Low, Low Tide

He rolled down the window for a better look.  Then it hit him.  The smell.  Dead fish.  Lots of them.  And rotten eggs.  Some other things he couldn't name.  Some salt, like a real seashore.  Not enough.  He thought back to what Arnie had said.  “By the time anyone notices the smell, it won't really matter.”  They'd all laughed.  He hadn't thought much about it at the time.

He thought about it now.

He rolled up the window.

He made a right, then a left.  Second house down.  There it was.  Pinkish stucco with flamingos on the lawn.  There was no lawn but there were two plastic birds lying in the sand.  Close enough.  He was supposed to wait until dark, but he didn't want to be here a minute longer.  There was no one around.  He pulled into the driveway.  He took his handkerchief out of his pocket and tied it around his face.  He looked like he was in a cowboy movie.  He didn't care what he looked like.  He just wanted to get it done.

He opened the trunk and pulled the bag with what was left of Lenny Mullens out onto the driveway.  What was inside felt soft, like it'd been in the trunk too long.  He dragged it up to the front porch.  There was the key, right where it should be.  He got the door open and the smell from inside hit him.  The smell of death.  He knew that smell.  He managed not to puke.  He went in, dragged the bag after him to the door that led to the basement.  He opened that and a stronger smell hit him.  The same smell, but more of it.  The handkerchief wasn't near enough to help.  He lifted the bag and pushed it through the opening.  It bounced down the stairs and landed with a wet thud.  For a second he saw a pile of black bags just like the one he'd thrown down there.  Something was moving down there.  Insects, crawling around.  He heard the chittering of rats.  He felt his stomach lurch.  Then he got the door closed and puked on the linoleum.  He couldn't breathe.  Sweat was popping out of his skin.  He staggered out onto the porch and fell to his knees.

He made it to the car and got back on the road.  He wouldn't be hitting the casino now.  All he wanted was a shower to get the stink off him.  And something to rinse the puke out of his mouth. But not here.  Not anywhere near here.  He ran the side streets back to the highway.  Then he turned right and floored it, got it up to eighty.  He wasn't worried about airplanes now.





About me

This is me: home-writer, book-reader, dog-lover and occasional poet. I make this website to share my and my friends texts with You, dear Reader. Please: read carefully, don't be scary, upgrade your mood and be king and leave your comment. :)