The Penny Walk

“Do you understand that by participating in The Penny Walk you are legally consenting to a full body search before and after entering the fairgrounds?”

I feel light-headed. I should have eaten more before I left, but my nerves made it impossible. I only vaguely recognize the question as one which I should respond to in the affirmative.

“Yes,” I breathe out. My voice seems to trail off even on the one syllable word. I don’t know what I was thinking. I don’t know what made me agree to join this year. It’s not mandatory if you’ve lived in Church your whole life. This is Piper’s fault. It’s not. It’s mine. Fuck. The guard is still asking matter-of-fact questions, when I find my voice. “I’m a contestant. I already filled out a consent form.” He looks pissed. I should have said something sooner.

His voice is monotone now, and I assume he is trying to hold back his temper. “You are at the wrong gate. Contestants enter at the East entrance. That was in the packet that you would have received when you turned in your paperwork. You will have a more extensive search and a weigh in at Gate C. There’s a field on that side of the grounds. You’ll receive a blessing in case anything goes wrong during the ceremony.”

“You mean sacrifice,” I blurt, accidentally. Whatever control he had a moment ago vanishes. His lip curls, his eyes roll, and he shoves me out of line, already beginning to speak to the person behind me.

After waiting in the wrong line, I am running late. I should pick up my pace, but my mind is wandering. 

Every year at the end of the dry season, Church hosts The Penny Walk. The actual festival is a requirement for every citizen. The first half of the day is filled with carnival rides and fair-food. The games and rides are simple, but they help bring the community together. The town really puts everything they can into the day. We don’t have much to look forward to in Church. Most of us can’t even afford the extra butter and flour for cake on our birthdays. There is a donation center for anyone who has leftover rations to help fund the ceremony that comes just before sundown, and you are also allowed to buy participation tickets that are then converted into pennies. It’s mostly men who buy tickets, although I have seen a few women join in before. Any girl that has had her seventeenth birthday is allowed to enter as a contestant. The winner gets to give the money to their family, meaning an end to the perpetual squalor that the majority of us live in. The ritual can be dangerous if you don’t know your own limits, so you are only required to enter if your family is new to the town for this crop season. It’s a way to pay for your rations since you weren’t present to help throughout the year. Most of the younger girls in town enter, anyway. The idea of saving your family from having to ration away the rest of their lives is enticing.

This season, I turned nineteen. Despite that fact, I have never entered The Penny Walk before. My twin, Piper, has entered both years that we have been allowed. She hasn’t won, but she hasn’t lost either. That is more than a good amount of past participants can say. I hate even going to the festival. A lot of the residents love it. It’s a chance to socialize and to pay our debts to each other. It’s a clean slate with a party. Maybe if I was a man, I would feel differently, but I can’t make myself see it as anything more than archaic. Piper has always seen it as an opportunity that our elected officials are providing us. An opportunity to better ourselves and our land. I’ve never been able to figure her out. I know twins are supposed to be some sort of soulmates, but I don’t have that gift of connection with her. She begged me to enter this year. And last year. And the year before. 

“Mari, just think about it. We would not only have double the chance of winning, but twins. I mean, everyone loves twins. Way more people would donate and enter if they knew that there were going to be twins to watch this year. It would basically be impossible for one of us to not win,” Piper pleads. Her voice is more breathy than mine and I have a scar on my right thigh from climbing a fence, but aside from that we are identical. Her curls are falling across her eyes, when they would normally be artfully tossed back in a type of gravity-defying wave. The dishevelment tricks me into an intimacy that makes me want to agree. I want to be a team with her. My insides are at war. The practical part of me can see that this is not anything resembling a fool proof plan, but the twin part of me has aimed a gun right at the heart of practicality.

I look down into my lap, avoiding eye contact, “I get what you mean about people loving the idea of twins, but that doesn’t mean that we would win. Piper, you have entered twice, and you still haven’t won. You know it takes more than just getting the most support in order to win. You have to have the fortitude to make it until the end. Anyway, I am not in touch with myself the way that you are. I don’t know that I would know when to stop. ” Not to mention that Piper is fearless, and I am nothing short of a coward. “And don’t you hate the idea of women being some kind of repayment of debts? Isn’t that kind of fucked up? We aren’t currency, Piper. I don’t want to be some kind of offering.”

Her voice drops, “Listen, you can’t talk like that. Obviously, none of us want to think of it that way. Think of it like this, they respect us so much that we are their most valuable resource. That has to mean something. We need the money. You have to know that we need the money. Besides, we would look so good up there together. So tempting. Think about it.” She cups her hand around the back of my neck like she is going in for a hug and pulls me closer. Her already airy voice is almost too quiet to catch, but I just make out the whisper, “We’re being watched, Mari.”

Practicality drops their weapons, as trust slices their practical throat.

