Thirsty Thursday

Icefire was everywhere. Dodd wandered through the molten, freezing streets of the post-apocalyptic wasteland hunting his prey.

“Whar ees you!” he shouted, cocking his plasma rifle.

Five naked women burst forth from behind an ainchient buick, their boobies jumping as he fired his plasma gun at the five naked women.

He fired his plasma gun at them and remembered Mom.

“Eat your Cheerios, Dodd. You can’t be big and strong without your Cheerios!” she would say to him as he wept in his highchair, angry at the tasteless, fake donuts.

Why did they always run from him, he wondered. Why couldn’t they just take their punishment?

“Why can’t you just take your punishment!” I shouted at the five naked women, as their boobies bounced and my hot plasma gun splatooned at them.

“I’m firing my gun at you!” I shouted.

“We just want to be your lovers!” boobies number one answered, her rack was nice.

“I don’t neeeeed no lover, woman! My gun is my lover!” I was angry!

The man with the gun was chasing me and my sexy sisters, our breasts bounced eagerly. We just wanted to make love to that handsome man with the beard!

Dodd jumped on top of a giant, big elephant, made of danger! He chased after the women so he could destroy their evil. They were bad. He didn’t like them.

“You are bad! I don’t like you!” I shouted at the women as one of them fell into a pool of fire ice.

I jump into the fire ice and save her and she kisses me on my tongue.

“I love you!” I tell her.

He tells me he loves me. We are in love. He is strong. I want his babies. Right now, I want them now.

Dodd and one of the sexy sisters decided to make the love on the dirt, while the elepphant watched, its trunk flopping in excitement.

“If you are not careful, the elepahnt will have his way with you too!” I shout.

She loves me and we kiss more with our moths. The sky is black. With stars. It is pretty.

She orgasms one million times and I tell her that she is hot.

“You are hot.”

“Thank you,” I tell him. He is soooo hot!

“Your penis is gigantic!” she says.

“I know” he tells her.

They decided to ride the elephant to Disney land and ride space mountain.

The end.

Story by Jason Schueppert.

“Well, this is the bathroom slash kitchen,” Rupert did a sweep with his arm that ended at the toilet resting next to the stove. “Note that you can use the toilet paper dispenser for paper towels as well.”

“Now, the bedroom has enough room for either two recliner chairs, which you may have noticed on the curb out front, or a twin-size bed,” Rupert told the young couple.

Jim bit his lip and wondered if they could just tell Rupert to go fuck himself. Rupert was seedy and creepy. He was unkempt and greasy. He was wearing an old No-Fear shirt and a sporty pair of orange and black Zubaz, similar to a pair Jim had sported in kindergarten.

“I actually met my first wife here in the 5^th grade. It was an abandoned building at that point,” Rupert tells them as he scratches furiously at a rough patch of his scalp, sending chunks of dead skin out of his hair and onto his dirty shirt.

“This is where all the neighborhood kids would lose their virginity, so you know, it’s family friendly,” Rupert winked at Jim.

Jim stood in the center of the kitchen slash toilet room and wondered if migrants lived in this shithole at the turn of the century. There was sunlight poking through what were possibly bullet holes in the walls, there were mystery stains on the cement floor, and a horrible meaty smell that was making Kelly lightheaded.

Jim wondered how Rupert had money to place the classified ad that he and Kelly had seen in the paper yesterday. The ad was plain, a simple realtor listing with his number, nothing fancy. Jim had called Rupert and told him over the phone that they were looking for a nice starter home, something they could fix up and make their own. Rupert had told him that he had a variety of low-priced homes just looking for a loving touch.

Rupert had sounded confidant and competent over the phone. Jim and Kelly were excited to get out of their current lease and settle down somewhere, a quiet place where people didn’t blast death metal, or knock on your door at 3 a.m. looking for a lighter, or a ride to the nearest greyhound station. Some comfortable place where they actually had control over the thermostat and weren’t subjected to the whims of the landlord and their tendency to not turn on the heat until January. They were both sick of wearing sweaters to bed.

“Are those bullet holes?” Jim asks, pointing at the wall, riddled with holes.

“Those?” Rupert asked.

“Yeah,” Jim nodded. “It actually kind of looks like somebody was shot and killed right here, what with the dark splatter stains.”

Rupert pauses for a moment as though he’s trying to think of a good excuse for where the holes came from. The three of them stand awkwardly in silence.

“Now there isn’t actually a basement,” Rupert glides over Jim’s inquiry. “But, if you’ll step into the backyard with me.”

Rupert dived out the front door and zipped around to the back of the shack, while Jim and Kelly looked at each other and wordlessly acknowledged that they were both considering running to the car and escaping. Instead they followed Rupert outside and discover that he’s already talking when they catch up to him.

“You’ll notice that there’s a hole,” Rupert said.

There was a hole, a very large hole. It was half under the house, exposing some pipes that had obviously been snapped off with bolt cutters, most likely by a heroin or crack enthusiast who was hoping to sell them to a scrap yard. The hole looked like somebody had decided to bury a body there and Kelly remembered the smell of rotting meat that filled the inside of 1613 Maplewood Drive.

“If you want,” Rupert continued, “you could dig a little more and turn it into a storage unit or a nice pool.”

“Why is there a hole here?” Kelly asked, afraid.

“Convenience, I suppose,” Rupert grinned.

The three of them stood in the backyard, which had a chain link fence outlining the sandbox sized area that Rupert had described as a “small field” over the phone earlier. Most of the grass was browned from neighborhood animals who’d decided to use this specific thatch of grass as a litter box. There was what looked like years of decaying feces piled up, some of it appeared to be half eaten.

The neighboring homes looked about the same as this one. Dilapidated, with hunks missing, holes in the roofs. None of them looked lived in, but there were shady characters peeping out windows every time Jim surveyed the nearby yards.

