December 3, 2018“I’ve seen you before, haven’t I”?
”I don’t believe—“ He began to mutter like a mangled mutt as an automobile drove by splashing cold water from the gutter across his back.
”Come on, Megan, let’s go. You know how your Dad gets.”
She smiled sultry and heavy-lidded, bedroom eyes bountiful. Her slender milky -white-marbled-with-veins hands clasped around her heavy school books (which were protected with pastel-pink covers that were riddled with scribblings) feet turned inward, scuffed saddle shoes stepping on each other with anxiety. Blood golden-ratioed between her lower bitten lip and her slightly crooked bottom teeth. Wretched in her slightly writhing ways, and as a Wren nestled on her shoulder, picking at the baby-blue fuzz of her sweater, she half kissed a cruel little kiss into the air between them and exhaled slowl– lascivious Lolita lavish in her languid lax.
The silence was interrupted with the sound of the cold milk bottle sliding from his left hand. In a sharp split second he blurred specteraly and vibrated rapidly, split himself in two, and ,the other copy with planted right knee, caught the lactose jar as it swished its sound.
The Wren fell dead with a small feathery thump…and she giggled.
Her friend ran with maddening wails as her books slid and bounced across wet asphalt. Papers in the air.
”I shall see you tomorrow. Now I now for sure what time you deliver the milk at the Hamburger Hut.”
”You might.”
And she just might. Lucky she should consider herself to have seen a very rare sight of…The Dead Milkmen.
∞
