1-10 working draft
1 – I’m going to be late scumbag
2 – Sorry I forgot scumbag
3 – Actually I changed my mind, and made other plans scumbag
4 – You ignored me in the supermarket scumbag
5 – You stole my parking spot scumbag
6 – Trainee/Intern/Student Scumbag
7 – Full Time Scumbag
8 – Master Scumbag
9 – Elite Practitioner/ Professor Scumbag
10 – Overlordo/Evil Dictatoro Scumbago
They surmised he had some kind of ailment or affliction of the mind. Such was the nature of his accident. A regular on his bus route commented that perhaps it was his ex wife that troubled him so.
On the 6.04pm bus past the sandy bay housing estate along the main road, at the corner of sandy bay and the first bottle shop junction, a large white building haunted with the foam and feelings of older generating he would honk as he passed by. Each time, every night for 4 and a half years – not one sick day was ever taken, not leave. Every day he would honk. Sounding the hurt and the knowledge that he passed her block. A horn in the evening fade of summer or winter black.
I told a kid tonight that I honked because my ex wife lives on that corner. Really I’m just bored, bored with it all and it brought humor and mystery to my behaviour. A dirty and strange habit. Maybe our likes are perverse. So I told a white-lie, so what? If they want me to justify they can have something, a noting secret, really it was just a quirk, my quip at their meaningless travel. I drove them, insanely I took them places. You’ve got to laugh.
A blind person can’t propaganda.
I went back in my mind, searching for meaning and what i meant then isn’t what I asked for now.
Meant is only used in the current’s confusion. I paddle with the streams of time, hoping that what I mean has meaning that can be mirrored in these waters.
Wade or float.
Cut through or quote –
That’s not what I meant.
I came to the end of the path. Slow following trail, winding in and out of the gums. A thin, oiled piece of wood, worked timber to my right- a spear in the ground, straight up and down. The path i was following was worn down, perhaps an old trickling stream, carved into the dusty land. Clay reminded me ant hills. I plucked the timber from the ground easily and realised my mistake too late.
“We will test him” the consensus was reached. “He’s following us, but why?” had been the promoter for the discussion. If he means no harm he will walk on, following us. But if he picks up this spear that we will leave for him That he come across on the path, then we will know his intent.
There was a sick sliding shock that’s made me feel like I was inside myself. Baby kicks in a troubled womb. Sobbing gasps escaped my warmed blooded lips. I fell forward, impeded. My head turned and I fell forward. Grey black spots appeared in a rivulet of colours. My lids closed and opened of their own volition. I continued to exhale, life escaping from the pores in my, slithering our of the wound in my side. My arms convulsed and thudded.
He looked like a fish, gasping and making a “mop mop” sound. It’s his mouth. We closed In Around him and breather in the gums, blood oozed out of him, thinner and redder than I’d ever seen. I put my foot on the creature and pulled my spear free. Then there was stillness. Still and quiet in the cool of the afternoon.
I don’t make time for these porked scratchings anymore. Sacrilegious as they were.