I gave her three quarters to put in her pocket
because we were walking down Balboa Avenue
and there were homeless people
with their saggy flack jackets
tired eyes, shopping carts
their overgrown beards
and cardboard signs
outside the Gucci store
across from the Andale Cafe
and elsewhere
"Here, mister," she said
a careful quarter into his hand
she gave him her four-year old smile
and her hope too which he
put in his pocket
for later
Saturday, February 28, 2009
Wednesday, February 25, 2009
confession of an inanimate object - Dixie
Ha, ha.
This is fun.
I am the king!
I am the only slot machine at Eddie's Quick Mart and Fixit Shop.
Everyone notices me now.
No long rows of stupid machines that all look the same.
No endless whining people who don't know a cherry from a 7.
Here, I am appreciated.
My age is not a handicap because at Eddie's, people don't go for that digital crap.
They want a stiff pull arm that fights back.
They like the classic clang clang ding! of the jackpot, not some lame tune that sounds like Sesame Street.
They get all excited at my occasional blackouts and whack me on the side, like a giant drum.
It's our dance. Yeah! Cha cha cha!
Then I give them the spinning lemons and light up like a Christmas tree!
Santa Claus, that's me, bringing cheer to this little dump
way out in the dark
Tonopah nowhere
purgatory graveyard
all alone ...
wahhhhhhhhh
I miss Las Vegas.
This is fun.
I am the king!
I am the only slot machine at Eddie's Quick Mart and Fixit Shop.
Everyone notices me now.
No long rows of stupid machines that all look the same.
No endless whining people who don't know a cherry from a 7.
Here, I am appreciated.
My age is not a handicap because at Eddie's, people don't go for that digital crap.
They want a stiff pull arm that fights back.
They like the classic clang clang ding! of the jackpot, not some lame tune that sounds like Sesame Street.
They get all excited at my occasional blackouts and whack me on the side, like a giant drum.
It's our dance. Yeah! Cha cha cha!
Then I give them the spinning lemons and light up like a Christmas tree!
Santa Claus, that's me, bringing cheer to this little dump
way out in the dark
Tonopah nowhere
purgatory graveyard
all alone ...
wahhhhhhhhh
I miss Las Vegas.
confessions of an inanimate object
confessions of an inanimate object
“Confess! Confess? Why should I? To confess means to acknowledge I’ve done something wrong. But I mean, define your terms here. Tell me, precisely, what “wrong” means. does it mean “illegal?” Immoral? Against some petty bourgeois idea of how things are, or rather, ought to be? Does the same judgement apply in Des Moines? Darfur? Dresden? Tell me, huh? not sure? OK then, so how general is this judgement, eh? Wrong? Wrong? You got a lot of nerve telling me I’ve done something wrong. And if I haven’t, then why do you insist that I confess?
The world sustains a whole range of behavior. What I’ve done, or might have done, or allegedly did do, may be unexpected, may be not what you would consider natural - hey, that’s a good one, natural. You guys in the early 21st century really pride yourselves on being natural, don’t you? Whatever that means. Normal? Come on, you know, that word should have been discontinued along with Freud’s proclamations and orations. Acceptable? Healthy? Appropriate? By whose lights? in what playpen? Sez who?
Come on, people, come down off your soapboxes. Climb out from under the slime that forms the very underpinnings of your code of ethics. No killing, yeah, right! No sexual misbehavior, no stealing, no lying, no intoxicants - give me a break! The blatant hypocrisy! The arrogance! the hubris! You are bottom feeders. You are hypocrites! Are you without sin? Then what possibly entitles you to cast the first stone? You, you pathetic whimpering parasites. You naddering n’er do-wells. You sinister soulless sycophants.
-----
“Confess! Confess? Why should I? To confess means to acknowledge I’ve done something wrong. But I mean, define your terms here. Tell me, precisely, what “wrong” means. does it mean “illegal?” Immoral? Against some petty bourgeois idea of how things are, or rather, ought to be? Does the same judgement apply in Des Moines? Darfur? Dresden? Tell me, huh? not sure? OK then, so how general is this judgement, eh? Wrong? Wrong? You got a lot of nerve telling me I’ve done something wrong. And if I haven’t, then why do you insist that I confess?