“So, what do you think? This is a great neighborhood for kids,” Rupert pointed at Kelly’s stomach, which, though a little doughy, did not in fact contain a fetus. Kelly stared at Rupert and quietly began to weep as tears ran down her cheeks.

“Isn’t this the neighborhood where they keep busting meth-labs?” Jim asked Rupert, noticing the yellow crime-scene tape roping off the entrance to the squat across the makeshift alley.

Rupert continued smiling, ignoring the question as though he didn’t hear it.

“I could have a contract drawn up and have you come by later today if you’d like.”

“Gee, Rupert, I don’t know. What do you think, hon?” Jim asked Kelly, who continued to cry. “Well, she’s crying because this shithole is so awful, so I’d have to say this probably isn’t the place for us,” Jim tells him. “Wouldn’t you agree, Rupert, that if a home is so awful that it drives you to cry, that maybe you shouldn’t buy it?”

“I could probably get you a deal on cable,” Rupert whispers to him, as though he’s cutting him a secret deal.

“I could probably beat you to death and throw you into that hole and get away with it,” Jim tells him.

“Would you like to look at some other places? I have all afternoon free.”

“Would you like to go in that hole?” Jim asks him.

Rupert stops smiling and Jim leads Kelly back to their Honda. As they pull away, Jim notices that in the ten minutes they looked at the Maplewood Drive shanty, someone had come by and ripped out their CD player and rummaged through their glove box. Rupert’s BMW, however, was gone, stolen. As Jim and Kelly smiled at each other, Rupert was trying to flag them down for a ride. Jim slowed down, and the fear on Rupert’s face, the look that said ‘don’t leave me here’ left and was replaced by the grin they’d been subjected to throughout the showing.

Jim peeled out.

Story by Jason Schueppert.

“Tits, Cod, Loneliness”

“Did you see that there’s a bunch of movies about the Iraq war coming out this Fall?” Dave asks her. He waits for her response, listening to the sizzle of meat coming from the kitchen of the restaurant.

“I don’t really like that kind of stuff,” she tells him as she stares at her plate. She moves a mushroom around with her fork, as if double-checking to make sure it’s dead.

“War movies?” asks Dave.

“No, like thinking movies, you know?” she looks through him as she speaks. “I like to be entertained if I’m at the pictures. If I wanted to learn, I’d be in school.”

“Oh,” Dave says, unsure if she’s joking.

“I had to go to the haircutter school for a whole year,” she tells him, cringing at the memory. “That takes skill, reading about hairstyles and then doing them with scissors. I’d never worked that hard at something in my life.”

“So, do you like it?” he asks her.

“I think I want to be a lawyer. I might go back to school,” she tells him. She scratches at the faux beehive on her head. Every time he looks away from her, his eyes are drawn back to the hair and all he can hear is that song about not going back to rehab.

Dave stares at her some more, wishing she was joking, knowing she wasn’t. He looked at his cell and noticed they’d only been in the restaurant for twenty-minutes. He gritted his teeth as he set the phone on the table and excused himself to use the restroom.

She barely registers that he’s leaving.

* * *

“You can’t spend all of your time trying to meet the girl of your dreams on the internet,” Miles said as he jabbed his finger at the Craigslist ad on Dave’s desktop.

And Miles was right. So far, after a few weeks of trying to find someone online to hang out with, Dave had only found girls that were bat-shit crazy, or excessively unattractive. Either way, they’d scared him. The ones he met ended up on a list of people he never wanted to see again. He now had a few more places he couldn’t go to any longer for fear of running into them.

“You know, it’s not even that. I’m just bored. I want to hang out with a girl, or two, you know,” Dave told Miles as he flicked off his computer monitor.

“Well, then what’s wrong with my sister?” Miles stared Dave down with his eyes bulging, making his awkward, beefy body all the more threatening. His ginger hair looked a bit like fire sizzling on top of his head.

“Nothing, I just don’t want to get into anything weird, you know?” asked Dave.

“No, I don’t” said Miles.

“Well, I mean, what if we don’t click? Or there’s something wrong with her, but I can’t tell you about it because she’s your sister.”

Dave remembered Lydia from last week, how cute she’d been, and how quickly she’d gone from potential girlfriend to creepy Christian. Within ten-minutes she’d revealed her plan to settle down with the right man, or an adequate man, or any man, in the very near future. Lydia informed him that her flower was blooming, and the right man could help himself to it. Dave told her he wasn’t into agriculture.

“She’s got huge tits,” Miles cupped his own chest, leering at Dave. “Seriously, like udders.”

“I don’t- why would you say that?” said Dave.

“Because she does,” Miles stared deep into Dave’s eyes and nodded enthusiastically.

“But… I mean, that’s your selling point? She’s not really sweet, or into art films, or volunteers with the elderly? She’s got huge tits, that’s all you’ve got for me?” Dave asked him.

“Maybe she’ll let you lick ‘em,” Miles flicks his tongue like a Gila monster.

“You’re creeping me out, I think we’re done talking about this,” Dave told him.

“I don’t think we are,” Miles turned Dave’s monitor back on and types in a new URL. A beautiful girl pops up in the corner. A winning, shining white smile, barely there make-up, dark black hair, and luxurious green eyes stared back at Dave from the screen. And huge tits.

“Wow, she’s really cute,” said Dave.

“Hey, man, that’s my sister you’re talking about,” Miles glared at Dave for a moment, then grins. “Just kidding, she’s a fuckin’ hottie.”

* * *

Dave looks at her as she chews and then looks back down at his plate.

“Did the waiter come back while I was in the restroom,” Dave asks her.

She shrugs her shoulders and shines that blank face at him. He can’t help but stare. Her little mouth is working furiously on a piece of chicken. Her eyes look like they’ve been turned off for the night.

“Weird,” Dave lifts up his plate. “It’s just that I left my cell phone on the table and now it’s gone.”

“Are you sure you had it with you tonight?” she asks him without making eye contact.

