wildcat

Actually the problem was that he watched too many Frankenstein movies when he was a little boy and so the ideas that fruited inside his head regarding "mortality" were a little strange. This was nobody's fault, certainly not television's—he's just one of those people, where reality is maybe a little too flexible. He spent most of his adolescence trying to imbue gross, inanimate matter with life. Lightning rods, semen and cursing, sort of thing. He wanted to get girls pregnant just to see what would happen but you can guess how that went over—fuck, the boy was a fool, an idiot, a commonplace moron. The kind of person you take out behind the barn and SHOOT, goddamn you, shoot him right through the head because he's certainly not going to be providing you with anything like a realistic view of the situation. Which is more or less what happened when he met Emma, right, because he tried something and she kicked him in the balls and certainly you can feel sorry for him but Emma wasn't about to. Mostly she cussed, and stamped on his forehead with her very large shoes—runners, lots of sole, fat things with treads to leave a mark. Afterward, Emma got pissed and he lay half-in-half-out of an alleyway, trying to remember his name. He went to Hollywood after that.

© Ben Rawluk, 2008, all rights reserved.