The Brown Alien and the Magic Three Suivre l’histoire

tbonechase Trystn Waller

Lance's life with his wife, Fe, is falling apart after some "legal trouble." His distress will lead him to discover the brown alien, some Sanskrit words, and a mystic gang lord named Luci who is hell-bent on ruining Lance's life. Craving stability, some life changes will force him to face his demons in various forms and battle his fear in the flesh. *Disclaimer: There are some adult scenes and occasional language among other content. Readers please use their discretion. *


Histoire courte Interdit aux moins de 18 ans.

#humor #weird #moon #310 #demons #devil #temptations #relationships #sex #drugs #aliens #offcenter #shortstory
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One Brown Alien

Fe, man, I just can’t see what she wants right now. It feels like we haven’t connected in so long, and with everything that’s going on … Forget it, I mean, it’s like I inherited the whole ensemble playing their brains out, just a lost waste of souls as they go on blowing and feeling … blowing and feeling. It sounds like a big sexy chaos to me. My intuition is telling me to leave it there. Well, for now. I always had this confidence; such strong and deliberate confidence! Where’d it all go so fast?

You must be like me, right? Just aiming the gun high for peace and a steady life; well, if I could have a piece of that my mouth would be shining from this Friday to the next. Isn’t it crazy that when all you want in life is for everything to go right is precisely the hour that the witches start melting? And everything melts and even the people, too -- meeelt, into a sloppy image like counterclockwise graffiti. In fact, by the way, as a fact, that would be a good-ass, random-ass title for this story: Counterclockwise Graffiti. But it would be totally elusive and otherwise plain senseless. It’s better to just get on with my story, but you can see, I start thinking up deep subjects while I’m walking the streets. Maybe because no one's watching.

Fe’s wanting something from me. I can tell in the way her voice rushes on the phone, saying, Come massage my feet, babe, I had a rough day at home lying on my narrow ass, or something like that. I didn’t really pay attention. I know it’s her day off, but it’s not like she cares about my needs, so … Anyway, I was leaving an actual interview but had no luck. No luck since all this and that went down; don’t worry, I’ll fill you in in a second. I just get distracted, like I got no motivation from her. Fe. From ever since we got married I haven’t been able to contort myself into this “husband” I’m supposed to be. I just wanted her to suck me up all the time. Now it feels like I'm in the circus.

While I’m on my way home, I get into a conversation with some woman about dough:

“Oh, you have a wife?” since that’s the first thing I explain to strange women I’ve never met before. She looks surprised, though her body’s as relaxed as a willow branch.

I tell her, “Yeah, she’s a little Empressian lady, but she prefers Calaja, you know people like their own demonyms and all. Despises the fact we live in Bridge now. Real homey girl and she takes care of me. Does this 'weird stuff' with her hair and nails sometimes, for Mary knows why. Me, I don’ know why the hell she does it. She does other weird shit too, mean, she’s real zen and makes me take my shoes off at the door. I have self-conscious feet, chick, like, I don’t need you to stare all at my piggies. But cheh, she’s cool. Cool, I married her, did’n I?”

“Yes! You did. She sounds like a world-class, umm, girl. What’s your name?”

I say, “Lance.”

“Oh my Virge, what a gay name!” she blurts and kicks out a leg thick as a swinging tree trunk.

“Gay, eh? Would a gay person do this?” I flick my wrist at her and poke out my hip.

“That’s what they do all day,” she says, tripping over something on the pavement while she keeps pace with me. “I’m gay, so it doesn’t matter what I say about the gays.”

“‘The gays.’ You make it sound like they’re a bunch of Martians. Still seems like a big issue these days for some reason: homosexuality. I ‘member when you could get lynched--”

“For what? Bein’ colored?”

“No, gay.”

“You’re not that old,” she says, somewhat tickled.

“You can still get lynched in the Wilderness.”

“Are you from the Wilderness?”

“Do I look Native to you? I ain’t that dark.”

“Well then.” She picks off a fruit or nut or something from the cords of an overhanging tree and throws it across the street at a few kids. “Why’d you tell me about your wife, anyhow? That was, like, the first thing you said. I didn’t ask.”

“Nervousness, I suppose. Sometimes I forget the year, too, like it was something I could forget. It must be all the crap I’m buried under these days.”

“Well, that’s easy. It’s only the year of the fucking jackalope. You shouldn’t forget information like that, man!” I laugh a bit but start to question the amount of time I’m allotting to spend with this nut-case. In my head though, I don’t actually call her a nut-case, are you kidding me? Wifey’s calling again. Fe. What in Purgatory does she want? My Lady, it’s not like Virgil’s there. So many layers, and I can’t fathom why anybody would go through Dante’s purgatory, or hell, for that matter. Other than reading it. It would be fun to watch some people burn to death, even though it’s not really death because, you know, it’s Inferno. Take it too far? My bad.