“I called you from the parking lot when I pulled up,” he tells her. He’s retracing his steps in his head. He’d just used it a few minutes ago to double check the time. Though he’d just met her tonight, at this point he was considering sneaking some shellfish off of somebody’s plate, maybe even a fistful. He was deathly allergic, but the idea of being rushed to the emergency room didn’t sound entirely bad.

“Well, maybe you left it in your car?”

“No, I remember getting a text message a moment before I went to the rest room,” Dave looks around at the nearby patrons. An old man, who looked more like Vincent Price than didn’t, looked back at Dave. Dave put his pinky and his thumb to the side of his head and mouthed the words “cell phone” to Mr. Spooky, hoping he’d noticed something. Mr. Spooky looks right through Dave, unwilling to get involved, and goes back to eating his mashed potatoes.

* * *

“It’s on, Dude,” Miles leaned over Dave’s cubicle, reaching out his hand for a high-five.

“Really, just like that?” Dave raises his eyebrows at miles, avoiding the high-five.

“Yeah, man, I told her you thought her myspace page was hot and she was all about it,” said Miles.

“OK, so, do I call her or something?” asked Dave.

“Nope, you’re good to go. You’re meeting her for dinner tonight at the Outback Steakhouse at six o’clock,” said Miles.

“Tonight?”

“Yup, tonight. And I’d bring some condoms, if you know what I mean,” Miles winked at him.

“Jesus Christ, man, how could I not know what you mean?” Dave said. “So what’s her name? You never mentioned her name.”

“Edna,” said Miles.

“Edna?” asked Dave.

“Yeah,” Miles told him.

“All right, well, thanks Miles,” Dave told him.

“Hell yeah, bro, if you got any ladies you want to send my way, it’s a two-way street, you know?” Miles winked at Dave again. Dave spun back to his monitor and goes back to work.

* * *

“Did you see anybody suspicious- HEY!” Dave shouts. “What happened to my cod!”

Dave stares in disbelief at his plate. It’s empty.

The girl shrugs again, but she’s obviously chewing on something.

“Did you take my fish?” Dave looks at his empty plate, at the little flakes of breading, and then stares at her.

“No,” she mumbles with a crowded mouth. Pieces of breading are welling up in the corners of her mouth as she chews.

“Fuck that, you’re eating it right now!” he shouts at her. She stares at him blankly. People in the restaurant are starting to look over their way, some worried, others angry. Dave is so irritated, that he’s having trouble breathing. He closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, trying to calm down.

He spins around to the old man, Mr. Spooky, eating by himself at the table next to them.

“Can I please use your phone for a moment?” he asks the elderly gentleman. The man looks at Dave curiously, his eyebrows arching with intrigue as he hands over his phone. Dave punches in a number and stares down his date as he dials.

Dave’s ring tone, Journey’s “Don’t Stop Believing” sounds muffled, but it’s obviously coming from across their table.

“You took my fuckin’ phone,” he mutters in disbelief.

Dave gets up and marches over to her side of the table and grabs her purse. The song grows louder when he opens the purse up and finds his phone hidden in the swollen bag, along with half of his slab of cod, some silverware, presumably from a table, a candle that had been burning not four minutes ago and a few handfuls of courtesy mints.

“Wow,” he tells her as he stuffs the phone back into his pocket. She continues to avoid eye-contact, chewing and swallowing. He can’t even believe what is going on. He reaches into her purse and grabs his slice of cod and sits back down at the table.

“Well, it was nice meeting you,” he tells her as he grips the cod and bites into it like a candy bar. “I hope you tell your brother that we had a fine time, and that I’ll be sure to chat with him at work on Monday.”

She ignores him and continues chewing. The restaurant patrons are all staring at him as he stands to leave. He raises his arms in a goodnight to everyone.

“Everyone have a wonderful meal,” he shouts at the other customers and storms out the front of the Outback, patting his pockets for his phone.

When he gets to his car, he dials up Miles and gets his voicemail.

“Miles, hey, this is Dave. I just wanted to thank you for setting me up with your sister. I really liked how you paired me up with a fuckin’ disabled child who steals things. That was really great,” Dave tells his phone. “I hope you’re ready for a punch in the face Monday.”

Story by Jason Schueppert.

Jens the Vampire

CHARACTERS

JENS, a tall, pale vampire
BALDWIN, a drug dealer in his 20’s

SETTING

BALDWIN is sitting in his sparsely furnished studio apartment, staring out the window into the night.

SCENE ONE.
BALDWIN’S apartment. BALDWIN is staring out the window, drumming his hands on the windowsill. It is nighttime.

BALDWIN
(drumming hands to the beat)
I am looking for a dime, that is top of the line. A round face, a chubby waist, and big behind.
(There is a knock at the door, BALDWIN goes to look through the peephole on the front door)

BALDWIN
Who is it?

JENS
It’s Jens!

BALDWIN
Jens who?

JENS
How many Jens do you know?

BALDWIN
Jens who!

JENS
Jens the vampire, man!

BALDWIN
(BALDWIN opens the door)
Jens, man, how you doin’?

JENS
Can’t really complain, you know?

BALDWIN
I hear you, brother. Come in. What’s new, man?

JENS
Neighbor problems.

BALDWIN
Neighbor problems?

JENS
Neighbor problems.

BALDWIN
So….

JENS
This lady and her two daughters moved into my building.

BALDWIN
Families are nice.

