A Nice Little Memory by s.g. anwyll

Monday, November 12, 2012

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My uncle walks past in his jangly way. It’s a certainty he’s tainted by some intoxicant. People free of outside influences are also free of such fluidity. When he recognizes the situation he notices me sitting on a younger siblings swing set. I sit there staring, not swinging.

His pupils tighten and he cranes his neck. His body stands at an uncomprehending angle from his arms and legs. Short black hair is matted to his head. A terrible odor floats from his clothes, his flesh, and his soul. A fisherman never leaves his work at work.

Standing there in the grass his mouth begins to move.

‘When I get aids… I’m gonna cum on your toothbrush.”

‘What?”

‘When I get aids, I’m going to jerk off on your toothbrush.’

‘I’m not gonna use my toothbrush anymore.”

You’re fucking gross!’ he responds.

Gone he goes around the house. The sunlight falls to the ground without observation. Faintly the swing moves from a slight breeze more then anything else. The moment may have never happened. I am left with a strange memory and a new paranoia.

Being alone is the perfect time for revenge. Parents have left for somewhere, no words and no farewell. Undoubtedly the uncle is sitting on a boat on the lake hauling in large wet nets teeming with suffocating fish.

A king-sized waterbed with black velvet frame is the center point of an ordinary room. A stack of empty cigarette packs sits against a wall. I knock them over. I search his things; I steal change, half a fifth of whiskey and loose cigs. I find a cache of old Playboys.

Beat off on my toothbrush.

I find the most agreeable girl, soft light and coyote fur rug. There is the glow of a fire from somewhere out of frame. The point of where her body meets physical reality is blurred. She is just real enough.

In the end the carpet is no longer so soft in a certain area. The velvet becomes crusted not crushed. A drop of signature left on the bottom left corner of the page. I wipe off on the inside of his pillowcase.

A short bike ride and a longer walk along an understood path after. I lie on my back, stare up at the sky obscured by pine branches. I light a smoke, have a drink and the satisfaction of things takes hold.

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s.g.anwyll is a no good nobody; he lives in Montréal.

© 2012 – 2013, Metazen.

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