Category Archives: Stories

Hearty Vampire

There was no space for me to feel. The alcohol-fueled house was always so full of people, my uncle, his girlfriend, her son, my cousin the roommate, my mother and I. She had been crying for days. The man she left my father for, the man who was to provide refuge, a home and fancy dinners to boot, was holidaying in Israel. It was Valentines Day and I was in the kitchen, coloring and cutting out a series of what I think might have been fifty love hearts. I was going to fix everything. She would wake up in a room full of love. And she did. When she woke the walls of the room were covered in hearts. Only all she could do was cry. I could change nothing.

I don’t remember the feeling that left me that morning, in the room we shared together, but I know it was there, in the kitchen, in those arse-hole cunt fucker shit hearts. All that’s left today is like Nosferatus impression of a girl he once loved, the memory of a face that faded from form to faint outline over decades, over centuries.

THE STUPID SAMARITAN

Just woke up this morning to George, my elderly next-door neighbor ringing the doorbell at my front door. He tells me his wife is dead on the living room floor (she has been dead for years). He asks me who the little girl is standing behind me (no girl standing behind me)? Obviously he needs help, but I have no idea what he needs.

In panic I call triple 0. Then I tell them not to worry because….I do not know what the fuck is going on. Plus, I realize his daughter Margaret lives somewhere on this street. So…I get him back to his house, race up the street in my pajamas to house 12 (that’s the house George told me his daughter lives on). House number 12 ignores me at their door. Obviously that’s not Margaret’s house.

I approach the hippy neighbor across the road and he says they are home. I say they mustn’t be answering cause I look like a freak in my pajamas. The guy acts like I am a total freak, and half acts like my story is full of shit. Eventually he meanders across the road to house 12. When a woman answers the door, I explain the situation. She tells me her next-door neighbor Pat, has Margaret’s number.

So the hippy and I go to Pats house. At Pats door, she is inside getting the number and I say now I have the number I can just call Margaret directly in future emergencies. The fuckface hippy responds by telling me I’ll have to check that with Margaret as he thinks maybe she wont want me to have her number. What the fuck? Does this fuck think I want this situation? Or that Margaret wouldn’t want me to call her about her father in case of emergency? So I ask him. I say, who the fuck are you, the courtesy king?

In good time Pat comes to the door with the number. I call Margaret. I wait with George till she comes back down. Turns out he is on some weird medication at the moment and will be okay in a few days, that she had been with him the last three nights and thought he might be well enough for her to leave. Obviously that was not the case.

Oh and then the police show up at my house RE the triple 0 call and then I have to tell them what happened. Also, I go back up the street to the neighbors who have just been bitching about me to let them know the situation is all sorted now. This is the longest fucking ramble, I know, but I am so goddamned annoyed with how difficult it was to get any help out of my neighbors on the street I grew up on. Really fucking annoyed.

 

Closed

She was a friend of a friend. The tall one that came with the buff Lebanese version of He-Man and the creepy guy who couldn’t speak English, the one who looked like he might be on the scout for a couple of fresh sex slaves. She didn’t talk to anyone. She and that fuchsia pink excuse for a dress just stumbled right in and collapsed into my fathers couch. I thought she must have been pretty wasted. I also thought I shouldn’t have to be the one to approach her. The speakers were blasting and the spliffs were blazing when I noticed she still hadn’t moved. With her head slumped forward the mass of platinum blonde hair that covered her face made it hard for me to tell if her eyes were open or closed.