JENS
Not this one. They live right upstairs from me. Except it’s like we share an apartment, because the fuckin’ mom is always screaming at the two kids. All day long. Apparently she doesn’t work, and neither of the kids are in school yet, so they race around like little fuckin’ bulldozers, like they have lead shoes or some shit, clomping around. And as if the constant thudding isn’t enough, the mom is always screaming at the top of her lungs, calling them monsters, which, honestly, I take offense at, you know, me being one and all.
(JENS pauses)
Then the kids start calling her names back. You know what one of them called her? A cunt. Yup, a kid that isn’t old enough for kindergarten yet, screamed ‘you cunt’ to her mother, and then stormed off to her room to slam her door for five minutes. Five long, loud, wall shaking minutes, and she screamed at the top of her lungs the entire time, howling ‘cunt,’ really dragging it out, like cunnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnntt, and the entire time the mom is yelling back at her, these really awful, awful things.
(JENS shakes his head)
I hate kids, man.
(JENS pauses)
You know what I think about all day while they’re doing that? I think about eating them. Just going up there and eating the kids right in front of their mother. Just ripping right into the fuckers, letting blood spray every which way, and just gobble them right up as mom watches. And then, when she’s reeling from either the sheer awfulness of watching her children killed in front of her, or swelling with the joy of her new freedom, I’d go bite her fuckin’ head off. She is such a shitty fuckin’ mom. Maybe I should slip some parenting pamphlets under the door or something, give her some pointers. I just don’t know how to handle this one.

BALDWIN
(BALDWIN stares at JENS awkwardly)
That’s pretty heavy , man.

JENS
It’s just ridiculous, you know? I don’t have a whole lot going on. I watch a lot of videos, play some videogames, and once in a while I eat people. Having my little fortress of solitude broken by bad parenting really irks me.

BALDWIN
(Baldwin stares at Jens for a few moments)
So you’re looking for a little stuff, huh?

JENS
Yeah.

BALDWIN
Well, I believe I can help you out. How much you looking for?

JENS
A fifty would be fine.

BALDWIN
You bring some loot?

JENS
(JENS looks at BALDWIN with a bewildered expression)
Some what?

BALDWIN
Loot, man.

JENS
You mean money?

BALDWIN
Why you always got to fuck with me?

JENS
Well, what’s that ‘loot’ shit? I’ve honestly never heard you say ‘loot‘.

BALDWIN
It’s cool. It’s what people say.

JENS
Who says it?

BALDWIN
People, man.

JENS
You mean rappers?

BALDWIN
(BALDWIN pauses and stares at JENS for a moment.)
Yeah, man, rappers. Fine, I got it from the MTV, are you happy?

JENS
You need to get rid of cable.

BALDWIN
It’s free!

JENS
You ever punch yourself in the face?
(JENS stares at BALDWIN as though it’s a valid question. BALDWIN stares back at him, annoyed.)

JENS
That’s free, too. That’s all I’m saying.

BALDWIN
(BALDWIN is annoyed)
You got your fifty bucks?
(JENS rifles through his pockets and pulls out a checkbook.)

BALDWIN
What are you doing?

JENS
Fifty, right?

BALDWIN
Are you writing a check?
(JENS looks at BALDWIN as though he’s a moron.)

JENS
Yeah.

BALDWIN
What the fuck, man.

JENS
I don’t have any cash.

BALDWIN
You can’t write a check, man.

JENS
Dude, I’m good for it.

BALDWIN
It ain’t about that, man. No paper trail, you know what I’m saying?

JENS
Come on! You sell weed! Shitty weed! You think the DEA are building a case against you?

BALDWIN
(pauses and sighs)
It’s a golden rule, brother.

JENS
(JENS glares at BALDWIN)
I’ll fuckin’ bite you.

BALDWIN
(BALDWIN pauses and stares at JENS, who has clearly crossed a line.)
You’re gonna bite me?

JENS
That was out of line, I’m sorry.

BALDWIN
Who’s going to get you shit, huh? You think you can just run down to the 24-hour Wal-Mart and grab some dope? Huh? Look, if you don’t want my shit, you’re free to go elsewhere. Or how about I accept stamps? You got some postage stamps on you? They’re legal tender, you know.

JENS
Dude, I’m sorry, I lost my cool. I was out of line.

BALDWIN
You know anybody else that’s willing to sell a little weed to a vampire? I ain’t never heard of no fuckin’ vampires and people hanging out. It’s unnatural.
(JENS stares at BALDWIN)

BALDWIN
Whatever. Just leave me the check and you can come by with cash tomorrow and I’ll give it back to you.

JENS
Are you sure?

BALDWIN
Yeah, I get up at noon. Anytime after that is cool.

JENS
Noon isn’t good. I watch ‘Dr. Phil’ at noon.

BALDWIN
Say what?

JENS
I said I’m busy at noon.

BALDWIN
During the day?

JENS
Yeah.

BALDWIN
I thought you people slept all day.

JENS
You people?

BALDWIN
You know…

JENS
No, I don’t know.
(JENS stares down BALDWIN, while BALDWIN shifts around uncomfortably.)

JENS
Scandinavians?

BALDWIN
Come on man, you know what I meant.

JENS
Yeah, I know what you meant.

BALDWIN
What do you do all day?

JENS
I get high.
(JENS pauses)
You know, if you ever want to come over and watch Dr. Phil sometime, you’re more than welcome.

BALDWIN
(BALDWIN stammers)
Um…I don’t know…I have work or something.

JENS
Yeah, no that’s cool. I just thought…

BALDWIN
No, I totally would, I’m just busy. Working. Otherwise I would.

JENS
Sometimes I think about joining a book club or something, just to get out of the apartment a little more and be around some people.
(pauses)
I wish we had a 24-hour video store or something like that where I could work nights. That sounds nice.

BALDWIN
Well, listen man, I’ve got some stuff to do. Important stuff.

JENS
Oh. Ok.

(BALDWIN and JENS stare at each other awkwardly for five seconds.)

BALDWIN
So….

JENS
You want to watch a movie or something?

BALDWIN
No, I can’t. I’m pretty tied up right now, so…
(pauses and stares at JENS)
I guess I’ll see you later?

JENS
Oh! Ok, yeah.
(JENS stands up and heads for the door)
So, you know, if you want to hang out or something, give me a call.

BALDWIN
Sure, yeah.
(walks over to the door JENS is exiting)
Hey, don’t forget that money tomorrow.

JENS
(pause)
No problem. I’ll see you tomorrow.
(pause)
You know what? I think I’m going to go grab an application at the Super America. That’d be cool, right?

