I hadn’t shed a single tear. No matter how deep I dug, I couldn’t bring myself to do it. Did this make me a bad person? Surrounded by the people who loved him, I could only think “I’m glad the bastard is dead.” I looked at his peaceful face, thin from the cancer, and felt nothing. I dabbed at my eyes so that others would not see that I was not sad. But all I could think of was his lecherous eyes running the length of my body in its bathing suit the day I came over to swim in my cousin’s new pool.

Thick chunks of rock salt crunched beneath our feet as we walked. The air was cold and crisp, searing my nostrils with every intake of breath.

“So how is your father these days?” the woman asked, hugging her coat closer for warmth. “Is he happy?” She paused. “Are you?”

I wasn’t sure about the answers to her questions, so I just gave her the ones I thought she wanted. This seemed to make her feel better. She lit another cigarette, cupping the end with her hand to block it from the wind. The light danced across her face.

“Those things will kill you, you know. You really should quit.” I shoved my hands deep into my pockets. It was getting colder now that the sun had set.

She laughed. It was rich and throaty. “Well, gotta die somehow. Might as well choose how it ends!” I shook my head. Our visit would soon be over, this chapter of my life closed.

“Why did you give me up?” I asked. “Why didn’t you try to stay and fight for me?” The words tumbled out of my mouth like the loose pieces of a jigsaw puzzle. “I thought you and dad were in love. Why didn’t you try to make it work, instead of giving me away?”

She turned away. Her voice wavered when she finally spoke. “There’s nothing to tell. It wasn’t meant to be. End of story.” She wiped tears away with a gloved hand. Although I couldn’t see her face, I imagined the tears leaving tiny trails of steam in their wake. I looked down at my feet, studying the dark scuff marks on the toes of my shoes.

“I’m leaving for college tomorrow. So, I guess this is goodbye.” I turned to leave. She grabbed me, hugging me fiercely to her chest.

“I am so sorry.” She whispered, gripping me like a life preserver thrown out to sea. I did not return her embrace. My hands stayed at my sides. We stood like this for a long time. And somehow, even though the same blood pumped through our veins, we were total strangers.

The End

By Becky

They each have three bullets.

They each have three bullets to end my life with. God knows it can only take one. There are six men, three bullets each. That’s eighteen bullets. They each get three shots, and if you’re not dead when the bullets are gone then they let you go. That’s never happened though. They don’t miss.

I’ve seen them practicing and I know how good they are. And Kemp is part of the detail they’ve put together to execute me. How cruel is that? I’m standing against a wall, shackled, and they send a marksman as part of the firing squad. I’ve seen Kemp in action before, he’s good, maybe the best.

For the last six months I’ve had a cell with a window. There were other cells before, but this one was the most memorable. A window. How long had it been since I could look outside? The window they gave me looked out on a grassy field that serves as the soldier’s practice range. So I’ve seen how good they are with their rifles. And like I said, Kemp is the best. There’s no mistaking him with that wild ginger hair. It’s more than that though. There is a stillness in his posture that is uniquely his. The others fiddle with their guns and fidget, but he is still as water.

I had no illusions about escape. The guards are too good and the cells are too strong. Besides I knew what was coming. I knew what the cell with the window meant. It meant that I was going to die. None of the guards on the practice range would come near my window. They knew what this room was about. All day long I could hear the crack of their guns knowing that soon they would be pointed at me. It’s bad luck to spend too much time around the condemned. Those soldier boys and their guns. They constantly begged Kemp to show off his skill. I always watched that. I’ve never seen anyone with that kind of skill with a gun. I don’t know why they think that they need that skill today. Maybe it was just luck of the draw. Maybe Kemp is being punished for being near the condemned.

I don’t know what brought Kemp to my window then. One day there was the crunch of a boot in gravel outside my window, and curious as I was, I looked to find Kemp there. We never spoke, and he only looked at me once, but he was there. Every few days I would find him outside my window, leaning against the wall. I don’t know why he did it. When he came I would stand at my window, leaning on my elbows, just standing. Maybe he just wanted to be near someone who could be still. All those boisterous soldier boys night and day.

After all this time, I am relieved by the knowledge that today it ends. It ends one way or the other. I don’t allow myself to think that they will miss. They won’t, so it will be the other. I’m going to die, and I welcome it. I’m glad it’s Kemp holding one of those guns. He’ll put a bullet through my heart or my head, and it will be over. I don’t have to worry about some silly boys maiming me and dying a slow agonizing death.

I stand here in the sun and wait. I had hoped it would be raining. I’ve missed the rain. My cell with the window allowed me to see and smell the rain, but I wanted to touch it. A few inches short, just the tips of my fingers wet. Instead I have a clear, sunny day, which is not so bad. I watch them and wait. I’ve refused the blindfold. After all I’ve seen, a few bullets are not going to bother me.

I’ve heard sometimes there are soldiers without the stomach for execution. They miss on purpose. It is one thing to shoot someone in the heat of battle; it is another to be their executioner. That’s why there are six of them. The blonde boy seems nervous. Maybe this is his first execution. Don’t worry kid; Kemp will get the job done.
Gloustcher is reading the order for execution. I think I’ve made him hate me. I never gave in and now he has to have me killed for it.

Oh God, I’m going to be free.

They’ve picked up their guns. The blonde boy is trembling. He’s going to miss. Only five bullets then, but only one will matter.

Kemp, he’s looking at me now. I want to tell him thank you. I won’t get a chance to after. I hope he can see it in my face, my gratitude.

Everything seems so still. Even the clouds in the sky hold their breath.

“Ready.”
They shoulder their guns.

“Aim.”
The last moment. I forgive them. The blonde boy closes his eyes.

“Fire.”
The guns roar.

Thank you.

This is what this is

So Julia (known to some as Colonel Eggroll) and myself (Becky sometimes known as Winter) have put together this blog as a place to post our stories, and whatever else we feel like, so that they don't clutter up our regular blogs.