I'll Try Anything Once

In true Shari form I decided tonight at 9 pm to try a story for the famous Wordsmiths Unlimited. The deadline is tomorrow. Typical.


Well, here it is....be gentle.




Contradictions



His father was a pedophile, his mother was a saint. His gypsy-wanna-be sister traveling with the tickey-tackey circus, refuses to speak to her recently evangelized brother. His high-school sweetheart wife lolls on the bed in a daze of 4 Oxycontin and 6 Schlitz beers. Their free love ideals of the 1960's have slowly morphed into a prison of indifference- the new millennium of hate.

His once knobby knees now threaten to give way under his enormous weight, increasing by the day on a diet of fried jumbo shrimp and diet soda. His perfect teeth glare their whiteness through his gritty 5 o’clock shadow that last saw a razor last Tuesday at 1 o’clock. The reading glasses that he needs to see the computer screen are thrown haphazardly on the bedside table, releasing a plume of dust from the pathetic vase of silk roses. He curls his nose at the stench that emanates from everything in the room - Unwashed sheets? Cat hair? Urine?

His or hers?

No children, just 3 miscarriages. No joy, only disappointment. His broken heart shows itself more often than not with its fists. Why can’t he feel empathy until after the fact?

His emotions are a glassblower’s jackhammer.

Childhood hopes were dashed a long time ago, working like a dog in the fields since he was four. Unemployment is his right. His only privilege. He will make this work. Something will finally go right for him. Long hours of idleness will eventually lead to the get-rich-quick idea of the century.

The internet, with it dichotomous world of porn and astrological love charts, pain and recipe-sharing chat rooms, has got to have something for him. How do these people do it? Make a million on cheap t-shirts that say "Fuck Bush"? Run a consistent business re-selling beany babies?

Maybe his brother has it right. Maybe you just give your life over to something bigger than yourself. Confess your sins to the world and let it all go. Will it all stop?

A smile creeps to his lips. A starving jackal of a smile, furtively dancing with a sneer. He had it. Just what everyone needed. This was going to be his meal ticket.

The digitized Confessional Booth screen-saver.

Bless me father, we all sin.