Shit tired. Can’t even pull off my boots enough to relax for a beer. It’s going to be the same thing tomorrow: hauling concrete for better than average pay. I keep wondering how long until all my toes become hammered and yellow. I need to start using that lotion the clinic gave me.
The girlfriend is already in bed. Her stupid little dog is running around somewhere. Little paws scrip-scratching across the cheap hardwood floor. I’m going to try not to step on it this time. If anything, it’ll just speed up this low-lying breakup we have coming. I can’t hardly see the screen door through the light the refrigerator is casting. We’re out of beer.
I’m finally able to get the boots off. The muscles are sore and the skin is sweaty from the well-worn socks. It hurts to try and move them at all. As if my hands will help the situation, I rub it like a sore shoulder. She’s snoring heavy. I’ve been trying to scout for a second mattress just so I don’t have to be so careful when I came home tired. I think the two of use combined resemble an out-of-sync 747.
I gently lay myself next to but not near her. I’ll sleep in those clothes to cut down on some morning routine tomorrow. She can have the sheets. Scrip-scratch. My eyes are heavy and this dog seems to be powered by the lack of light. Its movements hurry into our room and jumps up onto the bed worming and wiggling all over her and me. I’ve had it. A swift shove to the back and it’s sent to the dirty wall across the room. Undeterred it scampers off and resumes its frantic hardwood circle chase. She’s back to her snoring. Good, she’s undisturbed. She can kick me out tomorrow then.
A really great scream. One of the best I’ve heard in my life. I bolt up and walk on the sides of my feet into the attached kitchen. It looks like everything’s been thumbed and scrapped through by a robber with very long fingernails. Nearly all of the house has had little pieces carved out of it. Some serious little nicks are clustered in patterns that aren’t quite circles. Some push deeper and have more material missing. There’s a tear in the screen door.
She can't find the dog.
Submitted July 07, 2016 at 10:43AM by Bigfatclayteardrops http://ift.tt/29AFxjj shortscarystories
No comments:
Post a Comment