NOTE TO SELF: UNSURPRISING

I couldn't keep it up.  One post a day?  One, new, original, and un-shitty story a day?  I ran out of steam. Or, I had to stop forcing it.  The past few chunks of I posted...not too happy with.  I'm going to stick with it, but only when a good idea strikes.  And I'm going to try and up production of my longer stuff.

GREEN WINTER

It was going to take forever for the heat to die down, so the guys went to town and started getting creative.  The cash was stacked high in the dank basement, and wasn't going anywhere anytime soon so they got to building.  Tightly wrapped in plastic, non-sequential bills, mixed denominations.  The guys had left the stacks of ones and fives, the chump change.  Tens and twenties and hundreds and fifties and one short stack of two dollar bills.  Why not?, one of the guys had said. They had no answer.  So they built down their in their little kingdom with the blacked out windows, the stolen loot as their bricks.  A whole living room and bedroom, built out of cash.  They made forts out of the money, thousands of dollars high and deep.  They ended up flinging bricks of fifties at one another, giggling like little kids in February in a green winter.  The games continued until the plastic gave way and the air was filled with cash, so they decided to stop.  And after they gathered up the loose cash, they all drifted away to sleep atop their stolen fortune.

SOMETHING LIKE PEACE

She looked up and down the aisle nine or ten times by now, one toe tapping a jittery rhythm against the base of the jewelry stand.  She knew there was a camera up behind her, but she was wide around that the cameras would have no way to catch her hands.  Those nervous hands plucked and tucked the fancy earrings and necklaces here and there beneath her clothes as her head craned back and forth on her tense neck, back and forth.  she licked her lips nervously as she swapped the jewelry back and forth on the hooks.  Never leave an empty hook, that's the first thing they see on the camera.  The negative spaces.  She looked up and down the rack and gave it a spin, then walked away slowly.  Lazily.  Stop a second later, and peer through the glass at the pretty things they keep locked away.  Looking oh so relaxed as she drags a languid finger across the case.  If anybody was watching, they'd never know suspect her to be a thief.  She's just a casual shopper.  She might buy something, she might not.  She glanced sideways up at the security camera again and smiled, a long and slow and triumphant smile.  She felt an emotion that was something like peace come over her, felt her racing heartbeat creep back to normal, and slowly walked out the door.

WHAT'S IN THE SOUP

Well, I think that's okra.  But it might be a piece of eggplant.  If I could taste it, I'd know for sure.  The guy with the gun says "keep your heads down over your plates!  If I see you looking at us, the next thing you're lookin' at is the inside of a body bag!"  And he doesn't need to tell me twice, no sir.  All I see right now is a nice, hot bowl of minestrone with oyster crackers.  In a cracked bowl.  I hear words behind me, but I don't want to understand them.  Whatever's going on behind me, does not concern me.  I'll just sit here counting the noodles.And the beans, there are seven green beans in here.  Seven green beans, eight spiral noodles, five bits of carrot, 9 white beans, and that stuff that might be okra or eggplant.  I'm looking at my bowl sir, just like you said and I am definitely not hearing the loud thumps and smacks that are coming from whatever you have going on behind me.  No, not hearing anything.  Just watching my crackers soak up that rich red broth, eyeing the crack on the side of the bowl, and trying to decipher whatever the hell this weird, almost gelatinous looking- oh God, you just shot somebody.  You just shot somebody, the crack of the gun behind me was like thunder, like thunder right in my head and- I'm not hearing this.  I don't hear any of this, the only thing in the world is me and my delicious bowl of soup.  I didn't see your face, I didn't hear your name, I'm not hearing you reload your gun and hey, I think this is zucchini.

