Excessive, Revolution, Pomegranate

by Marcus Jonathan Chapman

Seduced by the plump arils offered up in the hands of Hades. Those tempting seeds spilling through his fingers and falling over the edges of his hands, stained red. Twelve devils surrounded the king of the underworld each a different shape, size, color and vice. They whooped, coughed, choked, laughed, cried, screamed, roared, cut themselves, masturbated, penetrated their orifices with objects that stretched their cavities. They pointed their chipped fingernails at me with one hand and spread blood, oozing from their self-inflicted cuts, over their skin and hair. Macabre wrestlers making their bodies slick with blood instead of olive oil.

A scene designed by the lord of the underworld to make his outstretched hands appear the most enticing choice. To grab those seeds and feast in the face of excessive debauchery would be a triumph.

The revolution, however, is only won by turning to a demon, lathering myself with the blood from my own wounds and wrestling until each one in the circle is bested. I feel the gash in my stomach, poke two fingers inside and slowly wipe them over my face. I feel the cuts along my legs from the thorns they pushed aside and wipe them around my neck, shoulders and arms. I wipe the blood dripping from my forehead, and rub it all over my chest and legs. I take my pointer finger and push it into the deepest cut in my chest. I slather it over my waist and buttocks. I rub my hand over the open wound in my chest and put it to my lips.

I can taste the iron.

Back, Extreme, Thirsty

by Marcus Jonathan Chapman

Uncle Acid drove his dead beat nephews, nieces, sons and daughters to the circus. He’d arrive with the gang and leave with some money. The kids would learn a lesson today.

The morning was moist and the empty lot was soft underfoot, clinging to all the hand-me-down shoes of the young troupe. They made their way, shortest to tallest, toward the striped tent. Cotton candy, kettle corn, funnel cakes, fried chicken wafted into their hungry noses. Not a single kid, however, turned his gaze toward the vendors.

“Straight for the tent.” Uncle Acid had said. He didn’t speak much but he underlined his points with beatings, so talking wasn’t necessary.

Uncle Acid, following a few feet behind, stopped at the beer cart. Something about today was making him extra thirsty, but water wouldn’t cut it. Never did. A pain was slithering up from his gut to his chest. A familiar pain. The same pain when he left his sister at the foster home as a kid. The same pain as when he took the money from his partner and skipped town. These were not the first beers to reduce the pain and they would not be the last.

Holding both beers in his hand, Uncle Acid reached a wrist through the tent flap and pushed it aside. Entering the tent, he looked around for the clown in red coat tails. The sooner he found him, the sooner he could get his money, and more beer.

In the center of the arena, he saw the kids standing in a semi-circle around the clown he was meeting. Uncle Acid watched by the entrance.

The clown was blowing up a long balloon. It shot out like a sausage casing being filled with meat. It grew and grew, longer and longer. Uncle Acid frowned. The balloon kept growing. With each exhale from the clown, the balloon grew. It was curling around the pole leading up to the trapeze artist’s perch.

The kids, their backs to Uncle Acid, slowly turned around to face him. They all looked at him, holding his two beers. The clown kept blowing, now the balloon was reaching out across the wire to the other side of the arena.

Uncle Acid gulped down one beer and dropped the empty cup. He pulled a cigarette tucked behind his ear and lit it. Looking up at the balloon, he couldn’t see the end of it anymore. The clown still blew, so it must still be growing.

The kids started walking on the balloon, they followed it’s curling path around the pole and across the tightrope. As they did, they seemed to shrink.

Uncle Acid felt a tap on his shoulder, it was the end of the balloon. The clown stopped blowing and tied up the end.

“HA HA HA HA HER HER HA HA HE HE…” the clown laughed. Uncle Acid turned back to see the end of the balloon. The kids, now the size of cigarette butts, hopped onto his shoulder and began climbing into his ear. Just as the last kid climbed in, Uncle Acid touched the cherry of his cig to the balloon. It popped, along with the clown, the tent, and the muddy lot.

Uncle Acid had another flashback. When he came out of it, he told us all to hop in the car, we’re going to the circus.

Rabbit, Puppet, Death

3 things to inspire 1 story written in 20 minutes. #story320

Have I shown you my bunny rabbit? He’s cute and fluffy and smells so good. Want to pet him?

Oh the smell? That’s just Bugs, except he doesn’t like carrots. Actually he doesn’t keep much down anymore, not since I went on vacation.

Where did I go for vacation? It was beautiful, there were women and men all dressed in white, they took care of everything. I had a bed and even a friend for the first time ever.

My friend was cool. He would save his meatloafs under his pillow and play with them late at night. He didn’t ever let me see but it sounded fun. My friend also showed me how to make forever friends.

We had recess two times a day and sometimes there would be a dead bird and one time a dying squirrel. The hotel cat must have started eating its legs.

My friend showed me how to make them my forever friends. They would live with me, the bird did. Until one of the women in white found it and scolded me, I guess because the bird hadn’t paid for the room.

I understand. Sometimes rules make me angry but I understand.

My friend showed me how to make forever friends talk, so that we could share secrets and tell jokes. He took the squirrel even though it looked like the squirrel was trying to leave. Its legs, tail and hindquarters looked a little like meatloaf.

My friend said that sometimes the animals don’t know they want to be forever friends until you show them how.

He poked two fingers into the meatloaf part of the squirrel until I couldn’t see his fingers. Then he wiggled his fingers and the squirrel bulged its eyes and moved its mouth. It was a miracle. The squirrel was trying to talk! He had made a forever friend. I guess my roommate did that because he knew I was leaving.

Anyway, so now I’m here and I made my little Bugs into a forever friend. He stinks and sometimes his fur comes off but he never likes to leave my left hand. We do everything together.

Are you sure you don’t want to pet him?

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