To Whom It May Concern: by M.J. Garrett (books to get back into reading .TXT) 📕

tight in braided pigtails, with her knees on each side of my neck. She sits back on my chest and pulls her hand up from the ground, grazing my cheek with the hot pistol. Grabbing her wrist with one hand and pushing the back of her hand, garnished with her pistol, I thrust her hand and arm towards her chest as she flips onto her back. Rolling on top of her, I pull the pistol from her hand as she gracefully sneaks my pistol from my back.

Flashing through time, we dance. Fighting for purpose. Fighting for salvation. Fighting without really fighting. Her skin covered with black ink. Fighting for nothing or something, it’s all the same. Her neck freshly painted with her new ink. She smells amazing!

Flipping, punching, kicking…pause. Gazing, smiling, grabbing…pause. Muzzles flashing, yelling, cursing…pause. Today, tomorrow, yesterday, next year, last month…pause. Time standing still and we are still dancing.

*

God in all his infinite wisdom, in all his glory and power, sitting there watching this old Irish man pulling his chips across the felt. God’s stunned.

The shape shifting shadow flips a lone chip to the sexy blond haired waitress with the short plaid skirt and high heels. He smiles with his eyes glowing in jubilation. “Keep’em coming will you. I’m going to be here a while.” Looking across the table at this god with all his chips stacked as if he isn’t planning on losing too many of them, the old Irish gentleman sits and smiles. Shape shifting by the second, he pulls a cigarette from his pocket and asked this all mighty powerful, “Smoke?” God, just looks at him, without words and despises the arrogance that radiates from the shape shifting Irishman. “No?” The shape shifter closes his box of cigarettes and slides them back into his pocket. Leaning back in his chair the shape shifter crosses his legs at the knees and smiles.

*

Joseph Banks, running backwards with his finger glued to his ear and yelling into the microphone as his face is bouncing around the TV monitor, stops in his tracks. The camera is still and calm. He looks around the city and finds nothing to report. The calm city streets, empty and quiet, abandoned by the world as they hide in their closets. “What the fuck? Are you fucking kidding me? I thought…”

The camera man coughs, interrupting this live broadcast, peeks from behind the camera with his red cap turned backwards. “Joe…what are you doing? We’re still rolling, man.” Pressing his eye back into the rubber peep screen of the camera, the man behind the camera takes his index finger and hand, holding it out to his side away from the view of the camera and begins to move them in a circle, giving the universal symbol of “keep talking” to Joseph.

“Now back to you, Calvin.” He then looks at the camera with his eye brow raised, smiling with a cheesy grin on his face, and gives the hand across the neck sign; the universal sign of “cut”.


CHAPTER 26

Dancing, flashing, vanishing, disappearing, and then reappearing; the two kept fighting. Time is no longer a concern. Purpose is no longer at play; the both of them, exchanging advantage while the world is paused.

*

Mrs. Galloway, sitting with her teary face buried in her hands, paused in the middle of a prayer. Paused while asking god to give her the strength to do what she felt was the best thing to do. Sitting there with her face in her hands and a small black revolver sitting in her lap, she cried. Photos, receipts, small notes, and love letters were spread on the bed and floor as she sat there paused.

Vicodin and Percodan pills were spread across her night stand next to empty pill bottles that laid there with open tops. Her lips painted glossy pink and her eyes lined with black, her face buried in her hands, she prays. Her hair was sprayed stiff and shaped just the way he likes it, she was just as beautiful today as she was the day they met.

Still. Paused. Crying. She sat there in the midst of 11 years of memories. Family vacations, fishing and hunting trips, swimming championship trophies, swim team photos, and pictures of nature with captions of great bible verses to remind us that we are not alone, are sitting there on the dresser and hanging on the walls. All of them were lying. Smiles that once were meant to portray happiness were now smiles that represent years of deceit.

All of the times that they made love in this bed, their sacred place; she was never on his mind. All the times that he held her ankles in the air and pushed himself inside of her, she was never on his mind. All the times that he turned her over onto her stomach and spread her wide with his tongue, she was never on his mind. All the times he stayed late to help the young boy practice is stroke like the great teacher and coach, she was never, never, never, never, never…not once on his mind.

