SS0-V

- I’ll call you, okay? Said A In the mist of eyeliner and bags as her soon to be former husband watched the rusty cab speed by the fucking street cats. Their “DO NOT ENTER” sign shook as the door slammed. Her entrance caused them a night’s well deserved solitude and rest.

.:.

B: Welcome! Oh my utmost pride! Turn the fucking TV down and put on some piano when your tears are dry.

A: Hello, got a solid surface to spare for a night and perhaps half a day?

C: Hello! Shocking don’t you think?

A: How so?

C: Well we haven’t seen you since your dad decided to painted the bathtub red.

A: Didn’t you get the letters I sent?

C: B mentioned them but I never took a glimpse.

B: If feelings are suddenly going to be the object of the game …

A: Be more abstract please! I won’t take you seriously if suddenly reason is leading your way.

B: My apologies, don’t mind if I do.

-   Time hammers another nail to a casket.

A: A friend drowned in the North Sea last year.

C: How awful!

A: It was tragically hilarious.

B: Wonders you’ve seen! Did you find it odd?

A: Just oddly amusing.

C: Is that the best you got?

A: Oh pardon my manners, but I have to punch something before I can connect to my birth giver again. Share a smoke with me before I sing that mirror a tune so deeply cursed?

B: Wait, let me look at you for a second.

A: Is something not usual with my distant presence?

B: Nothing out of the ordinary. It’s just that I can kill myself tomorrow if the weather is agreeable.

C: Take your pills and pipe down. And buy some candles for the funeral.

A: I’ll never get used to your senseless jumbling of words. I’d appreciate some obscurity if you could.

With pleasure C revolts: If you want my words on the Z-plane of a paper I’ll send you a letter and rejoice as my son finds a new home under six feet of dirt and an inch of snow.

.:.

C: What a coward your brother was.

A: We always received mixed reviews. Comment on him please. I’d love to tell his lovely bones.

C: For that I’d have to ask the cutlery set he destroyed.

B: Did you cut your own hair?

A: fuck you. My scissors weren’t as sharp as the blade you know so well how to use.

B: Well if I must confide in you and you alone, life put me on my ass, on my back and my hands even though that seems humanly impossible.

A: A tad inhumane but I think if done properly it may be possible to keep you hanging there like my brother’s chronicles.

C: Care for some milk darling? But with a prior warning, it has adapted a rather sickly taste.

A sat on the floor and gazed at C amazed.

A: You’ve soften quite a bit. Anything to do with the snow on your hair?

C: No darling, maybe the books on the shelves, and the pills by the bed. Or perhaps the marks on your dad’s arm and the fucks I reserved for your brother’s big day.

.:.

A: Kill yourself at a time between seasons.

B: Only if you’d burry me in that black duffle bag I kept when I threw his shit away. He said as he slapped his red gloves on the palm of his wrinkly hands and wept.

A: Well fine if the damn coffin can fit in it, can you two please be a bit more shrouded?! I am bored and this house if fucking crowded with whatever my brothers and I left when our age was a combination of one and eight.

C: Of course, darling, are you still living in a sentence that’s left without a dot?

A: yes, page eight thousand five hundred and twenty fucking five. But be careful! It may be under a layer of daddy’s blood or your gin soaked dresses that were hung on a different hotel wall every night of summer winter spring or fucking fall.

B: I’ll pass by on the way to my accountant’s office. I do miss how you used to dip your quill in every cross I made with a shaving blade.

C: I’ll pass on passing but I’ll sing you my secondary version of a saving grace. Shall we give the cemetery a go?

A: Lead the way.

C: Funny.

A: I thought so.

.:.

B: So how many pens had to bleed for you to write this non-sentimental piece of sentiment?

Three, said A as she, B and C walked through the name-bearing stones of life’s predicament, Classified and categorized as if the ground had a sense of accomplishment.

B: Look who it is.

Slowest time of the slowest day of the slowest year for A as he walked towards them with a sadness screaming under his blank fixated stare.

C: Now that’s kind of a fuck you isn’t it? All of your children at one place but only one of them is properly dressed.

D: Are you stuck between a bitch and a cunt gear again?

C: 16^th time this week, and counting. Does she lick the right spot?

D responded as he looked as his watch: Right on the dot.

C: Excuse me! Something I forgot.

B: what?

C: I forgot.

B: You’re happy aren’t you?

C: yes, but slightly of a different kind.

D: He was always considered an asshole as you know.

A: I know, and for you timing was never right, I always thought you were a little unfortunate. Want some advice from a point of utter indifference?

D: Leave me the fuck alone. A bit of respect please, but only if you’d make it extra obscure.

C: You smell like a dead cat my sweet girl.

B: Ah it’s right beside your left leg darling.

C: Ah how unfortunate. Flatten and flushed, gone in such an ugly way.

A: It’s hard to say, I heard it was going through a nervous breakdown.

B: Because of me as well? Just hang me with all the ropes in your head.

A: yes, but I have to admit that it wasn’t your fault.

D: don’t be silly, your unpoetic presence never hurt a soul. Want to count the stitches though?

C: Stop adding and subtracting dear, just ash your smoke cuz the end of something beautiful is near.

A: Have you taken a holiday from thinking?

D: No, but I’m stuck in the line that was pulling me through.

A: Speaking of things that might kill you and let that vacancy in their heads to remain unfilled, can you please bring the car around B? I don’t want the dead cat to miss the epilogue but I’m cold and the earth’s need has already been fulfilled. 

-       B took one last look at the empty grass adjacent to his son's grave. Jealousy shines greener when every other shade is painted in vain.

.:.

Subtle breeze, white skies and a silent street through which her whispers spread past infidelity, lost time and estranged progeny to keep this life afloat over his sense of irony that keeps him up all night by the phone that’s been unplugged form a wall that welcomes no soothing sound through the door as dust settles on his table and coffee mug as he lights up another one when the fucking street cats start to make some noise. The crossing of I know and I don’t knows as the siblings mark their line around the less than motivated piano sets the tone of another winter, another chance to truly be fucking alone. Obscure is the sensation that rules their weary souls.