" Deja Screams "

“ Deja Screams “

By: Guy Zappulla

It is way too late to do the coffee thing, and much too early to turn on the idiot box as their stll hawking lotions, potions and miracles in small bottles. I can’t write as I am at a loss for the right words and an entire paragraph is nothing but a distant memory. If I create anything today it will reflect the madness, a few jumbled sentences that won’t make sense to anyone including myself.

Bipolar I can’t be, as that involves uncontrolled laughter and right about now I could not even buy a smile. Yet the plastic keys on my machine are becoming soggy, so I must be halfway there. Maybe it was the “ Saint Jude’s” commercial, followed by emaciated puppies on the A.S.P.C.A. pitch. I hit the daily double of infomercial tear jerker’s. Maybe “My Sister’s Keeper” will be on next, then it will be like hitting the trifecta. Cold I had become, but children and animals are another story.

I ponder my day , the sick children, the abused animals and come to the grim realization I have more past then future. So instead of trying to create anything I just stare at the remains of the countless cigarette butts floating in the steel toilet. How did I notice they drift counter clockwise, yet in China the flow goes in the other direction. I already realize the story I am trying to convey is the cause of it. Even though I am not actually creating it as it’s still unfolding in real time. Glancing to the T.V. screen, the children are still bald and sterile. I opt to put my earbuds in instead just as the radio plays “Wake Me Up” by Everessance. You gotta be kidding me.

Now I know for sure this Tale would be easier to tell if I did’nt know how it was going to end.

For the better part of the last few weeks, I falsified my life to make it appear like a Drive along a tree lined country road. Tranquil, things falling into place, I have the midas touch. Golden.

Yet when day turns to night, both of my feet are firmly planted on the brake pedal, eight knuckles are white as virgin snow. The black steering wheel makes them look whiter.

The cars speakers belt out “ Goodbye to You” by some chick who’s name I don’t know. No goodbye to you bitch, and I never even met you.!

Laaa-La-La-La-La Laaaaa, by Sir Elton John. Him and Suzy had so much fun. Is’nt he gay ? Who the hell is Suzy ? Is he really talking about a dude ?

The squealing tires change their tune as the car hits gravel, now they make a noise I can no longer describe , yet I can somehow picture the dust spitting from beneath the treads.

“I’m turning Japanese, I’m really turning Japanese, I really think so. It should be, I’m losing my mind, I’m really losing my mind, I really think so.

The road is bending but I can only go straight, of course there is a cliff at the end. Fuck me. The drop off’s jagged pinnacles make’s the Grand Canyon look like a pot hole. My gums turn colors from the pressure of my clenched teeth as the car floats off the edge. As I plummet I remember the tanked filled with expensive gas, just as a loaded freight train breaks from the earth like a bat out of hell.

The O.C.D part of my brain wants to count the attached box cars, but the coward in me wants to scream instead.

I never believed in miracles but I desperately could use one about now. Either that or lets just get this over with. I want to go back to slep, but after overdosing on caffeine I just inspect the inside of my eyelids instead. Opague colored shadows come through them, I pray the lord my soul to keep, and I pray harder to see the not so round dots under the microscope. Just my luck their all gone now and each of the circles are perfect again.

I hear the thin Detroit steel distort before it rips apart. Shards of both headlights float from it’s place. As a faceless entity pulls my feet from under the dashboard.

Bingggggggg...... I must have still been sleeping all along as when I wipe the night from my eyes I see the institutional green bars.

I instinctively plug in the hot pot before roaring out in laughter at the irony of it all.

As I realize in order to be safe from my nightmare’s, I have to wake up in prison again...

Flash Fiction or maybe not.

“Zap Tales”