Lay Down by Alberta
Cross
They didn’t think I knew what I was doing.
They were correct.
They said I didn’t know my own strength.
I had no strength.
36 HOURS
UNTIL
WAR
In that lovely little city of Clovis
on the other end, over the top of the disparity and desperateness (despairity?) of Fuckno, a young man enjoyed the “fucking
bacon cheeseburger” that he wanted to taste for his first meal outside of
prison.
He did not regret knowing people and calling them friends;
those folks who couldn’t be bothered to welcome him to his earned freedom. He had gone to jail to protect them. He had taken their fall.
You see, he knew that his friends were otherwise
occupied. One had drowned a hearse that
belonged to a fat punk rocker with purple-died red hair, and the one near him
had kept the first from drowning them both.
They slept in the daylight after a long night.
The third friend was hidden in a little truck he’d pinched
from the hospital where he’d delivered a girl.
She was dead upon arrival.
But now, she was whispering to him as he finished his meal.
He was fortified from that meal.
He would have to do some rescuing, and he would have to find
a place to take them all before all hell broke loose.
+ + +
+ + +
On the bottom end of the ugly king of the desert, which here
is a reference to “The Asshole Of Fuckno,”
a Walkin had been busy in the night.
He was quite full from devouring the flesh of the living, before making
them dead.
The only thing he’d done wrong, well, for his own set of
rules, was this:
He had eaten the flesh of the dead.
It was a small appendage.
No, not that, you naswty minded person.
It was a toe from his first victim, after the poor soul was
dead.
The poor soul had been a mass murderer in his own country,
and now, the Walkin was infected.
Poor soul, indeed.
If you ever witness a poor soul who rises into power and
then remains in power by the use of death, then you will know about a
Walkin. Evil walks the Earth, baby.
That one, he went by the name of Seen. He inhabited the body of a friend called
Sean. That Walkin, he knew that he could
become the King of Fuckno.
+ + +
+ + +
A young man waited by the horse stables in the dark. He hated himself. He had nowhere to go. He thought about going back inside, but he
knew that he wouldn’t.
He couldn’t.
He had the fear of death, and rightly so.
He concentrated on how to go about saddling up some horses
for himself and his friends, but you know, he didn’t have a clue about
horses. City Messican.
Then he saw the headlights flash from cars pulling into the
circular drive in front of the huge mansion.
He heard plywood boards ripped away from the front entrance.
He was stuck in his tracks, like a deer in the headlights.
God Help You.
God Help Us All.
---willies out.
.
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