wr_post06:subj_fict

AISLE 6: ASSAULT AND BATTERIES

His skin felt tight over the tips of his fingers. Had he remembered to put change in the meter? He had to get eggs at the grocery store so she could make that cake for Sally. Sally was taller than him, which was odd since Sally was a midget. That would mean he was a midget too. He didnt think about it much. No BIG deal. Hey, was that some sort of crack? "Cool it, man. You're arguing with yourself again," he thought. Just hand the lady the card and she'll swipe it and then....Wait, why should he? What did she know about his pain. He stepped back and shot her an accusatory glance. So, she thought she was going to get inside that easy, eh? Well he'd show her. He strapped on his roller skates and took off, leaving the eggs next to the tube of toothpaste and the shotgun shells. When he got home he wrote a very scathing letter to the management. He'd turn it in when he went in for work the next day. He had been working there for three weeks and still the other employees didn't recognize him when he came in. He often considered buying them all root beer. Who doesnt love root beer? That'd show them. A nice frosty root beer. They'd drink it down and then...what's this? Ha ha ha. A peanut in the bottom of the glass. Wait. He was allergic to peanuts. Not them. How would he get the peanut in the glass? He had a very severe aversion to latex gloves. It made him feel like a veterenarian. He had told the shrink that once. Theories of fearing becoming his father and wishing he'd acted sooner on that car loan offer. What if? You only live once. He could've used the money to buy those roller skates he'd always wanted. He looked down at his feet and chuckled a bit. Why buy when you can rent? Renting roller skates was like playing scrabble...all vowels. He stopped and thought that last thought again. Roller......Scrabble. "Hmm. It's just crazy enough to work," he said. His voice surprised him and he dropped the cabbage. It rolled into the gutter with the coupons he'd clipped yesterday. He often did things in the street outside his apartment. Menial things. Once a police officer had cited him for spitting on a tree. But he had to brush. The people behind his teeth were growing in numbers. Soon they would control the uvula. Many people didn't know the benefit of that dangly flap. But he knew all too well. After living in the jungle for a year you learn those things. He had begun typing out his thoughts some time ago, but he couldnt remember the circumstances. He felt like the skin on his fingers was growing tighter. Like there was water washing over him. His shirt felt heavy. He had to stop writing in the third person. "Maybe if I created a pseudonym for myself I could pass it off as a short story," Frank decided. Yeah, Frank. That's the ticket. So Frank wrapped up the sentence he'd been working on, which is not to say he stopped the thought. He never stopped thinking, but come to think of it he also never stopped to think. Funny how things like that worked. Like a leaky faucet, this existence was...Wet. And he'd have to suffer through a bit more of it before the great plumber in the sky came and....No, that analogy made sense. He couldnt have that. Frank reached into the third drawer down on the right side of his desk and pulled out the shotgun he kept there. He pointed it at the screen. Click. Damn. No shells. He'd have to get eggs if he was going to keep brushing his teeth. Who's birthday was it anyways? This had to stop. These accusations. If that lady wouldn't hand him the credit card, how could he ever check her out. She was getting impatient. How long had he been day dreaming? Standing there wrapped in syntax. He must've dozed off standing up. Everready. Why was she buying shot gun shells anyways? Frank didn't know how much they cost. He'd only worked there for three weeks...