Vadius Wilburn

Sanctuary Golf Course

The sky was red.

“Honestly it’s fucking crazy,” she said.

“It’s because California’s on fire,” he said.

“Nah that’s fucking, way too far for us to see it.”

“It’s like bright fucking red.”

“I think it’s Utah or something.”

“What even is Utah.”

“Haha yeah. Nevada.”

“That’s way too far. It’s literally red, like right fucking there,” he said.


They stood, looking at it.

“I guess like our own shit must be on fire—”

“Yeah like our own shit must be on fire then,” she said.



“Who gives a fuck honestly.”

“Honestly who fucking cares. Honestly.”

They were in the middle of the fairway. The sky at one horizon was indeed a searing red. The summer green of the fairway contrasted. 

They were essentially on top of a mountain, and the grass of the eighteen fairways was stamped there for their recreation. The groomed grass fell about the crest of the mountain and down its sides. It was like at any moment there was a vantage by which they could spy the rest of the world, or its apparent annihilation, or whatever was occurring with that red of the horizon.

She now had to hit the ball in the direction of the green. Tim’s dad and Tim’s dad’s friend were waiting there, at the green. She hit the ball. When she was done following her shot she turned to him and said, “Tim,” and he said, “What?”

She said, “I look like such a rich-ass hoe right now.” She spun around and lifted her skirt so Tim could see her ass. “I love it we should golf more often,” she said.

“Babe. Notwithstanding how ungodly fucking sexy you look in that outfit—”

“Look at my fucking legs like holy shit babe. With the color of the sky.”

“Yeah notwithstanding any of that, golf is pretty wack—”

“Can you just like briefly comment on how fucking amazing my legs look right now—”

“I mean babe I’ve literally had, like at least half a boner for the past half hour.”

“You can fuck me you know. Right now I mean.” 

She stood there, leaning on the golf club.

Tim looked downtrodden.

She said, “It’s just your dad. Your dad is super wack.”

“So wack.”

“Let’s go join them?”

“Let’s,” he said as she got in the cart and he drove through the fairway to where his father and his dad’s friend were standing. He parked adjacent to the green and he and Sara grabbed their putters.

His dad said, smoking a cigar, “This is just absolutely wild with the sky isn’t it.” His dad exhaled the cigar as it was part of his persona.

“Wild, yeah.”

“Crazy yeah.”

His dad’s friend was standing there, aesthetically equivalent to a filing cabinet.

Tim’s father said: “Well we’ll definitely have to get a photo before the day is done. Several photos. I mean just look at the sky. Have you ever seen anything like that? Roger have you ever seen anything like that.”

“Yes once.”

“But I mean, like that?”

“It’s impressive. I admit that is impressive,” Roger said.

The four of them stood there on the green, staring at the sky. 

Sara said, “It honestly looks like the world is ending.”

“Who gives a fuck,” said Tim.

“What was that? Hey don’t say that. Don’t say that Tim,” his dad said.

In one minute Sara said, “So whose turn is it?”

“You can putt. You’re inspecting your line. I see you. You got it,” said Tim’s dad. And then he said, “Great putt,” after her stroke.

Tim navigated the scenario and finished his putt rather quick.

They reconvened at the tee box of the following hole. Roger manipulated the velcro of his gloves and looked down the line of his club. He pressed his cleats into the grass at the tee box and then lifted one foot and then the other, testing the ground. Then he did so again. With the ball teed up, Roger drew back his club a few inches and then reset it, and then did it again. He hit the ball. Then Tim’s dad got up to the tee box and did the same routine.

Tim got in position to swing and said, “You guys can go on ahead. I’m probably going to mulligan a few times here. You know.”

“That’s cool Tim. We can wait,” his dad said. “That’s fine whatever you have to do.” He exhaled his cigar.

“No honestly just go ahead. Gonna try something new here.”

“It’s okay if you have to take a few practice balls,” his dad said.

“Just go ahead hahaha.”

“Well that’s fine that’s not usually—”

“Really if you don’t mind I have to say something private to Sara.”

“Tim,” his dad said, “yeah we can play, sure. Roger you don’t mind? We can go out there on the fairway.”

They drove down the cart path, dissolving into the grand view of the valley.

He and Sara were alone at the tee box. He teed up a shot and took some practice swings.

She said, “So what did you have to tell me?”

“Literally nothing haha.”


