jaggy

my dad is a sick fuck.

so my mama calls me up at home. she calls to tell me she's worried because my dad was not home from work yet. and that he hasn't called and he's not answering his mobile.

he's three hours late. so now i'm panicking. I call the news wire, the cops, and all of the local hospitals and emergency centers.

i imagine that he had an aneurism while he was driving and crashed into the bush with no witnesses. his steaming wrecked truck wrapped around a tree and inside he's laying there, rotting in the sun while turkey vultures circle over head. i can imagine his mobile phone tucked away in his front shirt pocket covered in his blood, stomach bile and brains. his eye desocketed and dangling out of his cracked skull and black dry cracked blood on his dirty face. the phone ringing away amidst the sound of the distant cars from the hidden highway and the ticking sound of trickling blood on the leather seats.

then my phone rings , i'm shaken out of my torrent of nightmarish thoughts, its my dad.

dad: "....son........(moaning)....please help me ."
me: "...fuck...dad..are you alright?"
dad: "no....no im not son. im............"
me: "where are you man?!"
dad: "im at home. your mom is on my ass , yelling at me. it hurts son."
me: "you fucker! "

after all that, his cellphone died and he was working late.