Ex-president George W Bush calls the White House and he warns president Trump. Always, W sounds chipper. George tells Donald, “I suppose, mr president, you can plea for asylum in N Korea.”
“I’m not sure Putin will come through for you. If you look into his eyes, you can see the devil. Oh, that Satan is beautiful, isn’t he? Made of Gold! He looks like God.”
God to white supremacist, “We have a problem. See, we have too many bodies and not enough souls.”
Supremacist, “Huh?”
“I’m not wasting bodies,” God replied. “That’s like throwing away ripe fruit before the expiration date. That’s soon, BTW; Judgement day, your expiration date.”
Supremacist, “I don’t know what you want me to do.”
“I have a plan,” God assures the middle-aged Caucasian man, “Reincarnation, recycling. I’ll just put you into a new body. You know, one that doesn’t have a soul.”
Worried, the supremacist wonders, “A black man? You want me to be a black man?”
“A black woman,” God answered in the interest of being exact.
This hurricane season, spend the day playing the president’s favorite video game…
It’s six AM, the sun has not yet crested Mt Gleason, and Sunland is still in shadow. A gray sedan, possibly a Honda in this light, turns into the parking lot the same time a beeping garbage trucks backs up, into the lot of an adjacent nursing home.
That sedan stops in front of my apartment and some guy steps out. He carries a limp garbage bag. Something of some heft possesses the package with gravity. The contents in the transparent bag are as blurred by shadow as the face the dark-haired stranger.
That bag goes dropped like a pendulum loosed from its pivot in front a new neighbor’s SUV. I don’t know these neighbors nor the man with the gray sedan. I have merely spied all of them at given opportunities. He then spotted me as I seldom disguise myself.
The man returns to the front of the neighbor’s vehicle and retrieves his litter. I assume litter because there exists a low brick wall between my apartment building and the parking lot. Even in dawn, the plastic bag remains concealed. Then all vanishes moments before daylight when the gray sedan goes driven away.
“The spawned element,
Rudra*, consumed
The Living Darkness”
“Rudra uncovered the Light
Rudra gave the Darkness
To his Mother and Father
This was a gift.”
“These elements consumed
All the Darkness.
And gave birth to life.”
“The Elements gave
Life to us.”
“Then the Darkness was gone.
And our Mother and Father
Consumed their children.”
“The elements then birthed
Monsters.”
– The Mortui Philosophies
The sketchbooks of the author
Matthew Sawyer
(BTW- that is Rudra’s brother, Awaran, who is speaking)
Images and music composed by Matthew Sawyer
All rights reserved
The horrible fiction of Matthew Sawyer is available for purchase from Lulu.com
Ebooks available from Smashwords.com
“Right, men, put down your whack-a-daddy artificial p*ssies and take that hill.”
“Sergeant, I don’t have an artificial p*ssy.”
“That’s it, boy, we’re all brave men today.”
“No, I mean I didn’t get one.”
“Well, if you wanted someone to just give you a p*ssy, you should have volunteered at an animal shelter. You gotta get your own, son.”
…
