Peter and Vegas

I sat on the old brown leather couch and tried not to move, as the poor thing creaked and squealed with the slightest twitch. I’d never been to Peter’s apartment before; it was the kind of place that girls ‘like me’ didn’t frequent. Peter was more…dirty than that. As in with filth, not just pervy.

I could hear him in the kitchen talking to his roommate, sharing a recipe for butter noodles or splitting up a bag of potato chips, who fucking knew. When I’d met the roommate, he winked at me and told me to call him ‘Vegas’ for some ungodly reason. Vegas was fifty if he was a day. I had no idea what his real name was, but I didn’t really care to know.

I still don’t know why I agreed to go home with Peter that night. Maybe because it felt like an adventure. Maybe because it felt new and different. Maybe just because he was a dirty old man who may or may not have more than enough drugs for both of us.

I shuddered, and the crusty old couch echoed my sentiments.

I remembered the camping trip my father took me on when I was ten. The one where we found a body in the desert, his intestines pulled from a hole in his stomach and tied to the branch of a creosote bush. I’m pretty sure that was the day that I changed from a normal kid with normal potential to something fortunately rarer, something darker.

whiskeyBut back to Peter. He had cheap whiskey, but he had expensive coke. I’m fine either way, but Peter wasn’t. We retired to his bedroom as Vegas retired to his own, and commenced to getting shitfaced. Peter didn’t even finish the whiskey, from a bottle shaped like a human skull, before passing out. More of a gentleman than I’d expected, though: he didn’t even try to cop a feel once he got me in his bedroom. He actually just wanted to talk.

I don’t care about talking, but I’ll listen to you if that’s what you want, if what you’ve got is good enough for me. Anyway, I said Peter was an old man, but I guess he was thirty or so. Not really old in the grand scale of things, but he’d been rode hard and put up wet, so ‘old man’ suited him.

I listened to him snore for about five minutes before I gathered up all the coke and the money that I’d seen stashed in his underwear drawer, of all places. Jeez, Peter, can’t you be a tiny bit original? I shrugged, not really caring.

I listened at the door for any noises that might tell me what Vegas was doing and whether or not he was going to prevent me making a clean getaway. When I couldn’t hear anything, I opened the door and gently closed it behind me. I snagged my jacket from the back of the couch on my way to the front door, and that’s when the yelling started.

I jumped, fearing the worst, but it turned out to be your everyday smidgen of domestic violence in the apartment down the hall. None of my business. Two flights of stairs and I was clean gone, free to live another night  doing whatever the fuck I wanted.

OLWG #69

 

 


In the Darkness

bc25170e284b3327cbb0a0c22502c8ebwrithing twisting crawling
the worthless mass of creatures
wasting away in the fog
waiting for their time to come

heeding not a single warning
as the echoes of their failures
fall on their own deaf ears
and silence reigns supreme

this bastion is their home
their safety, their protector
the only castle they will know
they wait, but not in peace


A Bump in the Night

Perry tried to breathe as quietly as possible in his bed; the monster might hear him and come out of his closet.

He had the covers pulled up to his nose, resting on his upper lip, and tucked in tightly all the way around his body. His small frame shuddered as he dared to think about what the closet monster could do to him.

Was that faint sound its claws tick-tacking on the hardwood floor? The covers inched past Perry’s nose. His eyes widened with fear.

He pulled the covers over his head, and a soft weight jostled him. It was on top of the covers. Perry stifled a scream.

Small rhythmic vibrations roused his curiosity, and since he hadn’t been murdered yet, Perry dared take a peek at the foot of his bed.

No monsters, only his cat Harold.

003


A Slight Scare

Driving to Wal-Mart
The headlights turned themselves off
Interstate darkness