The Rictus Grin and Other Tales of Insanity by Erica Summers

Author:Erica Summers [Erica Summers]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Rusty Ogre Publishing
Published: 2024-05-13T00:00:00+00:00

Take a Breath

(Originally published in the Bloodbound Books’ Anthology of Splatterpunk, later altered)

I jolt in my seat. Blood pounds through my graying temples. My heart thumps. The blast of the horn behind me sends an icy shiver across my skin. My preoccupied mind failed to register the green light above. I smash the gas, jerking my Subaru into motion, hurtling myself through the intersection. As I lurch through the signal, my distracted mind is stuck on the tone of Mr. Carey’s voice as he said the words, “Pack your things. You’re done.”

Shit-canned.

I’m part of the jobless masses talked about on the evening news. I’ll have to fight for something new, something paying notably less. Or worse, go on unemployment. I shudder at the thought of all the online forms. The arguing. The government bureaucracy. The smile fading from the attractive cashier’s face as I hand over my EBT card to charge a block of cheddar. I imagine myself weeks from now choking back tears of frustration with a mouth full of shitty grilled-cheese sandwich as I read another rejection letter after a promising interview.

We regret to inform you…

That’s always how it starts, isn’t it?

“We regret to inform you, Mr. Alexander, that we wish to go in a different direction for the position.”

They won’t want this chump. I’m just some jerk-off who’s given nine years to a company that cut me like a mat on a dog’s ass the first time I made a mistake. Or maybe it’ll go well.

“May we call your previous employer for a reference, Lawrence?”

I laugh. That’ll go over like a lead balloon.

I can hear Mr. Carey’s voice laughing into the phone now: “Yeah, Larry flew under the radar and was otherwise the human version of cellophane til he embarrassed himself in the end—”

Maybe I’ll make the big time with Rusty. For a moment, it seems possible. If I were to rededicate my body, surfing for a living might not be a pipe dream. They say 10,000 hours is enough to make one a master at anything. I’ve certainly put in close to that amount of beach time through the years. And my schedule just opened up… wide.

Right now, the serotonin dump from riding a wave might be the only thing I have to live for.

Sarah would have laughed at the outrageous concept of me going “pro“ at any sport. She was unflinchingly supportive but a belly laugh would’ve been her knee-jerk reaction if I said it out loud. Followed by active, desperate backpedaling to spare my feelings, ending with a speech about how I can do anything I put my mind to.

Oh, Sarah...

An overwhelming wave of tension and panic washes over me. The empty passenger seat burns a hole in my soul.

Take a breath.

And I do.

I pull off Matunuck Beach Road and park on the brush-lined roadside. After an hour and change, I’m here: A secret spot tucked away on the Rhode Island Shoreline behind a dense thicket of foliage with a great point break known only to a handful of serious New England surfers, dubbed Siren’s Cove.

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