“He’s just so fucking lame,” Tim said.

“So fucking lame.”

“Honestly.” He looked at her. “My dad wants to fuck you.”

“Duh. Hahahahaha. What a fucking gremlin.”

“And the fucking Roger guy.”

“Who the fuck is he.”

“One of my dad’s friends from AA. Literally my dad only has sober AA chode friends.”

“What does Roger do?”

“Sells airplane parts.” Tim took a few practice swings.

“That’s so fucking lame hahahahaha. What a fucking loser,” Sara said.

Tim hit the ball. It curved into the trees, where it might have just rolled down the mountain. He fished from his pocket another tee and another ball. He regarded his surroundings, seeming to finally take it all in. He said, “Holy fuck.” She stared at him. He looked at her and said, “Dude this is a fucking insane view,” and she laughed. He hit a ball which went into the trees. He said something absurd and grabbed another ball and hit it into the trees.

She said, “Why don’t you actually try?”

He said, “Baby I am I’m just fucking hammered hahahahahaha.”

He hit another ball.

“Baby,” she said.




“Why don’t you just fuck me in the trees. Just hit one into the trees and play it and we can go over there and you can fuck me,” she said.

He looked at her. “Yes. The trees. Let’s go fuck in the trees.” He hit the ball and it landed in the middle of the fairway. Then he took another ball and hit it into the trees.

She had to hit a ball now.

“Just hit the fucking ball,” he said to her, “hahahahaha. Just fucking hit it.”

They got in the cart and he drove down the cart path. He drove them into the trees where lay his seventh ball. He said, “We’re doing this come over here.” From where they were standing they could actually see the outlines of his father and Roger down along the fairway. They were playing their balls.

“I’m shivering oh my god,” she said, “in the shade I mean.”

From behind—he grabbed her at the waist and put her up against a tree so that there was a tree between them and the rest of the course.

He grabbed an ass cheek and pushed her panties to the side and said, “Just take them off,” and she said, “Yeah I’m just gonna take them off,” and she slid them down her legs and threw them in the cart. He slipped his fingers into her pussy and he untucked his shirt and stuck his cock inside her. He put his elbow around her throat, from the back. “It would be dope if you screamed right now,” he said. He fucked her and she lifted up her shirt and felt her own tits. “Tim,” she said, with her hand in his hair.

They were celestial with the red.

“Should I put them back on?” she said.

“No fuck that.”

From the trees he hit the ball into the fairway. They drove to it and she sat in the passenger seat of the cart.

“Your dad. What a fucking loser,” she said. Tim was crying and laughing, trying to hit the ball. He said, “This is really serious, we need to be serious for a second. Just for a second while I hit this fucking ball.”

He hit the ball.

Back in the cart he said, “Alright Sara. Where’s your ball? Where’d you lie?”

“I don’t know. Over there.”

He drove in the indicated direction.

The distant sky was blackened intermittently by blurring smoke. It was clear that the environment was on fire.

Roger and Tim’s father were chatting at the green. When Tim and Sara arrived, Tim’s dad said that they should take a photo. “What do you think Sara? You guys look really good.”

“Great idea. Definitely need some photos.”

Tim put his arm around her and their background was the apocalyptic sky. It was like the universe was cut into two plains. There was the edenic, lush, green world, and there was the ethereal celeste of dissipating red. This is what Tim’s dad saw as he took photos. Even Roger made a comment.

Tim’s dad said, “You guys look really good,” and Tim said, “You know I fuck her right? I literally just fucked her in the trees,” and Sara literally laughed. Tim’s dad said, “Hey Tim, that’s not what you want to say right.”

“Honestly fuck you.”

“You better watch what the fuck you say to me,” his father said. “You better watch what you fucking say to me.”

