Sunday, March 4, 2007

Take the Orange from the Sunset

Take the Orange from the Sunset
by Esteban Silvani
As the sunset cast its intricate collages across the farm, Bill tended his tomato patch.

Could hardly believe those seeds sold to him by that smelly gypsy at the town fair could produce tomatoes of such ripeness in such a short spell. Crazy gypsy talked them up like they were some kind of super tomatoes. Promised Bill's wife Henrietta, they'd "increase her life." Crazy gypsy.
But even still, the tomatoes looked rather swell.

Bill looked down on his gnome and uttered, "Well ol' friend, looks like you got some mighty fine tamatuhs here. Should make some fine company, I reckon."
Just then, Henrietta's whining came blasting down from the upstairs.

Them hemorrhoids had flared up yet again.

"Bill, get your ass up here and look at mine!" she shouted while dropping her drawers.

Bill, who wasn't one for talking back ascended the staircase, holding his brown leather cowboy hat against his flannel shirt. He stared down compassionately at his woman who was on her knees, leaning over the tub.

"It them hemorrhoids again?"
"Wadda ya think, you fuckin' country trash hick! Now get 'em off me!"
Henrietta wasn't like his last wife. Not one bit. Suzy grew up a Baptist, not unlike himself. But this one who made her way on down from New York City sure talked different. Was starting to bother him. After all, that kind of language ain't much befitting a lady anyhow.
He reached for the cream, and squirted some onto his finger tips.
"Now, hold still, dear."
"Don't you fuckin' tell me to stay still, bastard! I'm the one with the fuckin flames in my asshole, Bill!"
While the sides of his hands parted her flabby cheeks, he tilted his head a bit in puzzlement. A white, filmy discharge protruded from the anus down the canal toward her pubic patch.
"Funny." He absentmindedly muttered.
"Oh, you just wait. You ain't seen funny till I say you've seen funny. Funny is me ripping your fucking head off, asshole! Now put on the fucking cream!"
Bill looked at his watch. It'd only been eleven hours. Amazing. Impossibly amazing.
"Tell ya what, hon. I know just what'll do the trick."
Immediately, Henrietta began to convulse and cry in anger as she screamed at the top of her lungs, "JUST PUT ON THE FUCKING CREAM ALREADY!!"
Her head dropped over the rim of the tub as her body tried to rest. But the festering pain kept eating away at her rectum. She continued to moan and clench her teeth as images of her violently strangling Bill flashed through her mind.
Moments later she heard Bill return. He crouched down behind her.
Suddenly, a cruel hand parted her cheeks violently. A sharp object cut through the anus, sawing through cheek blubber, mixing the discharge with anal blood. The small veins burst open as she wiggled in psychotic raves. The tiled walls soon faded, the curtain rod entered her sight, and then fled as did consciousness.
Bill eagerly inserted two fingers from each of his hands and beamed as he carefully pulled out his most eagerly anticipated prized possession.
"By God's grace, as golden corn grows from the quiet fields, so disgust arrives from the noisy swamp."
Bill thought about how the gypsy had exaggerated his promise as he lifted himself up carefully so as not to slip in the stool infested bloodbath.
Human this thing wasn't, but'll make a fine replacement to that gnome in the tomato patch.
The thing's slimy eyes raced from side to side. It's pointy ears erected as its master held it lovingly.
The sun continued to set over Leesville, North Carolina. Seemed to be more orange than usual.
Bill rocked back and forth on that rocker of his. Gritty hands would slowly reach over to grab that hot mug of coffee. Not many folks really notice the beauty in things. Too preoccupied with making a livin', wheelin and dealin, and soothing hemorrhoids.
The tomato patch looked sensuous with darkness beginning to settle in on it. The gnome stayed. Bill realized that the ol' gnome didn't need a replacement, but rather a companion. He deserved company his own size. Gnomes don't do nothing like talking back.
This thing'll make a good mate.
The Stevensons' Buick drove on by the farm road. Harry waved at Bill who tipped his hat in return.
Bill rose, stepped off the porch and looked down at the tomato patch to check on the newlyweds.
The slimy thing's pecker had become encrusted and was about to break off. Bill poured the rest of his coffee on him.
"How you gonna be a daddy to my gnome if you ain't got nothin' to slide in her?"
The pointy ears drooped down as it buried its head in the soil.

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