Fiction

After three drinks the distortion of visible occurrences for the man Byrom...fathered by the same child who as a seven year old eating meals at his grandfather's "buzzer table" would make mighty attempts to elude definitions so as not to be engulfed by a flickering sun attacking with unbearable heat his trembling hand....created large dozes of anxiety for him which were being pounced upon by a series of delusions of an even greater variety that had eyes becoming mirrors in an Orson Well's movie that just as suddenly became creatures with craning necks with upside-down nostrils harboring cobwebs above lips that became swollen thighs, which was a feat his grandfather could do when sticking his neck so far out that it almost touched Byrom's bowing forehead as the old man shouted to his son, Percival, that he thought the stuttering boy had indeed reached his fifth infraction for refusing to pivot properly like all good high class people did and a just punishment should be meted out like a sunrise to a once dark sky as he had done on Percival and his sister Daisy ....

In her most mocking display of condescension, Olivia called him a "dirty stuttering cookasukor". The word, wrapped up inside a German-Italian accent, came out in that cute grotesque way which did arouse him. He thought, mistakenly, that was her intention and immediately he began to clean up another one of her messes. He never for a moment suspected Olivia, his half-sister's mother-in-law, was such a heavy drinker; otherwise, he would not have done his seductive moves on her when they were lowering his father's casket into the ground. How he wished he had his father's clarity of vision - buttressed with a penetrating silence - that had often frightened him as a child in all its message of foreboding.

Byrom could almost bring himself to feel sorry for this woman with her stern melancholy face. He watched her closely: a twitch on her bony cheek or a side glance would have told him much. He really didn't care how many bottles of scotch he had to destroy to prevent his losing once again by being fired by her son. Despite his father saying to always watch a dollar for it was better it died in one's pocket from suffocation than to have it see the light of day and be gone before the worth of it could define one's worth.

Olivia began to talk to the wall about how all their beings were formless shadows living in uncontrolled dreams created by so many orphaned thoughts of the day; becoming the real makers of the life of shapes and forms called dreams.

This could not do, Byrom thought, and he decided to take the initiative by changing the subject and without using his whistle he told her solemnly that many Hollywood actors and actresses were just so many greedy gobblers of each others private parts.

Misunderstanding, Olivia said: "You have all ready done that to me three times tonight! Don't you think that's enough? I'm going to my room!"

He told her he would allow this - if she promised to stop drinking.

She told him to never mind hopes and dreams for they were all at best purblind doomsters tossed around by chance and before he realized it she was guzzling from another bottle of scotch that had been hidden under the couch cushion. He raced toward her on stuttering steps; before grabbing it with both hands making it go on a journey of a great arc.

She kneed him in a private part; making him collapse to the floor in deep agony just as he had after the flame from the match his father was holding beneath his palm....

Standing over him with her legs spread wide opened, she made great sucking sounds while draining as much liquid as her small mouth could take.

Some of the liquid spilled onto Byrom's face as he grabbed for her sensuous legs - making her fall into his eyes.