Peeping Bomb


It's always why - Editor

by Erik Lambert

I didn’t want to blow up the hospital. It wasn’t like I was someone with a grudge who lost a son or wife or a nut job with a political agenda. I hate people. They bore me. I can find more interest in a cactus. Just let me have my shitty job in the cemetery and my shitty apartment where I eat my shitty food and I’m fine. Some people would not be satisfied with this life, but when you’ve seen what I’ve seen, you might change your tune. Regardless, the hospital never once crossed my mind, until they appeared outside my window.

If you’d see them you’d understand. When you’re a guy who has no friends, no family and a night of strolling through a graveyard in the pitch dark to look forward to, the little things make you happy. When I first saw them it was with a passing glance. As each day progressed, those glances turned to glares. At the time I had no idea why. I just felt compelled to know them. So I decided to try jogging. I got on the path at the same time as them, pumping my flabby legs and arms. The velour jogging suit would be swishing like a saw against the trunk of a tree. They would come up behind me and I would introduce myself and ask her name.

“Abigail Dresdan. This here’s Zeus,” she would say, ushering to the dog next to her in between measured breaths.

“Oh, nice to meet you, I’m…” I would start before my lungs began to claw for more oxygen and she would leave me behind. I could never match her pace. Perhaps the names were enough.

They come down the path every morning around 8:40, while there’s still mist coming off the ground as the dawn dew evaporates. It’s a matchmaker’s dream, like watching two comets streak across the night sky. She wears bright colors, ranging from pink and yellow to turquoise and cream. Zeus is paper white with a tiny tinge of black covering the tip of his tail. This makes them quite visible coming out of the furrow of dark green trees on the far end of the park. They always jog. Abby swings her arms like those scooping machines you see at construction sites, only upside down. Up-curl, down-straight, up-curl, down-straight. The leash, a black tether with teeth marks on it (I know this because I use binoculars) would be pulled tight and then fall loose. This caused poor Zeus to speed up and then slow down. It’s why he’s always in front or behind his master on the jog.

By this point in the jog, Zeus’ tongue had grown to ten feet in length and was dragging on the sidewalk, searching in vain for a puddle of water. Abby took no notice of it, lost in the realm of her music player, porcelain lips mouthing the words. The glare of the morning sun gleamed on her blue shades. Her slender physique had now bonded with the park. Some part of me has bonded with another part of me. For the first time I can relieve some stress that never seems to get tired of resting over my quivering shoulders.

At this point my perfect morning is interrupted when Abby and Zeus disappear behind the hospital. What a crap building. Built a few years ago, it is nothing but a tan concrete wart featuring bright windows and automatic doors that needed to be cauterized. It leaves me with nothing but the wailing of sirens and the smell of steam laced with fecal matter coming from two manholes down on the street. I could not stand it. When all you have to look forward to was keeping drunks from pissing on gravestones the rest of the night, waving your threatening flashlight, it becomes a matter of principle. Either I had to move or that hospital did. The decision was easy.





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. :)