A gift from God

His wife gave it to him straight: You should be locked up, strapped down, balls cut off, and fed to the pigs.

He moved toward her…

-Get away from me…

He reached out…

-Don’t touch me, motherfucker…

He touched her.

She screamed. She slapped. She scratched. She pushed him hard. He got mad. He saw red. He shot her two times. The gun wasn’t real; it was a water pistol, Sonny’s water pistol. It squirted her blouse.

She grabbed her chest. She fell down and she died. Just like that. 

-Heart attack, he thought. Runs in her family. Father,

mother, both brothers… all dropped like shit out of a donkey’s ass…

He looked down at her. Her face had turned blue. It stopped him dead. It was magical. It was spiritual. It was life-changing. It was a gift from God. It was perfect… the color was perfect… Perfect…

-It’s like the sky, the sea, my hydrangeas…It’s like the color of Sonny’s eyes… I can’t live without it… The color is perfect… Perfect. 

He trembled. He kneeled. He kissed her blue nose. He kissed her blue ears. He wept. He looked for his camera to capture the moment in living color.

-I’ll take photos, he thought. I’ll shoot ten rolls. I’ll shoot twenty. I’ll put photos upstairs, downstairs, attic, basement, garage, in the bathroom above the toilet. I’ll surround myself, drown myself in it… in the color… The color is a gift from God… The color is perfect.. 

He aimed the camera. He zoomed. He was about to click when the smell stopped him…

Something came loose in her stomach and flowed onto the living room carpet. The carpet was green. She was leaking brown.

He dropped the camera. His stomach flipped. He gagged. He held his breath. He held his nose. The smell covered him, smothered him. It smelled like Sonny in the morning, dirty diapers in the morning. It smelled like death in the morning.

He opened a window. He took a deep breath. He cleared his head. He looked down at her. Her face had changed color. Her face had turned gray. His legs wobbled. He felt weak.

-No, no, no. I’ve lost it, he thought. I can’t live without it. It was perfect. The color was perfect… It’s like the sky, the sea, my hydrangeas… MY HYDRANGEAS…

He went outside to visit his hydrangeas, to pick them all, to arrange bouquets, to place them in the house, everywhere in the house, to surround himself, drown himself in it… in the color. The color was perfect… perfect… It was a gift from God.

His hydrangeas were dead. He had forgotten. The cops murdered them. The cops dug up the garden looking for Sonny. They didn’t find Sonny, but they killed his hydrangeas. They killed every one. 

Now what? he thought. I’ve lost it. I can’t live without it. It was perfect. The color was perfect… like the color of Sonny’s eyes…

He hated playgrounds. At nite, shadows made the jungle gym looked like bones, skeletons, Halloween shit. It spooked him, but he dug anyway. He knew the spot.

-Sonny, it’s Daddy. Where are you? 

No answer. He dug deeper.

-Daddy can’t find you. 

No answer. He dug deeper.

-Daddy needs something. 

No answer. He dug deeper. Blisters popped on his hands.  

-Be a good boy, Sonny. Daddy needs something from you.

No answer. 

-Daddy needs something from you… Just one little thing…

His hands hurt. He was desperate.  

  -OK Sonny, let’s make a deal. Daddy will bring Mommy for a visit if Daddy can have one of your pretty blue peepers. Just one. Daddy will rip it out of your head so fast you’ll hardly feel a thing. How’s that sound, Sonny? 

Nothing.  

His hands bled. His spirits plunged. He was losing hope. He prayed: Please help me, God. You gave me a gift and I lost it. I can’t live without it. I don’t want to live without it. Please help me find it again. It was perfect… Perfect…

That nite, he dreamed blue. He dreamed blue sky, blue sea, blue hydrangeas, Sonny’s blue eyes… His wife’s blue nose, ears, face… blue  blue  BLUE… 

He woke up with an idea. It was perfect.  

He found the water pistol, Sonny’s water pistol. He filled it to the top, ice-cold water.

-I’ll go to Mrs. Spleen’s house, he thought. She’s old. She’s sick. She looks like shit.  When she opens the door, I’ll hit her with a fucking tsunami. Fifty squirts. Ice-cold. With luck, she’ll drop like a bag of hammers, turn blue and I’ll be back in business.  If not, I’ll go to the next house, then the next, then the next…. I won’t give up… Never…I’ll find it again… It was  perfect… The color was perfect… Perfect… I can’t live without it, won’t live without it. It’s a gift from God… A gift…

He put the water pistol in his pocket… and he went shopping.  

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Copyright © 2011 by William J Fedigan

William J Fedigan writes about who he is, what he knows, where he’s been. Contact:  HYPERLINK "mailto:wfedigan@aol.com" wfedigan@aol.com

The wrong old lady

Rocco had a job to do. He kicked Feather’s kidneys in. Feather pissed blood. It was bad. Rocco kneeled Feather down like he was a fucking altar boy. Feather began to cry. He said: It’s a mistake. I’m sorry. Please don’t… It didn’t matter. Rocco shot him two times, back of the head. Feather fell forward. His nose broke, his mouth broke on the sidewalk… pieces of teeth on the sidewalk… blood and brains on the sidewalk… Feather dead on the sidewalk. It was bad, real fucking bad. Benny watched. Benny wanted to scream.  

