Post by shanemckenzie on Jan 24, 2012 15:57:57 GMT -6
Bored to Stitches
by Shane McKenzie
You lick your lips as the first number comes up.
“Twenty one,” the man’s voice says.
You toss the ticket away from you, watching as it flutters to the floor like a dead moth. Only one number and you already lost. After avoiding the lottery for years, you finally gave in when the jackpot grew to an irresistible size. Enough to buy a damn country. But you knew the chance of winning was slim and you curse yourself for wasting the five dollars.
The voice on the television kept announcing the numbers as they came, but you’d tuned out after that “twenty one.”
Then the phone rings.
You don’t answer it. You’re in no mood to talk.
But after a few minutes, it rings again.
You give in, stand up, walk to the phone.
“You’re not gonna believe this!”
It’s Derek, your best friend. You’ve never heard him sound so shaken.
“I won. I fucking won!”
You say nothing. You stare at your feet, but they’re a blur.
“Did you hear me? We’re fucking rich!”
***
Derek always said he’d take care of you if he ever won. And lucky for you, he was true to his word.
You sit in your new ten thousand dollar Italian leather chair in your new three million dollar home. The house is way too big for you, but Derek insisted. You also tried to tell him that you only needed one car, but he laughed that off.
“And drive the same one in the same week? No, buddy. Nothing less than seven will do.”
It’s been a hell of a couple of years since Derek won the biggest jackpot in state history. But you worry for him now.
The two of you had thrown some wild parties. You fucked your way through a tidal wave of willing, money-hungry women, snorted your way through a mountain of cocaine, drank an ocean of Cristal. You ate seafood that was swimming the very same day and veal fresh from a cow’s womb.
Life was good.
You finally had time to write that novel you always said you would.
But you worry for Derek. He’s become bored.
“Come over.” His voice crackled through the blue tooth in your ear.
Your mansions were next door to each other, so you agree with a sigh, save your word file, and head out the door.
When you step into his house, the air is thick with something…bad. Wrong. Evil?
“Back here!”
You follow the voice, though it’s difficult with the echoes. But you find Derek.
And you have to swallow the stinging bile that rushes into your mouth.
He’s sitting with his back to you. You thought he wore leather at first, but as you walk closer...
A woman’s face hangs from the back of his neck like a hood. The face is upside down, eye holes wide, the mouth stretched out to fit Derek’s head.
Derek smiles from his seat at the sewing machine. “What’s your pants size?”
by Shane McKenzie
You lick your lips as the first number comes up.
“Twenty one,” the man’s voice says.
You toss the ticket away from you, watching as it flutters to the floor like a dead moth. Only one number and you already lost. After avoiding the lottery for years, you finally gave in when the jackpot grew to an irresistible size. Enough to buy a damn country. But you knew the chance of winning was slim and you curse yourself for wasting the five dollars.
The voice on the television kept announcing the numbers as they came, but you’d tuned out after that “twenty one.”
Then the phone rings.
You don’t answer it. You’re in no mood to talk.
But after a few minutes, it rings again.
You give in, stand up, walk to the phone.
“You’re not gonna believe this!”
It’s Derek, your best friend. You’ve never heard him sound so shaken.
“I won. I fucking won!”
You say nothing. You stare at your feet, but they’re a blur.
“Did you hear me? We’re fucking rich!”
***
Derek always said he’d take care of you if he ever won. And lucky for you, he was true to his word.
You sit in your new ten thousand dollar Italian leather chair in your new three million dollar home. The house is way too big for you, but Derek insisted. You also tried to tell him that you only needed one car, but he laughed that off.
“And drive the same one in the same week? No, buddy. Nothing less than seven will do.”
It’s been a hell of a couple of years since Derek won the biggest jackpot in state history. But you worry for him now.
The two of you had thrown some wild parties. You fucked your way through a tidal wave of willing, money-hungry women, snorted your way through a mountain of cocaine, drank an ocean of Cristal. You ate seafood that was swimming the very same day and veal fresh from a cow’s womb.
Life was good.
You finally had time to write that novel you always said you would.
But you worry for Derek. He’s become bored.
“Come over.” His voice crackled through the blue tooth in your ear.
Your mansions were next door to each other, so you agree with a sigh, save your word file, and head out the door.
When you step into his house, the air is thick with something…bad. Wrong. Evil?
“Back here!”
You follow the voice, though it’s difficult with the echoes. But you find Derek.
And you have to swallow the stinging bile that rushes into your mouth.
He’s sitting with his back to you. You thought he wore leather at first, but as you walk closer...
A woman’s face hangs from the back of his neck like a hood. The face is upside down, eye holes wide, the mouth stretched out to fit Derek’s head.
Derek smiles from his seat at the sewing machine. “What’s your pants size?”