BALDWIN
Yeah, sure.
JENS
They’re always hiring, you know cause the always get robbed. I’d be a good choice for employment, you can’t shoot me. I mean, you can, but it’s not going to do much.

BALDWIN
Yeah. Great.
(JENS stands one the other side of the door staring at BALDWIN. They both pause there for a moment. BALDWIN closes the door with JENS still standing there expectantly. BALDWIN locks the door and goes back to the window. BALDWIN sits and resumes staring blankly out the window and drumming his hands on the windowsill)

Story by Jason Schueppert.

Richard Jr. stares at his mother, noticing how her skin is yellow and hanging loosely on her wiry frame. She’s wearing a sweater and khaki slacks. It’s what she always wore, her chosen uniform.

“Why do they reach for the sky and cry? I don’t like that, it’s scary,” he tells her, trying to explain why he hid this morning so he wouldn’t have to go to temple.

“They’re reaching for God, they’re trying to touch him,” she scolded him, shaking her finger at him. Her eyes never looked alive anymore. They looked like she was coasting. “They cry because they’re away from God. Like you, Richard. You can’t hide from Him.”

“I wasn’t hiding from God, I was hiding from them,” he stared into those jumpy eyes and remembered how she used to smile. “I like God, but everyone here acts weird. When can we go home?”

“You are home, Richard. This is it. This is where we’re supposed to be,” she thinks of his father, Dick, and something in her breaks. “You need to learn to like it.”

“But sometimes-”

“No, that’s enough,” she grabbed him by his tiny arm and drug him to the door. He didn’t resist. He rarely did. He loved her, he knew she missed Dad, and he wanted to her to be happy. For some reason, this place, and the way she got on with these people, that made her happy, so he tried not to make a fuss.

“Mom, it’s ok, I’m coming,” he tried to tell her as she drug him down the hall, he tried to keep pace, marching next to her. She tuned him out as they made their way across the courtyard to the temple. The jump from being inside in the stifling hallways of the compound, and then being thrust into the cool fall air reminded him of the hospital, of Dad, almost burnt to a crisp in the fire, but somehow holding on. The image of his hospital room brought back the day the churchgoers first showed up. They wandered around the neighborhood, scavenging door to door for potential converts. When they’d found Jane, his mother, freshly destroyed from the death of her husband and from being stuck with her son, they’d hit the jackpot. One short visit a day for a week and the cult had absorbed a new family, along with all their savings, which had swelled when Dad had hit the lottery the a few weeks before he died.

Richard and his mother had moved into the new wing of the compound, the one that she’d funded. She’d been overtaken with passing along the good word in their neighborhood and helping at the homeless shelters, but they’d encouraged her to move to the compound, insisting it would be good for her son. Now they lived in a small closet with a bunk bed and a desk built into the wall.

Jane led Richard into the temple right in the middle of mass. Everyone turned and stared at them and Richard feigned great interest in his dress hoes, while secretly missing his Hulk sneakers. He often felt like he was wearing two shoeboxes on his feet, but they were required dress. Jane shoved him forward and he stumbled towards the other kids his age and found a place by the Johnson twins.

“Very nice of you to join us, Richard. Did you bring your bible with today?” asked Reverend Jones, as Jane quietly shut the door to the building.

“No, Reverend Jones,” Richard said.

“And why have you not brought your bible, Richard?” asks Reverend Jones, pretending to be surprised.

“Because I didn’t want to come today,” Richard answered.

“Oh? And what makes you feel you don’t need to hear the Truth today?”

“Because you’re full of shit,” Richard replied.

Reverend Jones freezes. His eyes are wide.

The Johnson twins look at Richard in horror and scoot away from him.

“You’re all full of shit. You took my Mom’s money. Dad’s money,” Richard stares the pastor down, who’s still locked in a state of shock. “You took all of it! My Mom’s sick, she’s not ok, and you stole her money. God doesn’t prey on the weak, he helps them. He doesn’t see the sick in terms of how they can help Him!”

“Go in to the hallway, Richard. Go and wait until mass is over,” Reverend Jones tells him.

None of the boys would look at him. They’d all been staring, but now none of them wanted to be linked to the ostracized Richard.

He walked into the hall and kept going. He marched out of the temple and into the cool air. He marched right to the end of the compound and sunk his fingers into the chain link fence that kept them all in. He stared into the blue sky, out into the purple mountains, and the golden fields. He thought of running, of climbing, of flying, and then he thought of his mother and how she’d lost so much weight. How her skin had changed from a crisp tan, into a pale white, and then this new yellow. He thought of the needles he’d found in the house, of the powders he’d discovered, of the fighting he’d heard, and of the fire she’d started. He thought of how they’d told him how the money Dad had won would change his life for the better. Of how they’d both be around more. He thought of how adults lied simply because they could, and that they didn’t expect you to notice. He thought of how the world was scary, and he cried.

Maybe you want to be friends with “Thirsty-Thursday.net”? You do? click here for the new myspace digs featuring all the shorts and hopefully updates of upcoming progress.

Story by Jason Schueppert.

Dave looks at her as she chews and then looks back down at his plate.

“Did the waiter come by while I was in the restroom,” he asks her.

She shrugs her shoulders and shines that blank face at him. He can’t help but stare. Her little mouth is working furiously on a piece a piece of chicken. Her eyes look like they’re turned off for the night.

“Weird,” Dave lifts up his plate. “It’s just that I left my cell phone on the table and now it’s gone.”

“Are you sure you had it with you tonight?” she asks him without making eye contact.

“I called you from the parking lot when I pulled up,” he tells her. He’s retracing his steps in his head. He’d just used it a few minutes ago to double check the time. They were only an hour in to their date. Though he’d just met her in person tonight, at this point he was considering sneaking some shellfish off of somebody’s plate, maybe even a fistful, so he’d have to be rushed to the emergency room.