The world sustains a whole range of behavior. What I’ve done, or might have done, or allegedly did do, may be unexpected, may be not what you would consider natural - hey, that’s a good one, natural. You guys in the early 21st century really pride yourselves on being natural, don’t you? Whatever that means. Normal? Come on, you know, that word should have been discontinued along with Freud’s proclamations and orations. Acceptable? Healthy? Appropriate? By whose lights? in what playpen? Sez who?
Come on, people, come down off your soapboxes. Climb out from under the slime that forms the very underpinnings of your code of ethics. No killing, yeah, right! No sexual misbehavior, no stealing, no lying, no intoxicants - give me a break! The blatant hypocrisy! The arrogance! the hubris! You are bottom feeders. You are hypocrites! Are you without sin? Then what possibly entitles you to cast the first stone? You, you pathetic whimpering parasites. You naddering n’er do-wells. You sinister soulless sycophants.
-----
Monday, February 23, 2009
2009 Prompts
12/5/9-2/20/10
1. safe deposit box
2. arranged
3. how to be happy
4. a momentary lapse of irresponsibility
5. curiously cheerful
6. scissors with black handles
11/28/9
1. predictability
2. East meets West
11/21/9
1. If I've told you once, I've told you a thousand times, Sicilians do not appreciate practical jokes.
2. It was a dark and stormy night
11/7/9
1. caught a glimpse
2. suicidal seagulls
10/17/99
1. I am a large, fine cantelope.
2. 8/8/198810/10/9
3. the universe was restored to order
10/10/9
there are three things in life a person has to do in his life, or ...
10/3/9
1. reasons to be pretty
2. growing through the roof
3. Death sat alone at the end of the bar hunched over a beer
9/19/09
1. it'll kill him to hear that
2. why we broke up in the first place
9/12/9
1. snakes
2. a jinx
9/5/09
1. the next failure
2. daisy
3. memories triggered by a sense of smell
8/15/09
1. puppies again
2. tortoise shell
8/8/09
1. away at war
2. a paint-splattered floor
3. what I know about Texas
8/1/09
1. blame was bounding from person to person looking for a home
2. 1962
7/24/09
1. dreams that have failed
2. two vampires walk into a bar
3. a tight schedule
7/18/09
1. heart and hurt
2. the process of cleaning ones heart
3. he's a sorcerer by birth some say
7/11/09
1. Use a fairy tale starting point. Rewrite, recast, change POV.
2. bridges
3. then came the fireworks
6/27/09
1. oatmeal
2. the banjo
3. a real heartbreak
6/20/09
1. regardless of what they thought, that is mine
2. it's not recommended
3. greyhound
6/13/09
1. a surge of positive energy
2. cricket
3. an uncomfortable silence
5/31/09
1. ornery
2. under the wood pile
3. No, no, no!
5/16/09
1. Mr. Anderson
2. being the roadrunner
5/9/09
1. Louie with a cigarette in his mouth a year before he died
2. my dad's car
3. feeling singled out
5/2/9
1. equal parts light and dark
2. though there was conflict
4/24/09
1. a refreshing primal attraction
2. traveling through time
3. excuses flying all around
4/17/09
1. weary from thinking
2. Write about an incident that could be used against you if you ever ran for public office.
3. first state
3/28/9
1. torn to shreds
2. it's a muligant and it looks angry
3/21/9
1. Ma likes a lively saloon
2. in the woods
3/14/9
1. accidental death
2. a light yellow envelop sealed with a kiss
3/7/9
1. the bio-techno bots are unpredictable
2. oil changing
2/28/9
1. pomegranate
2. random act of kindness (5-minutes)
2/21/09
1. write a confession of an inanimate object
2. relentless ticking
2/6/09
1. scotch and soda
2. no sadness allowed
1/31/09
1. could be a point of contention
2. she smokes, she drinks, and has a filthy mouth
1/17/9
1. lacks sizzle
2. the planet's three moons have various quarreling settlements
1/10/9
1. why I hate alligators
2. nice to finally meet you
1/3/09
1. an empty glass
2. I could go on and on
12/27/08
1. flat tire
2. you do something wrong that you do not regret
12/20/09
1. write what you didn't say
2. linoleum
12/13/09
1. always tries to be liked, but now
2. applesauce mixed with cottage cheese
12/6/09
1. untrained animal
2. secret identity
11/22/8 (workshop)
1. checkerboard
2. good-bye
11/15/8
1. old cobwebs
2. cried 'til it hurt
11/8/8
1. trucks
2. he did this just for you
11/1/8
1. temptation pounced!
