The Weird Insights of a Scobberlotcher

Seventeen Sounds Pitch Black

Yikes. A horse mounted skeleton in a suit of armor brandishing some kind of starched terrorist flag could make anyone drop to their knees in prayer. One of them seems to be my sister. Kneeling by the bed. She's in a small group of people. My sister. My brother. My mother. Standing around a bed. It's the old folks home. I can smell 'em. And there's a man lying in it. The sheet is pulled up to his chin. He's not moving. He's dead. Everyone around him is crying. Everyone except me.

Ah yes, dad, dear old dad. Dad is dead. With his denture free mouth hanging open and lips collapsed over his gums he looks like a gerbil. A dead gerbil. I can't get it out of my head. My last memory of dear old dad. An eighty-five year old dead gerbil. Dearly departed member of the rat family.

"Is that why you aren't crying?"

Shit, what a shock! She's right in here with me this time. Standing right by my chair. Doesn't even have the decency to put out her smoke. Fortunately nobody else seems to notice.

"Hey, welcome to my world."

"So, why aren't you crying?"

"Correction." Surprising the trouble I have with that. It comes out a slurry approximation of the word. Like there four or five extra 'R's. Makes me sound like a drunk. But I'm not.

"I'm TRYING to cry. See? Look! I'm working on it. I've been staring at the ground and really working on it. But, ya know, there's nothing there. Nothing there. Can't let anyone else know I don't feel anything. But dad's a dead gerbil."

"Gerbil? That's it? That's all? He was your father. And what about his soul, his spirit? Where has it gone?"

Can't keep this up much longer. Even in here speaking feels like spitting out oddly shaped pieces of lead.

"Hardly knew each other. Besides, my dear, the afterlife is just a name on a park bench. Seven."

And it was over. I collapsed back in my chair, arms hanging useless by my side. Felt like someone had done a crap job of stitching my head back on. I did just manage to keep one eye on my gypsy as she stood up, took the ash tray in her hand, walked around the table and stood over me. Was she fading or was I falling? Felt like I had to look way, way up to see her. I mean way, way, way up. Hey, the Friendly Giant's a gypsy! Then her lips started slapping arrhythmic waves against the dam of her cigarette butt. There was a pause. Finally a voice descended.

"Ya know, you probably could have been something. Not a lot, maybe, but something. I just can't believe you're the one. And I've handled some pretty hopeless cases. "

"Ya, well if you thought I didn't give a fuck before you oughta see me now."

Laughing was totally out of the question. I tried a giggle but it died of exhaustion. Could barely keep my eyes open. She took another drag then removed the ciggy with her free hand and exhaled slowly, ever so slowly. The sound of it echoed round the tent. She raised the ash tray above me, paused for a second, looked at me thoughtfully, shrugged her shoulders then brought it down on the top of my head. The last thing I remember was ashes falling gently all around me like snow.