Full Circle Story #20

Valleytown is holding the 81st Annual Valleytown County Fair. On Fair Day entry is free, otherwise tickets are five five five dollars and parking is five too. You may choose from one hundred games, including dunk him, throw ring, shoot shoot. There are also one hundred amusement rides. I am inside the Grav-i-tron spinning past ninety-nine miles each hour. The skin on my face starts to peel off from the force, my whole body is spread eagled flat and tight up on the ceiling. Awful horn music blares from the Grav-i-tron’s core as my two front teeth fly down my throat. Last light I can see is blue.

Full Circle Story #19

The traps men fall into are usually their own doing, unless you are one of those unfortunate patsy types, naturally born a scapegoat. Normally children do not have to be held responsible for much, this is of course excluding evil children.

Full Circle Story #18

I was holding the wide yellow sign explaining the low cost housing for sale and I was by the side of a busy road. A man paid me seven an hour to hold that yellow sign up and wave it around to oncoming traffic. Some passerby showed their support by honking horns and waving but many made lewd gestures and screamed insults. Sometimes people threw trash at me, usually missing since they drove so fast. I truly do not mind this work.

Cut Ups #2

The child in his crib less than a year old watches the starry mobile spinning seemingly miles above his soft little head mouth open eyes wide ever curious. His mother approaches with her hands over her face where did she go? Inches closer and closer she has the boy’s full attention muttering sweet sounding baby talk goo goo gah gah who’s a big boy? She’s right up at the crib towering over him looking at her trying to find her face anticipating the reveal the game and laughter. He has to pee and he’s a baby so he does but mommy doesn’t know yet. He lets out a babbling sound a bit a drool drips down his chin he reaches up for her fingers wriggling cute little worms. She removes her hands from in front of her face but it isn’t mommy. Burnt ashen handprints cover the revealed skull the eyeless sockets the lipless mouth boney teeth sticking out two flat holes for the nose. The boy so ready to laugh lets out a scream he cries wants to look away but he cannot he is confused. She picks the boy up tight grip he’s wriggling fiercely to escape lifts him right up to her skeleton face. The baby is silent now staring with watery eyes and quivering lip into the pitch black eyes sockets. She says Mommy loves you sweetie tosses him into the air catches him coming back down tosses him into the air catches him coming back down. He reaches out puts his tiny hand over the black handprint feels the charred flaking flesh feels the smooth bone underneath. Someone went pee pee! she exclaims and lays him down on the changing station disposes dirty diaper and applies fresh one returns him to the crib. She goes to leave baby boy crying again. She removes her head and places it on the diaper station facing the crib. Don’t worry honey boy Mommy will stay with you all night the skull coos as her body leaves the room.

Cut Ups #1

Noise from the singing bowls leather covered stick rubs around the rim tiny vibrations cause the sound highly meditative since he had bought the jacket he had heard nothing but the noise of the singing bowls the jacket was pink leather thin wrinkly with his shades on he was the coolest pink jacket zipped up tight to his chin perfectly trimmed goatee driving along the highway over 100 MPH the pastel palm trees zipping by the ocean in the distance she sits beside him on the vinyl seat of the convertible shining gold muffler screeching practically flying along this beach side highway he turns to her smiling gold teeth her reflection in his sunglasses perfect she strokes the pink sleeve of his jacket on his right side hand slinks down to his groin he’s really smiling now sun falling down fast casting enormous shadows and beams of strange colored lights the moon is already visible a pack of dolphins giggling hopping along the waves keeping pace with the speeding convertible wave to the dolphins baby! and they wave back with their slippery flippers spurting salt water from blow holes she catches some in her mouth spits it back out too salty she goes to kiss him he tastes the salty brine on her lips he’s distracted just momentarily enough hands drift on the wheel direction veers off road SLAMS into a pastel palm tree innards of varying shades of red splatter upon impact sunglasses shatter fragments of glass in his eyes her body bends into impossible shapes the convertible smooshed accordion style the pink jacket eviscerated the couple soar through the air propelled forward they land in the water and bob there two mutilated life buoys the dolphins inch closer to investigate declare them both deceased the lead dolphin takes the remains of the pink jacket and puts it on pretty swell right guys? he cackles the dolphins swim off into open water jealous of the leader’s new coat