2. being too cold
10/25/8
1. a shopping cart speeding down the expressway against traffic
2. an unwelcome surprise
10/18/8
1. having a bad memory
2. take your time
10/4/8
1. a bad haircut
2. you received favor
9/20/8
1. being unmasked
2. salamander
9/13/8
1. the king of wishful thinking
2. apologies
1. safe deposit box
2. arranged
3. how to be happy
4. a momentary lapse of irresponsibility
5. curiously cheerful
6. scissors with black handles
11/28/9
1. predictability
2. East meets West
11/21/9
1. If I've told you once, I've told you a thousand times, Sicilians do not appreciate practical jokes.
2. It was a dark and stormy night
11/7/9
1. caught a glimpse
2. suicidal seagulls
10/17/99
1. I am a large, fine cantelope.
2. 8/8/198810/10/9
3. the universe was restored to order
10/10/9
there are three things in life a person has to do in his life, or ...
10/3/9
1. reasons to be pretty
2. growing through the roof
3. Death sat alone at the end of the bar hunched over a beer
9/19/09
1. it'll kill him to hear that
2. why we broke up in the first place
9/12/9
1. snakes
2. a jinx
9/5/09
1. the next failure
2. daisy
3. memories triggered by a sense of smell
8/15/09
1. puppies again
2. tortoise shell
8/8/09
1. away at war
2. a paint-splattered floor
3. what I know about Texas
8/1/09
1. blame was bounding from person to person looking for a home
2. 1962
7/24/09
1. dreams that have failed
2. two vampires walk into a bar
3. a tight schedule
7/18/09
1. heart and hurt
2. the process of cleaning ones heart
3. he's a sorcerer by birth some say
7/11/09
1. Use a fairy tale starting point. Rewrite, recast, change POV.
2. bridges
3. then came the fireworks
6/27/09
1. oatmeal
2. the banjo
3. a real heartbreak
6/20/09
1. regardless of what they thought, that is mine
2. it's not recommended
3. greyhound
6/13/09
1. a surge of positive energy
2. cricket
3. an uncomfortable silence
5/31/09
1. ornery
2. under the wood pile
3. No, no, no!
5/16/09
1. Mr. Anderson
2. being the roadrunner
5/9/09
1. Louie with a cigarette in his mouth a year before he died
2. my dad's car
3. feeling singled out
5/2/9
1. equal parts light and dark
2. though there was conflict
4/24/09
1. a refreshing primal attraction
2. traveling through time
3. excuses flying all around
4/17/09
1. weary from thinking
2. Write about an incident that could be used against you if you ever ran for public office.
3. first state
3/28/9
1. torn to shreds
2. it's a muligant and it looks angry
3/21/9
1. Ma likes a lively saloon
2. in the woods
3/14/9
1. accidental death
2. a light yellow envelop sealed with a kiss
3/7/9
1. the bio-techno bots are unpredictable
2. oil changing
2/28/9
1. pomegranate
2. random act of kindness (5-minutes)
2/21/09
1. write a confession of an inanimate object
2. relentless ticking
2/6/09
1. scotch and soda
2. no sadness allowed
1/31/09
1. could be a point of contention
2. she smokes, she drinks, and has a filthy mouth
1/17/9
1. lacks sizzle
2. the planet's three moons have various quarreling settlements
1/10/9
1. why I hate alligators
2. nice to finally meet you
1/3/09
1. an empty glass
2. I could go on and on
12/27/08
1. flat tire
2. you do something wrong that you do not regret
12/20/09
1. write what you didn't say
2. linoleum
12/13/09
1. always tries to be liked, but now
2. applesauce mixed with cottage cheese
12/6/09
1. untrained animal
2. secret identity
11/22/8 (workshop)
1. checkerboard
2. good-bye
11/15/8
1. old cobwebs
2. cried 'til it hurt
11/8/8
1. trucks
2. he did this just for you
11/1/8
1. temptation pounced!
