Preview of
Whore
As experienced by Daniel Haddix
Mary Lou:
I had already jumped out a few bedroom windows when 'daddy' got home by the time I met her. These six months are still my longest relationship. Demure, innocent, country cutie with pigtails; she had an engineered body with an organic smile. I could describe how we met, the sappy stuff, what it meant, however, I'm not, this is about me. Metaphorically speaking, with a stolen handgun, I shot a cute puppy numerous times in front of a happy clown who was entertaining joyous veterans and their grandchildren while they ate oven fresh cookies at Ronald McDonald's birthday party. All that needs related is she forgave me.
Cigarettes, booze, and Mary Jane where gone, which, they had been a mainstay for a few years. We had open minds and hearts that closed out the world, if we even acknowledged the world's existence. No words could possibly describe our connection. She told stories, which I would neither confirm nor deny. It was how we kept our friends guessing and to keep out of our business.
Everything was storybook dreams until I had this nightmare. No need for the gory details, except to say, she received the treatment I got from teachers, bullies, and passers by; she had become their scapegoat, outcast, freak. She was me in this vision. And, our hometown had turned me into my forefathers. I woke up crying and it seeped in as a definitive premonition. I turned pale-faced as I prayed to the porcelain toilet gods. With a selfish decision I broke a promise, our hearts, and the flusher.
In 2008 I needed a break from my girlfriend Alicia. After going to my grandma's for the best afternoon breakfast in the tri-state area, we went to the geriatric center to visit her sister, my great aunt Shirley. The three of us sat at a table in the cafeteria, two of us forced conversation. I glanced at a paper somebody left. A column with a poem dedicated to an old friend saddened me greatly. I carefully ripped it from the newspaper, folded it, and tucked it into my wallet. My eyes observe the room afterwards. A nurse with her head tipped down was staring at me. I looked back the way a deer glares at headlights. It was the girl who taught me to be myself. A bad dream hung between Mary Lou and me, instead of years. She walked off and the world existed once more. I hugged Mamaw and Aunt, told them I loved them, and I'd be right back.
I wanted to talk to the ladies in the laundry department where I pulled a thirty day stint of community service, but, the paper column had crushed me and I needed a smoke. She walked up to me in the smoking area, not saying a word, even after we were the only ones there. "God damn it, Mary Lou, I'm sorry" I said absolute without definition. I showed her this tattoo I got just as a reminder to not do anything dumb, for example, break up with a great person so they won't face my persecution, though, she would have. Her index finger brushed the frog on my chest, kissed me, and she was gone. I forgave myself after I knew she had. Later that day, I may or may not have slipped a married woman a note. It may or may not have read my cell number with the sentence 'wouldn't blame you if you didn't call'.
Jamie:
This jazzy firecracker was too hot for her well being. Everyone else wanted to impress the tall blonde girl, except me. She was impressed by the way I didn't care for social pleasantries. We had our jokes. She called me white trash and I called her rabbit ball; inside jokes. Our friends despised us and each other for being, well, friends.
One night she called "I'm gonna line you out, right here and now" she greeted and went on to say "It's been almost a year, you're over her, and that's why your step-sister's friends end up as bad sock jokes. However, ass jack, you haven't forgiven yourself for hurting her and that's why you won't get close to anybody. You're strange and your love is unusual" She paused for me to say something, I didn't. She was right, I could have loved her for it, yet, I couldn't utter a word. We had our own sock joke, I'll give the punch line, but the rest is/was ours: I woke up with one sock gone, the other on backwards, then she said I thought you wore flip flops. Hilarious.
