Empty and broken
It all falls down
Empty and broken, the city streets evacuated with a sense of calm. Everything shattered. Glass lay like snowflakes, in piles tall as people. The sky cracked. A bubble, dark as night, bloomed in the center of the crack. No good fucking reptiles swallowed everything. Traces blasted through the sky: clouds, maybe. Or veins. Blood spurted from them, rained down, and covered the city. Definitely veins. Where was the man who played the violin? He stood in the street in a minute earlier. Then he vanished. Did he vanish? Where had everyone gone?Inside a studio apartment, windows blown out, wind blowing in, dragging blood rain with it, the man called Portly snorted a line of coke from his brother’s cock, a game they’d played for years. Noting homoerotic or incestuous about it, Portly claimed. But I once caught his brother sucking Portly’s cock and fingering his asshole. Yet nothing incestuous about it.
Coke did nothing for me in most cases, so I smoked a joint and watched Portly’s brother, who we called Pork Chop, sprinkle coke on Portly’s taint and snort it. Nothing incestuous. What are you two up to? I said. Getting high, motherfucker. Let’s go outside and cause some damage, I said, or let’s find some women. Where’s Maria? I haven’t seen her in days. I’ve got to cum already. So jerk off, Portly said. Or let me hit a bump off the tip of your cock, Pork Chop said. Then maybe I’ll do something something for you, if you catch my drift. I caught it, I said. There was nothing subtle about it, Pork Chop.
In the bathroom, after pissing, I stroke my cock. The window in there had also been shattered, and now blood rain splashed on me, exponentially increasing the difficulty level of maintaining a hard-on.
I eventually came anyway.
Break expectations, the woman said. If you saw her, which I often did, you inevitably heard those two words. Break. Expectations. She didn’t tease out the paradox: how could I break expectations if I constantly expected her to tell me to break expectations? So I fucking asked her that exact question. She responded with laughter. Break your expectations and what I say, which is old and tired and meaningless to you know, assumes new meaning. You’ll hear it as if for the first time. That’s always the goal, or it should be: see and hear everything for the first time. What’s the point? I said. There is no point, she said, only experience.
Change how you experience the world and you’ll change the world, she said.
Stoned again. Everything broken. Nothing made sense. Where was Maria? Had I lost her? Had she left me?
Maria, where the fuck are you?
Shouting in the streets, I noticed people eyeballing me as if I were crazy. Who knows? Maybe I was crazy.
The sky still cracked, the bubble expanding, veins still bleeding and dampening the earth, I cut through a parking lot and turned into an alley and pissed behind a dumpster. After I shook my cock and packed it away, I torched another joint and choked that motherfucker down. High as the stratosphere. Take me away. Wherever you’re going. What expectations could or should or would I change? Was such a thing even possible? Not incestuous. Were ideas incestuous? Or only actions?
No one cared.
I didn’t care.
Where the fuck was Maria.
Maria, where the fuck are you?
On the television, the reptile spoke with an accent like a belch:
Everything I tell you is true and it’s true because I’m telling it to you. That’s the secret. That’s the key. Truth is only truth when it’s articulated. Otherwise, it’s a nugget of information lodged in your head, and who wants information lodged in their head. Most people I meet certainly don’t; and if they do, then they want information that’s been filtered and processed and interpreted for them. That’s the key to enlightenment: don’t think; let others think for you. You’re too busy to squander time thinking.
The reptile hadn’t even bothered to wear a suit. Translucent fluid dripped from his cock and asshole.
Reptile: It’s all about emotions. About emotions. I want you to feel what I feel. Not to understand it. To feel it. That’s another key to enlightenment: feel what I feel, then think what I think. I will enlighten you—if you’ll let me, and you can only let me if you stop thinking and feeling for yourselves.
An elderly Asian woman passed out.
Two men behind her jerked each other off while a woman beside them fellated a reptile.
Daulton Dickey is a novelist, poet, and content creator currently living in Indiana with his wife and kids. He’s the author of A Peculiar Arrangement of Atoms: Stories, Still Life with Chattering Teeth and People-Shaped Things, and other stories, Elegiac Machinations: an experimental novella, and Bastard Virtues, a novel. Rooster Republic Press will publish his latest novel, Flesh Made World, later this year. Contact him at lostitfunhouse [at] gmail [dot] com