Okay. So, then she says, “What’s the crap? Been dull in the bedroom lately?”

“Nah, well … Hasn’t been anything in the bedroom lately. {she hisses from her teeth as if to say Ouch!} Normally, I work at a high school as an administrator and teacher, but some stuff ... went down."

“Ohh!" She falls back like she's been smacked with an epiphany. "You’re the Lance they talked about at the meetin'. {I shrugged since I'd never been to a meeting. I mean, that meeting} Well, you're really in the shit, eh? Hell, I work on the school board here in south Bridge, but I’m workin’ to be the board president."

I say, "Really?" with the sight of her launching fruit at some kids' heads still fresh in my mind.

"Yeh. Board president there’s a guy now, and he thinks I can’t do it. Men.” She spits some dark slob on the ground from a cigarette she must’ve just smoked. And on the general magnanimous idea of men too, I guess.

I tell her, “You could be a board president, you know. Don’t let them get you down just cos you’re a woman. The ones in power are always the hard-asses. You’ll be one too, soon enough.”

She smirks doubtfully at this. “Who knows? So, tell me what happened."

"So, basically, I was talkin’ to this girl student after class -- real nice, pretty girl. Beside the point, for some reason I can’t wrap my head around, I touched her on her shoulder or neck, like, to console her or something, but right then another teacher came in and saw this one part. Of course, she overreacted and accused me of sexual assault on a minor, and you can imagine the rest. Now I can’t find work, all the load is on my Fe, we live in a shack, practically, and she’s not givin’ me none. Beyond that, my life is peachy. {the woman supports my strife with a Damn} I wanted to talk to someone, anyone other than my wife today cos I’as going to kill myself tonight. Literally. It’s not cos I’m unhappy with her, I just hate life. I hate it so bad, like, sometimes I want to ride a spaceship to the edge of the universe, don’t care how long it takes. Jus’ ride until I die or reach the end, one of the two. But she can’t …” I want to say more but I cut off. I’m offset by the sight of the low moon. Why is it so red, and why is the sky purple? I’m suddenly aware of all this stuff happening so far away from the earth. Dude.

"I dunno about your old lady, man. I think she’s a dike. Or no! Maybe she’s an alien. A complete alien.” Why would she say that? Right when I’m thinking of space, too. How apropos, Mr. Universe.

“Why you think that?” I ask. Oh, yeah. The part about the dough.

“Well, I once saw this alien on acid. I mean, the alien wasn’t on acid, I was. Then while I was high I saw ‘eem. It was shitting from the middle of its forehead -- you know aliens can do that -- and it said to me, ‘Mariah … I need some dough, girl.’ I told it I didn’t have any money, it said, ‘I need sustenance. Cook me a pizza, Mariah. Make me some bread.’ So demanding, I thought, and, How does that ugly thing know my name? I thought. Then I told it, ‘Alien, you are defecating out of your face. I think you need to go to a hospital.’ ‘But I want it! I need it. It gives me euphoria!’ Then I said, ‘Yeah, but you don’t see me going to other galaxies and asking for acid just because it gives me euphoria.’ I laughed at myself, but then got serious again, ‘Does dough make you poop, you know, from there?’ It said, ‘Agh! I look ridiculous! All my alien friends see it, but I don’t care, you know? As long as I’m hiiiiiiigh. {she was having a ball explaining this to me} ‘But it could get in your eyes, it stinks, it’s unhealthy. You definitely should stop.’ He said, ‘If you stop your drugs, I’ll stop mine.’ I said, 'Deal,' shook his tentacles, and to put it one way, I never saw that alien again.”

A treacherous silence between us. I can’t tell if she intentionally told this story about an alien suffocating under a load of crap to relate to my situation or not.

“I should get going,” I tell her, “Maybe my wife actually needs me!” She then kisses me on the cheek and smiles as I leave her there. She smells good. But I don’t enjoy those cheek kisses, in fact, they make me uncomfortable. Why would I care, though? Maybe I was trained by watching T.V., like a Seinfeld episode or something. Maybe everything I do is instilled in me from something I once heard or watched. My conversation with Mariah, I guess her name was, was different from anything I’ve ever seen, just like that terrible, vibrant moon. It’s so red, I feel like it’s washing my brain away, blinking away my sense, sucking me closer into it. I must be losing my mind.

Thinking of my wife while I walk and the kinds of days she’s had to endure since my leave, I can only imagine the hell that’s eagerly awaiting me at home. I see a couple of teenage girls pass me by, laughing with their newly matured voices and, based on my immediate urges, I start to question whether I really did assault that girl at school and whether I would want to touch her again.

7 Février 2020 08:33:43 0 Rapport Incorporer 1
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