Death Day

There's dead in the air, and it blew through the window.
Cider stares at his television. It's not on.
Cider rolls to his side and stares some more.
Cider falls asleep after about 5 minutes.

His dream is a pearl that some idiot accidentally swallowed while at an oyster bar.
He dreams about rosy flesh soft flesh nice flesh  pretty flesh. A flesh rose he could hold in the palm of his hand if he had it. It is large though. Larger than he is, and it splits open and swallows  whole. Smells like pansies. Cheerful pansies.
Cider wakes up gargling, with pearly white drool spilling over his face onto his pillow.
He slurps it up.

  "...fucking bitch." Cider thinks as he gets up.

Maybe you don't know...Cider's dream is always the same; and he's sick of it. Too soft for a hard ass like him.

Cider can still smell pansies. He walks to the mirror and looks at himself. He starts contorting his body in strange ways, like maybe he's trying to dance around or something.

  "Hey now, hey now, don't dreeeeeeeeeeaaaaaaaaaaammmmmmm it's overrrrrrr..."

As he says 'dream' he neighs a little.
sux 2 b a horse!

Cider wants to go out.

  "I should go out tonight" Cider thinks.

It's Friday. Funday.
He must get psyched. He pours himself a double shot of Malibu and gets some ice out of the freezer. He chomps on it and slurps on it and puts it deep in his throat to melt down his larynx. He pours the Malibu over it and chokes a little, which makes him sort of gag and almost vomit. He swallows some more ice and calms down.
Cider starts to sing, but it sounds mostly like screechy horse whinnies. He turns on the radio and shitty dance music is playing, so he puts on a New Order cd and starts stomping around. He knows that he looks like an idiot. Good thing he doesn't care. Good thing he is in the comfort of his own home...NOT!
Cider has no blinds. He's too cheap to have them; that or he tore them down while he was drunk one time. I can't remember. Some people walk by and look in through his window and stare at him.
Some idiot jerk punks. They stare at him and laugh and throw rocks at his window. Cider hears this and freaks out. He stops, and rears up so his front hooves are on the window. He presses his face against the glass and mouths the words "fuck you"
The kids give him the finger and run off.

Cider suddenly doesn't much feel like going out anymore.
He spits on the floor.

llllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaattttttttttttttttttttttteeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeerrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr

  "I feel as if I am slowly dying" C thinks.

  "I feel as if I want to die" C also thinks.
           "as if I want to fly"

JK. That would probably be more boring than what I am experiencing right now!
Cider slaps himself on the face. He is looking in the mirror again. He tries to think of something interesting but can't. He slaps himself again.
It's 2:30 in the morning and Cider has had a lot of coke.      a cola.
Still Friday. Still every day of the week.
There is a burning sensation.
Cider turns the lights off in his living room where the mirror is. It turns a fog feeling grayish and there is light streaming in from the street lamp outside.
Cider starts dancing fiercely. Hip hop style. He shakes his hips and puts one hoof up in the air, rhythmically pumping his body.
He is fueled by anger. He is intense.
He stops after a few minutes and falls to the ground.
Cider wants to die.

Cider put on pants and a jacket, then thought, whatthehellamidoing?

The day Cider realized that clothing was unnecessary for a horse was a wonderful day.
He was standing in line at the grocery store, a good place for contemplating theses sorts of things. His left foot went numb, and he thought,

 "I will light this place on fire one day"

Then, Cider unbuttoned his pants and said aloud to all the people in line,
 
"The shit don't stop till' 'mah pants drop"

Everyone watched him as he snuck a sip from his flask. Not so sneaky.
Needless to say, Cider was banned from the store. He couldn't even afford all the groceries he'd wanted to buy. All he got was a bag of chips, and they told him never to come back.
The next day Cider's face hurt badly.

He called up Bingo.
 
  "I can't believe I've been wearing pants all this time"

Bingo promptly hung up the phone.

phoney

♥♥♥

Times are sad.

Times are good and able.

Times are new, are roman.

Where will I go?

♥♥♥

"Oh Ciiiiiiiiiiiiiderrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr...I'm dreaming of the day we will be together and can be miserable together!"