2. being too cold
10/25/8
1. a shopping cart speeding down the expressway against traffic
2. an unwelcome surprise
10/18/8
1. having a bad memory
2. take your time
10/4/8
1. a bad haircut
2. you received favor
9/20/8
1. being unmasked
2. salamander
9/13/8
1. the king of wishful thinking
2. apologies
Saturday, February 21, 2009
For the Love of Life - JohnD
Prompt: Write a confession of an inanimate object - 02/21/09
I love life. I do. So painful for me, then, not to be alive, such a horrible fate. I love humanity, too, how humans can control their surroundings. I so admire their work, which is great because I am their work. I’m a Beretta 9mm.
I am constructed beautifully: my weight and form are magnificent. So many humans are in awe of me. And yet, humans themselves forged me with materials taken right from the earth. My design is truly inspiring. How nicely I fit the human hand and how good I feel when humans hold me.
There are bullets, of course. I am designed to bring out all the power that they have hidden within. I do this quite well. I’m proud of it. I’m sorry to say that, but it’s true. I’ve always been so proud of my ability to unleash every bit of energy stored in a little bullet. Yes, when I team up with bullets, we are a force that humans hold in high regard. We are respected, but feared, too. I enjoy the respect that humans give me because I think so highly of them. I want them to respect me and like me. And some really, really like me.
I’ve been fired many times. My owner, Thomas, brings me to the firing range almost every week. He has other guns, too, but I am his favorite. I love that. I’d do anything for Thomas. I love him.
Last night, he took me out in the middle of the night. Something was wrong. He was in a panic. It was all quite unusual. I didn’t understand what was happening. It didn’t make sense. Somebody was trying to enter his house through the back door. Thomas crept carefully into the living room. He was grasping me tightly.
Suddenly the intruder was in the house. How did he get in so easily. “Halt!” Thomas yelled.
The intruder had a gun, too. Thomas raised me and pulled my trigger. I hesitated. I’d never shot a living thing before, especially a human. I love humans. It seemed like some sort of mistake. I know it’s my job to fire when my trigger is pulled, but I couldn’t do it. It would kill the intruder. And after all, he was a human being.
Then the intruder fired. His gun did not hesitate. His gun was a good soldier and did as ordered. His gun was not weak like me. His gun fired again and again. Thomas pulled my trigger again. This time I fired. He pulled again and again and I fired again and again. Bullets were flying through the air, mostly missing, but not all the bullets missed. I fell to the floor.
Now, here I lie. It’s morning, two human bodies and two guns lying on the floor. If I’d done my job right, it would only be one body and one gun, and it wouldn’t be Thomas and me. But I failed. I didn’t do my job. I love human life. That’s my excuse, my only excuse, no matter how faulty, no matter how disastrous. I’m sorry, I hope I can be forgiven.
I love life. I do. So painful for me, then, not to be alive, such a horrible fate. I love humanity, too, how humans can control their surroundings. I so admire their work, which is great because I am their work. I’m a Beretta 9mm.
I am constructed beautifully: my weight and form are magnificent. So many humans are in awe of me. And yet, humans themselves forged me with materials taken right from the earth. My design is truly inspiring. How nicely I fit the human hand and how good I feel when humans hold me.
There are bullets, of course. I am designed to bring out all the power that they have hidden within. I do this quite well. I’m proud of it. I’m sorry to say that, but it’s true. I’ve always been so proud of my ability to unleash every bit of energy stored in a little bullet. Yes, when I team up with bullets, we are a force that humans hold in high regard. We are respected, but feared, too. I enjoy the respect that humans give me because I think so highly of them. I want them to respect me and like me. And some really, really like me.
