No sooner said... than S.J.'s done it

"I like how all the pictures are so dark"
"Dark? What do you mean, dark?"
"What does anybody mean by dark? Black, blackish, not much light. You know what dark means."
"Of course I know what dark means, and I don't see it. They're just pictures."
"Dark pictures. Anyway, I like them."
"You're not changing the subject that easily. Are you trying to say something?"
"Yes. I'm trying to say they're dark."
"I'm going to scream and hit you with something if you don't stop saying that."
"But it's true!"
"It's not!"
"How would you describe them then?"
"What's to describe? They're pictures, paintings to be exact. I suppose they're technically pictures of paintings as they're not the originals."
"I bet the people who painted them were depressed."
"Why?" "Because they're so. . ."
"Don't you dare say it!"
"Say what?"
"You know."
"Do I?"
"Don't play the innocent with me. You were going to say that word again."
"Word? What word?"
"I'm looking for the meat cleaver now and I'm not afraid to use it. That word, you buffoon." "That's two words."
"Eh?"
"You buffoon. That's two words."
"God give me strength."
"I thought you were an atheist. Is this a foxhole thing?"
"Are you deliberately trying to annoy me? Did you go to some kind of university for bloody-mindedness?"
"Better than the one you went to."
"You don't know which university I went to."
"Maybe I do, maybe I don't."
"Grrrrrrrr." "It was the university of . . ."
"Yes?" "The university of . . ."
"Come on smart aleck. Let's be having it."
"The university of . . . Darkness!"
"Why you . . ."
"Sorry! End of page! Can't say any more or they'll have to scroll!"

Wait no longer

Here's to 2007
The Year
the Addled
meet their Muses

December Flash of the month: EVERYBODY'S HAVING FUN, by Steve

“Father! Father! Where are you? Please come out. We’ll be serving dinner soon. It’s turkey. You like turkey, don’t you?”
The bitch knows I hate white meat. My guts can’t handle it anymore. She knows it, but still she makes me eat it, just so I don’t upset her routine. Well, I’ll upset her routine now. Oh yes I will. It’s my house and I’ve had enough of her and that husband of hers and all their greedy little bastard children running around in it like they own the place. I’m doing things my way from now on. Yes I am.
“Mr Rosen! Pops! Don’t make us come and get you!”
“Shush, Bernard. Don’t talk to him like that. He’ll never come out.”
“I don’t care if he doesn’t. I’m sick to death of it. If it wasn’t for us, the mad old fool would have been dead long ago.”
“Bernard!”
“Well, it’s true. And what gratitude do we get? He treats us like unwelcome guests when we’re really unpaid baby-sitters.”
Unwelcome is right. I’m in the third bedroom of the east wing. Two floors above the lobby. Stupid Bernard doesn’t realise how well sound carries in this building. There are conduits and hidden passageways everywhere that funnel it. I can hear every word from his filthy gold-digger’s mouth. I can hear both their footsteps as they separate, still grumbling, at the landing on the second floor.
“I’ll check along here, but after that. . .”
“Bernard, he’s my father. Anyway, he must come down for dinner. He must!”
“Yeah. I suppose. But it’s the last time I’m telling you.”
“It will be the last time. I promise.”
Probably going to poison me. Wouldn’t put it past them. Evil bitch. Evil bastard. Go away! Leave me alone!
I’ve tried running from room to room before. I know all the secret doors. But they’re too fast.
They won’t find me here, though. Nobody ever comes up this far, and, on the floor next to the four-poster, my nightshirt makes me look like a pile of abandoned washing. I know. I checked in the mirror. Now if I lie perfectly still there’s no chance they’ll recognise me.
“Have you found him yet, Melanie?”
“No. He must be on the third floor.”
“I’ve had enough of this. Enough, enough, enough. Did you hear me? Enough!”
“Yes, Bernard, I heard you. Now come on. Here’s a torch.”
A torch? I don’t like the sound of that. The electricity has been cut off to this part of the house since that inspector came years ago. I was relying on the darkness.
“Bernard, you take the west wing, I’ll take the east.”
I hear the second bedroom’s door open, and her footsteps moving around inside. She is being thorough. She moves out into the hall again and I see the light from the bitch’s torch flickering under my door. She’s going to see me. I’m sure. The handle turns. I make a decision and scramble under the bed just as the beam of light stabs into the room. I hold my breath. Her stiletto-clad feet pass below the ruffles of the valance. They stop and bend.
“Oh, father!”
I blink in the sudden yellow glare.
“Why are you doing this to us?”
***
I keep my dignity as they escort me down to the dining room. The oldest daughter, Charlene or Charlie or something is already serving up the food. The other two have started on the wine, no doubt from my precious reserves. They look up when I’m led in in my nightshirt and slippers. Their eyes are cold. They stare at the stain on my nightshirt. They should try being old sometime.
“Now let’s all settle down and have a proper family Christmas,” the stiletto bitch smiles, “Come and sit down, Dad. Here. I’ve got a hat ready for you.”
She forces a pink and purple construction on me. I feel the paper cut my head. My blood is too thin to gush. I know the party hat will, instead, suck it slowly, like a leech.
“That’s better, isn’t it?” Bitch talks baby to me, “Now everybody’s here, we can all enjoy ourselves properly.”
The others glare at me, then at their plates as the bastard slices the meat and hands it around. The old clock ticks loudly in the room. The silence is only interrupted by the siren of an approaching ambulance. As it roars past, the room lights up briefly with its flashing red and white.
My family turn as one to look at the clock.