I don't know who says this, but surely someone, somewhere is thinking-dreaming-wishing it.

Cider is laying on his bed asleep with the television and one bedside light both on. He drank a few beers. He was trying to be manly, I think. The phone rings.

  "Cider?"

  "gurlge gurgle gurgle"

  "Cider, wake up, man."

  "gurgle gurgle"

  "C'mon, Cider. I'm sick of this...it's only 9 o'clock, dude..."

  "guuurrrrgle"

  "This is bullshit, Cider!"

The guy hangs up. It was Bingo. What a strange thing. He never usually calls Cider, and neither does anybody else except telemarketers. Cider is still sleeping, but the movie on television ends and the commercials that come on are very very loud. He's startled. He realizes Bingo just called, so he dials his number.

  "Hello?"

It's a girl. She's young. It's Trish.

  "Ooooooooooooooh hi, I need to speak to your father."

  "Oh Ciiiiidddderrrrr! He's not here right now, actually. You just missed him."

She sounds extra loud and nice like she's playing some bitchy game. Cider doesn't like to fool around with that kind of crap.

  "Yeah...well....he just called me...just tell him I'm up."

  "Well...I can't tell him, cause he's not here."

  "Fine."

Cider clicks the phone off. What a bitch.

Cider shuts his eyes again, and another movie comes on t.v.

It's in 3rd grade you start learning about compound sentences.

ciderisacrab

Cider is a ghost now.

He walks all night long with is hood up and his fly down.

He tries to get into the bar, but they turn him down 'cause he's got the wrong sneakers on.

 "Too cheap"

Cider:

  "I was told that I could get in with the right name..."

  "Yeah...so....what about it...?"

I know there's a big show at that bar tonight, and now you know it too. Cider's known for a while now and has been looking forward to it. That's why he got ghosted.

  "The name's the game" says the bouncer at the door, who is huge, tall, and big, with folder arms. His binder rings ares stuck together and Cider is looking for the latch to open them.

  "Open your heart to me, baby....I've got the lock and you've got the key!"

  "GET OUTTA HERE YOU FUCKIN' HORSESHOE CRAB!"

Cider gets slapped. KABOOM. He is on the pavement.

He gets up an hour later with rocks in his teeth.

His lip's so fat he can't feel it, but keeps chewing on it, 'cause for some reason he can't stop. His cell phone screen is cracked but the darn thing still works, so he calls up Bingo.

  "Hey man."

  "Hey........"

 ::click::

Cider lays back down. It's a little wet and gritty and sucks so bad, but he doesn't feel like moving.

Someone walks by...a couple people...they are laughing...at him.

Cider reaches into his pocket for his flask, but it seems to be missing.

What. A. Night.

Usually his smile is bigger than the stars. Tonight it is smaller than a microbial disease.

::blink blink blink::

  "Oh Ciderrrrrr...." a girl's voice is smooth. Is subtle. Is barely audible, but slips into a pocket of air and is just heavy enough to drift down onto his face and land.

He opens his eyes and sits up. Bingo's daughter, Trish, is leaning over him with her hair all done up and some sort of flashy chains dangled around her neck, dripping onto his chest.

pink cheeks red lips black eyes red lips red lips pink cheeks black eyes shiny eyes pearly teeth glowing hair glowing skin pink cheeks red lips red red red

  "Pa...trish...ah...?"

  "Ciderrrrrrr! What are you doing on the street like this!?"

Trish is with a bunch of friends. On the main road Cider can hear the crowd leaving the bar. He is in an alley near the back door.

  "Trish.....what're you doing out like this?"

  "...Oh Cider...ha ha ha...please don't tattle...I'll rip your throat out!"

  "Trish...I don't think your father would approve of you being out so late with these people in this dark alley...I don't think I approve of it..."

  "Ha ha ha, Ciiiidderrrrrrr...I don't think my father would approve of you making a pass at me like that!"

Cider drops his head back down and Trish stands up so that she's towering over him with the rest of her posse.

