"THE FISH HEAD MARKS THE SPOT" is a very special fast fiction based on a photo by my best pal Paul Pratte who is just your typically talented writer, artist and musician kind of dude. Keep your ear to the ground for his band's debut performance in Vancouver in the next couple of months.
So gather together all of your fish head stuffed dolls, read the following and enjoy...
The cold barrel of the gun presses painfully into his temple. It will leave a bruised ring. A dark pox. He shakes and whimpers under the threat of the gun.
"Where do you keep your money !! Where is it !!"
He walks in a straight line to the back fence of his back yard. "There's something buried under the compost. Under that fish head !!"
The screen door from the well lit kitchen opens and Miriam shouts out: "Sam what are you doing ? Who are you talking to ?"
Sam quickly takes the gun away from his own head and turns around quickly. "Nobody, dear. I'm just talking to those cats that are... those cats that are caterwauling again."
He doesn't want her to know about the cash buried under the compost heap. He doesn't want her to know about his weekly tests to see if he'll crack under the pressure of a home invasion. He doesn't want her to know that he's caved in once again.
So gather together all of your fish head stuffed dolls, read the following and enjoy...
THE FISH HEAD MARKS THE SPOT
The cold barrel of the gun presses painfully into his temple. It will leave a bruised ring. A dark pox. He shakes and whimpers under the threat of the gun.
"Where do you keep your money !! Where is it !!"
He walks in a straight line to the back fence of his back yard. "There's something buried under the compost. Under that fish head !!"
The screen door from the well lit kitchen opens and Miriam shouts out: "Sam what are you doing ? Who are you talking to ?"
Sam quickly takes the gun away from his own head and turns around quickly. "Nobody, dear. I'm just talking to those cats that are... those cats that are caterwauling again."
He doesn't want her to know about the cash buried under the compost heap. He doesn't want her to know about his weekly tests to see if he'll crack under the pressure of a home invasion. He doesn't want her to know that he's caved in once again.
posted by kevin spenst at 10:04 PM
1 Comments:
Oh Kev, remeber that time you juiced a handful of compost muck from the heated depths and fed it to that asshole arsonist?
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