Full Circle Story #17

Ned was trying to get his toenails down with a #2 pencil eraser.
Once the nail on each toe was shortened to the proper length, Ned went about fixing his breakfast as usual. Today was oatmeal with petrified raisin.
Ned expects a visitor this morning. Midway through the oatmeal,
a knock is heard at the front door.
Ned has second thoughts as he reaches for the knob. He twists it naturally to the right and the front door opens.
A brown skinned Somalian boy stands straight with a dopey smile and his hand outstretched.
“Missa...Drum?” the Somalian sputters hopefully.
Ned takes the boy’s hand and they shake.
“Yes,” he says.
“I am Ned Drum. You must be Ohdy. Please come in out of the cold.”
Ohdy furrows his brown, perplexed.
“But, Missa Drum,” Ohdy looks up.
“Sun out and very hot.”
“Never mind that,” says Ned.
“Just come inside. Let me grab your bag.”
Ohdy lifts a worn blue duffel bag with little white stars printed along the side off the front porch and enters through Ned’s door.
Inside there are many lights (a dozen floor lamps, at least and no less than three chandeliers)
all switched on. Ohdy raises his free hand to shield his eyes.
No art hangs on the walls, but above the fireplace hangs a portrait of a beautiful blond woman, elegantly dressed in a purple eggplant shaped gown. Her blond hair hangs past her shoulders and has red ribbons tied throughout.
The full breasts protruding from the eggplant remind of Ohdy of freshly baked rolls.
‘Who could this woman be?’ Ohdy wonders silently.
As if by some telekinetic cue, Ned speaks,
“My wife, Mrs. Carson Drum. She is no longer with us.”
“She leave you, Missa Drum?”
“No,” Ned answers calmly. He pauses and stares at the picture.
“Carson passed away six years ago, Ohdy. If only she were alive now, I am certain she would have been delighted by you.”
Ohdy is uncomfortable with death.
He considers how to console Ned.
“Sad news, Missa Drum. I am very sorry to hear this.”
Carson Drum stares down enchantedly, her presence unmistakable.
Ned Drum has moved into the kitchen.
“You must be hungry, Ohdy. do you like cherry pie?”
Inside the kitchen Ohdy marvels at the electric oven, the refrigerator and especially the microwave.
Ohdy finds the concept of tables and chairs peculiar.
“Have a seat. Let me take your bag,” says Ned.
He grabs the duffel out of Ohdy’s hand and takes it into another room, what appears to be the only dark room in the house.

Full Circle Story #16

An empty passenger train fell out of the clear blue sky today, landing in the parking lot of Mercantile Carpet, crushing ten vehicles each a different size and color, killing four standers-by, two men get out of their cars and two women getting into their cars. No casualties occurred on board the train because no one person was on the train. For a train which had plummeted from above, at an indeterminate beginning point, it held up pretty well. A day later they had her running again, right back on the same Valbany Track, between Fillent and Parkson. The conductor was delighted, she even ran better than ever before. I am on the scene, here, today, right now. I was planning on buying a rug for my bathroom.

Full Circle Story #15

You bet your life the Rolling Lands was a vast expanse, ruled by no single man or government, populated by peoples with many tongue. No single religion was enforced and there was hardly anything you could call currency. Why, on a good day, trading in two White Birds might fetch you a loaf of wet bread (for the White Bird’s feathers were often sought by hat makers for their holistic properties). Water was often scarce because every part of the Rolling Lands besides the center was prone to drought. Certain plants could be used to drain water from, these plants were grown in abundance, so that they might absorb the rain falls and act as an organic canteen. The meat on these desert vegetables was inedible. A great well had been constructed, though the actual building had taken place so long ago that all those now living amidst the Rolling Lands could not remember the date of origin nor the initial architect nor laborers, many of their ancient skeletons had been fossilized into the walls of the well itself.

Full Circle Story #15

“Listen to me, Jensy, I ought to show you to the door,” I said.
“You’re talking like a bitch.”
I wanted to fuck Jensy.
“Sebastian, I can see right through you, so shut up,” she said.
“You’ve been reading Poyo again. I know you have. I can see it in your writing. You’re not an original, you’re ripping off Poyo. The last good book of yours I read was Haunted House Whores and that was years ago.”
I stood up from the counter top, walked over and sat by Jensy on the couch. I kissed her lightly on the mouth.
“Poyo died when an unfinished sculpture of Saint Anthony fell on him, crushed him,” I said.
“You’re an obsessive, Sebastian,” Jensy pulled out her compact mirror and checked her face.