I pussyfooted around every innuendo and opportunity with Jamie. We had dreams of escaping our hometown, the place were dreams come to die and state troopers came to make a name, the new 'old west'. The phrase "A shot in the arm" has a very bad meaning in the place, which became another joke. We had the most foolish ideas of escaping, by which age if we were still single we would marry each other and live our lives happy and drug free. Years pass, I almost had a driver's license, and we began to fall victim to what our hometown is. She called pissed and wanting to know where I was the night before. "Getting drunk with some pals" my regular answer. She broke up with me and we weren't even going steady. She had called that night because she worked up the courage to ask me out; I wished I'd been there. She wasn't wasting any more of her time on me, can't blame her, I was tired of wasting time on me too.
She called every now and then to make sure I wasn't too drunk, stoned, what have you. I only saw her twice after that. The first time she looked scorned. The second time, some five years later, we had become ghosts roaming our pill ridden town. With crooked grins we acknowledged each other at the dollar store. For a moment, we look speculatively familiar, however undeniable, we had changed.
I never cared if I crossed paths with any female I've met again, yet, I always wished them well in all their endeavors, Jamie was an exception to one half of that statement. It was 2008 and it had been a long time since she dropped off the map. Although, I went to DUI School with her husband, he looked at me like he knew my name and could smash my face in for it. My eyes said "Get off the needle and take care of your wife, you stupid, undeserving junkie-fuck". Honestly, she was the farthest thing from my mind when I glanced at the newspaper in the old folk's home that day. It had her picture with a poem in her dedication. She passed away from a horrid disease, like we feared, drug related. I had no idea. The friend I was would have been there. I wanted to cry after I placed the article in my wallet, I couldn't, I smoked a cigarette instead. I don't know who wrote the poem "pastor, go tell them". This it what it read and what the pastor told them:
Pastor, Go Tell Them
She was slender and graceful as a girl, her smooth
Auburn hair in place,
Long lashes shading large soft eyes looked shyly from
Her smiling face
Beautiful, bright, soft spoken and sweet
More bashful than boisterous, not indiscreet
Bad acquaintances introduced her to smoking pot
And drinking
Then to pills and later the needle and she was soon
Beyond thinking
Her conscience was seared, she couldn't love, she
Couldn't feel
Her focus was on the next fix if she had to beg, borrow
Or steal
In her short life's final week after life support was
Disconnected
She confessed her sins, God cleared her soul, but her
Body was too infected
She couldn't overcome it, but God had a little time to
Give
For her to pass on a message, so that others might live
As she lay on her deathbed, the product of bad
Choices
Her thoughts were to warn others and she begged for
More voices
She said "Pastor, use me as an example, tell what I've
Been through
Tell how drug abuse claimed my life at just
Twenty-Two"
Someone else will be tempted to do as I've done
Some other daughter, some other son
They will lose those blessed ties to family and friends
And will follow my path and to the same
Dreaded ends
Please, Pastor go tell them; please go tell them now
Warn all the young ones; try to save them somehow,
Keep them from drug abuse, oh please, for their sake
Talk to them, preach to them, whatever it takes
She said "Time won't let me tell them; you can see
That I'm dying
But this message is crucial and on you I'm relying,
Tell all the world how drugs bring sickness and strife
Take to them this warning from one who paid with
Her life
She said "Pastor, I'm so undeserving, but can my
Funeral be at your church?"
He replied "Yes my child, I'd be honored"
And he repeated that from the pulpit's perch
Death came to her then early that Sunday morning
The Pastor burdened by her words began to declare
Her warning
He said "It's up to you now, for her message you have
Heard,
She sent a clear warning and I've tried to repeat every
Word
I will keep telling it and so should you
How drug addiction took her life; don't let it take your
Life too.
Mary Alicia:
Kim asked how I thought things would work out with when she found I was with Alicia, again. She knew how distrusting I am in general demeanor. "Hit it and quit it is the plan, so, probably not well" I replied joking and serious, depending on how things went. She called me an asshole, and just to let her know I saw her as one of the guys I said "Bitch, I know". Reminds of the time me when she said "It's funny, you offend people like it's a wholesome American past-time". That may've been true.
