Audley Enuf

He stoked the fire when we tried to put it out. He started the fire when we were already burning. Audley Enuf is an average-looking fellow with below-average IQ points. We love him, regardless, of course, because, after all, he does have the best of intentions. He means us no real harm; but most of the time that’s what happens anyways.
It’s sad, really, that he doesn’t seem to understand the concept of pain - in spite of the amount of pain we inflict on him to try to make him understand. He just doesn’t grasp it. Like the time he pushed ol’ Mrs. Grainer down a flight of stairs; she broke her hip (among other things) but couldn’t ask for damages from a handicapped boke, could she? So we tried to help him recognize what he has done wrong (and put Mrs. Grainer at ease) by causing him an equal amount of pain.
Needless to say it didn’t work. I mean, you can tell by the state our town is in that we should have pushed a little harder. We were just too soft, that’s all; and now it’s too late. Well, I suppose in the end the lesson learned here is that you really shouldn’t physically abuse a retarded person - they don’t appreciate it. And they tend to rebel and cause mass chaos and injury to you and your townsfolk. So don’t try it, huh? Getting the town to fund it was more trouble than it was worth, anyways…

Almost Paper Cut

Night is falling. I’m at home; trying to find a scary movie …none interest me very much. It’s dark outside now, I’m alone and bored. I have unlimited Internet access, endless cable channels, two full-stocked fridges, movies, DVDs and CDs galore and, if I get really desperate; dogs to play with. Yet I find myself laying on the couch, staring up at the ceiling, wishing that dumb boy would get his act together and call me already.
BAM! A rock hits my kitchen window loudly and amazingly doesn’t break it. I roll off the couch and hit the floor, scrambling up just in time to duck as a second, bigger rock comes hurtling through the glass.
“What the hell?!” I whisper to myself, heart racing as I fight off the first wave of panic. I wait a few minutes in silence before moving to the kitchen, moving around the glass to take a look at the shattered window. I pick up the rock and tip toe to the front door. I turn off the porch light, unlock the door and quietly step outside.


…damn gophers…

A Dog's Life and Death

my fingers smell like nail polish
I painted them red
my face is streaked with blue and purple
I like the way they bring out my eyes
my dress is stained and torn
I chose something satiny and tight-fitting
my knees and feet are dirty and bruised
I crawled some of the way
and the worst part is you didn’t even notice.

but there was someone who did
someone who wanted to make sure I got home safe
and make sure I got out of those wet clothes
someone who followed me through the dark alley and dense woods
back to my dark, empty house
picking up my purse and shoes as they fell off my person
he even found my pearl earring
which he fished out of a murky puddle

freak
stalker freak

rings the doorbell
knocks on my door
does both
repeats
pounds on the door
jiggles the doorknob
commences yelling, “open the door!”

i have the bat now
and am ready to open the door
i do
i swing
i hit
i kill


my friend.

His name was Baxter.
I always made fun of him because he had such a typical dog name, you know? Not something you’d expect for a human boy.
He’d act like a dog sometimes, too.
Followed me home, wanted me to keep him. Always happy to see me. Loyal. Loving.
He loved me.
He saw my heart get torn up and stuffed down my own throat.
After defending me the best way he knew how (sockin’ the jerk right in the kisser), and he ran after me.
Good dog.

Baseball was Baxter’s favorite sport.
He gave me that bat when we were seven for my birthday.
I gave it back when we were seventeen at his funeral.

We will never play fetch again.