Michele Archives

October 17, 2006

Michele: Parlor Tricks

Fucking cherry knots. How cliche. But when you’re drunk and horny and have no pride, tying a cherry stem into a knot with your tongue works.

Well, it worked for Freda. It’s how she got all the guys. I needed to come up with some trick of my own. Fuck cherry knots.

And then I saw it on the internet. Oh, that beats cherries any day.

I practiced. It was easier than I thought it would be.

Turns out that no one really wants to go home with a girl who can shoot ping pong balls out of her vagina.

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October 23, 2006

Michele: Faded

The edges of the photo had curled and left a sticky, yellow residue on the page.

The whole page had a yellowish tint to it.

Even the photo had faded and the sky, the grass, his skin were all tinged yellow.

Not the yellow of sunshine.

It was a yellow of secrets and things hidden and people forgotten.

She peeled the photo out of the album. Ran her finger along his face. Yellowed flakes of film fluttered around her finger.

She always meant to call him. To say she was sorry.

But she was still too much of a coward.

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October 25, 2006

Michele: Dream Job

I hate my job.

It's interesting and challenging. I just hate what I have to do sometimes.

It's a necessary evil. Some people need to see the demons. Some need to foresee that plane crash.

Don't think you're a chosen one or anything. It's all random, really. I pick your name off a list and decide if you get torment or peace. You're not special just because you're about to foresee your own death. I hate that I make you wake up screaming. But it's what I do.

I am the maker of dreams.

And tonight is your lucky night.

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October 26, 2006

Michele: Party of Three

“Plans for tonight?” She stood close to me. Her breath was hot on my face. She held her martini tight in one hand.

What kind of woman brings her drink into the bathroom?

That kind of woman. The kind we were looking for.

We made idle talk while fixing our makeup. She eyed me up and down the whole time.

I sized her up as well. I was new at this. She obviously wasn’t. But I knew how to follow a lead.

“My plans are incomplete.”

She smiled. Licked her lips. Grabbed my hand. “Show me which one is yours.”

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November 10, 2006

Michele: Can't You Smell That Smell

“Jesus ma. Something you got cooking in that stew pot is making me feel sick.”
“Oh dear. Maybe this wasn’t a good idea.”
“What?”
“Well, I heard you fighting with that whore girlfriend of yours last night....”
“And....”
“And I heard her call my baby boy terrible things....”
“And....”
“And I followed her out....”
“And.....”
“I killed her, Henry.”
“Oh, ma.”
“She’s in the stew.”
“Oh, ma....you shouldn’t have.”
“It’s the least I could.....”
“No. I mean you shouldn’t have put green peppers in it. I fucking hate the smell of green peppers.”
“I’ll remember that for next time, Henry.”

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November 16, 2006

Michele: Burn

I need a cigarette.

Fuck, I need a cigarette.

Two months without and the cravings still eat at me. I want to feel the nicotine on my tongue, that burning feeling in my lungs. I need to exhale thick, gray smoke, to smell the sulfur of a match and the burning of the paper. To feel that filter between my teeth once more.

I reach for the pack. Fumble for a cigarette. Strike the match. Draw a deep breath on it. Exhale the smoke.

I take the lit cigarette and stab it out on my arm.

That’ll teach me.

Maybe.

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November 17, 2006

Home Alone

I forgot one thing.

No. Wait.

I forgot two things. I think.

Check the door.

Locked.

Check the stove.

Off.

Maybe I didn’t forget something.

Wait, I forgot one thing.

Check the garage door.

Locked.

I hate leaving for vacation. It’s so hard to get going. I keep thinking I forgot something.

Oh well.

And away we go.

Jesus. Why is my nosy neighbor waving me down?

Roll down the window.

“Going on vacation, Tammy?”
“Yea....”
“You forgot one thing...”
“Did not. Checked everything.”
“Strap the baby in the car seat?
“Yep.”
“But you left her on the porch.”
“Oh.”

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November 21, 2006

Michele: Beep Beep, My Ass

That damn sound drove me crazy.

Beep Beep.

Every day. Every night. Teasing me. Driving me crazy.

I devoted my days to hunting down the source and eradicating it forever.

Beep Beep.

Everything I did was futile. Oh, I had some genius ideas. I went to great lengths to get rid of the damn beeping. I spent thousands on contraptions and materials that trying to stop the beeping madness.

In the end, it turned out that all I needed was a little luck. And a Volvo traveling at 90mph through the desert.

Beep Beeeee..............

Roadrunner stew is to die for.

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November 30, 2006

Michele: Spill the Wine

His body went crack! as he hit the ground.

Maybe I shoved him too hard. But he stealing shit from my house.

Was he dead? Shit. I didn’t want to kill the guy. I’m not a killer.

Then I saw the puddle trickling out from underneath him. Was that blood? It was dark, hard to tell.

I turned him over to see where the blood was coming from.

It wasn’t blood. It was wine. He put my last '92 Cabernet down his pants.

I picked up the broken bottle and brought it down on his head.

There. Now that’s blood.

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December 6, 2006

Michele: Nooooooooooooooo!

She stared at him.

This was the only way she knew him, really. Entrapped. She had never let him out, not even once. She could see him through the small window, look at his face and sigh over his fine, perfect features.

Then one day she got the urge to touch him. To hold him, to feel him.

She needed to set him free.

Her hands trembled as she reached for the opening. She felt a weird guilt as she lifted him from the packaging he’d been stuffed behind since 1977.

“Darth Vader,” she whispered. “You are free at last.”

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