Elysian Fields (A Kyman Fanfiction)

Chapter 19: Unfulfilled

\\\////\\\\//// PART II :: SLEEP \\\\////\\\\///

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Chapter Nineteen: Unfulfilled

I'm beginning to regret giving that kike my awesome jacket. It's too fucking cold to deal with this shit. That total idiot shouldn't have left it at his stupid job anyway. What kind of a moron stops eating and deals with below twenty without a jacket?

I break into a quick jog the moment Kahl's out of my sight, pressing onward until I reach Kenny's poor neighborhood again.

I reach the familiar brick house with the broken windows on the top floor. The fence has barbed wire on it, a Beware of Dog sign, and a sign that doormat that orders you come back with a warrant. The tattered old American flag brags red, white and blue against the grey night, all the dim stars blotted out by the snow and thick clouds. Stubborn tufts of dead grass fight through the thin layer of ice in the front lawn, proclaiming it's not winter yet.

I walk around the fence until I reach the garage, knocking twice on the icy glass of the window. A set of small eyes peer back at me over tiny circular sunglasses.

"Password?" Ned asks with the metallic twang of his voice box.

"Death to Commies," I state, keeping an eye roll down. They might be crazy hillbillies but they are the only people with any sense in this stupid town.

The door to the back of the garage clicks open and I bound up the small steps until I'm immersed in the new heat of the inside. There's a layer of dust gracing the tops of the hundreds of boxes piled on top of each other. Ned sits in the red destroyed arm chair while I lock the door behind me.

"Hey Eric," Ned says again, raising his dirty white prosthetic right arm at me, holding a porno magazine in his good hand.

"Good to see you, boy," Jimbo states from his seat on a cardboard box labeled "guns n things." "Here for more hunting lessons? A little late for that, but we can give you some pointers." The stocky man points at a cardboard box near me, labeled knives, then resumes cleaning his disassembled gun parts, a semi automatic.

"Of course," I shake my head and take a seat across from Jimbo on another box. It sags under my weight due to the age of the delicate cardboard. I pick up the clipboard at Jimbo's feet and write in his black marker, "Fireworks."

"We're thinking of going to New Orleans for gator season next year. It's a bit far off but anything's better than this blasted cold, but not yet," Jimbo shakes his head at me. I underline the word twice and frown so he understands my meaning. The redneck pauses his hand mid wipe of the barrel and looks at me hard.

"However... it's deer season here and we might go for one last haul before we freeze our tits off," Jimbo states, glancing at Ned.

Ned stares over his black sunglasses at us with his beady eyes. "Not yet," is all that escapes his monotone box.

"But I had this big plan for dinner, I was going to invite all my friends," I start, frowning at their uselessness. Just give me the goddamn fireworks.

"Ah, your mom isn't back yet?" Jimbo asks playfully, but his face is grave. "Tell her I'd like to see her when she gets a chance. That woman is the hottest piece in the city."

"I've already had her once," Ned starts, staring hard at the centerfold of his magazine.

"Hey, that's my mom you're talking about," I say in a calm voice but flip off both of them with two hands, damning them to hell. Ned stifles a mechanical giggle and Jimbo flips him off as well. At least one person understands. "So will you take me out soon?"

"Sure, why not, just don't go doing anything stupid," Jimbo warns, pointing at a box in the far corner of the room next to various rusted power tools and a stack of spare tires. I open the flaps as quietly as I can and find what I'm looking for, a bunch of big rockets with different designs. I grab a chrysanthemum, a few spinners and comets, and some at random, stuffing the borrowed hiking backpack hanging off an old nail in the cork wall.

"So when should I come back? Is it mole season yet?" I ask, swinging the very stuffed bag over my shoulder. Need to be careful with this, I don't need to explode into a thousand rainbow colors tonight like some gay retribution.

"Actually, it's already started. Maybe you could join us later this week. Now, go home," Jimbo states. "It's fucking late and we have a strip club to go to."

"Don't we all," I smirk at my own joke and bid them both farewell and thanks in sign language. Jimbo nods in understanding.

"Bye Eric," Ned says, never looking up from his porn. I retreat back outside with a bag readied with any and all explosives I could have wanted. This is going to be fun. The blur of a half empty moon shines through the grey expanse of clouds, reflected in the shining snow. I kind of understand why Kahl would want to leave though, it fucking sucks here and winter hasn't even started.

But even I admit, it can be alright. The cold grey silence can be peaceful at times, even if it is all just a big fat lie. Poor naïve Kahl, what is he going to do when he finds out?