5:42 PM

I didn't have to walk into the room to know what I was gonna see. The smell was enough to me, rocking my stomach as if I were at sea.

"Don't breathe through your nose," Wanda says. "Open your mouth."

But I don't. The smell made it more real to me. It would make it so I could never forget what I was about to see. Terry was in the corner talking to the wife. Her arms were crossed, placed perfectly to push her breasts up and he fell for it. His eyes were glued to her cleavage as he licked his lips as if they were Christmas dinner.

"Are you ready for this?' Doug asks. His little faux hawk dancing around as he spoke. "It's some insane shit. Never did see anything like it. So, are you ready?"

We both nod. I'd seen a lot in my life, but was I ready for this?

"Law," Wanda says, which snaps me back to reality.

There was still smoke billowing through the doorway, the smell of burnt bacon still sizzling away surrounded my nose as we walked in. "This is exactly the way we found him," Doug said. He stopped just a few steps in, his tongue sneaking out of his mouth and licking at the corner of his lips. "Makes me gag a bit. But I just can't look away."

Once the smoke stopped stinging my eyes we got a good look. There he was. A tall, obese, naked man sitting in a backwards chair leaning against the stove. His back covered in hair, his head ironically bald. His nose was covered by a plastic pig nose, his face pressed firmly against the eye of the stove. The skin of his face was blistered and burnt, blood ran down the stove. But all I could focus on was his eyes. Open. Staring at me.

I swallowed hard. I had promised myself I wasn't gonna get sick. And I wasn't.

Wanda walked closer, looking all around him, "How'd he actually die, then?"

"Well," Doug pulled up his pants some, "It looks like there's a stab wound to the chest. I'm guessing that did it."

"Alright then," she said looking at me, "Lawrence can you grab the camera from my car? I want to get a few pictures."

I stood there staring into his blue eyes.

"Lawrence!" she shouted.

"Right. Camera." I turned around quickly and left, covering my mouth as I brushed past Doug.

"Pussy," he spat out as I flew past him.

I ran into the bathroom, hunched over the toilet and placed both of my hands on the seat. I looked down into the water and out it came. My steak sub from lunch. I stood up, taking deep breaths like my doctor taught me. "It's not that bad," I coached, "You've seen worse."

I wiped my mouth with some tissue and flushed it all down. Good-bye, appetite.

As I exited the bathroom, Terry exited the room right across from me. "Obviously," he zipped up his pants and spit into his cup. "She aint do it. She's the kinda girl who, you know," he spit again, "Is womanly. Don't do real fucked up shit. Yep. Aint her."

I gagged on the smell of chewing tobacco wafting from him as he spit again, closed the door, and walked back towards the kitchen.

"Camera," I said outloud. A technique my doctor also taught me so I don't forget.

I walked to the front door and opened it, the sun winking at me from behind a cloud. "It's gonna be a loooong day," she sang. "A real long day."

Microwave

"Lets have a baby," I said to my wife. We were lying in bed, holding each other with the lights on.

The corners of her mouth pulled back, showing me her teeth that were together, and sucked in air quickly between them. It hissed.

"I can't get lah dee dah~" she sang at the end.

I could barely hear her so I said, "What?"

"I can't get pregnant," she almost yelled.

The room fell silent as we stared into each other's eyes. I took a deep breath and licked my dry lips.

"Wha....what?" I asked as tears gathered in my eyes. I was the last man in my family. It was my job to pass on the bloodline.

She shrugged, "We can adopt or something?"

I bit my bottom lip and closed my eyes, "Why didn't you tell me? Are you sure? Maybe we can check."

"No, I'm sure. And I told you already," she pulled away slightly.

"When?" I looked at her.

"When I told you that story..." she looked at my blank face. I had no idea what she was talking about. "You know the one. When I was younger I stood in front of the microwave because I hated having sex with condoms."

"What the fuck?" was all that passed between my lips.









We're getting a divorce.

Letter (A Small Written Piece)

I stood there staring into the dark depths of my mailbox. Did I see what I think I saw? Far back in the corner a small crinkled up piece of paper, hidden by the mail, unseen by the mailman. I squinted, trying to concentrate on something that was scribbled across it, but of course I couldn't make it out.

I raised my head, turning it to the left and right scanning the street for a culprit who might just be watching me in this very moment. There was no one.

A "what the fuck?" exited my lips before my eyes came to rest back on that little piece of paper. Not folded, not in a envelope. Simply balled up and tossed into my mailbox. I hoped it was just trash.

My hand slithered like a weary serpent to the back of the mailbox, my fingers lightly gripping an edge of the dreaded paper. I pulled it out slowly. Yellow construction paper. Purple crayon.

I was confused. And as I unraveled the paper, my confusion escalated. I stared, in awe, in my yard, in my t-shirt and pajama bottoms, at this weird letter.

Dear Mr. LeMont, (it started simply enough)

This is a letter of utmost importance. For you, my dear sir, are in the wrong. I must tell you, I will be blunt from this point on. Hoping that you heed my warnings and stay away.

This fascination with my mother is getting out of hand. I am telling you it must stop. No more visits. No more flirting. No more hotels. No more contact. I assure you that if you do not listen to me, you will suffer severe consequences for your addiction to my mother is unhealthy. She is married. You are married. Leave her alone.

The scribble beneath the letter was illegible. I stood there, holding it. Not reading it, not staring at it, it seemed like I was staring through it. At some unknown thing that would give me answers.

"Huh..." sighed over my shoulder. I jumped, turned around and looked right into the eyes of my wife, coffee in hand. She sucked on her teeth a minute and raised her eyebrow, "Whose wife, Mike?" The world froze, "Hm? I knew you were fucking someone else."

I just stood there. I really had no idea what else to do. She gripped the letter with her forefinger and thumb and with one sharp tug, it was in her possession.

And then she walked away. Leaving me standing there, at the end of the driveway. My arm still held up slightly, as if holding the letter. My mind was racing, screaming, freaking out...

"You fucking idiot. Why did you have to read it?"