I’ve been fired many times. My owner, Thomas, brings me to the firing range almost every week. He has other guns, too, but I am his favorite. I love that. I’d do anything for Thomas. I love him.
Last night, he took me out in the middle of the night. Something was wrong. He was in a panic. It was all quite unusual. I didn’t understand what was happening. It didn’t make sense. Somebody was trying to enter his house through the back door. Thomas crept carefully into the living room. He was grasping me tightly.
Suddenly the intruder was in the house. How did he get in so easily. “Halt!” Thomas yelled.
The intruder had a gun, too. Thomas raised me and pulled my trigger. I hesitated. I’d never shot a living thing before, especially a human. I love humans. It seemed like some sort of mistake. I know it’s my job to fire when my trigger is pulled, but I couldn’t do it. It would kill the intruder. And after all, he was a human being.
Then the intruder fired. His gun did not hesitate. His gun was a good soldier and did as ordered. His gun was not weak like me. His gun fired again and again. Thomas pulled my trigger again. This time I fired. He pulled again and again and I fired again and again. Bullets were flying through the air, mostly missing, but not all the bullets missed. I fell to the floor.
Now, here I lie. It’s morning, two human bodies and two guns lying on the floor. If I’d done my job right, it would only be one body and one gun, and it wouldn’t be Thomas and me. But I failed. I didn’t do my job. I love human life. That’s my excuse, my only excuse, no matter how faulty, no matter how disastrous. I’m sorry, I hope I can be forgiven.
Monday, January 19, 2009
Lacks Sizzle - Maya
"I don't know," he said, stepping back and tilting his head to get a different view. "Something's missing."
"Yeah," she replied, biting her nails. It lacks .... sizzle."
"Sizzle," he repeated. "Sizzle. Lacks sizzle."
"You know. Pizzazz. Oomph. Bling."
"Uh, sure," he replied, but his face had that quizzical look. "Sizzle. Sizzle." He kept repeating it under his breath, as he paced back and forth in front of the canvas.
It was his latest work, and the largest he'd ever attempted. It filled the entire side wall of his studio. He was distressed. he'd so wanted to impress her, so longed to hear that she loved it and that his misgivings were unwarranted.
Finally, he stopped pacing.
"So ... you think that 'sizzle' was what I was going for, and I just didn't quite make it happen?" he asked.
"Well, not necessarily. It's just that with a painting of this size you kind of expect something to pop out at you. I was looking for a big statement. Or big color. Something big, besides the size of the canvas. I mean, it's a nice piece of work technically. I just think... well, maybe it's not finished yet."
"Maybe you're right," he said, but inside his head he was screaming, 'Nice? Nice? don't friggin' say my work is nice! Shit. This is a disaster. why did I let her see it? Let her? I invited her!"
He'd resumed his pacing. she turned away from the painting to look at him and finally noticed that he was upset.
"God, I'm sorry. I didn't .... You asked for my opinion, and you know I'm not going to lie to you."
"No, you're right," he said. "I trust your opinion, that's why i asked you. I want to know. I mean, I don't, but I do."
"Want to go get some coffee?" she asked.
"No, you go. I want to think about it. Work on it some."
"Okay. sorry!" She squeezed his shoulder and slipped out the door.
And there he was, back to facing this monstrosity, this thing he'd created that missed the mark, that didn't pop, that lacked sizzle.
Was she right? he knew that he tended to get bowled over by other people's opinions when it concerned his art. Maybe this time he was on track and she was off.
Pacing, pacing.
"Take a break," he told himself. "Come back with a fresh eye."
So, he pulled himself away and filled a mug with water and stuck it in the microwave. he rifled through his tea choices, settling on a calming green variety. Mug in hand, he walked over to the window to look down on the street while he drank. When he got down to the dregs he allowed himself to face his work again.
Scanning, scanning .... then suddenly he saw it: an opening, a possibility, a new way in. He grabbed a brush and a tube of red paint and got to work. She was right! He'd been right to have her come and look. Now he saw what had been missing. sizzle? Not what he'd have called it. But something. Something.