I’ve been uneasy since the warning. I figured that if I just entered the contest after refusing that it would seem out of character, but Piper didn’t bring it up again. I don’t know how Piper would have figured out that we were being watched. Or that we were being watched any more than every other citizen of Church is watched. But if she is right, our family will need the money before the next growing season. Our father is older. He isn’t exactly elderly, but he has spent his whole life working the fields in Church. He’s weathered. He was sick for a long portion of the last year. Mostly respiratory issues, but he didn’t put in as much time as would usually be expected. If we are being watched, it is because of his failing health. It’s not unlikely. In Church, you work for your rations until you cannot work anymore. When it seems like you are no longer doing your part, you have two options. Someone in your family can pay for your daily rations using part of their own, or you offer yourself up as a sacrifice to the growing season. Most of us barely get enough to sustain our metabolisms in order to make it through the work day. It is rare that someone does not choose to be a sacrifice. My father would never take any of our rations. The sacrifice is quick and non-violent and taking from one of us would make him feel like a burden. He would never want to live like that. He has never even pushed either of us to join The Penny Walk like some other families do. Mama has never joined either. Her and a few other ladies do the town’s laundry. Piper and I are teachers. We are all our own responsibility in his mind. Nevertheless. If we had the money from winning, he wouldn’t need to worry about working or taking anyone else’s earnings. 

Two weeks after Piper and I talked about entering, the registration came in the mail:

CHURCH’S 130^TH ANNUAL PENNY WALK!

Fun for the whole family!

Rides and games open from sunrise to sundown!

Free food!

Live music!

Don’t forget The Penny Walk Ceremony is open to all female residents 17+, with split the pot prizes and free citizen rations for life to the winner’s family! Ceremony will begin at sundown, and fireworks will take place after the show!

Registration to join the contest is enclosed as well as the option to purchase advance tickets to participate in the show.

Festival begins at the sunrise before the full moon.

*Attendance is mandatory for all residents.

I pulled out the registration sheets, left one on Piper’s desk, and took the other to my bed to look over. I slipped the form inside of the book I had been reading so that she wouldn’t see it if she came in. We share a room, and I didn’t want her to know that I was considering entering because I didn’t need her to persuade me one way or the other. I wanted to be able to make this decision on my own.

The form doesn’t really give much more information than the average citizen already has of the contest. To be fair it is a pretty straight forward thing. It is basically just an outline of the ceremony along with information on what happens to the prize money if you are the winner. It states that if you win but do not make it through to the end of the show then your prize money reverts to your next of kin. If you live then you have the option to accept half the pot and split the rest with the town or to offer the entire winnings to your family and take none for yourself. Everyone knows that the next of kin almost always gets the winnings. I mean. Most of us wouldn’t want that money even if you paid…well. It feels wrong to keep the money after you win. Either way you get your lifetime food rations, so you’re safe until you’re too old to work, and have to hope that one of your living relatives still has the means to take care of you. Otherwise, you become a growing season sacrifice. The rest of the page is devoted to legal nomenclature stating that you or your family will not sue, due to the fact that you are consenting to possible bodily harm and even death. There’s a disclaimer about how if you live, but are harmed in a way that requires medical attention the town will elect a medical professional to intervene and improve your chances of recovery. Obviously they wouldn’t want to lose out on any valuable little worker bees. None of the men ever want to take any of the sewing or cooking jobs, so it wouldn’t be ideal if they lost all of their women to the contest. The last sheet explains that you are aware that you will likely be physically touched, and that you will not inflict harm on any of the participants. It is three sheets worth of language that likens me to a piece of property for the men of the town to digest as they see fit.

That night, I filled out the forms after Piper went to sleep. I thought about telling her. I didn’t want her to worry anymore, but it felt like a concession. It felt like I was losing my humanity. I had spent my entire life claiming that I had too much dignity to lie prostrate at the town’s feet, and now I was readily submitting. I slept deeper than I had in years. The weight of my decision crowded my dreams and held me under like stones in the pocket. In the morning, I woke before the rest of the family and walked the forms to the Town Hall. I came home and washed the dust from town from my shoes. Once they were clean, I made breakfast for everybody in the house. By the time I was done mama already had two people drop off their laundry for the day. We had weak coffee and an egg each, while we chatted about who might join this year, who would be a crowd favorite, and who would make it until the end. I interjected rarely, ate quickly, and then Piper and I left for our jobs at the schoolhouse while my father walked the opposite way toward the fields.

I turn all of this over as I make my way through the dusty, tall grass to the East entrance. I remind myself that this was my own choice. No one made it for me.

The attendant at Gate C is a woman. I think I have seen her around before, but it’s hard to be sure. Most of the time, the people of Church look like they have been wearing the same clothes for a week and before they donned them they took them for a proper roll in the dirt. From the frequency my mother gets laundry from any single house at once, most of the folks in Church probably do wear their clothes for about a week at a time. For the festival, though, everyone is in their best attire. There are few excuses to wear anything other than work clothes, so we take advantage of the opportunity. The woman is in black pants and a clean grey sweater, and she has her face tilted up to soak in the end of season sun. The blush at her cheeks and the bridge of her nose puts me at ease. I clear my throat, “Miss? I think I might be late, but I’m a contestant this year. Last name is Grace.”

To my dismay, she frowns. “Grace already entered.”

“Oh! That was my sister, Piper. My name is Mira. Sorry, we should have just come in together, but I got held up this morning.” I hope that she’ll take that as an explanation and not ask more. I don’t think I have it in me to go into my morning anxiety and how I haven’t even told Piper that I entered.

She looks through a list of names, finds mine, and nods. “Ok, love. You are going to go through here. We do require a cavity search. After you get to wash up. Then they’ll get you a dress and lead you out to the field for the blessing. By the time you make it through all of that, it’s usually dinner time. Afterwards is the ceremony. Your packet should have explained all of that, but I do like to go over it one last time. In case you have anything on you that you maybe don’t want to bring into the ceremony. It’s better to leave it with me than it is to let them find it on you during the search.” She’s fidgety as she finishes up the speech. She is looking into my eyes like she is trying to say more than she can with words.