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La Grande Peur: A French Fable
by Weeb
Once upon a time, during the summer of 1789, there was a happy go lucky country named Republique Francaise.
Ms. Francaise, simply known as France to her closest friends, ruled the area between the English Channel and the Mediterranean Sea. Her virginal foundation and favorable climate created an invalid myth about her practices with the human race. The other countries whispered that France was a collector of men. No matter what social status, pauper or aristocracy, France welcomed all. She held no prejudice against anyone. And because of this, her population grew at an alarming rate.
No matter how adverse survival was, France knew she could rise above any obstacle with dignity. It wasn't everyday a female country made such an impact on an ever changing world.
****
On June 20, a German merchant traveled through France on his way to Rome. As he rode through the countryside, not paying much attention to the beauty of the land around him, France became offended. After several hours, she decided to take matter into her own hand. She did something unethically for a landmass. She spoke to a human.
"Excuse me, sir," she said with a gentle breeze, "I welcome any man who wants to fertilize my hungry loins. Come, fertilize my soil with your seed. Let us reap the harvest of oats, rye and corn together!"
The timid man stopped his horse and stared off into the distant beauty of the land. The odor of wild flowers assaulted his senses. For a brief moment, he felt like a child cuddled between the breasts of his mother. He smiled. "Such pleasant memories," he replied. "You may be a fine country, but the weather worries me."
"Fear not, sir," she said, causing nature to respond to her arguments. Several small furry animals emerged from their homes and stared at the traveler. They wiggled their noses in unison. Butterflies circled his head playfully, creating imaginary rainbows. "Pay no attention to the dampness of this day. My creatures enjoy uncertainty. Look within the fog and rain as a constructive omen. This is Mother Earth telling us that the crops will prosper this season."
It was true. Though a veil of mist and fog surrounded him, the man never wanted to leave. He dismounted, knelt on one knee, and proclaimed himself a Frenchman.
Without wasting another minute, he quickly forgot about the fashion show in Rome and journeyed back to Germany. He informed his family that he discovered the land of dreams. His culture starved children sat at his feet and listened passionately. Their mouths hung open and their eyes grew big as the merchant recounted his saga. "France, my children," he said, "Is the land of opportunity. We must leave now."
The children nodded in agreement. He turned to his wife and waited for her reply, who was stunned into silence. Nervously, she started to pick at the freshly killed chicken in her lap. Several minutes passed before she forced out one vital question: "You did get my toga, didn't you?"
****
Germany became outraged and Frances unethical actions. He vowed revenge as the family gathered their belongings and prepared for the trip. He dispatched two spies to track the family. If he was going to bring charges against France for breaking the Constitution of Landmasses, he would need irrefutable evidence. He was not going to sit idly by while France prostituted herself to any Tom, Dick or Harry that came along.
****
Within one week, the merchant and his family denounced Germany as their homeland and moved to the French city known as La Grande Peur.
****
Life was easy in La Grande Peur.
Every morning, after a hearty breakfast of wheat gruel, the citizens left their shanties and labored tediously in the fields. From sun up to sun down they dedicated their meager lives to tending the crops. Everyone worked in harmony for one central cause: to harvest enough food so they could eat that night.
However, that year, something was wrong with the grain. The crop emitted a foul stench. The older residents claimed that the grain smelled of revolution. "Our country is displeased with us," they would say in hushed tones. "Take heed, our fellow peasants, the times are changing."
Unfortunately, no one heeded their warning. Since food was rare and bellies empty, the citizens of La Grande Peur found no need to worry about stinking grain. Besides, it still tasted the same.
The alarm passed days. The townspeople had more important issues to worry about. Issues like how to escape the plight of the latest plague, the increasing tensions growing among the upper and lower classes, and if there was going to be enough potato gruel for everyone to eat that night.
****
Little did they know, but that harvest would provide them more reasons to smile.
