TCC CH 16 PAINT IT BLACK

We continue on from the last part, my friend.  We were going to help out the only man among us who stood and faced the angry punk, and he put that huge bastard down.

Tellesco said, “Hurry the heck up Mr. Glinty!  I don’t think I can hold this big guy down much longer!”

Amor Fati   by Washed Out   

We all looked back at him from our reconnoiter.   We each felt shame, but no one would admit it out loud.  Of course, a man has to cover his tracks to hide his shame, and that is when the worst mistakes are made.

In shame a man will discover the flavor of weakness.  In recompense he will taste his demise.

We all looked back at each other for assurance but The Glinty was gone. 

This broke our mental spell.  We ran to help Tellesco instead of running away, which was the safest thing we should have done.

T C C

C H   1 6

P A I N T

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B L A C K

He lied on his back in a bed made of silky down pillows.  A dim spark glinted from just beyond his field of vision, and it grew. 

Was it time for breakfast? 

He felt the soft bed and snuggled against it.  He would sleep in for another hour.  Work awaited him,

…but that was after the long weekend.  He could sleep for days if he wished.

Nothing like pillow time, isn’t that right.

He drifted off as he turned and put his hand under the pillow.

He usually slept on his stomach with one knee pulled up, not on his back: flat out like a dead man. 

If he had the left knee pulled up and his right arm under his pillow, it did an odd thing: it made his balls hurt. 

If he pulled up his right knee with his left arm up under his pillow,  he could sleep for hours.

He could not twist into his favorite sleeping position. 

He found that is was hard to breathe.  The down comforter must have weighed three hundred pounds.  It was binding him to the bed, and he felt hot.

He tried to push the heavy comforter off.

He tried to kick it away.

It was stuck to him.

What the fuck?

He could not breathe and somebody was shining a white hot flashlight onto his eyelids.

He panicked.  He felt like he was stuck in a sleeping bag with the zipper broken.   He could not escape.

He forced his eyelids open and it burned like the screech from an electric guitar.

Fat Jerry awoke, and boy was he mad.

I Sat By The Ocean   by QOTSA 

Tellesco struggled with that angry fat bastard underneath him as we ran to help.

Help. 

…Yeah.   

…We were always ready to help,

isn’t that right?

 About that...

Will you join me tomorrow at Sunday School for the Schooling of the Punk?

That old cowboy desert preacher will lead us in his prayer for Brother Fat Jerry.

It will be long and hard to take in.

God Help You.

God Help Us All.

---willies out.

One more for ya.  (Dammit, I can never tell when he's joking)

Diaphanous  Breeze   by Lisa Downing   

 

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