  "Making a pass at you...?! I'm just laying here on the ground.....you spoke to me!!!"

  "Ha ha ha, whatever Cider...think you can give us a ride? None of us has cash for a cab."

Cider doesn't answer so that he doesn't have to hear his lies echo in his brain, and so that he doesn't have to let all these losers in his car. Instead the streetlight is just buzzing loudly and there's probably a bunch of flies colliding head first with it.

  "Ciderrrrr....?"

  "I walked."

Trish uncrosses her arms and rolls her eyes like a bitch would. She starts walking away with her fancy-looking friends.

  "Ass-hole."

Cider thinks she's such a goof. He thinks also...

  "I've never been so attracted to a young girl before...bitch."

He rolls onto his side, gets up, and walks to his car parked a couple blocks away. As he rolls down the street he catches up to Trish and her friends standing outside of the convenience store. He honks at them and one of them spits real far and hits the rear passenger window. Cider opens the sunroof and the windows and takes a fast ride on a long road so that he can feel the wet, cool air. He feels, for the most part, very alive.

1991

Cider wins again!
He stares at himself in the mirror with his head resting on his hooves in such a way so that his face scrunches totally up.

  "I feel so wet inside..." He is thinking, "or is it, dry?"

  "I don't know how to explain this 1991 feeling I've got, but I've got it playing in my head like a movie I watched totally stoned, and blacked out at the end, and could barely pay attention to. How gross...it makes me writhe." He is thinking.

He thinks some more.
Swings. A swing set. Late November. Dead leaves. Bare trees. Chain link fence. Night time sky with clouds, or daytime sky that's white. Plaid things. Earth tones. unmowed dead lawn. Drinking a 40 oz-Olde English. "I've never drank a 40 outside."

Cider doesn't want to think about it anymore, 'cause it's upsetting to have lost memories that aren't lost so much as false. Like in Bladerunner. Maybe he's like that.
Maybe he's lived twice.
Maybe he's lived parallel to himself in two bodies at one time but at slightly different times.
Cider is getting old because he can see his face wrinkle up. Drinking so much can't  help.
Cider takes out the trash.
It's starting to snow, which he loves... but cannot feel such abstract emotions at this time. It is overwhelming. Overbearing. Maybe just a game he plays.

Cider thinks,

  "I'd like to go to the cemetery to walk on the dead. To walk on their bones and their souls."

He gets in the car and drives while his windshield gets speckled with snowflakes.
He sees a guy walking down the road. The same guy he always sees walking down the road.

  "I want to hear some good music right now...What's on the radio? A hot chip cover of the song Transmission. Sucks."

Cider thinks of crashing the car in the lake. It's frozen and would probably make a great, shattering cacophony as his car plunged in and cracked the ice. It would be enormous enough to be insanely awesome.
Cider parks at the cemetery and gets out, lighting a cigarette and taking a swig from his flask. Drinking in public is totally fun for Cider. His very own secret.

  "I can't wait to die and let my body disintegrate into the earth." Cider thinks as he shuffles around on the graves.

  "How lovely -- I don't know why anyone would want to burn."

cold

Cider walked down the road he was cold on. It was freezing so his teeth chattered.
He was so mad that he felt like giving someone a bloody nose; but no one was out because of how darn cold it was!
Cider began thinking about something. Probably the blood that would drop to the snow if he could get his hands on someone.
And he smiled to himself like a crazy person.

cider and the slyairy temple

Cider drove past 12 interstate highways before he got to his favorite rest stop on the planet: 006s05-BYEBYE.
He liked it because the air was thick and smelled like bratwursts. His only trew love. In the rest stop on planet  006s05-BYEBYE (aptly named BUY BUY BRATS) there was a large karaoke hall that Cider enjoyed sitting in. So he sat down.
The dancers on stage flickered hot lights in and out of Cider's vision. They were ghosts, they were machines. All the lights in the karaoke hall were yellow and red, and Cider would always think, as he sat down with a big bottle of Malibu on the rocks, "I feel as if I'm sitting inside a jello mold".
Sometimes Cider would even say these words if he got juiced enough. He'd speak it out to the bartender or the waitress who'd come back to check on him periodically. She was a blondie and always remembered to bring Cider fresh ice, 'cause he'd grind the cubes up in his teeth and gnaw them and munch them and let the water slide down the back of his throat like a waterslide and he'd chirp and gargle like a little baby.
That's what he liked: that cold water deep throat.