****
As the days passed, Germany set in motion his plan for revenge. He would wait until France was asleep and tell the other countries of her narcissistic attitude. He explained how she seduced the merchant and how he upheld the Constitution while silently watching as HIS natives abandoned their birthplace. He expressed his sorrow, his anger. In essence, he caused an outbreak of holy Hell.
"An investigation," screamed Spain in a strong voice, "We must stop France! If she persists on behaving so irrationally, all our humans will reside under her governance."
Germany rumbled. "She already has one of mine. Who's next? Which one of you will be the next sacrificial lamb?"
"She has broken the Third Amendment of the Constitution of Landmasses," Belgium pointed out smugly. "Which, I remind all of you, states: No landmass shall interfere with an out-of-country human without reasonable cause.' The most vile of crimes. Wake her! We cannot continue this charade of injustice alone."
"Ms. France," Switzerland prompted softly, "Would you please join us."
France yawned. A cool breeze flowed across the land. "What is the problem? Gentlemen, I need my beauty sleep. It's not easy overlooking such an alluring country when I have dark rings under my eyes."
"We know it all, Ms. France," Spain shouted. "Germany informed us that you hoodwinked a merchant into dropping seed in your country. What do you have to say about this, huh?"
"Spain, Spain, Spain," France mumbled softly to the upset neighbor, "I have done nothing wrong. Is it my fault that I have created such attractions that people enjoy walking through my valleys? You act as if it's a crime for a woman to take care of her physique. It's not a crime! I am proud of my body! It would be wrong if others' could not understand it the way I do!"
"You're a loose country," Sweden snapped bitterly.
And so, the arguments started. Back and forth the landmasses screamed. Each accused France, in their own subtle way, of being a wanton woman. They claimed her only concern was population, and that their laws meant nothing. At hearing this, France became disturbed. She started to cry, creating an abundance of dew to form on the growing wheat. She pleaded for understanding. But no matter what she said, the other's continued to assault her orally.
The debate dominated their lives for many days and nights. At one point, the arguments became so embittered that the countries forgot to tend their own lands. Their only concern was that of prosecuting France.
****
Suddenly, the human race had to watch over itself.
****
That night, the merchant brought a bag of recently harvested wheat home to his family. He proudly delivered the sack to his wife, and proclaimed: "Tonight, my family, we will have fresh bread with our potato gruel."
Like the other families in La Grande Peur, the wife proceeded to ground the wheat into flour. She then added yeast, eggs, and milk to the powder and kneaded it into a thick batter. The children watched eagerly, their mouths watering in anticipation. Nothing was better than the first harvest of the season. This harvest set the palette and soul to rest. It was then that true satisfaction could be shared by all.
Hours after the supper of bread and gruel, the peasants began to act strangely. They removed their clothes and rubbed butter and jam all over themselves. Once this novelty wore off, they gathered loaves of bread and moved into the streets. Smiles stretched from ear to ear as they chanted endlessly: "Bread, bread, It's good for the head... Take a bite, take a mouthful... uuummmm good!"
The citizens sang nonstop as they stuffed bread into their mouths. Their problems vanished with each mouthful. Gone were the worries of the approaching revolution and neglect from the upper-class. Life was too short to worry about such trivialities.
The community of La Grand Peur then gave ever minute of their existence to fulfilling their needs for comfort and joy.
Bread was suddenly the most important item in the world to them. They vowed that no matter what happened, nothing would ever come between them and their bread. Not the nobility, not the bourgeoisie, and not even a huge floral dragon wearing a powdered wig.
That is, until one arrived.
The creature skipped excitedly through the streets, causing an outbreak of general fear. Abruptly, the party ended. Many people ran for safety behind locked doors believing the dragon would leave them along. No such luck. The monstrosity would sniff them out and, with a smile, pluck the bread from their shaking hands.
Within minutes, a huge plaid cucumber joined the dragon --
Then a paranoid avocado --
And finally a glop of salad dressing who wanted to mix with everyone.
