Population: Minus 1
The last time eleven year old Wyatt Dobrosco saw his mother alive, she was bound and gagged in the trunk of his father's car: lit only by the yellow porch-light of their unpainted weatherboard house, just outside of Wholesome, Nebraska.
They drove through the darkness. From time to time, Wyatt would tilt his head to gaze up at the moon. His father had nothing to say, and Wyatt, in the passenger seat, didn't feel like talking.
Nebraska was a great place to live if you liked corn. Fields of it stretched out forever on both sides of the road. Wyatt didn't. Never had. Never would.
Sheriff Clint Dobrosco killed the engine, the car's headlights died with it, and the night closed in around them.
'Stay there,' he said.
Wyatt knew better than to argue.
Clint Dobrosco had to twist at the hips and angle his shoulders to haul his six feet and six inch frame out the driver's seat, and the frost-brittle grass growing on the verge shattered beneath the soles of his boots as he made his way to the trunk.
Rosa Dobrosco wasn't a small woman, but the sheriff lifted her easily and carried her over his shoulder into the field, between the rows. The corn was high. The moon was full.
He wasn't gone for long. Wyatt thought he was gone for too long.
He waited until his father had started the car and they were driving away before asking, 'Were they there? Did you see them?'
'They were there,' Clint Dobrosco said.
'Did you see them?' Wyatt repeated.
'No, I didn't see them,' said his father. 'And I don't ever want to.'
The Kool-Aid Kid
We lived in a house
Constructed of bricks
Of Velveeta and confusion
Surrounded by liquor stores
And bombed out abortion clinics
My father would visit us
Every other weekend
We would drive around for hours
Shooting homeless people
I've got a necklace
Made from human ears to prove it
My mother told me
That the first words
I ever spoke were
"Kill me"
I was 10 years old
And they did
David Burdett
6/28/2023
July 14, 1990
I escaped death, by drowning, through the keyhole in the water.
The day prior, I had randomly picked up a small thin book and flipped open to a page.
Number 14, I remember vividly. It gave a tip. "How to Save Yourself from Drowning," a diagram with the illustration of an old skeleton key and a doorway, like to Heaven.
I had never learnt to swim. Certainly not in peer pressure...
Tomorrow my best friend was turning 10. Her father had given her a letter N stuffie, for Nicole, and a birthday party at the lake. A green murky bottomless basin.
Too yucky for you? Pale skin blushing in the sun.
"Can your feet touch the ground?!"
Yes, yes, they can. Jump in, the water is fine!
"Jump in. Jump in. Jump in. Jump in..."
And in, there, too green.
Not coward, nor prudent
Not being able to swim..!
Not wanting to jump out of Life.
No one believing, in not floating up;
Eyes open, one foot under and sinking,
Time stops but the heart is still ticking,
I've no instinct except to Think: I am Going to Die.
My ears are deafening with liquid, and lungs are screaming.
I remember the keyhole and draw its potent shape in the water.
Propelled immediately like by magic string, gasping, to the surface, breathing!
It must have been way down dark to cause such a panic on their helpless small faces.
Five of us in the water and no one to save us. Children God bless the handle on the floaty.
They haul me to the rocky edge, where Mr. Falanga is in horror holding out a hairy hand.
Hoisted to a towel. Puking water on dry land.
This is how I escaped, death, by drowning.
Through the keyhole in the water.
06.28.2023
Birthdays & Getting Older challenge @Melpomene
Being the Fairest Is For Pussies
A magic mirror
only exists in fairytales,
but here
there’s no
wisdom hidden
within the glass;
Yet I still stare at it
waiting
for something
amazing to reveal itself,
but the person
glaring back at me
is just as fucked up,
just as scared,
and is entirely confused
about the future
as I am.
I say,
fuck that guy.
He’s no help to me either.
Tired Trope Amalgam
Our character is awakened by an alarm clock. She gets ready to go to a job where she is under appreciated, if not invisible. On her way out of the house, the person she lives with has prepared a breakfast buffet of which she takes one bite of one strawberry and rushes out, quipping something about “running late”.
We learn that our character is an avid runner. Not for the health aspect, but because she is running from her memories of some distant sad thing (cut scene to a terminally ill mystery person and/or a funeral in the rain—there is always rain).
She’ll go shopping at some point. The obligatory phallic form of naked French bread protrudes from the top of her grocery bag along with some random greens because no shopping trip is complete without them, apparently.
She will be kidnapped by men in suits and sunglasses. They render her unconscious, usually by an injection of some chemical sort. They toss her into a black SUV (bad guys purchase them by the fleet, you know).
She will come to in a mysterious location where it is explained to her that she is “the one” they need for a super-sensitive mission (save the world!). She is then able to hack into a sophisticated, multi-layer government mainframe with not problem whatsoever.