I’m not sure what she is trying to convey, but I appreciate the way I can feel the empathy radiating from her. “I’m good. Nothing on me. Thank you, though,” I reply with as much calm as I can muster. She nods again and opens the gate. As I walk through she pats my arm and wishes me luck. 

The cavity search isn’t as bad as I am expecting. Another woman performs it, and she is quick and gentle before she leads me to the shower room. It is already wet with sticky heat since I am the last girl to enter. The drain is clogged with hair, and murky water swells around my feet as I wash. As promised, when I am cleaned up there is a bleached, cotton dress laying with my towel. After I dress, I head into the gathering tent. I spot Piper immediately and shyly make my way over to her. She is talking to a group of girls in the same white uniform as me. When she spots me her eyes go wide. “Mira! What the fuck? I can’t believe. When? What are you doing here? Never mind. Get over here. We are about to make flower crowns.” My voice is caught up and clotted somewhere inside my windpipe, so I silently take a seat next to her. She hugs me tight and grabs my hand. Her voice in honeyed-sweet, and slightly higher than usual when she speaks again. “Oh, I just knew that you would come. I am so excited to do this together.”

Once we are all crowned in lavender and orange blossoms, we head out like cattle to slaughter. The grass of the field is only about shin high, since the harvest wasn’t long ago. It tickles when the wind dances across us. I don’t pay much attention to the blessing. I have heard it before. It sounds like all of the ancient, “out of date” blessings I have ever heard from all of the religions that we denounced. Please protect these women as they give themselves to our town. Please return their bodies to the land as payment for all it gives us if they perish. That sort of nonsense. Some of the girls start crying during the recitation, but I just hold Piper’s hand and wait for supper. Unfortunately, it ends up being nondescript meat, potatoes, and bread. It is more than I have had in a year, but I would have preferred the free fair food. Fried dough covered in cinnamon and spun sugar on cones may not be exceptionally filling, but it would have been more of a comfort. I am just finishing using my bread to sop up the last of the juices from the meat, when an attendant comes in to shepherd us on to the stage.

Piper turns to me, eyes gleaming, and smirks, “It’s time.”

The attendant takes our dresses as we head out to the clearing. The sun is down, now and the wind tempts my skin to rise. My nipples harden. My lips feel dry. I am trying not to shiver. Piper continues holding my hand. I always thought that she must be braver than I am to walk out in front of the town with nothing on, and hand herself over this way, but I feel her trembling. Knowing that she is just as scared as I am sends a chill up my spine, and I have to close my eyes and let her lead me in order to stop myself from shaking. My eyes are still closed when we stop, and a disembodied voice booms across the grounds.

“Welcome! We hope you all have enjoyed the festivities tonight. We are about to run our 130th Penny Walk Ceremony at this time, and we need all residents to make their way over to the center clearing while we introduce our contestants this year. As you know, The Penny Walk is open to all female residents of at least seventeen. If you are a new resident this year, you must present at least one female of age as a contestant in order to pay for your family’s rations from the past year. This year we have 32 women participating! That’s a record, folks!”

At this, the announcer begins going through our names, ages, and what family we come from. When he makes it to Piper and I, the crowd whistles and whoops. She was right. They love twins. I lose focus after I hear my name, and by the time I tune back in everyone has already been announced.

“I need anyone who bought a ticket to step forward at this time. Miss Clara is going to take your tickets in exchange for a basket full of pennies in the corresponding amount. We have also evenly split up the amount of pennies that were donated between the number of ticket holders, so everyone has a fair shot. There are a few rules that I will go over while you claim your baskets. First, the girl with the most amount of pennies at the end is our winner. One small disclaimer on this, is that the girl must be conscious. We have in the past had some families try to stuff their girls after they passed out. Because of that, this year we have decided that we will now remove any unconscious contenders before that can happen. Second, you are allowed to touch the girls however you like, but you cannot cause purposeful bodily harm. The contestants are aware that there are occasional injuries as it is an overwhelming game, but as a ticket holder you have agreed to not purposefully inflict pain upon any participant. Medical professionals will be standing by to help with injuries. The third and most important rule is that we now allow contestants to leave the clearing if they are in too much pain to continue. If you leave the clearing you do forfeit your chances of winning, regardless of how many pennies you have received at the time. Ticket holders, please do not attempt to offer pennies to a contestant trying to leave the field.

Now, it seems that everyone has their baskets. I would like to take a moment and thank these women for offering themselves up as payment for the things we require to live our lives. Before the ceremony each of these contestants received a blessing so that they might become an offering if they do not survive the ceremony. We are going to take a moment of silence to honor their sacrifice. At the sound of the bell, the 130^th Annual Penny Walk will begin.”

The seconds between the echo of his words clipping off and the chime of the bell are excruciating. I am crying silent tears, and Piper is squeezing my hand so hard that my wrist throbs. The bell explodes through the crowd and reverberates across my skin.