Still. Paused. Crying. The corners of her pretty pink covered lips made less than a smile. Her eyebrows pulled close together and her eyes squeezed so tight that the back of her eyelids turned red, are wet with years of sorrow and embarrassment. Face buried, wedding band still on, hair just perfect, she sat there paused and poised.

Her bare feet, with freshly painted nails, were pulled under her chair and surrounded by ripped pictures of her beloved husband and this young boy. Notes with little hearts are laying around in no particular order. Polaroid’s and 35 mm pictures of this naked young boy in different poses are wadded up and ripped; thrown to the ground in disgust. This boy, this little stupid boy, clothed in collars and handcuffs, bent over spreading his ass, while a man’s hand is pulling his two fingers out of his swollen red exit hole. This is the same hand that wears her husband’s wedding band. All of this is now recorded on shiny rectangle photos for the world to find.

Everyone has secrets. No one has secrets.

*

Carla, standing there looking at her hero. His chest is pounding to accommodate his panting. Pistol smoking and hot, sweat dripping from the tips of his hair, he reaches up and with his index finger and pushes his sunglasses up the bridge of his nose. Her red lips smile as she walks toward him. He takes a step forward and meets her chest to chest. His smile is vague, but a smile none the less. She tilts her chin down and looks up toward his face. Her eyes are glowing blue as she puts her hand on his stomach. Both of her pretty blue eyes are darting back and forth as she looks at her distorted reflection in his sunglasses. Her hands slowly moves from is stomach to his chest and slides around the back of his neck.

Their eyes stuck in gaze, he slides his hands around her waist and rests them on the small of her back. He pulls her body close to him as both of them breathe in unison. Her face goes from stone to soft. Her smile no longer calculated, but sincere. She reaches up with both hands and pulls is glasses off of his eyes. Lost in time, they both stare into each other’s eyes and she whispers, “I’ve missed you. Where were you?”

Taking a deep breath, he pauses for a moment and says, “I’ve been right here. I’ve been searching for you. I need you. I love you.”

*

Time, no longer paused, Mrs. Galloway takes a deep breath and pulls her wet hands from her face. Her hands stained with black eyeliner and salty tears, she breathes. Closing her eyes and gathering her emotions, she clears her heavily medicated mind. Sliding her hand down her chest and stomach, she then places her calm mascara stained hand on the cold black revolver in her lap. Breathing in and out, closing her eyes, she wraps her fingers around handle and pulls the gun up to the bottom of her chin.

Smiling at the surprise she left for the world to find, she again starts to tear up when her world turned black. Her head jerks back as blood, hair, and brain matter sprayed across the room painting the wall and ceiling red. Her limp body slumped forward. As her limp arm slowly swings by her side, the black revolver slips from her grip and falls to the floor. Slowly, she leans to the side until gravity takes control, pulling her lifeless body to the ground with a thud. The thick red puddle of blood slowly grows as it begins to gather around the pictures of her beloved husband and this little stupid boy.

Handwritten love notes, intended for her beloved husband, turned from white and yellow notebook paper to blood soaked evidence. Naked pictures stuck to her face and neck as the red sticky blood glued her face to her shame. Her wide blue eyes staring into nothing, recording memories that no one will ever see.

Laying there. Still. Paused. Not crying.

To Whom It May Concern:
A safe is never a safe, when you leave the key at home.

*

Carla and her hero, standing there frozen. Not in a timeless moment where the world stands still, but in the timeless moment where the world passes you by and you don’t even notice. The world moves in its normal rhythm; honking horns, talking on cell phones, aimless conversations all going on with Carla and her hero standing there frozen.

Both of them, looking into each other’s eyes, engulfed in this silent conversation. His hands on her lower back with his strong arms slowly pulling her hips into his. Her hands are on the back of his head with his wet sweaty hair peeking through her fingers. They stared into the depths of each other’s soul, seeing the beauty in which they display.

With their faces inches apart, they concentrate on each other’s eyes. Seeing the very good that each other possess and seeing the very purpose of their existence, they move their faces closer until their foreheads meet. Breathing heavier, they both hold back from the