“Why? So you can maintain your stupid fucking identity of being this fucking cool corporate fucking douche bag that walks all fucking indolently on the golf course—”

“Tim I don’t know what the fuck is your problem right now but I want you to know that I do not approve of the choices that you are making in your life right now. I do not approve. You tattoo your fucking hands. And you’re clearly drunk—”

“Like it fucking—”

“Fucking listen to me right now Tim. You come out here and embarrass me in front of Roger. I entertain you and Sara all day. I come up with a plan so that maybe I can relate to you and we can have an enjoyable afternoon and understand each other and maybe you can have something purposeful in your life. And I do not—I repeat—do not approve of the choices that you’re making with your life. I’m your father, and I’m disappointed in you—”

“Do you realize—”

“Tim you better pick your words very carefully right now—”

“Yo literally fuck you. I come out here and ‘embarrass you in front of Roger,’ who gives a fuck. Fuck Roger. Roger fuck you. Either of you is just a complete fucking joke just a complete hollow fucking identity—”


“Literally fuck you. You’re a fucking joke all you do is spew your fucking toxicity upon anyone who even approximates a fucking mile within your radius. Why don’t you fucking drink you’re a fucking pussy you literally pretend to have this identity like you’re this wise old fucking man that lived a life and had all these experiences and then decided to do the right thing or whatever the fuck and you’re sober but don’t you get that you’ve just fucking put all that shit inside yourself you’re a miserable old fucking piece of shit you’re a fucking pussy you drink black coffee and smoke cigars because you still need to hide everything inside that you’re running from you’re a fucking monster, you know I still have fucking dreams about you I’m a grown fucking man I still have dreams about you where I’m crying and you’re fucking laughing at me. Your life’s a fucking joke and you too Roger you’re a fucking pussy you both sold out your fucking lives and bought into some bullshit fucking value system asserting that you can’t make your own fucking choices and you’re just the victim of a fucking disease, why don’t you fucking drink you fucking pussies. You fucking losers. And dude you tell me you’re disappointed in me? Do you realize how fucking little I give a shit about what the fuck you think about me. I literally don’t even give a fuck. I literally fucking hate you. You’re a fucking pussy you embrace this fucking bullshit corporate identity and do the whole golf thing and buy into a fucking image and you smoke your fucking cigar and you fucking actually literally fucking believe in all the AA fucking bullshit like it’s the core of your fucking identity your utter futility before fate or whatever the fuck your victimhood before the fucking disease the fucking world like you don’t have any choice and you just embrace the fucking lies so you don’t actually have to take any fucking responsibility, that’s what it is you take no fucking responsibility you fucking outsource your own fucking identity to some external cause that isn’t in your control so you think you’re destined to just be this fucking worthless loser that’s just uptight all the fucking time and only achieves like ten percent of what they fantasize about. And dude you just make everyone fucking miserable, except Roger who’s a fucking loser anyway, worshipping you, your group of orbiting fucking AA buddies. Like it’s become your fucking identity, weakness your identity, victim your identity, impotence your fucking identity, misery, no-fun your identity…”

This was happening and she acknowledged it. Roger was walking distantly, lighting a cigar. She asked him if he wanted a photo of just him in front of the sky. He scowled at her and she peered expectantly until he said explicitly, “No I don’t want a photo.”

She didn’t actually know what she was supposed to do in this situation. She was standing on the edge of the green and looking at the grass which was effulgent with the red of the sky. But the color of the grass reflecting its inverse in the sky formulated something inexplicable. And the anger which arose fulminant, apparently, yet not unpredictably; typifying for her effectively the whole world. She didn’t know what to think about it. She hated his dad. She thought maybe that they should stop getting drunk with weirdos like this. If Tim was just here yelling and being a psychopath—how could she disapprove. She literally hated the world. Literally fucking hate it, she thought. I fucking hate it, she affirmed. So what the fuck am I supposed to say. She felt anyway that maybe there was a better way for things to go. If Tim wasn’t so recalcitrant then maybe there’d be less anger and hatred. It was almost like it was unethical or something, everything that was occurring. It’s not like I have a strict set of ethical values, to compare it to, she thought. Tim’s dad was screaming terrible terrible things, presently. She could see within the man despair and failure and figured that Tim was in a way just psychologically enslaving the dude and was probably a source of constant torment. And she thought, I don’t fucking care. She thought: this is what I’m supposed to do in this godforsaken society of violence, I’m supposed to yield to moments like these and recreate them and sponsor them. It makes no sense to me. Why is Roger such a loser. Who are these people. Where did these people even come from. How can someone like Roger even exist. How is that even a possibility in the universe. How can you actually be a conscious aware thing experiencing what it is to be, Roger. What must that man think about himself, how must he see the world. How can you not react with disgust and hatred. How can you not fucking vomit on sight when you see Roger. I literally don’t get it. So that makes sense. Hopefully we can leave soon because I think the vibe has been killed. Also what the absolute fuck is going on with the sky right now.


From Good Antifreeze

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