It then comes to everyone’s attention that “someone” is needed to break into an ultra-secure facility to access some key technical device. The team then squints at our character and they nod.
She just happens to be the final boss’ type, so a quick makeover is performed. She sheds her nerdy persona and is suddenly a knockout, ready to seduce her way into said facility.
Eventually, we find our heroine running in high heels and carjacking a European sports car, which she is able to drive like a demon. Cue the screaming pedestrians and hapless fruit stands.
She’ll crash, be uninjured. There's something counting down with red numbers (extra points for beeping). She finishes the mission. Is offered a job (clandestine, of course) with this alphabet agency (gotta leave that door for possible sequels open) and goes about her “ordinary” life.
The End.
Yawn.
Okay, yes I know… A lot of these are found in film, but when I see them applied in print, it makes me want to throw the book across the room.
My Brother’s Keeper
“It’s getting hot. Let me drive you guys.” My mom called from her home office.
“You know, I could always drive… the library is not that far…” I had to try.
“Nope. It’s only a permit. Besides, you know you can’t drive with your brother in the car.”
Crap. It’s only two weeks until my driver’s license appointment.
“Okay," I sigh loudly "We’re hoofin’ it. No big deal.”
“Wear hats and take water bottles. Text me when you get there. Keep an eye on your brother.” She pleaded, peeking her head out of her office doorway.
Like I wouldn’t. It’s all I ever do: keep an eye on The Oblivious One. My mom clings to worry like a talisman. As if letting it slip from her hands meant inviting “something bad” to happen.
“Okay, Safety Sue…” I mumbled under my breath, walking away.
“I heard that.”
Wow. How did she even hear that? Her hearing is as stellar as ever.
“Love you, Mom.”
“Bye Momma!” My little brother called out in his annoying Texan twang as we left. His voice had changed recently, but it still cracked in strange places when he spoke. Freaking hilarious when it did. And when is he going to stop calling her “Momma”, like a baby? Gross.
Dear God, please tell me I was not that awkward when I was that age.
We walked out of our planned community and onto the main road. Four lanes and a center turning lane. I wished I were driving instead.
I heard the honking ahead of us before I could see what was happening. The danger soon came into view. A white, flatbed work-type truck was driving erratically and too fast. Weaving into oncoming traffic, traveling in our direction.
SHIT. No time.No time.No time.
I looked at my brother, walking slowly—always so damn slow! Fumbling with his water bottle lid. Not even paying attention to his surroundings as usual! Can he not hear the commotion?! I felt instant annoyance and gripping fear.
Unless the truck suddenly did something completing unexpected and even possibly defied physics, it was going to hit us. Immediately. I thought about Trig class. Yeah. I didn’t need any fancy calculations right now to tell me we were about to get crushed.
No time.No time. We’re about to die RIGHT NOW.
I grabbed my little brother by the scruff of his t-shirt and by the back waist of his jeans. I hefted his thin body roughly over the guardrail on our right, swearing at myself for skipping the bench press lately. He let out a strangled, mixed cry of surprise and anger. His cry quickly morphed into noises of pain as he landed, tumbling violently down a slight embankment.
Tuck and roll, bro. Protect your face and head. We’ll worry about the rest later.
I heard the truck’s engine nearing as I remembered that hurdles were not my event. Turns out, they’re even harder to pull off from a standing position. I didn’t clear it. My left foot caught on the guardrail. I tensed up, not knowing which impact to expect first: the ground or the speeding truck.
Time’s up.
I know a lot of people say their lives flash before their eyes when they are in mortal danger. That wasn’t the case for me. Besides rapid-fire associations having to do with the immediate situation at hand, all my memories were of my little brother:
Feeding him as a baby.
Helping him take his first wobbly steps.
Cutting food in half and giving him the smaller piece.
Pushing him on the swings at the park.
Me taking his Legos.
Him taking my Naruto books.
My jealousy of how he could pick up any instrument and play it skillfully.
The two of us sneaking candy into the movie theater.
Laughing at stupid videos together on family road trips.
All I knew at that moment was that I could not let anything happen to him. I didn’t even think of myself for once. I thought of the worry in my mom’s eyes this morning before we left. I thought of how I’d rather die than have to tell her I had lost my little brother.
I tumbled hard as the sound of twisting metal and splintering wood took residence in my ears alongside the pounding whoosh of my rapid pulse. I had come to rest in a patch of fading bluebonnets, hurting, but alive. My little brother was now sitting up, rubbing his bloody elbow and taking inventory of the damage to his knee. He looked around for his glasses that had been knocked off during his fall. I hurt all over, but I’d take a look at my injuries later. I helped my brother to his feet. People were now gathering around the accident scene on the hillside just above us, trying to help the trapped driver, and calling for EMS.
“Whoa… Momma’s gonna freak OUT, right?”
I paused, wondering if there was any way we could NOT tell her. Negative.
“You bet your ass she will. You have no idea.”