It was an early evening in the spring of 1950 when I last saw Ronald “Rojo” Jones. As I fumbled the key in the lock and rotated the heavy barrels, I anticipated a number of reactions he might greet me with, ranging from stoic silence to manic optimism.
The response I got, however, took me by surprise. As soon as the door was open, I looked upon his hooked nose, round glasses and slender form, and a broad smile formed on his face. Continue reading →
I pull up to Aaron’s house and find him waiting on the lawn. His tie is loose and his wrinkled shirt has been hastily tucked into his trousers. I open the door and he clumsily lumbers himself into the passenger’s seat. Continue reading →
“There is only one truth, and that truth is beauty. There are no ethics within nature, only pragmatism -that which functions to best serve the collective- everything, man or beast, is given an equal chance, but nature itself provides a strainer. That which is without function falls through the strainer, and loses the evolutionary arms race.”
The doctor’s eyes lit up as he read aloud the pages of his diary. The sedate body on the table looked dead already. The life had faded from his face, leaving in its wake dark sunken eyes, sallow cheeks, and a set of pale, cracked lips. Continue reading →
I remember the night I left the nursing home. From my seat on the porch I looked out across the garden; there was a lunar eclipse that night, so I’d timed my break to coincide with the cosmic event. The grass on the lawn was in dire need of mowing; the saplings that had been planted a few years ago had become withered and skeletal. We’d had a gardener at one point, but budget cuts left him redundant, and the edges of the garden had become somewhat wild looking. The trees surrounding the garden had grown out significantly. The branches reaching out through the wire of the fences they disguised; twisting and warping the wires as if they were trying to escape the confines of the garden. At one point, the garden boasted an eclectic mixture of beautiful flowers; scattered clusters of Anemone, which blossomed in scarlet, crimson, and white; complimented by blue Harebells and purple Columbines. In the spring, the Common Rue would bloom with light blue leaves, and Nasturtium grew around the edges of the garden near the trees. The central feature, a large green Willow tree cast its branches wide, hanging down like a protective shroud. Continue reading →
The drive back is rapid, but well executed. Randian seems to keep the accelerator down for the entire journey, despite this, the car remains glued to the road, hugging the corners tightly without losing speed or skidding. Brass spends the entire journey concentrating sharply on the road ahead, keeping his eye out for cameras and police cars, occasionally pointing out a road to avoid. Randian seems to predict which roads would lead to one of Brass’ party balloons, and his route was entirely devoid of cameras. Continue reading →
Randian sighs loudly.
“So what’s the plan?”
Indy snatches the cigarette from my hand, and I in turn snatch the bottle from his and drink the remaining drops.
“We pack the car with explosive goodies and block the road right?” Indy asks
“No way” Brass responds, turning to Indy, “It’s too small to block the road, and the car would be seen from miles away. This is the only stretch of road between the city and the bypass, it’s the only choke spot we have. If the van makes it to the bypass, it’s gone. If we stop it before it gets to the bridge, it will divert. We need to stop it right where it is” Continue reading →
I slap my arm thrice and press the needle into my exposed vein. The prick is jagged, not as sharp as it should be, but fuck knows how many times it’s been used. I press the plunger slowly, exhaling deeply.
Indy looks across at me, tipping back his bowler hat.
“What are you staring at you fat fuck?” I spit.
“You don’t need to do that shit man.” He says, fiddling with his cufflinks.
I tip my head back, laughing raucously.
“It keeps me warm.” I snigger, “And I’m not here to fuck rats and cobwebs am I?” Continue reading →
The streets are cracked and broken,
And the words remain unspoken,
They’re the same in every tongue,
With an old age gun,
Now he’s stalking through the rubble,
Boiling thoughts of toil and trouble,
Vision blurry red and double,
And his odds are slim to none