Benny knew Feather died because Healey fucked it up. 

Benny told Feather: The kind of guy Healey is would sell babies if he knew how to sell babies… 

Feather didn’t listen. Feather smelled money. Feather smelled the old 

lady’s money. Feather listened to Healey. Healey set it up. It’s easy, Healey said, easy. It wasn’t easy. Feather died because it wasn’t easy. Feather died because Healey fucked it up. 

Healey told Feather: You know the old lady, the gimpy old lady drags her foot when she walks.  

Feather said: Yeah. 

-What I hear is she keeps cash, a lot of cash, in her house. What I hear is she’s goin away for couple of days, Healey said.

Feather listened. Feather liked it. Feather smelled money. It smelled good. Feather was hungry.

-So we go in, we find the money, we get out. Easy. A quick in-out, Healey said. Feather liked it. 

Feather went in. Healey stayed out. The house was big. Feather smelled money. It smelled good. Feather was hungry. Feather followed his nose. Feather heard noises. Feather tried to hide. The front door opened. The old lady walked in. The old lady was holding a pocketbook. The old lady was holding a shopping bag. The old lady looked at Feather. She squinted her eyes. The old lady looked at Feather hard, did-she-know-him hard. Feather looked back hard, did-he-know-her hard. The old lady didn’t know Feather. Feather didn’t know the old lady. Feather froze. It was the wrong old lady. Healey fucked it up. Shit! 

-You sure this is the right house? Feather asked Healey, wanting to be sure, no mistakes, no fuck-ups. 

-Yeah, this is the right fuckin house, Healey said. 

Healey was wrong… It was the wrong house. It was the wrong old lady. Healey fucked it up. 

The old lady screamed. She was scared shitless. Feather was scared shitless. Feather grabbed her, put his hand over her mouth. It’s a mistake, he said. I’m sorry, he said. Please don’t scream, he said. The old lady bit his hand. Feather squeezed his hand over her mouth. The old lady kicked. Feather squeezed his hand tight, too tight. The old lady stopped kicking. The old lady stopped breathing. The old lady shit herself. The old lady turned gray as cement. The old lady turned cold as a sidewalk. 

The old lady hit the floor. The shopping bag hit the floor. The pocketbook hit the floor. The pocketbook spilled out old lady shit… dimes, nickels, rosary, Mass card. The rosary beads were worn down smooth as bones. The Mass card said:  In loving memory of… Feather read the name. Feather knew the name. Everybody knew the fucking name. Feather pissed his pants. Feather said: Help me, Jesus. Feather ran out the door like his hair was on fire. Healey was gone. Feather was alone. It was dark, pitch black, no moon. Feather was scared shitless. 

Benny told Feather: The kind of guy Healey is would sell babies…

Feather didn’t listen. Healey fucked it up. Feather died. Rocco shot him.

Rocco asked around. It didn’t take long. Rocco found Feather at Benny’s place. Benny told Rocco it was a mistake, it was Healey fucked it up. Rocco said: I don’t know who the fuck Healey is. I don’t know who the fuck you are. Get out the way and let me do my job. 

Rocco shot Feather two times, back of the head. It was bad, real fucking bad. Benny watched. Benny wanted to scream. Benny wanted to do something about it…

Benny asked around for Healey. It didn’t take long. Benny found Healey hiding in the boneyard. Healey was drunk. Healey was scared. Healey was pissing on some poor bastard’s grave. Healey told Benny maybe he got confused, it was dark that night, pitch black, no moon, maybe he made a mistake, wrong house, wrong old lady, but it was Feather snuffed her, not him.

Rocco was crouched down behind a tombstone. Rocco listened. Rocco heard every word. Rocco walked up behind Healey. Rocco shot Healey two times, back of the head. The muzzle flash caught Healey’s head on fire. Healey fell forward into his own piss. That was good. Healey’s head torched. That was better.  Let the motherfucker burn, Benny told Rocco.

Benny and Rocco watched Healey burn.

Rocco asked Benny: What kinda guy was Healey would plan to rob an old lady? 

-The kind of guy Healey was would sell babies if he knew how to sell babies, Benny said.

Rocco asked Benny: What kinda guy was Feather would rob an old lady?

-Feather was the kind of guy would listen to a guy like Healey, Benny said.

-Healey was bad luck for Feather, Rocco said.

-Healey was bad luck for the old lady, Benny said.

-Not all bad luck, Rocco said. Healey’s burning for both of them. 

Rocco was right. Healey burned like dead skin. Healey burned and it stunk. It stunk like garbage stinks when it’s dumped in the street, and even the rats won’t touch it. 

Benny didn’t mind the stink. Benny didn’t mind at all. 

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Copyright © 2011 by William J Fedigan

William J Fedigan writes about who he is, what he knows, where he’s been. His latest work appears in Swill Magazine, Horror-Sleaze-Trash, Yellow Mama, Short, Fast and Deadly, Muscle & Blood, Metal Scratches, Blackheart Magazine. Contact:  HYPERLINK "mailto:wfedigan@aol.com" wfedigan@aol.com