Surreal Nightmares by James Ward Kirk & Donald Armfield

Author:James Ward Kirk & Donald Armfield [Kirk, James Ward]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Publisher: James Ward Kirk Publishing
Published: 2016-04-06T00:00:00+00:00

Robert Holt

The Wall and Glendalough

Black crayon smudges at knee level marked the names of my earliest victims, and the second grade brutality that I displayed to them: Bobby Grudding pushed off his bike and skinned his knee, Louis Turtank tripped while going into music class and broke his glasses, and Mary Classier, her hair pulled, messing it up before class pictures, and so on. I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand. I didn’t remember doing that to Mary. I did remember… My eyes scanned up higher on the wall where the names were written in pencil and eventually ink. There it was. Mary Classier sodomized. The wall made it sound like some form of rape. It wasn’t rape. Seriously, it wasn’t rape. It was just…well…

My eyes fell on a single name written in red permanent marker further up the wall. Bret Dredger killed! I stepped away from the wall and turned toward the darkness. Panic boiled in my veins. Unable to see my crimes any longer, unable to bare that crime being on my list, I stumbled toward the darkness. “I didn’t kill Bret!” My trembling voice was lost in the vacuum that surrounded me. “Are you hearing me?” It was useless; I knew it even then.

I turned back to the wall and saw Bret’s shadow on the couch, saw myself sitting on the floor playing Nintendo, saw it through the wall, through the names. What game had I been playing that night? It was one of the war simulations, I think. Romance of the Three Kingdoms 2 probably. Bret and I played that game until we knew it inside and out.

Bret stirred, and I watched myself pick up the vodka bottle and place it in his hands. “I’m done,” he said.

I watched myself laugh. “You are done when I tell you you’re done. Drink up bitch.”

I screamed at the wall as Bret lifted the bottle to his lips and finished it. The dumb fuck finished the bottle. I didn’t tell him to do that. I didn’t make him bong a pint. I’m innocent. I’m innocent! My throat burned as my voice vanished into the darkness behind me. I watched my shadow self stumble to the television and shut it off and then to the couch where Bret was sleeping. I watched as I slapped his face a couple times and laughed. Then I watched as I leaned over him to kiss his lips. Why did I kiss him? That part didn’t really happen. I’m not gay. I wouldn’t kiss Bret. Had I known he wasn’t going to wake up I may have kissed him good-bye; he was my best friend for fuck’s sake, but I wouldn’t have just kissed him like that. They were making things up now. I screamed at the darkness, “You’re making things up now! You bastards!”

When I turned back to the wall, I saw Bret cough and then vomit. Just like that. I walked out of the room, and he died, smothered on his half-digested Taco Bell.

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