This being too much for them, the peasants armed themselves with pitchforks and knives, clubs and rocks, and any other form of basic maiming instrument they could find. Their mission was simply to destroy the bread thieving invaders! They attacked the beasts with a vengeance. Purple blood flew everywhere as the serfs fought for their God given right to have bread.
"Bread, bread, it's all ours," they chanted incestuously. "Steal it, take it, we'll kill you dead... "
Things soon turned tragic as several paupers tried to hack up the salad dressing. The miscalculation of a three-pronged pitchfork accidentally landed in the chest of one of their own people. Everyone stopped what they were doing, stared down in horror at the mangled body of their neighbor.
"He died for bread," someone whispered.
"Long live the bread," the other's shouted in salute.
Then it happened. For no clear reason, the crowd discovered a new game. They turned on themselves. There was no stopping them. In the name of bread, they realized that they could have more fun chopping up one another then fighting imaginary beasts.
"Bread, bread," they continued to sing as they hacked away at different body parts. "Eat it till you're dead --"
****
"Bread, bread," the commoners caroled outside the gates of the nearest castle. They violently beat on the door, hoping the gentle hearted aristocracy inside would come out and play. But no matter how much they persisted, no one would answer the door. Instead, the upper-class hid in the castle with all the lights off in hopes that the serfs would think no one was at home.
The King was worried. He watched in revulsion, behind a drapery, as the bread-eating crowd slowly grew into a severe law enforcement problem. No one understood what was happening. Many blue bloods inside the estate speculated that the living conditions irritated the downtrodden of La Grande Peur. Sure, they lived in mud covered hovels and their main diet consisted of rye bread; but was that any reason for such an aggression?
"No," the King said sadly, "This is not about living conditions. This is something far worse. Our lower-class wants freedom."
The court jester rattled his bells and hopped around excitedly. "I'm sorry, dear King, I think you're wrong. If anything, these barbarians want more bread."
"Or maybe some jam to go with it," the princess muttered.
"Bread, bread," the chant grew louder. "It's good for the head... Take a bite, take a mouthful... uuummmm good! Bread, bread, it's good --"
The King bowed his head and slowly shook it back and forth. Deep down he knew someday such an uprising would occur, but he had prayed that it would never happen during his reign. Sadly, he walked to the nearest window. A deathly silence filled the castle as he opened the balcony door and stepped out to greet the citizens of La Grande Peur. "My fellow peasants," he called out to the frenzied crowd, "I understand your plight. Man cannot live by bread alone. If it is freedom you want, then you shall have it. From this day forth, I hereby abolish the Ancien Regime, and proclaim everyone free!"
A stunned lull hovered in the air. After several moments, someone hurled a loaf of bread at the King. The half-eaten loaf bounced off his head and killed him instantly… starting the French Revolution.
****
Why did this happen? Why were the peasants running around the country killing one another in the name of bread? Why did this outbreak of insanity only last a few weeks?
The moral of this incident may be stranger then fiction, if it can be believed.
Recently, several historians have stated that the French Revolution was actually a misunderstanding. In fact, they probably didn't even know what they were doing.
Studies have shown that the peasants of La Grande Peur consumed at least three pounds of grain a day. This was how they lived, since they couldn't afford anything else. It was during the abnormally rainy summer of 1789 that a fungus infected the towns grain supply. The fungus was called ergot, which is simply LSD in its natural form. Without knowing it, the citizens of La Grande Peur were taking massive doses of a hallucinogenic, three times a day, for several weeks.
If any of this is true, it makes one stop and wonder about other key incidents throughout history. Maybe things like the Salem witch trials, the Spanish Inquisition, both World Wars, Vietnam, and Laverne and Shirley were nothing more than a bad trip brought on by a strange fungus.
Hell, it might even explain the Bush years!
I'm just saying…
© 2010 Weeb