Prompt: Lacks Sizzle, 1/17/09
Sunday, January 18, 2009
Why I Hate Alligators - JohnD
We headed out from Orlando, just Joey and I. Joey was driving his 1965 Chevy pickup. It was more beat up than he was, which is saying a lot.
We were moving down the freeway with the truck vibrating and otherwise making much more noise than seemed necessary. Joey had the radio on. It’s the damnedest thing; he always had the radio on in that truck. I have no idea where the speakers were. The radio was always pretty loud, though, and the static was significant. With the noise the truck made, you couldn’t discern much of anything that was coming from that damned radio. It just ended up being a tremendous distraction.
Then Joey would talk the whole time anyway. Of course, he had to talk very loud to talk over the din. A good deal of the time, I didn’t know what he was talking about. Once in while, I’d tune into what he was saying. Sometimes he was talking about sports, sometimes women, sometimes an impossible construction task that he had to come to the rescue of because everyone else was too stupid to handle it.
We had another thirty-five minutes till we got to the construction site and I was damned sleepy. The truth is Joey’s story telling could put anyone to sleep even in that bouncy, vibrating, rattling death machine of a vehicle.
I had my sunglasses on, so I figured he wouldn’t notice if I closed my eyes. Besides, he never looked at me to make eye contact or anything like that.
I started to drift off as he droned on about the construction job of yesteryear in Tallahassee. I was in a half asleep, half awake state. The radio was floating into my dream world and that damned bouncing, rattling, and talking all combined to create quite a nightmare.
We were in an airplane that had hit freakish turbulence, or something; maybe an engine was out. Whatever it was, we were going down. “Damn it! We’re going down!” The airplane was heading straight for a body of water. “I’m going to die,” I thought. “I’m going to die.” Bam! We hit the water hard.
“Steve, you better wake up!” I heard Joey say with a considerable amount of strain in his voice.
I opened my eyes to see that the truck was sinking into a swamp. The mucky water was rising relatively quickly up the windshield.
“I fell asleep,” Joey said, in way of explanation, as he frantically rolled down his window and water came rushing into the truck. He then reached over and opened the glove box. “I better grab this.” He pulled out a 38 revolver.
Well, I was a little groggy, but I was enraged, too, and frightened, and confused, and cold, and wet and getting wetter.
“Come on Steve!” Joey said in an agitated tone. “We better start swimming!” He then tried climbing out the window, but it was quite a challenge since the water was flowing in with a lot of force. As Joey fought against the tidal wave, an alligator started swimming in through the window. Somehow, Joey escaped the alligator’s gnashing teeth as he shot it three times, splattering blood, brains, and guts into the small space in the cab that wasn’t already filled with water.
Some of the alligator blood got into my left eye and the eye closed reflexively. Through my right eye, I could see that the water line outside the truck had reached the top of the windshield cutting off the last rays of direct sunlight. However, the cab was still dimly lit since the sunlight was having some success penetrating the swamp water. In that lighting, the blood splatter was rather artistic, in a kind of disturbing way.
I suppose I was in a state of denial because I shouldn't have been paying attention to the aesthetic qualities of alligator-blood splatter. I should probably have been paying attention to the fact that even though that alligator was extremely dead, Joey was still fighting it because the water flowing into the cab was trying to bring the alligator in with it. The alligator was about eight feet long, which doesn't really sound that big. All the same, when an alligator is being jammed into the cab of a truck with the force of a tsunami, eight feet is quite big. There Joey was, contorting his body all about, pushing that dead alligator back with both hands as water kept rushing in all around it.
"YOUR window damn it! YOUR window!" Joey screamed. Then he followed it with a stream of profanities. I was definitely panicking because all I could say was, "What window? I have a window?" I was picturing windows in my apartment and I was thinking, "Well, they're not really MY windows; they belong to whoever owns the apartment complex."
Subconsciously, I had already lifted myself out of my seat toward the cab ceiling since the water inside the cab had risen quite a ways above the dashboard. There was about a foot of space left that wasn’t filled with water. At that moment, I guess my subconscious was obsessed with the notion of breathable air. Thank goodness my subconscious was still working because my conscious was not.