The men swarm us. I stand as still as I can, though my first instinct is to cover my face. I am staring straight ahead, elbow brushing Piper’s elbow, when the first man comes to us. He licks my cheek as he slides a penny into Piper’s cunt. She is crying, but she doesn’t move. Next he walks behind me and shoves two inside of me. The metal slides inside easily, and my body swallows it up. He leaves with his basket and continues up the line to see what else he might like. Before I can look to Piper two more men are on me. The first is underneath me pushing penny after penny into my pussy. If I were wet it might not be that bad, but I am terrified, and each one hurts more than the next. I think he must use up his entire basket on me. The other man is holding my mouth open and sliding the pennies across my tongue before he stuffs them in my cheeks. He lingers too long on my lips as he slides the fifth one in, and I have to concentrate hard on not vomiting. He sucks at my nipple, as another man approaches. I am sliding the pennies under my tongue in case someone else wants to use my mouth, when I vaguely hear that three contestants have left the field and two have passed out. My mouth tastes like blood, and the only thing I can smell is copper. Another two contestants leave, swatting at men trying to follow them out of the clearing. Someone else is holding my hands behind my back as they bend me forward to slide more pennies inside of me, and I barely catch a glance of Piper. She is on the ground now, and she is still crying, but her eyes are open. I feel blood trickling down my leg as the men continue to push in as many coins as they can fit. A large man pushes me down to my face to shove pennies in my ass, and I shit all over myself and him. The blood from my overstuffed pussy is pooling around me on the ground. He licks me from my neck down to my ankles. Acid makes its way up my throat, and I carefully push it back down, while still holding the pennies in my mouth. Someone rolls me over, and I notice that Piper is gone. There is only one other girl in the clearing with me. She is on her knees and leaning forward as a man slides pennies into her bleeding holes. I lay back and spread my legs wide. Pray for more pennies.

Wet Schemes

As Frank pulled into the parking lot, which looked like something that would be converted into a future filming location of yet another Mad Max film, he had to admit he was far from impressed.

The bar Simon was over the moon about was attached to a damn-near empty strip mall. Unless you counted the large array of homeless residing in the nearby woods.

Frank approached the idiotically named superhero bar, which looked like some pedophile’s wet dream; he nearly avoided stepping in a pile of what he guessed to be human shit. Apparently nature called merely steps from a restroom in the lovely cartoon-esque-looking bar. Frank opened the door to be met by what appeared to be Cindy Lauper’s lard-ass lost twin.

“I can’t believe it! Frank Murphy is actually here!”

The woman dressed like some arts and craft project gone horribly wrong grabbed Frank without warning, squeezing him like a fucking orange. Frank silently prayed to himself it wasn’t her feeding time.

“Jesus Christ, big country!  A little over enthused, are we?”

The woman just looked at Frank, laughing. “Oh you’re just how I imagined you to be. We’re so happy you’re finally here!”

Frank stopped the woman as she reached out to grasp him in her death grip yet once again.

“Sweetheart, I’m flattered, but where is Simon?”

“Hey man, damn glad you finally made it. Let me buy you a drink.” The curly haired loon of an agent called out, waving him over to a dimly lit corner booth.

Frank looked around, noting that this place looked like a mix of Chuck E. Cheese and a very sad toy collector’s wet dream. As toys seemed to fill every corner as the weird mix of dork action figures and stuffed animals just freaked Frank out in this weird blacked out window bar clubhouse nobody in their right mind desired to be a member of.

Frank began to go sit with his loony ass former agent as suddenly the rotund woman grasped his arm. She said, “I’m sorry sweetie but you need to purchase a wrist band first.” 

She pointed to some very highly unimpressed kid behind a desk playing a video game. Frank figured this kid apparently was paid to play video games and tend the counter, though found it more important to finish his game of Halo before tending to this very hungover customer. At last, he turned from the TV screen to look at Frank.

“Yeah?”

“Umm, sorry to bother you, oh great wizard, but apparently I need a wristband. I mean, I hate not to be one of the not so cool kids and all.”

The kid just stared at him, clearly annoyed, as he handed him a neon pink colored wrist band.

“Thirty bucks, dude.”

“Wow, just the color to match my sparkling personality. So this includes….?”

The little ray of sunshine behind the counter looked extremely annoyed. “Yeah dude, like you can play all the games. Shit, man, what else you want, a fucking blowjob or some shit?”

“You sir, are clearly upper management material. I will pass on the blow job and the video games being I am over twelve, but you have a great day and enjoy commanding your troops in your quest to avoid pussy at all costs.”

Frank didn’t wait for the lovely millennial’s reply as he joined Simon in the dingy little booth.

“Wow, kid, love the fucking decor. What, you decorate this place from shit you grabbed from Michael Jackson’s estate sale?”

“Fuck you man! I knew you were going to give me shit over how the bar looks, but I didn’t design it. I am just buying it, man. I think it’s got real potential.”

Frank fought the urge not to burst out laughing as some homeless dude had whipped out his cock and was going to town on himself right in front of the widow where Frank and Simon were sitting.

“Dammit! Shirley, that guy’s at it again.” Simon called out as he slapped the glass. The clearly out of gourd dude trying to free Wilile just stared up as if God himself was trying to communicate with him.

A little Latina waitress made her way to the table, handing them both menus that looked as though they were made by a first grader.

The drinks all had bizarre names. Frank didn’t bother reading the visual bukake, he just ordered his usual Jim Beam and Coke to which he was surprised he didn’t have to tell this barely legal barmaid what went into the drink.