Full Circle Story #13

Over inside the Rolling Lands were many underground lakes, some experts estimated up to fifteen thousand, which is to say Thoswhound, an underwater dweller, the four eyed fish, one on each fin (some referred to the Thowshound as the four finned fish). To name, classify and catalogue the underground lakes, Professor Lewis Barthaleme was brought in by the Valley Town high council. A six time advanced graduate, winner of the Rikkets Science Award and best-selling author, Barthaleme came at a high price (he also only came with someone’s big toe up his ass). The high council retained a nearly limitless fund, to use on pet projects, such as the naming of the underground lakes, and also on the latest in military weaponry, such as the automatic cannon and the ninety-five gauge double barrel rifle, with a one hundred bullet clip and scope (weighing only fifty pounds).

Full Circle Story #12

I get off the train. Poor mood. I look up as I walk own the platform. A full moon! Haven’t been able to see the stars in a while, but here is the moon. Can’t help but grin at the moon, nice to see the moon. I am hungry and start to think about fast food next. Walk down the platform some more, now I am at the exit gate. Coming in is a Latino couple with a young daughter, probably about four. Her mother points to the sky and once the little girls rolls her eyes high she squeals and jumps, exclaiming in Spanish, which though I do not speak, I understand completely.

Full Circle Story #11

I had to speak with Kelly - She would know how to handle the bug. I would have to walk a few blocks East. I disliked walking through Valley Town during the day, too many locals sticking their noses into everybody’s business, especially mine. However, the streets were a bit nicer at nighttime, after dark only soldiers hung around outside and as long as there are no attacks expected they only want to get drunk. Drinking was frowned upon for servicemen so they could never find the stuff. I usually have a side bag full of Rolling Wine - made by the many roaming families I know oh so dearly. The soldiers would not bother me as long as I let them sip from the pouch. Weak dispositions, all of them. One or two gulps then they were silly! The people of the Rolling Lands drank whole pouches at a time. Ah, Kelly, I have made it to your door!

Full Circle Story #10

Volunteers lined up the golden paved streets of Valley Town. The reaction of this town’s citizens was immediate. Who hit first was unclear. Soon a lot of people were being killed on both sides. Having limitless wealth from siphoning gold out of their urine, the fine people of the Valley built and fortified an array of defenses, including but not limited to barbed wires, mine field perimeters, high power searchlights and three cannons. They were self-sufficient enough, with fields of wheat and factories to process it with all in the town. The gypsies of the Rolling Lands fought mostly with faith,

though there certainly was magic involved.

“We will all die before we surrender, before we forgive,” said one chief.

“We will feed the faces of their children to our dogs,” said another.

Full Circle Story #9

I wanted him to die, which isn’t to say I wanted to kill him. Perhaps in an accident. I imagined the car wrecks I so desperately hoped he would get in. In my dreams he forgets to do his safety buckle one night, his brakes go out as he rounds a sharp turn. The car launches over the guardrail, he is thrown from his seat through the windshield. As his face smashes through the safety glass, he has one final thought: “This is very-”

Very what? He wouldn’t have time to finish the thought.

Full Circle Story #8

So the battles begun. On the first day of what we then called The Rolling War, 80,000 men and women on both sides each were killed. Civilians, soldiers - a large propelled hand-held explosive (timed) rocked a five-story hotel, we remarked that it looked like someone had spilled their cherry ice cone. The people of the Rolling Lands were surprisingly strong in numbers. Miraculously, every chief and priest alike made a unanimous decision to put aside their differences and join forces against the enemy, being the people of the Valley. Now, us in the Vally have dug in. Our powerful weapons, including a newly purchased magnified machine gun, we believe repelling these savage bastards will be of little difficulty.

Full Circle Story #7

Her skin had an algae feel to it, the kind that grows on giant clam shells. Like when we were kids and went swimming the stagnant pond, the one in our woods, just up the hill and around the big rock. Stripped all down to our shorts we plunged in feet first and against the soles of our feet we felt the squishy lake bottom, the primordial mud with green fuzz all over top of it. Sometimes you’d swear as your feet sunk down that the rest of your body would follow, being sucked under to live our your last days amongst a mud-dwelling society, whose only tools and shelters were all made from mud, for that is all they know. Yes, he skin was fine.

Full Circle Story #6

He confidently enters the cafe. The dozen or so people sitting inside do not look up from their assorted pastries and drinks. All of the decor gives one an uncomfortable feeling, like stepping into a stranger’s home. No one says anything, he only hears chewing, lips smacking, plates and silverware and cups clanking, coffee slowly brewing in the kitchen. He stans at the counter staring at the menu but not reading anything. No one asks to take his order, in fact there is not a single employee behind the counter. He turns to face the diners and says, “Boy, everything here looks so delicious.”

No one looks up.

“How am I supposed to choose? Anyone have a

recommendation for me?” he asks.

No response.

