Short stories

Pigs Shall Inherent the Earth

You ask a myriad of quotidian questions but today is not a quotidian day Oh no not today not a quotidian day today it is butter smeared around the arsehole a wimp knowing that the mirror is mendacious afterall a penurious couple sharing Chinese for the first time and your wife (now not much to look at except the varicose veins swelling pregnancy three hairy chins nothing to dream over lust over come over) thinks you have found out about her affair which you have but you care not a fig about the man with the little twig and the ridiculous eschewed wig but these machinegun splatter (if only) questions have nothing to do with the affair and Betty is again perplexed and next it is the kids (Kids! Lambs to the Slaughter) turn and of course Mike wants to go back to bed and jerk off and Carol is on the telephone talking to her good-for-nothing boyfriend (wears makeup and listens to music that tells him to commit suicide (if only)) and Peter is tucked up in bed dreaming of tractors and diggers and Oh boy he’s drooling stupid cunt so it’s only right that he should start early tractors and diggers (he’ll keep them nice and oiled with drool).  So you’ve pointed the spotlight you’ve done the SS routine twisted arms pulled ears produced tears caused all kinds of fears and even played with Betty’s boobs (sagging pendulums) and so it’s off to the shower. You’ve no dignity left so you jerk off picturing Betty sucking on that leafless twig and it is all yes O yes and Betty walks in but you don’t stop no you go to the hop to the bop causing a great slop and the last time Betty saw you like this was on your honeymoon when she said it hurt and was red raw and you just stuffed it in there. You might not be embarrassed but she is. Dry and smelling of lotion you stand afore the mirror and you say things will get better Oh they have got to get better surely they will get better well Boy they can’t get any more fuckedup. You put on your pajamas and say that you will wear the grey suit tomorrow and Betty says something fatuous (always fatuous and reads Elle) about the time and you tell her it is going to be a busy day tomorrow and she goes into the bathroom undresses brushes her teeth before she can say goodnight you are asleep. Here you are happy. It is a troubled sleep but nobody will know. Betty climbs into bed and you are unaware. Reads Elle. You are standing on 4th street and you are naked it’s the same dream over and over again you are always on 4th street and you are always naked and your penis is hard throbbing hard but a burnt blackened bratwurst.

You awake around three in the morning in a cold sweat with the machete to your throat the obols placed on your eyes your penis stuffed in your mouth how is it going to end you want to know Oh God (you do not believe in God you abandoned God when God abandoned you) how is it going to end. You think about getting up but you don’t have the energy you think of slipping it into Betty that burnt blackened bratwurst but sleep is welcomed back even though it is a Trojan horse and even before the first Z you’re right back on 4th street naked as the day you were born with that burnt blackened bratwurst spitting and drooling.  So you wake up when you should not too early definitely not late and Betty has been superseded by her foul smell and the camel humps in the mattress and you’re already showered dried teeth brushed before the fear can impinge.  Once upon a time putting on a suit was exhilarating now it is like standing before a wall and having a bunch of kids practice their pitching like being a biscuit in a cum factory like the arsehole at a gangbang the fabric burns deep burns burns burns.  

Lately you have been eating like a pig with gastroenteritis you start even before sitting down snorting grimacing drooling Here he goes the old human trashcan thinks Mike and Heart attack city here we come thinks Carol and The race is on thinks Pete. You’re acting the pig but your dignity was stripped away many months ago and now you’re oinking all the way to the door. Betty will take the kids to their schools you once did the drive but a couple of months ago you told Betty that you wanted to use the bus you enjoy the ride and the company you told her that you had joined a group a bus group Betty laughed but conceded it was a good idea you having friends you having friends and Betty doesn’t mind that now after work you get together (your fucking friends) before the bus and have a couple of drinks she’s fine with it now when you get home you’re in a better mood (and the little twig has licked her fig). Off to work. Betty places a kiss upon your forehead she’s been doing it for twenty years (now her lips are painted) her lips are glowing embers the pain is too much burns but you don’t flinch you welcome the pain you deserve the pain you luxuriate in the pain. (On the spit choking on the Apple.) Have a good day at work says Betty (sans mockery) bring home the bacon.

On the bus you act important you act as though you have the world on your shoulders the canaille under your shaved heels a penis that tickles ribs and knocks out yankee doodle dandy and you hurry head down up 4th street fighting off that clown that frown that noun. It is amazing how quickly you dematerialize nobody gives you a second glance (it’s the times) but under the pink fluff behind the huge belly behind the snout behind the huge grin behind the blank eyes under the sailor cap you know you know you wallowing in the sweat afore the pink big ass without the hole the twirling tail you know the disgust the shame shame is a funny thing to some shame is a perpetual rain fall that drenches for others shame is an absent friend shame can be the torturer shame the nagging wife shame is that clown the follows you into that interview and pulls down your pants shame is that star linebacker that pushed your face into the mud shame is the business man that huffs at your tie shame is the prostitute that collapsed into a mess of laughter at your naked frame shame is that cheap pop song that won’t leave you alone shame is the turd that won’t flush shame just won’t hush.

Saul Waters

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