As he noticed his former agent’s eyes clearly fixated upon that said young lady’s non-existent ass.

“You know kid, you truly are a fucking idiot!”

“What the hell man, what did I do now?” Simon replied befuddled at his former client’s statement.

“You’re buying this pedo palace to get a piece of ass goddamn. Now I’ve truly heard it all!”

“It’s not that man. I mean, yeah, she is hot. I mean, she is really cool, man. You will dig her. Just don’t take a shit on this please, man. Okay?”

Frank bit his tongue as best he could knowing the kid was hell bent on this shit storm of a wet dream. He also noticed his new stalking victim making goo goo eyes at some weirdo with a rose neck tattoo behind the bar who occasionally cut his eyes back at Simon and Frank.

“Hey slapnuts, who’s the weirdo tending bar?”

“Oh, that’s just Tate, man.”

“Seems awfully friendly with your girl there, Romeo.”

Simon kept staring back at his soon to be employees and wistful love interest. “He is a bit of a dick man. Honestly, when the paperwork goes through I will probably give him the ax. Dude, he’s really odd and annoying as fuck.”

“Yeah, and boning your chick so…yeah, smart move, Count Dingleberry.”

The evening kept rolling as Frank and his former agent held court at the back booth and the place remained as empty as when he first arrived. But his friend was burnt out from his former job and simply burnt out from Frank himself and he fully understood that.

Although Frank was old enough to be his only true friend’s father he understood he had to have something more than the shit show it was being caught up in the publishing machine. So, while he thought it was a terrible idea to lend him the bank to buy this craptastic place, he knew he would do it simply for the fact he at least owed the kid that much.

As Frank excused himself to see a man about a horse, he made his way into the cramped little restroom. Some weird looking kid washing his hands at the sink glared at him. He oddly enough remained at the sink as Frank finished up taking a piss.

“You know, he’s not into you.”

Frank looked at the kid, questioning if Simon had employed this entire place from rejects from Houston state psych ward.

“Excuse me?”

“I mean, don’t get me wrong, you look alright, but he’s not into guys. At least that’s what he tells me after he led me on; he is so clearly repressed.”

“Look, I just want to use the sink, okay dude.”

The kid simply rolled his eyes heading out the restroom as Frank quickly washed his hands and got the fuck out of there. He paused at the bar to order yet another round from the neck tattooed prick who had been glaring at himself and Simon for a large part of the evening.

“You know dude, I have to admit I don’t get what folks see in your writing. It’s so, like, cliche and all. I mean, don’t take that wrong, I’m no critic or anything.”

“Yeah, I mean, kinda beats working a dead end job in a place that looks like a thrift store got butt fucked by deranged circus clown, but hey, nice neck tattoo. You know, you should get one on your forehead that reads This Space For Rent. I’m just saying you got some issues pal.” Frank replied. Simon’s favorite barmaid and the thousand tons-of-fun soon-to-be former owner cracked up while the weirdo with rose tattoo umm yeah not so much.

“Hey kid, great atmosphere in the men’s room. Really dig your fanclub. God, that dude weirded me out.”

“Oh, that’s just Ritchie; he busses tables occasionally and helps out in the kitchen. I don’t pay him all that much. Kinda has a weird crush on me, man. He brought his entire family to meet me. It was like The Hills Have Eyes or some shit really was awkward.”

Frank didn’t even bother entertaining the pointless conversation as the time slowly passed. The occasional customer staggered in looking around questioning just what the fuck they stepped into.

At last, against his better judgment, Simon introduced him properly to Sofia who Frank had already by this stage in drunkenness renamed Chi Chi Rodriguez. At least behind her back, that is. Like the refined gentleman pervert he truly was.

As they all joked, Frank made the usual expected ass of himself. Simon’s quasi girlfriend excused herself from the booth to grab more drinks while Simon continued his perpetual future sexual harassment lawsuit in the making stare.

“You know there, Casanova, it would be far cheaper to just pay to fuck her than buy an entire whatever the fuck you call this weirdo’s wet dream to get in her pants.”

“Quit busting my fucking balls, you prick, and please don’t fuck this up, man. I get it if you don’t want to loan me the money, but for once just be my damn friend, you asshole!” Simon, now on his tenth gin and tonic, snapped.

Frank knew not to press his favorite verbal punching bag too much, not because he feared him getting pissed; he just hated the thought of hearing him cry over how he had cost yet another failed attempt at hopeless romance.

The girl oddly looked like Simon in drag which threw Frank off a bit and really made him question if telling his former agent to go fuck himself all through the years had truly sunk in by default.

Sofia brought a tray of drinks and one for herself, which was some ungodly concoction called The Rainbow. Which, yeah, Frank had no reason to comment on, but as they continued their conversation Simon occasionally shot Frank a look that the demon’s that possessed his permanently charred soul could not resist in having a little fun on the nearest victim’s behalf.

“So Sofia, can I ask you a very simple question?”

“Of course, feel free to ask me anything, Frankie.” Sofia quickly replied as Simon just glared.

“Well, sweetheart, would you sleep with a guy for five million dollars?”

Simon did a spit take as his gal pal didn’t hesitate in her reply.

“Oh hells yeah!”

Frank flashed his legendary shit eating grin. “Well what about five hundred?”

Sofia glared at Frank, her demeanor instantly turning south.

