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Cerebral Contents: Update for 05.13.08: Backsliding by Cynthia Ruth Lewis 05.05.08: Five Feet and Building by Joel Van Noord Grocery Aisle by Richard Lighthouse Cross the Road by Ashok Niyogi 04.29.08: The Modern Covenant by Daniel E. Wilcox Death by Onions by Michael Frissore 04.21.08: Future's Children by Kimberly Raiser Identity Theft by George Anderson A Great Deal of Money by Justin Hyde 04.14.08: Mr. Papaya and Dale by Eric Suhem California by Caroline Imreibe Aftermath of Vehement Argument #1,068 by Cynthia Ruth Lewis Trip-Hammer Vitality by Lisa Nickerson 04.07.08: The Florence of Basel, or Why Readers of Nietzsche Need to Read Burckhardt by Jeff Crouch Friends of the Poet by Sean C. Bowen Picture Perfect by Leah Baldwin 03.24.08: Staring Down a White-Tailed Doe by Aleathia Drehmer 03.17.08: The Hairbrush by Vernard Kennedy Dog Days of Winter by Niall Berkeley Poem From My Grave by Michael Lee Johnson Mashed Potatoes and Hamburgers by Matt Finney 03.10.08: Hard Work by Luis Cuauhtemoc Berriozabal Jetty Cake Pigs by J.D. Nelson |
A Crunching Sound by Andy Riverbed
He had to hurry up. They were going to be late. His sister, Sandra, had a court date. Yeah, she was caught stealing; all just for the rush. It's not like she was in dire need of J.C. Penny panties. But what the fuck? He had to get his shit down too. He was going to see his girl after work today. He had to shave. No good giving a bad impression. Girls love a clean-cut man. He was standing in the shower. Considering the risks he'd take if he began to shave. Damn, he knew he should have shaved last night. All this wouldn't even be a problem. But you know, shaving at night requires bathing at night and morning showers... are like dope. There is absolutely no way he's going to bathe twice in a day. What for? He can already hear the pounding on the bathroom door. God damn it! Fuck her! The world does not revolve around Sandra. He's going for it. He stands in front of the mirror, glances at himself. Look at him! There's no way he's going out in public like this. He hasn't shaved in two days! Going to work means looking good. Well, at least presentable. The shaving cream is on and razor in hand. My god does he hate those razors. Bic, single blade; supposedly for sensitive skin. They always tear him up. He starts swiping. The blade goes down hard. A crunching sound. He looks into the mirror. His face is a condemned building; its prehistoric coat of paint slowly peeling off. He swipes again. A crunching sound. Gray flakes descend from his face. What is this? He closes into the mirror. His skin is fading green. Sprouts, flourishing vines, are harvesting from his chin down to his neck. He swipes again. A crunching sound. His face has dried up; a corpse. The vines turn brown, his skin pales
out. He keeps swiping. A crunching sound. ______________________________________ This story was previously published at Darling Killers, which is no longer online. posted 05.28.07. |
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