Cuties

The worst part of it all was how incredibly cute they were. No other words could describe these cute things. They were so cute. Goodness gracious, for the love of the sweet one, no one will hear me out. I am officially only allowed to call them cute. They have invaded my vocabulary.

I first began to see them, last winter. My little pup began itching a lot more often, too. They gave him fleas. The things would mew around my back yard, in unison. That was when they were cute.

Problems began when I had thrown out a plum that seemed to get moldy a little too soon. I saw one of the cute fuckers sniffing around it. So, what? A stray eating garbage. Nothing new. Cute. Strays already seem to take on a lot of filth. The cute thing picked it up, and brought it to its pals.

A week later, I think I saw the same one peering around. Crouching, hiding its face. It got cuter than the last time I saw it. If only you knew what I meant. I saw it when I was checking to see if my pup had gone yet. I saw the cute one kind of rise up and perch itself on a patch of mud. For some reason, my pup did not bark at it. He walked up to it. Sniffing.
.
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My dog immediately lost his life. When I saw it, my mouth kind of opened up. I held my hands out, in front of me and wondered, "What the hell?". It looked directly into my eyes, in such a cute, cute way. I think it heard my thoughts. No, really. Heeeeeaaaaarrrd my thoughts. How cute can one cute thing be? I began to think that the cute critter was full of nothing more than, that's right- pure CUTE. That moldy plum really must have made it that much more cute. It ran off, in a cute hurry to join the rest of the cute ones.

As soon as I got inside, I scraped around for the yellow pages. Maybe animal control was the proper authority. Maybe just.. an exterminator. I dialed up the only one with an actual picture to accompany the number. On the line was some ditz asking too many specifics about the critters. I don't know. They would only understand if they saw them in person. A guy was on his way.

After that, I looked out and saw the one from before perched up again. This time, it was in front of the others like some type of drill sergeant. Mewing orders to the others. Ohhh Hell. This is not the case. No, not tonight.

The exterminator arrived. Some European guy with a toothpick in his mouth. Really just European. Not this hemisphere. He had a drowsy look in his eye, almost as if the only thing keeping him alive for the next 24 hours was whatever bogus fee he was going to charge me at the end of this. In his hand was a little toolbox, decorated with whatever the hell his people decorate stuff with. I was going to kill him, later on. So, I told him where those cute cute things were, and he just sneered. I was going to kill him, though.

That was when I got the idea. I actually did hate this guy, so I ran in the house and came out with two newly molded plums to throw at him. "Yeah, you creepy son of a bitch!". I really could not help it. As he violently turned around, the cutie cute cutes appeared at his heels. He was next. Totally did not mean for that to happen. I just did not like his damned fees. For the first moment, I laughed, but then I was horrified. I was in their path.

The first thing I thought about was escaping.. but the first thing that I did was just mutter "y-y'all guys are cute!". They have invaded my speech. I guess I was not next. I was the only person they could reach. Am I really that dumb? No, I can't be dumber than my dog.. No dumber that that guy. Right. What was the one thing we had in common? The plums. Of course. How stupid. How is that even possible? I don't know, but it sure as hell kept me alive.

Hungary

Irrelevance.
Nervous newly-weds on their night out.
Medicines will wring anxiety to drought.
They slip under crisp, new covers.
Murderers come and kill them.
They kill newly-weds on purpose.
They slip in and kill some lovers.
Victims leave and are dead.
They get dead, on mistake.
Grievance.
They must be jealous.
Young folks are dead and passed.
They must be very crazy people.
Youths are no longer cuddling.
They must pull murders, often.
Youngs are without previous mortality.
Science.
Murders are caused because of a sterling silver knife.
Mad folks come and find a young folk and stop their life.
These murderous pals come and murder because they wish they could marry.
Instead, murders are asunder to which there is surprised and then they bury.
Malcolm, Dina, Shane, Qualler, and Belle are among the passed and deceased.
The folks who have committed their murder are in big trouble, in jail, not released.
Murderers like Rowel and Filder are not supposed to chop folks up like they did in real life.
They are not supposed to be bad and kill young people having sex on their honeymoon.
Independence.

Hunting Knife

My son's head was scooped up and placed onto my lap. I could feel my pulse up against where his nose pressed into my leg. There was the feeling of warm liquid pooling around my zipper area. Don't tell anyone, but there was a possibility of that being any liquid- maybe even all. Yeah, after a while, it registered. My son is passed away and decapitated. At the very moment all of the warm liquid was only obvious blood, I twitched. No doubt this is devastating. This was no time to be sitting down. Of course I was paralyzed, somewhat. "The moment I stand up, I will get vengeance." I wish I had done that.

What they were doing was ridiculous. Slapping folks in the back of their necks and whacking peoples heads and hips all over the road. We could barely keep up. What was the use? We were here, pressure-washing human mold from below us. I'll bet they consider us to be cleaning up after ourselves. They're awful. I don't think they're monsters, though. They just need to get their shit together. What I hate the most is the sneer they have to make because of how the nerves in their arms connect to their lips. Their shoulders are either really high up like monkeys-in-a-barrel or low, like a librarian with lockjaw. I know. The glasses just stab me. Ah, metaphorically, I mean. Nay, mentally: it's disturbing.

Son's dead. Right. I am paralyzed. Sweat rolls down my nose, and I can't do a thing. It bothered me so much, I would have loved to just pick up my pressure-washing kit and just blow that tuft of skin from off of my face. "Someone please lift me up, and scrape me into the pavement." I wish I had said that. If I had said it when I thought it, I would have had some help. They're still deplorable.

After a third of these things left, I was finally able to move. Well, I was able to move a few parts of myself. Every slight move I made, though, was followed by an energetic, jerking motion. I probably wasn't so ready, yet. I wish I had known that. What I did next was somewhat of a compensation for these tinier moves I was making. Basically, I lunged my self forward. My son's head had already been slipping lower, beyond my knees. This just caused it to finally roll under my bench. Fuck it. I wasn't planning on keeping it.

The End.