“What, you think I’m some kind of whore!?’

“Well, honey, I think we already determined that; I was just trying to negotiate a price for my sex deprived friend here.”

“Fuck you, asshole!”

Sofia instantly shouted, throwing her ungodly concoction in Frank’s face then turned and smacked Simon in the face. She strutted off as Frank just sat there.

“You know, kid, I really think she’s a keeper and I got to admit after tasting the rainbow I have to say it’s a tad bit surgery for me. Yeah, not a fan.”

Simon yelled at Frank, and as he made his exit, his former agent was chasing behind his barmaid’s boney ass.

Frank was on the first flight he could grab back to the Carolinas.

He sat there a week later looking at the blank screen feeling that emptiness that had become his continual existence.

Frank had the money transferred. He knew it was a hopeless investment but, after all, wasn’t it always a shit bet when you banked on anything involving the heart.

The kid had his whacked-out bar, the girl had run off with the deuce with neck tattoo and apparently he had to ban Ritchie from the premises over a rather awkward incident in the walk-in box.

The business would go belly up a few months later. Yeah, Frank took a hit, but he always enjoyed penning and now financing his former associate’s unhappy ending.

He looked at the news, a storm was barreling in towards Kill Devil Hills, yet again. Frank could ride it out, but instead he booked a trip to the Big Easy because kicking back a hurricane seemed far more appealing than eating crow or sipping a rainbow over the Lone Star state any day of the week.

A cold beer will always beat a warm heart. Yeah, Frank hated to admit there was so much truth to that saying and bad memories attached to that title. Even he had to kick himself in the ass but life has a funny way of busting your balls if you live long enough.

We all have to pay that fiddler one day, but at least in Frank’s case it thankfully wasn’t today.

Greetings from Carolina. The beer’s cold and the weather is shitty. I hope all of you out there are as well. Frank typed the words upon the computer screen and left the laptop open as he headed out the door.

The storm could have the house and the computer to the bottle. Much like Frank’s nonexistent heart was strictly off limits, as were his deepest of thoughts. After all, a scoundrel must have his secrets.

The party was never relegated to a specific place. As Frank never cared for the window dressing as one floor, no matter how clean, was just like the next. As long as ice was available with plenty of mixers and some rented companionship, who gave a damn about the address? The party was always overrated, but, then again, aren’t they all?

Pick Your Poison

“Good morning, sir.” A portly fellow with a dark mustache and a bad combover stood behind the counter. “How can I help you?”

“I’m looking for a nice plant for my wife,” I said. As much as I loved flowers, they often wilted and died within days, so I wanted something that would last. 

“Well, you’ve come to the right place. What’s the occasion?”

I hesitated, debating whether or not to lie. In the end, I figured the man would never see me again, so it wouldn’t hurt to tell the truth. 

“Well, to be honest, I upset my wife earlier, and now I need to make it up to her.”

A chuckle escaped the man’s lips. “If I had a dollar for every time I heard that, I’d be a millionaire.”

“I can imagine. Any suggestions?”

The man pivoted and rubbed his chin, eyeing several plants along the wall behind the counter. “This Creeping Zinnia is nice.”

“Creeping Zinnia?”

The man turned to me and nodded. “Yeah. If you touch the leaves of the plant and then rub your eyes, it will cause you to go blind.” 

My brow furrowed. 

“Or maybe this Skunk Hair,” the man said, moving along to another. “When the temperature gets too hot or too cold, it will release a putrid toxin that will cause your body to convulse.”

Was this guy for real? 

“So, these are poisonous plants?” I said. 

“Yes.”

“But I’m looking for a harmless plant.”

“Unfortunately, all of the plants in my store are poisonous. Or, at least, dangerous in some way.”

I shook my head. “I’m sorry. I think I made a mistake.” I spun around and walked toward the exit. When I put my hand to the door knob, it wouldn’t budge. “What the hell?” I muttered. 

“It’s locked,” the man said. 

I turned to him. “Why?”

“Because you haven’t bought anything yet. I have a button under the counter, and I locked the door after you entered the store. Without any other customers to bother us, you have my undivided attention. Now that’s service. Wouldn’t you agree?”

“Are you serious? You can’t keep me here. I’m calling the cops.”

I slid a hand into my pants pocket, ready to pull my phone from it. 

“I wouldn’t do that,” the man said, a sly smile stretching across his face. 

“And why’s that?”

“See those vines overhead?”

I tilted my head back. Vines practically covered the ceiling, some of them hanging only a few feet from my head. 

“They can release flesh-eating spores,” he said. “At my command.”

This guy was crazier than I thought. 

“Really?” I said with a heavy dose of sarcasm. “First of all, I don’t know of any plant that releases flesh-eating spores. And even if it is capable of doing that, how could you possibly control it?”

The man shrugged. “Many people call me the plant whisperer. I have a way with them. They’re like my children. Sometimes they don’t listen to me, but they’ll do as I say most of the time.”

A thought came to me. “So, you’d risk exposing yourself to the spores just to punish me for not buying a plant?”

He removed something from under the counter and held it up. “That’s why I have this umbrella. Just in case.”

I doubted an umbrella would completely protect him, but I wasn’t about to debate it.

“This is ludicrous!” I shouted. 

“Maybe, but do you really want to take the chance that I’m right?”