“Well, maybe you left it in the car?”

“No, I remember getting a text message a moment before I went to the rest room.” Dave looks around at the nearby patrons. An old man, who looked more like Vincent Price than didn’t, looked back at Dave. Dave put his pinky and his thumb to the side of his head and mouthed “cell phone” to Mr. Spooky. Mr. Spooky just looks right through Dave, unwilling to try and figure out what Dave is asking him, and then goes back to eating mashed potatoes.

“Did you see anybody suspicious- HEY!” Dave shouts. “What happened to my cod!”

Dave stares in disbelief at his plate. It’s empty.

The girl shrugs again, but she’s obviously chewing on something.

“Did you take my fish?” Dave looks at his empty plate, at the little flakes of breading, and then stares at her. .

“No,” she mumbles with crowded mouth. Pieces of breading are welling up in the corners of her mouth as she chews.

“Fuck that, you’re eating it right now!” He shouts at her. She stares at him blankly. People in the restaurant are starting to look over their way, some worried, other’s angry. Dave is so irritated, that he’s having trouble breathing. He closes his eyes, and takes a deep breath, trying to calm down.

He spins around to the old man, Mr. Spooky, eating by himself at the table next to them.

“Can I please use your phone for a moment?” he asks the elderly gentleman. The man looks at Dave curiously, his eyebrows arching with intrigue as he hands over his phone. Dave punches in a number and stares down his date as he dials.

Dave’s ring tone, Journey’s “Don’t Stop Believing” sounds muffled, but it’s obviously coming from across his table.

“You took my fuckin’ phone,” he mutters in disbelief.

Dave gets up and marches over to her side of the table and grabs her purse. The song grows louder when he opens her purse up and he finds his phone is hidden in the swollen bag, along with half of his slab of cod, some silverware, presumably from the table, a candle that had been burning not four minutes ago, and a lot of courtesy mints.

“Wow,” he tells her as he stuffs the phone back in his pocket. She continues to avoid eye-contact, chewing and swallowing. He can’t even believe what is going on. He reaches into the purse and grabs his slice of cod and sits back down at the table.

“Well,, it was nice meeting you,” he tells her as he grips the cod from her purse and bites into it like a candy bar. “I hope you tell your brother that we had a fine time, and that I’ll be sure to chat with him at work Monday.”

She ignores him and continues chewing. The restaurants patrons are all staring at him as he hovers over her. He raises his arms in a goodnight.

“Everyone have a wonderful meal,” he says and storms out the front of the Outback Steakhouse, patting his pockets to make sure she hasn’t taken his wallet or keys.

Maybe you want to be friends with “Thirsty-Thursday.net”? You do? click here for the new myspace digs featuring all the shorts and hopefully updates of upcoming progress.

Story by Jason Schueppert.

“Minimum Wage: Caller ID”

The manager and the owner are waiting for him when he gets to work. Neither of them is smiling. They ask him to come with them to the office, so he follows them into the back of the store. Karl, one of the drivers, is slicing a pizza. As Trent walks by him, Karl focuses intensely on boxing the pizza up properly, hoping to avoid eye contact.

“Have a seat, Trent,” Michael, the manager, tells him. Michael is stone-faced, no reaction emanating from him. Trent sits down and nervously eyes Steven, the owner. Steven is ordinarily cheery and grinning, but today, not so much. Instead he’s standing by Michael’s side, glowering at Trent. “Do you know why you’re here?”

Trent’s mind immediately goes to the scores of awful things he’s done while working. Giving away food, getting high in his car, coming to the store after-hours with girls (which he hadn’t actually done, but had told people he had), unplugging the phone and taking ten minute bathroom breaks, that drunk old guy he’s told to go fuck himself after asking the prices on everything they carried.

“No,” he tells Michael, who nods while fishing something out of his pocket.

“Well, we got a very interesting phone call the other day from a young woman who ordered last weekend. She was very irate,” Michael tells Trent, as Steven continues to glare at him. Michael places a tape recorder on the table and presses play.

“Hi, this is Trent from Greg’s pizza. I’d like to start this call off with an imitation,” a series of growls and grunts mixed with the words ‘cheese’ and ‘delivery’ come out of the tape recorder. “Now I doubt you remember it, but that was exactly what you sounded like when you ordered a pizza about an hour ago. The driver we sent spent a good five minutes pounding on your door,” there’s a chewing sound. Trent is frozen in place, listening to his own voice coming out of the tape recorder. “So I guess I’m just going to have to eat all this delicious cheese pizza you ordered. I’m on my second slice right this second.”

Steven looks like he’s going to strangle Trent.

“I just thought I’d call and let you know. Feel free to give it a go next weekend, we’ll see what we can do to get you some food. I grabbed some “Am I an Alcoholic?” pamphlets from health services, I’ll be sure to include those in your next order,” there’s more chewing. Trent considers running away.

“Oh, and if you ever need someone to talk to, I’m here for you. Remember, at Greg’s pizza, we truly care about our customers,” Trent cringes. Michael shuts off the tape recorder and the three of them sit in silence for a moment.

“Do you have anything to say for yourself?” Steven asks him, his voice shaking, his face flush with red.

“Not really,” Trent replies, trying not to look Steven in the eyes.

“You’re fired,” Michael tells him.

“That sounds about right,” Trent nods in agreement from his seat.

“Get out!” Steven yells at him, violently pointing his finger at the door to the office. Trent’s eyes go to Michael, who’s shaking his head. Trent bolts out of the office.

(“Minimum Wage” is an ongoing series about dead-end jobs, weird co-workers, and whatever else seven dollars an hour produces. It’s not in any kind of order, so let’s just see where it leads.)

Story by Jason Schueppert.

“Minimum Wage: A McStabbing”

He stares at the address on the mailbox. It’s the same address that’s on the slip, but the house doesn’t have any lights on. Jeff decides to bite the bullet and call the customer. He stands in the dark out in front of the house and waits for an answer.