It was 7:15AM, and it was a real bad start to the day. Let me tell you, it only got worse. But, for the most part, that sums up why I hate alligators.
--
We were moving down the freeway with the truck vibrating and otherwise making much more noise than seemed necessary. Joey had the radio on. It’s the damnedest thing; he always had the radio on in that truck. I have no idea where the speakers were. The radio was always pretty loud, though, and the static was significant. With the noise the truck made, you couldn’t discern much of anything that was coming from that damned radio. It just ended up being a tremendous distraction.
Then Joey would talk the whole time anyway. Of course, he had to talk very loud to talk over the din. A good deal of the time, I didn’t know what he was talking about. Once in while, I’d tune into what he was saying. Sometimes he was talking about sports, sometimes women, sometimes an impossible construction task that he had to come to the rescue of because everyone else was too stupid to handle it.
We had another thirty-five minutes till we got to the construction site and I was damned sleepy. The truth is Joey’s story telling could put anyone to sleep even in that bouncy, vibrating, rattling death machine of a vehicle.
I had my sunglasses on, so I figured he wouldn’t notice if I closed my eyes. Besides, he never looked at me to make eye contact or anything like that.
I started to drift off as he droned on about the construction job of yesteryear in Tallahassee. I was in a half asleep, half awake state. The radio was floating into my dream world and that damned bouncing, rattling, and talking all combined to create quite a nightmare.
We were in an airplane that had hit freakish turbulence, or something; maybe an engine was out. Whatever it was, we were going down. “Damn it! We’re going down!” The airplane was heading straight for a body of water. “I’m going to die,” I thought. “I’m going to die.” Bam! We hit the water hard.
“Steve, you better wake up!” I heard Joey say with a considerable amount of strain in his voice.
I opened my eyes to see that the truck was sinking into a swamp. The mucky water was rising relatively quickly up the windshield.
“I fell asleep,” Joey said, in way of explanation, as he frantically rolled down his window and water came rushing into the truck. He then reached over and opened the glove box. “I better grab this.” He pulled out a 38 revolver.
Well, I was a little groggy, but I was enraged, too, and frightened, and confused, and cold, and wet and getting wetter.
“Come on Steve!” Joey said in an agitated tone. “We better start swimming!” He then tried climbing out the window, but it was quite a challenge since the water was flowing in with a lot of force. As Joey fought against the tidal wave, an alligator started swimming in through the window. Somehow, Joey escaped the alligator’s gnashing teeth as he shot it three times, splattering blood, brains, and guts into the small space in the cab that wasn’t already filled with water.
Some of the alligator blood got into my left eye and the eye closed reflexively. Through my right eye, I could see that the water line outside the truck had reached the top of the windshield cutting off the last rays of direct sunlight. However, the cab was still dimly lit since the sunlight was having some success penetrating the swamp water. In that lighting, the blood splatter was rather artistic, in a kind of disturbing way.
I suppose I was in a state of denial because I shouldn't have been paying attention to the aesthetic qualities of alligator-blood splatter. I should probably have been paying attention to the fact that even though that alligator was extremely dead, Joey was still fighting it because the water flowing into the cab was trying to bring the alligator in with it. The alligator was about eight feet long, which doesn't really sound that big. All the same, when an alligator is being jammed into the cab of a truck with the force of a tsunami, eight feet is quite big. There Joey was, contorting his body all about, pushing that dead alligator back with both hands as water kept rushing in all around it.
"YOUR window damn it! YOUR window!" Joey screamed. Then he followed it with a stream of profanities. I was definitely panicking because all I could say was, "What window? I have a window?" I was picturing windows in my apartment and I was thinking, "Well, they're not really MY windows; they belong to whoever owns the apartment complex."
Subconsciously, I had already lifted myself out of my seat toward the cab ceiling since the water inside the cab had risen quite a ways above the dashboard. There was about a foot of space left that wasn’t filled with water. At that moment, I guess my subconscious was obsessed with the notion of breathable air. Thank goodness my subconscious was still working because my conscious was not.
It was 7:15AM, and it was a real bad start to the day. Let me tell you, it only got worse. But, for the most part, that sums up why I hate alligators.
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