I mulled it over, then approached the counter. “I find it hard to believe that people haven’t complained about what you’re doing here. Whether it’s to the Better Business Bureau or The Department of Health. Even the police. How are you still in business?”

“You’d be surprised. I have connections all over town. And in high places, too.”

“And what’s to keep me from blabbing when I leave? I can urge everyone I know not to come here.”

“Plants are sensitive to human emotion. They can pick up on the slightest vibe. And if you’ve been badmouthing me, your plant will know it.”

I swallowed. “What are you implying?”

“It will take defensive measures. Which will be unpleasant for you and your wife. And anyone else in your household.”

“Then what’s to stop me from throwing it in the trash once I leave here?”

“The same. It will consider it a threat and take action. Plants can communicate with one another, and all of its buddies will make your life a living hell.”

I was about to call his bluff when something tickled my cheek. I flinched at the vine. It had lowered itself from the ceiling, then quickly recoiled like a snake. 

“Do you believe me now?” the man asked. 

I let out a frustrated breath. “Look. What if I pay for a plant but don’t actually take one?”

The man shook his head. “The whole point is to find loving homes for these plants. I don’t do it for the money. In fact, I’m barely breaking even running this business. It may be hard to believe, but these plants will grow on you. No pun intended. Anyway, if you love them, you have nothing to fear.”

I deliberated. “Fine. Do you have a plant that’s a little friendlier than the ones you already mentioned?”

“It depends on your definition of friendly.” He turned to another plant behind him. “For example, take this Spotted Redbrush. It has a better temperament. You really have to piss it off for it to retaliate. But if you anger it, you’ll have the most agonizing rash for weeks.”

That didn’t sound appealing to me in the least. 

I pointed to one on my left. “What about that one?”

The owner moved toward the plant. “This one?”

I nodded.

“That’s the Brown-Eyed Common Alder,” he said. 

“And what does it do?”

“It can put you to sleep.”

My lips stretched into a grin. “That doesn’t sound so bad.”

“It wouldn’t be if that’s all it did. You’ll also experience vivid nightmares, and you’ll be vomiting for hours once you wake.”

I cringed at the thought, and my shoulders slumped in disappointment. 

“I can sense your indecision,” the man said. 

“Is it that obvious?” I took a breath. “Do you mind if I have a look around?”

“Be my guest.”

I perused the store, the owner hovering behind me the entire time. Then I spotted one. It resembled a small basil plant. It looked innocent enough. Then again, I’d come to realize that appearances could be deceiving. 

“You like that one?” the man inquired. 

“Maybe. I’m afraid to ask about it though.”

“It’s a Healing Ribwort. It’s called that because it can regenerate itself after being damaged. It’s one of the most resilient plants I know of.”

“But?”

“I’m not going to lie,” the owner said. “It’s partial to women. It tends to lash out more at men. But only if you give it a reason to. It can make one of your appendages go limp.”

My eyes bulged. “You mean—”

“Yeah. That appendage.”

I nearly choked on my saliva as I swallowed. I pondered for a moment, ultimately coming to a decision. 

“I’ll take it,” I said. 

The man raised an eyebrow. “Really?”

“Yeah. I figure there’s even more incentive for me to treat it well. And if I happen to anger it for some reason, at least it will take it out on me and not my wife.”

“Makes sense. So, how would you like to pay? Cash or charge?”

“Cash,” I said. “I’d rather my wife not know how much I’m spending on a flaccid penis plant.”

Deep Fried

Another shitty end to another shitty day. Noah was clopening, again, even though he was pretty sure it violated some OSHA bullshit that he had to be at work five hours after clocking out. Why did McBiggies even stay open this late? No one in this shit-for-brains town went out after ten, but the owner insisted they stay open until two in the morning just in case some big-rig trucker got the hankering for midnight diarrhea. Whatever. Noah put in his earbuds, turned them up full-blast, and mopped the floor to music most people he knew would classify as “Satanic.”

It was essential that Noah closed the front of house as quickly as possible, not because he was a particularly loyal minimum wage employee committed to avoiding time theft – fuck that – but because he was closing with Jeff. Jeff was the living embodiment of everything wrong with the world. Dropout, pot-smoker, rape-joker, ass-smacker, shrimp-dick motherfucker who, for some ungodly reason, thought he was the hottest shit to ever hit the pavement. Jeff could go choke on his light beer and chicken wings. Jeff could go take an Ambien and lie sideways on the train tracks. Jeff could go hang himself with his grandma’s shit-stained panties. Jeff could go—

“Becca, will you turn that shit down? I can hear it from the walk-in.”

Noah’s dream sequence of increasingly humiliating and painful ends to the boil that was Jeff shattered, and right when they were getting good. Noah ripped out an ear bud, whipping around and wishing to God he had a weapon of some kind. No one would miss this imbecile, this veritable worm, this Jeff.

“That’s not my name, Jeff,” Noah spit. He didn’t even bother making eye contact. He put his ear bud back in, punched the volume knob on his phone, even though it was already maxed out, and mopped like he was trying to scrape the tiles off the floor.

What a piece of shit, what a cretin. These idiots have no idea what’s coming. When the grid dropped and chaos reigned supreme, Noah would laugh as Jeff and the mealworms like him begged for water, for shelter, for their puny lives while he sat on a throne of—

“Don’t touch me!” Noah shouted, dropping his mop and pushing Jeff away with both hands. The fucker had snuck up behind Noah and ripped out his ear buds with the typical audacity of a cis, straight, white guy. 

