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  • Writer's pictureWJ King


Sophie ran down the basement stairs with Leonard only forty feet behind her. Leonard was yelling, “I’ll have my way with you, you tramp.” When he reached the bottom of the stairs, breathing hard, his contorted face was half laugh and half sneer. He took another step but now Leonard was out of steps, Leonard was out of breath and Leonard was out of time. It’s also worth noting he was without a head. Sophie had swung a shovel at him, quite effectively decapitating him, with his still babbling head sitting in the scoop of the shovel. Leonard’s headless body with arms flailing was perhaps in search of his head but to no avail.

Sweet Jesus, it’s only page eighteen and everyone in the story has been raped at least once and/or murdered. I’ve gotta make money and the work a day world just doesn’t do it for me. I’m only twenty-nine but Ma is talkin’ about havin’ other ideas for the basement. I can’t sell dope cuz I’m on probation for sellin’ dope. My girlfriend told me not to call til I was workin’. She said, “even if you could sell those one handed books you write, it’d be a start.” I’d slap’er silly if I could taker.

Outta nowhere, now Ma’s suddenly tired of cuttin’ the grass. Pop said words to the effect, “I’ll cut everybody’s throat before I cut this lawn with him in the basement.” I mean, Jeez it’s like what, I don’t have a life? I belong to a writing group that helps me hone my writing skills. I looked for a little support one Thursday morning with regard to my home situation. Some old prison retiree couldn’t stop laughing and the old broads kicked the hell outta me. I mean left-right combinations, karate kicks, hell they were ready. Almost as if they were waitin’ for the opportunity.

In addition to my LEONARD LOVES SOPHIE book, I’m workin’ on one that features members of my writing group. In it, they are moving two million dollars of illegal drugs a week, through the coffee shop they meet at. On the surface they appear to be bored retirees with an interest in writing. Ostensibly, a big day is when Social Security or retirement checks coincide with the meeting and whipped cream is ordered on their latte. This is gonna be, big baby.

I cut the grass this afternoon and that’s another hour and a half longer it’s gonna take to get the book out. I may look for a job this week. Pop told me yesterday, “if you don’t have a job in four- teen days, I will kill you.” I don’t think he’d really do it, only because it would upset Ma though. Yeah, a regular job might not hurt. A little walkin’ around money, me and my sweetie back together. Uh huh, a job it is, and I may even move out. Put a scare into em anyway.


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