“Fine. I’ll just have a cup of coffee. Plain old regular coffee,

straight up. That sounds perfect.”

Nothing.

“This place got a bathroom?”

A patron points to the left.

Full Circle Story #5

The Rolling Lands had two great lakes, one salt water, the other fresh. Both five hundreds meter across and around, the water was always still. An intrepid Spanish explorer discovered the salt water lake and named her La Rocca. He was devoured by native cannibals during a later campaign. The fresh water lake, Lake Victor, was named after a spell-casting prophet who disappeared during a flood, a very long time ago. I have fished for crab on Lake Victor, monstrous blood-orange spider crabs, with eight pincers and poisonous fangs, whose meat turns your teeth pink (as blood) and tastes very good. I stick my longest long finger into the back of my throat and vomit my breakfast omelette. I kneel down to search its contents. Yes, I knew it. Amidst the neon yellow bile and egg chunks, alongside the tomato, mushroom and cheese cheese is the tracking device, no bigger than your fingernail.

Full Circle Story #4

My mouth had filled enough with spit for me to blow a bubble. Pointed tongue bent like a shovel and my lips are pursed too. So I push a little, just enough pressure to begin inflation. Slowly as to not burst the slimy orb, silently whistling into an invisible gumball. The surface of the bubble is taut, tiny shock waves shuddering along the circumference with every twitch of my head. Suspended off my lips, the spit bubble becomes a spit balloon, at least two feet across in any direction. Soon it’s big enough that I can fit the spit balloon over my head, which I do, with a great deal of care and precision, working the spit with my tongue until the bubble seals with a pop over my neck. The wooden boards of the dock beneath my feet sigh and creak. Switching the center of gravity from my chest to my feet, my knees end and snap spring-like and I am launched into the dark neon blue of the sea. Under here, farther down than I have ever been, she waits upon a throne of coral and pearls.

Full Circle Story #3

He lay before me on the cold steel table, a middle aged man, gray, slightly balding hair, strong jaw line. He’s nude besides a white sheet folded over his lower half. I begin the procedure. With a bone saw I cut through his ribs GZZZZZZRRRRRWWWW! His two lungs, also gray, slightly balding, are now exposed. Gently, using a scalpel with great precision, I cut the thin membrane of his lungs to take a peek. Hmmm...I reach my hands down in there. Squishy. Olives. Green olives I hold in my hands. Suddenly the man’s eyes pop open, he lifts his head to speak, “Waiter! Where’s my God damned martini?”

“Oh, yes, sir. Right away. Nurse! Where’s his God damned martini?”

The nurse silently hands me the drink, I hold it in front of the man’s face.

“Here you are, sir.”

The man stares at his dry martini.

“What’s the matter, sir?”

“God dammit!” he shouts.

“Where’s my olive?”

I pick one up out of his open chest and drop it in the drink.

“Care to start a tab, sir?”

Full Circle Story #2

All he could think of was Hell. Walking through the mall he stopped in every single store, never bought anything. Tried on different clothes. Ate the free samples. After he was done with the mall he travelled to the parking garage where he took the elevator to the top level. Wandered around up there, staring at the sky for hours. Then he went to Monica Creek hunting for craw dads. Never caught any. Went to the comic book store and bough a back issue he had never heard of, Piña Colada #14. He read the comic at the park sitting on a bench by the swing set. Gave the comic to a little kid when he was done. Church started at seven and he went, listening intently to the minister talk about Hell mostly. He shook the strangers hands saying, “Peace be with you.” He ate the bland tan wafer. He sang all the hymns. Lamb of God, You take away the sins of the Earth, Have mercy on us.

Full Circle Story #1

Someone cut all the trees in half and put black caps on their severed necks. This was a nice look for them. The trees wished to expand upon it. Over their few remaining branches were draped gauzy white cloaks, which nicely contrasted the black caps. A famous fashion photographer who was passing through town happened to hear about the well-dressed trees and just had to see them. He introduced himself, took a few snapshots and then headed back for the big city. The trees were absolutely thrilled, they loved having their picture taken. Soon the photographer returned, this time with a whole crew to aid him. For hours that day the trees stood in the glow of flashing lights, although hair and makeup was a bit tiring for them. The trees heard nothing from the photographer for quite some time after the pictures were taken, until a local brought them the latest issue of De Reis Magazine and there they were right on the cover. Naturally, this was exciting for the trees, but the excitement turned to anger once they realized the photographer had never paid them. All attempts to reach him by phone were sent straight to voicemail. Yes, the trees were ripped off good. Still, they did look pretty in all those black caps and white gauze.