Newsgroups: alt.slack

Subject: The Wage of My Sin is Death (the sad demise of Legume)

From: drlegume98@aol.com (DrLegume98)

Date: 5 Dec 1997 08:16:08 GMT

 

I never heard the bullet that killed me. I felt a sharp jolt to the left side

of my face, strong enough to knock me off of my feet.

 

"Whew!'', I exhaled as I attempted to regain my feet. I always knew that

someday I would meet that bullet, but you still are never ready when that day

arrives.

 

A passer-by offered his help. I took his hand, and he helped me to my

feet. His face seemed familiar through the red haze of blood in my eyes. I

wiped the blood out of my eyes with my sleeve and could see that the man who

aided me was wearing a red uniform shirt bearing a patch with the name

''Curtis'' and a circle with a red star on the left pocket. Mr perforated

brain was racing. Was he a cop? They wear stars... A Satanist? No,

waitasec...it was the cashier from the Texaco Gas-N-Go Minimart out on Rt.23.

He was a tall, lean, high-yellow whose fingers were stained from years of

smoking hand-rolled Bugler cigarettes. He recognized me about the same time I

recognized him.

 

"Hey, preacher, you okay?'', he asked.

 

I looked at my reflection in the window of the phonebooth to my left. The

glass was spattered with tiny drops of my blood, and there was a small

spiderwebbed hole in the glass where the bullet passed through, after exiting

my skull just behind my right ear. I looked like shit. There was a big hole

in the left side of my face, and my right ear was only hanging on my head by

the grace of a thin flap of flesh. I looked down the length of my body to see

if any other damage had been done. When I looked down, a torrent of dark

blood cascaded from the hole in my face.

 

''No, Curtis, I don't think I'm okay. I'm not breathing, my heart stopped

beating about two minutes ago, and I have a big fucking hole in my head.'' I

looked at my reflection again. If I tilted my head at just the right angle, I

could see out through the exit wound, and read the sign on the wall behind me.

It was an advertisement for White Castle hamburgers. "Gross", I thought.

 

"You gotta be careful of that shit'', Curtis said. "Last week my cousin

Lucius Tate got run over by one of those Hindu taxi drivers over on Highway 61

down near the Taser factory".

 

"Yeah", I said, "A damn shame about Lucius. I stopped by his house this

afternoon to console his wife."

 

"Way I hear it, preacher, you been consolin' his wife every Tuesday night

for the last couple months'', Curtis snickered.

 

I tried to manage a laugh, and my eye damn near fell out of what was left

of its' socket. "She's the kind of woman who just can't seem to get enough

consoling... sometimes I have to console her three or four times before I can

leave.''

 

Curtis smiled. "I don't think you're gonna be consolin' anybody anymore,

preacher, unless 'Hole-in-the-Face' becomes the next fashion craze."

 

"Do I really look that bad, Curtis? I think I can make this work for me.''

 

"Shit, preacher,'' Curtis said, eyeing my new facial orifice, ''I seen you

looking lots worse. Like that day last July when you came into the filling

station with that big fucking tick stuck to your neck. Damn thing must've

weighed fifty pounds. You couldn't have had more than a teaspoon of blood left

in you, and even when those Samoans threw you out of a airplane and you broke

every bone in your body, you still managed to keep every hooker in town off

welfare.''

 

''I guess you're right, Curtis'', I said. ''Things could be worse. After

all, it would be rude of people to point out my 'handicap', and if anybody

gives me any shit about being dead, I can get one of those ACLU lawyers to sue

for discrimination. I feel that death has given me a new outlook on life. I

bet I can get special parking, too!''

 

A cab rounded the corner, its' headlights illuminating Curtis' face. ''My

ride's here, preacher," he said. "Want to share the ride into town?''

 

I looked into the cab's interior. The driver's eyes gleamed evilly from

beneath his black and yellow turban. "No thanks, Curtis, I think I'd better

walk.''

 

As I watched the cab's taillights disappear into the night, I couldn't

help but wonder when I'd begin to stink.