Wednesday, November 14, 2012

Non Identical Twins

 The Importance of Knowing One's Audience

She was true royalty, though few beyond myself would avoid laughing at the concept. Her name, or closely enough, was Princess Ylena Natasha Chehovsky and she was mad as a hatter. She, a hippy and I, a biker, were part of the same drug culture and met while plying our trades.

For many years we flirted while never stepping through the ring of fire. We lost track of each other for a decade, my life twisting down a dry road and hers simply twisting. Upon our accidental reunion at a local coffee shop, she notified me that we belonged together, that we had gotten close to consummating many times throughout our many histories but alas, had never taken that final step. She was not wholly concerned in that if it didn’t happen in this lifetime, it would in the next, or the next.

As if a largemouth bass, I took the bait, she set the hook and we were one… for a few months at least. The end came once we’d played “introduce the girlfriend to the parents” day, and she spent an hour explaining to them the intricacies of dealing cocaine.

To Die on a Dare

Great gaping windows stood side by side, relieved of all but a few shards of their glass, tattered piss yellow sheers whipping in and out on the cold autumn wind. The peeling clapboards rattled and hissed as their rusted nails bent to the task of holding fast that which screamed to escape. Each step I took creaked a word or two of warning, of painful memory.

Samuel said two boys had died here long ago, alone, afraid, cowering against bloody basement walls. But Sam had also said his sister liked me, and that was obviously a bald faced lie. 


There was no choice really. I had bet I was the better long distance spitter, and had lost. This was the penalty, and if my dad had taught me anything it was that a Maloney never fudged on a bet, no matter the consequences.

I would need to run to the basement, touch all four walls and run back. I only hoped my flashlight would last the entire way. I clenched my fists and ground my teeth, kicked softly at the open door which swung out of the way with a low shriek, and stepped inside old man Cragney’s house.

1 comment:

  1. Good to tell the tales.
    I loved 'tattered piss yellow sheers whipping in and out on the cold autumn wind'