Cider wasn't too buzzed yet on account of he just sat down with his bottle. Blondie came over with a bucket of cubes and set em down. She put her leg up on the chair next to him and leaned over with her titties pressed together and her lips pressed together and her eyelash batting and flitting around sending 20 ton palpitations through Cider's body. Cider wasn't much into girls, though.

  "'Kay, so like, 'ya wanna sing a song this time?"

Cider smiled a shy smile and looked down at his hooves and shook his head.

  "C'mon, Cider..." she was chewing gum "'ya always sit here and 'ya never sing or say a word. What's the deal? Think about it and I'll go get yer brats."

She fluffed the hair on his mane before she walked away.
Cider watched her walk back with the tray of fat weiners. Her hemline was flopping as she stepped and her panties must have been riding up cause she picked a wedgie before she set the brats on the table.

  "Well, what about it?"

Cider took a gulp of Malibu, rubbed his hooves on the table in anticipation, looked up at the blondie with smiling eyes, and said,

  "I feel as if I'm sitting inside of a jello mold."

The waitress made one of those sounds, and walked away.
The lights flashed in Cider's eyes. He sucked at those brats and slid ice down his throat for about another hour. The only one in the joint at 2pm on a Tuesday.
The phone rang and it was Bingo. Blondie came strutting up to Cider, who was nearly passed out from all the drink.

 "Phone's for you, Ciiiiderrrrr."

She set it on the table and walked away.

  "yeahimmlmmmh itsssyder."

Drunk.

  "BimBamBoom it's Bingo. I need 'ya help, man. C'mon."

  "whadufyg sssgaysd? Binglkjoooo? I sdaugm johknoo how tno one   buuuusmisleeeelf"

  "Cider, I'ma come pick you up, man. You're in no shape, dude."

Cider put the phone down. He slammed it so that the table bukcled like a fat slab of rubber and wiggle-jiggled back into place. Jello mold.
Cider got up and pushed himself with his front two hooves until he got his balance. Blondie walked over to get the phone and clear his things. Cider licked her on the neck, dropped some money on his dirty brat plate, and left mumbling incoherently. Blondie waitress waved goodbye and shook her head, counting out the bills. He left way too much.

Cider pushed open the glass doors of BUY BUY BRATS and took himself out onto the blacktop parking lot where hardly a car was parked. He got a little dizzy and began walking on all fours to keep his balance. This happened often.
Bingo's car pulled up right in front of Cider. It was black. It had one red double stripe around it. It may as well have been a zebra polka dot. What's black and white and red all over?
The car hummed like a big old robot and the windows were tinted so dark that it was impossible to see inside. Like a dirty river. Like a dirty pond.
Bingo got out and pulled Cider into the passengers seat. Cider didn't put up much of a fight, as he didn't really know what was going on.
Bingo looked big and tall like he could eat Cider in a bite, but it was only because Cider was down on the ground looking up at him.

Once they were both in the car, Bingo took off, speed of light, windows rolled down low, beats cranked up high. A real party car. Party machine. Party animal.
Cider had some water from a bottle in the car to help him sober up a little. The air helped too.
Neither of them spoke to each other, but it wouldn't have mattered because of how loud the music was. No worries, they were old friends back then. "I need your help fixing something" Bingo would have said. Instead he waited until they got back to his house after crossing a bunch of highways and boundaries and bright orange and bright yellow and bright pink, and bright green and blue. And some bright purple, also.

  "I need your help fixing something" Bingo said as they got out of the car.

The was air like a suburb there, with trees and birds and all.

  "O-K." said Cider, and he got out.

Bingo walked in through the garage and called in to his wifey,

  "Hey hon, make Cider some coffee. Strong."

Too bad Cider hates coffee. Bingo made him drink it, anyway.