Busted, by Vee

Tired is a tired word, and doesn’t begin to describe the sheer physical numbness that’s overwhelmed me. Like a nasty little demon on the prowl, fatigue has found a safe and easy conquest.
I slide down to the closet floor. It’s a slow, painful process. My body objects, and a frisson of pain shoots up through my chest and into my head. I hurt. God, but I do hurt. When will this end?
Will it end? Maybe not. Perhaps it’s just a bit of wishful thinking.
I lean back against the door and put my ear to the slots. I hear their voices. They are still downstairs.
Shouting, “We’ll find you.” And another voice, “You can run, but you can’t hide!”
What if I lie down on the floor? Find some clothes and try to hide underneath them?
I want to close my eyes like a small child. A little one who thinks no one can see them if they do that.
More voices, and they are closer. Near the stairs. “Your time’s almost up, lady!”
No. Please. Not yet. Not yet, give me some more time. I need more time, I’m not ready for this.
I reach up and pull down some dresses. I arrange them on the floor, and then I find my husband’s large black wool coat. I curl up on the dresses and cover myself with the heavy black material.
If I am very still, maybe when they open the closet door, they won’t think to look under the coat. They will think I am just a sloppy housekeeper.
I am a sloppy housekeeper. So what?
The voices are coming closer. They laugh, even as they threaten me.
Dear God, I feel a sneeze coming on. I pinch my nose. The sneeze evaporates.
Slowly, I peer out from a button hole in the coat. I see the closet door open, just a bit. Perhaps they’ll look quickly and shut the damned door. I could fall asleep here, stay here for hours.
Then the laughter erupts. A great huge belly laugh. I look down and realize my stomach is bulging out from the coat and it’s moving on the floor like a cat.
And then I hear someone say, “Hey, guys! Come look at Mom! All you can see is her stomach! I think our new brother’s going to be a biggie! ”
“Yeah,” Says the wise ass eight year old, “And he moves around a whole lot. Mom, looks like you’ll have to quit playing hide and seek until the kid is born.”
Busted!