“Jesus, calm down, groomer,” Jeff retorted with great intelligence. “Keep it down or I’ll bitch about you to Janice, again. One more complaint and you get fired, right?”

Empires were burned to the ground with less fury than that which Jeff’s shit-eating grin stirred up in Noah. What made it worse, Jeff was right. Noah had already been warned by the owner, Janice, in a one-on-one last week that his ice was getting thinner and thinner. Not a single one of his own complaints against coworkers who misgendered and dead-named him seemed to find their way into any of their folders, but for some nearly unfathomable reason, every single complaint against him had been typed out, Xeroxed, and filed alphabetically. Noah hated his job, almost more than he hated the government, but he needed the money. So, he turned off his music, ground his teeth, and wheeled the mop bucket to the kitchen to drain.

“Oh, Christ, he hasn’t even shut down the friers yet,” Noah thought, rolling his eyes. He’d probably be here for another hour, at least, since he couldn’t leave till Jeff finished closing the back of house. Whatever, he’d sit in a booth and harness his anger into a rant on Discord. He liked the people in the new server he joined. They weren’t snowflakes like so many other alphabet people. They wanted real change, like him, and they weren’t afraid to dirty their hands getting it done. 

“You know, if you tried a little harder, I bet you’d be fuckable as a chick.” 

This influx of charm announced Jeff’s arrival in the kitchen. You’d think that after a year of harassing Noah, Jeff would have come up with at least some new material. But no, it always circled back around to Noah’s fuckability as a chick, broad, or female. 

“You don’t even flatten your tits all that good. I can tell you’re like a C-cup.”

Speculative fixations on Noah’s binded chest, right on cue. 

“I just think it’s kind of pathetic how hard you try and how bad you fail. You don’t look like a dude or a chick, just some sort of—”

“Freak?” Noah couldn’t take it anymore. He couldn’t hold his tongue and listen to the same slew of shit from another low-life piece of shit. He knew he was fuming because he couldn’t think of any other words to call Jeff than “shit.”

“Exactly,” Jeff sneered, wiping down the grill with a sponge, “you saved my breath. A freak.”

Noah straightened the bottles of bleach and ammonia on the cleaning supply shelf with a precision that would make fascists proud. These idiots have no idea what’s coming. One more word out of him, and it’s over. 

“You know, I think I saw something like you crawling around on the Discovery channel. What was it called? He-She’s Gone Wild?”

Go ahead, shithead. I dare you. One more crack like that and—

“No, it wasn’t Discovery channel,” Jeff laughed, “it was Brazzers. Some bitch like you was in a train. Damn, maybe that’s what you need. A good fucking from six fat cocks, one after the other. Maybe then you’ll stop trying to—” 

Noah had never stabbed someone before. It was much easier than he anticipated. For all the corners McBiggies cut, they sure kept their knives sharp. Jeff was screaming, trying to pull the blade from his shoulder. Noah took care of that, sticking it back in twice more. He laughed, which was a mistake.

Jeff was almost twice as big as Noah. He’d been in a good mood ten seconds ago, making fun of the local freakshow. Now he was pissed, and bleeding profusely. 

“You bitch!” Jeff screamed, socking Noah in the stomach. 

Noah doubled over, another mistake, and got a knee to the face. 

“Not so tough now, are you?” Jeff spit. He twisted his neck to try and assess his injuries. “They’re gonna have a lot of fun with you in prison, faggot. You’re fucking dead, you know that?”

Noah didn’t answer. Instead, he straightened himself with calm collection, gathered his inner resources, and headbutted Jeff in the stomach. The two struggled, deer with antlers locked. Jeff wrapped his arms around Noah’s waist, attempting some janked-up form of a pile-driver. Noah kept stabbing Jeff below the ribs. When he hit Jeff’s hip, Jeff let out a high-pitched wail his buddies would roast him for, if they were here. But they weren’t, and this little shit was killing him. 

Jeff was losing blood and strength fast, which excited Noah. He hadn’t put much thought into this whole thing, but now that he was murdering someone, he figured he better do it right. He backed away from Jeff, who stumbled and leaned against the stove. A sweat broke out on his forehead. His eyes were getting hazy. There’s no way this faggot was gonna murder him. 

This was one of the last thoughts Jeff had. Noah dropped the knife, side-stepped a weak swipe from Jeff, and grabbed the dying man from behind. Normally, Noah needed help stocking ten-pound flour sacks or five gallon buckets of mayonnaise, but the thrill of getting even coursed through his veins. Noah drug a quickly-dying Jeff under the arms to the fryers. 

It wasn’t necessarily a pleasant smell when the flesh cooked, but it also wasn’t worse than a lunch rush. Noah only wished he had his music playing to accompany the screams. Some oil splashed up onto Noah’s forearms, bubbling his skin. He didn’t feel it. He didn’t feel anything. The sound of that fucker cooking, the slip of his shoe on his own stinking blood, the crack of his head against the hard tile, it was more than cathartic. It was holy. 

Noah laughed. He laughed as he washed his hands. He laughed as he gathered his things. He laughed as he stepped over Jeff’s body, pausing to snap a picture. 

“Hey guys,” Noah typed into Discord, “you’ll never guess what I just did.”