“WHAT!” a voice screams through the phone at him.

“Hi, this is Greg’s Pizza. Did you have an order?” Jeff asks.

“Yeah. Why are you calling me?”

“I was just making sure I had the right address, I’m out front,” Jeff tells the guy.

“What the hell are you doing out there? Come around to the back, we’re in the back,” the guy shrieks and hangs up.

Jeff wanders around the side of the shabby green house. The lawn is dead and yellowed, there’s dog shit everywhere. When he gets around to the back, there’s a dim light over a screen door that leads to a kitchen. He knocks and a voice tells him to come on in.

There’s a guy at the kitchen table with a scowl on his face, glaring at Jeff when he steps inside. His eyes are squeezed almost shut, but what he can see of them, they’re blood red. The guys greasy hair is matted down. He’s wearing a flannel shirt and gripping a beer so hard that the can is slightly crushed. Jeff’s about to tell the guy the total of his order, when another dude pops around the corner. He’s holding a knife.

“They teach you to just walk into people’s homes over at Greg’s Pizza?” the man with the knife asks him. It’s the same voice as the one on the phone.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I thought I heard someone say to come in,” Jeff tells him. He’s getting a little nervous. The place is trashed. There are dishes all over the counter and overflowing out of the sink. There’s a smashed kitchen chair in a pile in the corner. Crushed beer cans are piled in the middle of the table, the one that the angry looking fellow is sitting at completely still at. The guy with the knife is staring at him and picking at the blade with his fingernails.

“You heard wrong, Greg,” Knife guy tells him.

Jeff stands there, staring at Knife guy. There’s no way he’s going to correct him and tell him that his name’s Jeff and not Greg. The guy’s hair hasn’t been washed in so long that it looks wet. The entire house reeks of urine. And he’s still picking at the knife/

“How much money do you have on you?” Knife guy asks him.

“The pizza’s 16.83,” Jeff tells him.

”No, you. How much do YOU have on you?” Knife guy points the blade towards him when he says ‘you.’ Jeff and Knife are only three feet apart.

“Why?” Jeff asks. He’s not about to hand over his money bag, not without a direct threat. Fuck that.

“Because I’m the guy with the knife,” knife guy states, as though it’s obvious.

Jeff looks at the grumpy guy at the table. He’s still sitting there, glaring at Jeff, apparently unconcerned that his friend has lost his mind.

“Do you want the pizza or not?”
Knife guy plays with the knife a little, looking Jeff over. Jeff sweats as he waits for the blade to fly at him. He wishes he carried a gun for situations like this, but he’s an ex-felon, so that’s never going to happen.

The guy finally hands over seventeen dollars and collects the pizza. He even manages a ‘thanks’ as Jeff slowly backs out of the home. As he backs out the screen door, the man in the flannel, the grumpy man, smiles at him.

(“Minimum Wage” is an ongoing series about dead-end jobs, weird co-workers, and whatever else seven dollars an hour produces. It’s not in any kind of order, so let’s just see where it leads.)

Story by Jason Schueppert.

“Minimum Wage: Fuck Off, You’re An Asshole!”

“Greg’s Pizza, will this be for pick-up or delivery,” Trent asks after answering the phone.

“Um, I actually just had a pizza delivered,” the guy on the other line tells him.

“Ok,”

“Yeah, and after I tipped the driver two bucks, the guy with the earrings, he muttered ‘asshole’ as he was walking down the hallway,” the guy tells him.

“Oh.”

“Yeah, and I’m not the only one who heard it, either. Three other people were with me at the door,” the man gets a little excited as he relays this information.

Trent gets his address and pulls up the order on the screen.

“Can you hold for just one moment?” Trent asks the man.

“Sure,” he replies.

A moment later, Trent is on the phone with Jason, the driver who took the order.

“Hey buddy, do you have a moment to talk,” Trent asks Jason.

“Yeah, what’s up?”

“Do you want to tell me anything about the pizza that was ordered over at Park Meadows?”

“That guy was a fucking asshole!” Jason hollers into the phone.

“Ok, do you want to expand on that?”

***

Jason stands in the lobby of Park Meadows, looking for the apartment number of his customer. He buzzes the Smickels residence and they ring the buzzer that unlocks the door. But they only hold it down for a second, so by the Jason pulls on it, the door is locked again. Jason waits a moment, with his hand gripping the door handle. They buzz him in again. This time it’s for less than half a second and he still can’t get the door open in time. He considers leaving, but try’s buzzing a different apartment.

“Who is it,” sqawks an old man.

“Greg’s Pizza, can you let me in?”

“We didn’t order any pizza.”

“I know, but your neighbor did and they won’t let me in.”

There’s a pause as the old man ponders letting a stranger into the building.

“Oh, ok.”

When he arrives to the Smickels apartment, there’s a guy waiting for him halfway in and out of his doorway. He’s decked out in a Fox racing hat and coat, and a sweet pair of Wrangler jeans from Wal-Mart. He looks like he really enjoys snowmobiling.

“What took you so long,” the Fox racing says to him, sizing Jason up.

“I guess there was a problem with the door,” Jason mutters. The total for the pizza is $16.99 and the guy has exact change, which Jason counts in front of him before he gives him the pizza. While the guy stares at the spacers in his ears, Jason waits awkwardly for a moment to see if there’s going to be a tip. It doesn’t look like it, so he starts to turn away to leave.

“Don’t you want your tip?” Fox racing says to him. Jason stops and the guy places a single penny into his hand. By now, three other men in similar outfits are grinning and standing behind the Fox racing guy, who has a giant smile on his face. Before Jason can even say anything, the guy produces two bucks from his pocket.

“I’m just kidding,” Fox racing tells him.

Jason just shakes his head and starts to leave again, when he hears Fox racing call him a dork to his friends.

Jason stops and turns around. He stares at the group of men, who in turn stare at him.

“Fuck off, you’re an asshole!” Jason shouts from down the hallway. The group of guys goes back into the apartment to eat the pizza.