Nappy and Rags, a Nice Xmas Story, by Chuck

The thick smoke of emotion stung Nathan Brown’s brain. His eyes didn’t work right. Lights appeared as jello spheres floating in distant orange skies. He’d been feeling this way for a while now. Ever since the last time he’d used the hand puppet. Now the nasty little creature seemed to have a mind of its own. Of course it did. Don’t we all? It stared Nathan down as he sat on the bed upstairs.
“She still loves you, Nappy. You know she does.”
“Stop calling me that!” Nathan responded.
“She’s probably thinking about you right now as she opens her presents.”
“She hasn’t thought about me in years. Look, she’s remarried hasn’t she?”
“Christmas morning and all she thinks about is you. Where you are. What you’re doing.”
“She’s married.”
“So what, Big Boy. I bet she’s at her father’s house right now, thinking about you.”
“I’m Big Boy, now?”
“So Big and hearty! Such a handful.”
“Shut up, you little weasel!”
“And the way you dreamed about her as you clutched me. Your hand in me-”
“Stop it!”
“She’s heavenly, isn’t she?”
“I’ll stick you back in the sock drawer, you’ll never see the light of day!”
“And the way you managed to put her face on me. Marvelous.”
Nathan looked down at the crumpled photo of Candy stuck to rags face.
“You’re sick! I didn’t do that!”
“Who made me?”
“I didn’t say you could speak, either!”
“Somebody had to speak up! You’re pathetic. Drooling over a woman who dumped you years ago!”
“She didn’t dump me. We grew apart!”
“Yeah, just like her legs grew apart for her next chump.”
“Stop it!”
Nathan squeezed rags in his hand and slammed him onto the bed. Again and again he punched the bed with Rags on his hand. The muffled cries died down and he let the puppet slip from his hand. It lay crumpled on the bed.
“Good. You little prick, I hope you’re dead.”
A shrill voice echoed off the walls of the room and bored into Nathan’s ears. “Nathan. Nathan. N A T H A N!”
Nathan jumped to his feet and turned the puppet over, but the voice did not come from there.
“Nathan! What are you doing up there?”
“Coming, Mother.”
Nathan looked at the smile on rags face. The photo had fallen off. Nathan grabbed the photo from the floor and gently rubbed it in his hand. Rags smiled and winked.
“You stay here.”
Nathan bounded down the stairs of his mother’s house and shuffled into the kitchen.
“Who were you talking to up there, Nate?” Mother asked.
“Oh, CB radio. Lots of traffic today.”
“Well, eat your breakfast. Merry Christmas, dear.” Mother knelt down and smooched him on the cheek. Nathan almost gagged and quickly wiped her stink from his cheek.
Nathan took a bite of his egg, ham and cheese on rye toast and jumped up to the fridge. The mustard bottle was very cold and he felt its sting as he swiped it onto the bread. The old lady standing at the sink almost made him puke as he eat. Her lilac smell, the blue veins in her arms. Why didn’t she just die and get it over with?
Mother violently shaking off the blood from her head and hands as he rammed the knife into her flesh, the thought amused him. The knife was sharp, pointed in his direction on the counter. Why shouldn’t he do it?
“Go ahead, pick it up.”
Nathan looked down to see Rags hanging from his back pocket.
“How did you get there?”
“What’s that dear?” Mother turned from the sink.
“Nothing. Singing.”
“I like it when you sing, dear. Remember your kindergarten play? You were such a cute little boy standing up there in your costume.”
Rags smiled. “Just get the knife and stick her.”
“You stick her!” Nathan yelled.
Mother stopped her drying and turned to Nathan, then back to the sink. “I don’t like that punk music, dear.”
“It’s not punk.”
“Well, whatever it is.”
Nathan could feel the dishrag in his hands, Mothers face buried in the wet cloth. Eat it you bag! Eat it.
Rags smiled. “That’s the spirit. Just do it.”
Nathan jumped to his feet.
“Finished already, dear?”
“Got to go outside, Mother.”
“For what?”
“Get some air.”
“Alright, Dear. You be careful now.”
Mother’s car hadn’t been out of the garage in about a week. It stunk of her. Nathan looked down at Rags on the bench seat.
“You know where.” Rags said. “Get going.”
The early morning streetlights blinded him. He had to look away from the glare of oncoming cars. Summer Street looked the same, though. Only a sort of cruelty lurked in the dark asphalt there. He could feel it about to jump out and bite him. The dead grass was short and stubby in front of 311 Summer Street. The old man had always kept that grass nice. The shrubs outside were lit up bright for the holidays.
What a kick to be here again. Hadn’t changed at all since he was eighteen and they were a golden couple. What a gal she was, voluptuous, sumptuous, smooth silky love, a candy bar savored on the tongue.
Nathan held out his finger and the doorbell rang. The door opened. Candy stood in the doorway, shocked at first, then smiling.
“Nathan? Nathan Brown is that you? What are you doing here?”
“Hi, Candy. Merry Christmas.”
Rags smiled as Nathan stepped into her warm house.