IN WITH THE FLYING ELBOW

Man, it was crazy.  Crazy.  I was just sitting there, minding my own business with a little jar of honey wine when this big bastard comes running in with a whip -with a whip- and the guy just goes nuts on everybody around him.  He's kicking and punching and laying into everybody in sight and everybody's screaming and trying to get away from this skinny-ass bearded nutjob and things were just crazy in there.  And in the background he's got this posse of twelve other guys just egging him on.  "Nice one, Jesus!"  "Oh snap, Jesus just broke that guys collarbone!"  "Kick his ass, Jesus!"  It was just chaos.  So I'm freaked out and all my livestock is freaked out, and then he turns and points at me and he shouts "YOU!" like I owed him money or I banged his mom or something.  I put my hands up and I'm going "Hey man, I'm just trying to take care of my lambs here-" and BAM!  He jumps up like four, five feet in the air and drops this wicked-ass elbow right down on my head.  I go down like a sack of grain into a pile of sheep shit, and then he's standing over me swinging that whip over his head and screaming like a crazy person.  Honest to Yahweh.  He turned his back and I grabbed my string of sheep and got the hell out of the Temple, the last thing I saw was him turning over the moneylender's tables on the floor with his boys behind him applauding him like he just played a kickass lute solo.  Man.  I heard people talking about this guy before, and let me tell you.  I don't know much about this 'son of God' business, but that dude sure does hit like a son of a bitch.

MY BIG GULP RUNNETH OVER

I was mad.  Mad, I tell you!  Nay, I am weak.  Those fountainheads so perfectly arranged before me; I could not resist a splash from each and every flavor of beverage mixed into one, single Double Big Gulp.  My thirst is quenched, yet I am dehydrated and feel sticky.

And it was not a sound idea to dress my bowl of Frosted Flakes with a Starbucks DoubleShot.

Lo, my KFC Double Down did not need a bowl of gravy for dipping, yet I did order it on the side; for I am loathsome.

I regret that I was fool enow to purchase a sack of Cool Ranch Doritos, for my order from Taco Bell was already of the Locos Tacos variety.  Woe, that I did not think outside of the box!

Yet when it came to dessert, I held fast!  I stood strong!  I resisted the delicious sponge cake and the creamy filling of the Hostess varieties.  No Twinkies nor Snoballs nor delicately crusted fruit pie will waylay me.  After having supped so richly this day, I exerted every erg of willpower to resist the siren’s call of the pastry stand.  For I am no animal.  I am a man!

...but in truth, my strength is a mask for my true weakness.  For I know lurking in the back of my freezer, I own a pair of Sara Lee poundcakes and one cheesecake.  And furthermore I know that I will likely make unto myself a sandwich of these confections, however grotesque and decadent that may be.  

O, lament!   

LEAVE THE BOTTLE

With her head hanging low and heavy she stares back and forth from her lap to the phone in her fist.  There's no life there.  No little jingle of an incoming call, no little green light to show a text or an email has come in.  It's as still as a brick, like the weight down low in her belly, the weight planted firmly on her heart.  She looks up and she's a fright; tracks of mascara running down her cheeks from eyes red and bloodshot.  She tries forcing a grin onto her pallid face, but it fails and cracks and seems to fall off in pieces.  The bartender walks up to her to ask her things, but she does not hear him.  He wants to know how are you doing tonight, what can I get you, what are you drinking.  She knows what he is saying, but she only listens for the phone that won't ring.  She pulls out some cash and points at the bottle on the tallest shelf in the bar with a single, shaky finger and gets ready to speak.

NO REASON TO GET ALL EXCITED

I mean, it's just a severed head.  If you can think about it rationally it's really not that shocking.  If it were somebody I knew, somebody I cared about.  Or even if it had been somebody I had seen before and not known.  A guy on my bus to work in the morning, that lady who was always going into the lobby store just as I was coming out.  You know.  But this, this is nobody special.  Sure it's disgusting, but what would you expect?  It's a severed head after all, I think you need to expect a certain level of gore and mess when dealing with a severed head.  But you know what would be truly remarkable?  A head that was neatly removed from a body.  No stump, no trailing connective tissues or meat or gore.  Just a head, neatly and smoothly disconnected from the neck.  Now that would be something to talk about.  Something that you've never seen.  But then again, maybe I'm a little bit jaded.  If you saw as many severed heads as I do, wouldn't you start taking them in stride?