***

“Wow, he really was an asshole,” Trent agrees after he hears Jason’s version.

“See? You know I don’t take shit from anyone,” Jason tells him over the phone.

“All right, I’ll deal with him,” Trent disconnects and takes Fox racing off of hold.

“Sir, are you sure you didn’t do anything to provoke the driver?” Trent asks him.

There’s a moment of silence on the other end of the phone.

“I sure didn’t, you can ask any of the people here!” Fox racing squeals.

“Well, I’m sorry sir, I’ve certainly never heard of this happening before. I’m going to type up a note for the manager right now,” Trent tells him as he pulls up Fox racing’s customer comments area. “I hope this doesn’t stop you from ordering Greg’s Pizza in the future.”

“No, no, you can’t let a few bad apples ruin a whole batch,” Fox racing tells him as Trent makes a note to ‘always spit in this guys pizza. He is a huge asshole. Shake box before you get to apartment. Ask Jason for details.’

“Well, I certainly am sorry sir, I hope you manage to have a good night after all of this,” Trent tells him.

“Well tha-“ CLICK

Trent chuckles and wonders if he’ll call back.

(“Minimum Wage” is an ongoing series about dead-end jobs, weird co-workers, and whatever else seven dollars an hour produces. It’s not in any kind of order, so let’s just see where it leads.)

Story by Jason Schueppert.

The parakeet flew out of the broken screen on the window in the kitchen and went to the tree in the corner of their yard, trying to escape the mounting tension in the dining room. Cathy envied the bird, she wished she could fly away as well.

“Is this how I raised you? Have I spent your life training you to be the communion floozy?” Her father glared at her across the dining room table. Her brother and sister were silent, staring at their food as they pushed it around, trying not to make eye contact with their father or sister. Mother was calmly praying.

“I’m sorry Pa, George said it was ok. He said that we liked each other and that’s what people who like each other do,” Cathy tried to explain, knowing that if her Pa was angry, that meant she’d hurt Jesus.

“George and his parents are a part of our congregation. You can not spend your time holding hands with boys while I am teaching! That is not the way!” Her father was like a stone. Angry eyes focused on her, but he didn’t raise his voice. His thinning, dark hair outlined his pale face. His black rimmed glasses magnified his furious eyes.

She knew he hated her. Ever since she’d came to him, to tell her about her nightmares, he’d been different. Her sister, Evelyn was having the dreams, too. She’d told him about the shadowed man that would come to her at night and do things, things she’d heard grown-ups did. Things much more severe than hand holding. The man would never talk.

“You’re dirty, Cathy. Dirty. You need to clean yourself of your sins before Jesus will cast his eyes upon you again.” Father stood and walked to her. “We’ll wash away your whore-ery!”

He led her by her hand, gripped in his like a vise. They went into the bathroom that was only for grown-ups and he thrust a box of soap into her hand. He filled the tub with scalding hot water, his eyes always transfixed on her. As the tub filled, he told her to remove her clothes. She did.

“Pray as you cleanse yourself,” he told her as he closed the bathroom door. She heard a cold metallic click and knew she would be locked away until God told Pa she was clean.

Brian was scared. Father would get so worked up over his sisters and boys. He didn’t know why he told on Cathy. He thought it was funny that she’d been talking to George and getting all pie-eyed over that farm boy. But Father just went crazy. He’d locked her in the adult bathroom and just sat back down to dinner as though nothing had happened. Mother stopped praying and the two of them started chatting.

“These potato’s are heavenly, Martha.” The pastor smiled at his wife. She smiled demurely and waved a limp hand at him as if to say his compliments were too much.

Mother had found her own way of dealing with her husbands temper and his rough ways of punishing the girls. She was thankful for prayer and the little blue pills her doctor prescribed her.

“Why are you crying Evelyn, you don’t feel bad for the sinner, do you?” Father asked across the table as Evelyn stared at her food and silent tears ran down her face.

“No,” she shook her head. “Petey flew away, he won’t come back.” She was sad about her sister, though. She knew that they would both have bad dreams tonight. They always dreamt about the man when they’d done something wrong.

“Don’t cry sweetie, we’ll leave the window open and he’ll come back when he’s ready,” her mother tried to comfort her. Her soothing, sleepy voice usually just worried the children.

“That bird left. It left our family and it’s not allowed back. Brian,” father addressed his son, who began trembling, “go close the window. Now.”

Brian looked to Evelyn, who teary eyes were wide and pleading with him not to do it. He knew better than to argue with his Dad. The first and only time he tried to argue with his Dad, his back split open from the belt. It was more pain than he’d ever known.

“NO!” Evelyn screamed as the window shut. “He’ll die, it’s cold out!”

Evelyn froze in place, scared to look at her father. She heard his chair move and felt him grab her arm. She still couldn..t look at him.

“You do not talk back to your elders, ever.”

She knew where she was going. The deadbolt on the grown-ups bathroom opened and she heard her Dad gasp as he opened the door.

Cathy was beet-red, sitting naked in the hot water. Her eyes had glazed over. Thick, white sludge was all around her lips and dripping down her neck. There were large chunks of soap caught in the froth. She looked dead, but she was breathing, Evelyn could see her chest rising slightly.

“What have you done!” Her father was yelling at Cathy. He was trying to shake her out of her stupor, her lips moved faintly, murmuring something. The empty soap box was on the floor and he crushed it as he knelt to wipe the soap from her mouth. He dug into her mouth, trying to scrape out the hunks of bar that were in there. Cathy kept mumbling something that neither of them understood. She lay there immobile as father started to scoop water out the tub and into her mouth, trying to cleanse her. Evelyn just stared, horrified.

Father lifted her out of the tub and carried her out of the bathroom. Martha and Brian sat at the table, neither of them willing to look at the man of the house.

“I’m clean,” Cathy whispered into her fathers ear as he carried her to her room.

Story by Jason Schueppert.