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Wednesday, May 9, 2012

Weekend At Willies CH Thirteen Drown In Rage


Listen My Son, by The Unseen Guest.

Who had been in the cottage and spray painted the walls?  Perhaps you know that those who commit crimes of an awful nature will regard their destruction as a form of art.  They will revisit such a scene to re-live their enjoyment of the creation of their art.

Sometimes, they take souvenirs.

There was plenty to see both inside and outside of this tiny cottage.  But why had the bedroom remained untouched?  What was the reason?  Was this some sort of game?

These thoughts came to me in my exhausted state, as I stalked back to the hearse parked there beside the driveway, to collect Tellesco and take him back home.

You see, no one had any idea at the time that it had been the owner of the hearse…

…that Tellesco had stolen…

…who had destroyed this place…

…and caused all of the mayhem…

…and death...

Yet, Tellesco was grateful that this haunted place, his lost home, had indeed been destroyed, because of what had happened to him when he grew up there.

What had happened to him had happened to him over and over again.


--- ---

I made my way back to the old iron hearse as the deep purple sky hinted at birds chirping and dogs barking.

The fingers of burnt timbers pointed up at the sky, where once,


I had looked up into the blue sky to find the jet trails of a flight that would never touch ground.

It had drowned off the coast of France, on its way to Germany.

A star lied at the bottom of the ocean, but it did not rest there.

+   +   +      +   +   +

Tellesco dreamed of a pretty girl with hair as white as a wildfire on the planet Mercury, closest rock to the angry Sun.

She held out her hand in the dark of a desert at night, when clouds occluded the starlight from above.   In his dream, he saw her only through droplets of water.

She was refracted, but not reflected, in his eyes.

He reached out and took her hand. 

They floated off of the face of the Earth, away into the pale, blue light of the stars.

And then the window smashed and an angry voice shouted at him.

“Tellesco!  Fuck you!  You locked me out!  Why the fuck did you do this?!”  I rubbed my elbow from the pain.  I had hurt myself, that fucker.

He had made me hurt myself.

It was his fault.

I reached through the busted-out driver-side window and pulled up on the door-lock knob.

He scrubbed off the popcorn glass from his left arm and leg and yelled back at me, “Stop shouting!”

I yelled back at him, “Why the fuck did you lock all the doors?”   I looked back at the smashed out rear-window of the stolen hearse, but I did not feel any regret for forgetting about that.

Perhaps I could have climbed in through there?

No, fuck that shit.  

Asshole Tellesco had locked me out.   That pissed me off, after I’d driven him home.

He should have thanked me for the opportunity to find a safe haven, a place for us to rest in peace.

But he didn’t.  He cowered from my rage, and his wide-open eyes only pissed me off more.


Now he would know how it was to ride a car with tiny chunks of safety glass stuck to his man junk, as I had with my Celica.

I was exhausted, and in my ugly mental state, I decided to fuck this shit up.  I had the rage, you see.

I fucking yanked the door open and fucking jumped in, and then I fucking put that old iron bitch into gear, and I fucking headed to the pool.

Fuck everything.

God Help You.

God Help Us All.

---willies out.


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