Groundhog

Pop

Walter jolted up from the recliner, sweat drenching his wife beater top and bath robe he had taken to wearing 24/7. He scanned the living room for the origin of the loud popping noise and noticed the TV was still on.

'Get a hold of yourself, Wally, it's just the TV. Or maybe a dream.'

The TV was playing Andy Griffith on mute, however. Maddy must have came in and put the fucker on mute again. Pain in the ass.

'Well you do have the TV up really loud sometimes. To drown out the bumps in the night, remember? Can't blame her for wanting some peace and fucking quiet.'

'Then what was the noise then? Riddle me that, Dr. Phil!'

'Like I said before, probably. The same dream you've had since it happened.'

He went to the liquor cabinet to pour himself a drink. Yeah, same dream as always. His mind just replayed it for him over and over. He went to closet by the front door.

You could tell the carpet in the closet was newer than the rest. Less dingy, more white. Of course the walls had to be repainted too.

'Cover it up all you want, but someone died here. And you pulled the trigger.'

And he had. He shot the kid to death in this very closet, without a thought beforehand. And it was killing him every day.

The afterthought was heavy. He could remember the kid's wacky hair do; long and curly, pulled back in a bun. He saw the fear in his eyes, even in the dark. He could hear him screaming "Don't shoot!" just as he pulled the trigger. He could still smell his blood on his clothes.

He panicked. There was a man in his closet and he panicked. That's all there was to it.

'He did say 'Don't shoot!' you know. And he was unarmed. You shot an unarmed man dead in your house.'

"He was junkie bastard who wasn't supposed to be there, damn it. He wasn't supposed to be there..." he muttered to himself, drinking his scotch as tears weld up in his eyes.

Eventually, he went back to the recliner, taking the rest of the bottle of scotch with him on his way back. He unmuted Andy Bobandy.

He wasn't supposed to be there.

"WALTER!" Madison hollered from the kitchen.

"God damn it...WHAT THE FUCK YOU WANT, WOMAN!"

"Watch your fucking tone with me. You need to take the dog out. Can I count on you to do that at least?" she replied, sticking her head in the door way. She was all dolled up. Even at age 45 she was a looker. He noted the bags under her eyes, and felt guilty.

She deserves better...

The sun was just peeking out from the horizon when he took Rocky to do his business. Rocky dragged him for a minute before he finally paused at his favorite spot, the tree in the front lawn. He began making number two so Walter looked away.

He noticed his neighbor, Greg Janovik, was also out and about, getting his news paper. He waved at Greg, but Greg pretended not to see him. This wasn't the first time. Fucking asshole. Walter's foot felt warm.

"God damn it, Rock! On my shoe?" He exclaimed as the dog continued to piss on his slippers.

He let the dog off his leash and he bolted into the kitchen. Walter took his soaking slippers off and threw them in the washer. Then he headed to the kitchen himself. Time for coffee.