Butcher

This resubmit this to some magazines. Wish me luck...

He's smoking a cigarette and drinking from his flask. watching me, muttering to himself. 

            I insert the blade just above the sternum, twist and then rip. He likes to see the heart of a thing before I do the rest of it. Carving trophies off of his latest kill. The heart is warm in my hand. Its heat makes me sad.

            “Boy, once you taste the heart of something, there is nothing left to do.” Every time he squishes those words from between his teeth, chewing, every time. I think I hear a heartbeat in my ears

 

Good Night

She kissed me once on the lips, then puttered around the kitchen. She kissed me again and leaned for upstairs but leaned back and kissed me on the nose.

I walk our dog, Marmoset before bed.

This was a life in a nutshell. She provided love and nurturing. She made our place a home. I did what need doing.

After circling the block and letting Marmoset pee on every other lawn, I brought him in, took off my baseball cap and hung it on the back of the kitchen door. I didn't like working with things on my head.

With my hat in its place, I feel free. I pulled my shotgun from the hall tree, and slung over my shoulder with the knowledge that every man prostitutes himself just a little. My form was no worse or better than scraping coal from a whole in the ground.

I drove our little VW bug to corner of MLK and 5th and went over the plan once more in my head.

Come in from east side of the Circle K. The light will be in their eyes. Shoot low so as to wound, the screams will make the week lemmings leave the pack. Shoot high to get the camera hanging on the storefront. Grab the bags. Don't look in the bags till I get home. It's the same routine, but I always repeat it to myself.

I was home before eleven and I was up before dawn the next day. We all have a routine.