Sand Enamel (2009)
Neither eye nor ear perceived the sweaty brow of Ernie in the purple evening, standing before the wind-whipped figure of Dondy. Taking two seconds to gulp from a half-evaporated cup of coffee, the two men joined hands and walked toward the ceremonial gulch where their fathers had once done the same.
“I love you both,” Ernie cried to the skies. Nobody knew how high he was, but some of his blood cells were definitely going the wrong way. He dropped a bouquet of anise and paprika, tied with leather, into the flaming bowl that blocked his path. A couple of horny magnets drew the grill off the pit and revealed a tiny figure in the charred mess of ashes that had collected.
Ernie said: “Who—gasue? Who makes you you?” But it was too late. His hair sagged, and a couple of pockets on him exhaled deeply. The rest of his outfit was green, so it tried to make friends with a hickory tree; but the needles dashed themselves to dry pieces on the rocks of San Palestrino country, far outside of Muskogee and yet five hundred miles from the pitted banks of Nevada’s salamandar caverns.
Ernie stomped down hard on a warm Hershey Kiss, that stuck on his boot like a net trying to catch a butterfly that was just too goddamn big and powerful. He chuckled and lit a cheap cigar, whining at the price of beans and worshipping their flavor.
“I’m tired, guy. Fucking tired!” Ernie growled. Where the hell was everything anyway? Would he have to step over and lace his boots with a couple of spare forks that some diner tossed out the window after breakfast? He saw a bird land on a street sign, and start to clean its wing with nervous pecks and bites.
“I fucking hate that. Thank god it’s kind of rare!” Small heights tempted him from the rhombus tops of their visible surfaces. A couple of small bikes pedaled past with the mandatory riders, and a short lunch was happening somewhere in an absent setting.
“The bright desert God wished me to come down and save these people… and I might do it, if I can fill my belly first and find some place to buy a gun.”
“And if you can’t? Will you grab your sack and make your way back to your childhood port?”
It stunned him to think of all the children who were familiar with the ocean. Their minds must be twice as large as those in the midwestern train towns, where the only thing anyone ever sees is wheels… and that through a mask of colored fabric.
“Dondy! Oh, Dondy! I can’t believe that… well… that it stopped!”
Dondy stared at her with nothing but pure hate in his eyes. “It stopped because you distracted it.”
“I love you both,” Ernie cried to the skies. Nobody knew how high he was, but some of his blood cells were definitely going the wrong way. He dropped a bouquet of anise and paprika, tied with leather, into the flaming bowl that blocked his path. A couple of horny magnets drew the grill off the pit and revealed a tiny figure in the charred mess of ashes that had collected.
Ernie said: “Who—gasue? Who makes you you?” But it was too late. His hair sagged, and a couple of pockets on him exhaled deeply. The rest of his outfit was green, so it tried to make friends with a hickory tree; but the needles dashed themselves to dry pieces on the rocks of San Palestrino country, far outside of Muskogee and yet five hundred miles from the pitted banks of Nevada’s salamandar caverns.
Ernie stomped down hard on a warm Hershey Kiss, that stuck on his boot like a net trying to catch a butterfly that was just too goddamn big and powerful. He chuckled and lit a cheap cigar, whining at the price of beans and worshipping their flavor.
“I’m tired, guy. Fucking tired!” Ernie growled. Where the hell was everything anyway? Would he have to step over and lace his boots with a couple of spare forks that some diner tossed out the window after breakfast? He saw a bird land on a street sign, and start to clean its wing with nervous pecks and bites.
“I fucking hate that. Thank god it’s kind of rare!” Small heights tempted him from the rhombus tops of their visible surfaces. A couple of small bikes pedaled past with the mandatory riders, and a short lunch was happening somewhere in an absent setting.
“The bright desert God wished me to come down and save these people… and I might do it, if I can fill my belly first and find some place to buy a gun.”
“And if you can’t? Will you grab your sack and make your way back to your childhood port?”
It stunned him to think of all the children who were familiar with the ocean. Their minds must be twice as large as those in the midwestern train towns, where the only thing anyone ever sees is wheels… and that through a mask of colored fabric.
“Dondy! Oh, Dondy! I can’t believe that… well… that it stopped!”
Dondy stared at her with nothing but pure hate in his eyes. “It stopped because you distracted it.”