Distant Sorrows (5)

After many years of living with Frannie, Abraham began to develop his escape plan. He used his nails as a pencil, and the closet walls were his paper, and he drew his plans of escape. On one of Frannie's many shopping sprees, Abraham would be locked in his closet, but Abraham secretly stole the spare key, so when he was locked in he would make his escape. 

He had no where to hide, no where to go, so he decided to wander around Arkansas, and then possibly find another orphanage, claim that he has amnesia, and start a new life. In his head, the plan sounded excellent, but in the back of his mind, he knew that Frannie would catch up to him, and when she did, his murder would be a guarantee. But Abraham ignored this, and kept positive, as he awaited Frannies' market day. 

As he day-dreamed of his escape, the door burst open, and Abraham faced Frannie. "Take that smirk of your face boy, no pretty girls here to masturbate to." Abraham quickly wiped away the smile, as Frannie laughed at her own joke. She grabbed Abraham by the ear and dragged him to her bathroom. "There is a lot of cleaning to be done here boy, and you better get your ass to it!"

He went into the bathroom to find yellow toenails all over the marble floors, as well as dry pee stains on the toilet seat. Abraham hid the sour look from his face, and began cleaning. Today Frannie was extra angry so she decided to watch Abraham wipe the toenails off the floor, barehanded. As Abraham picked each one up, he swore he could here Frannie mutter, "Thats right boy." As the day progressed, the bathroom soon looked cleaner, Abraham wiped away the pee with his fingers, and the nails were gone. Abraham was dismissed and sent to his closet, where thankfully he had time to dream about his ingenious escape.... or so he thought. 

-Eric

Champagn from a Paper Cup (I)

 The speaker may be blown but Death from Above still had that sexy flair that this old piece of junk needed to stay in my garage one more year. Nothing like flying down a dirt road, arms flailing, ears bleeding. I should know. But now that I’ve got what could be called an ‘actual’ job, I should probably stop playing childish games. Childish games like seeing how many red lights you can run through in how little time. That is a tradition though. When I got my first car, this car, my dad told me the story of how he and his friends played this particular game shitfaced drunk and high on adolescence. I guess he was trying to scare me. So, of course, the second Jared got over we cracked open a bottle of jagermeister and slammed the gas. What a night. 

-David