Over Your Head

When Tommy woke-up he found himself staring up at the ceiling and then at the window, up too high. Not right.
The sunlight coming in the room was leaving dusty rays on the window sill and in the air.
What the fuck...? Tommy could not understand anything. He sat up fast, his bare feet hitting cold cement. He was suddenly alert; his eyes scanning.
"Oh, fuck," he whispered. "Oh, fuck."
White painted bars. Steel toliet. Bars. Bars. Bars.
Fucking bars...Where the fuck are my shoes?
"Oh, fuck," Tommy squeaked. He felt dizzy.
He focused his eyes on his feet; stretched them across the steel. He noticed the bottom of his jeans were damp and itchy against his skin.
"Don't puke, Tommy," he said outloud.
Why the fuck am I here?
Tommy called out, "Hello...?"
But no one answered.
On shaky feet, Tommy made his way to the bars. "Hello...Hello..."
He looked down the hallway as far as he could, noticed he was in the last cell. Noticed the white video camera up in the corner.
"What the fuck?" he yelled. "Hello."
He grabbed the jail cell bars and tried to shake them. "What the fuck?"
And the officer who came down the hallway had gray hair and shiny black boots. "Just calm down, Son."
But Tommy didn't want to do that.
" What the fuck? Why am I in here? Let me the fuck out of here." He clenched at the bars, until his knuckles went white. He let go, when he noticed the officer watching his knucles, too.
"I think you know why you are here, Son. Your mother will be here soon."
"What? I don't want her here. You tell her fucking not to come."
"Then you will never get out of here, Son," the officer reasoned, with the angry boy.
"Where the fuck are my shoes?" Tommy screamed in the officer's face and slammed himself against the bars; his last-ditch effort at being brave because he could feel the tears coming on.
"So young and so vicious and so frail," the officer sang, as he turned his boots around and walked back down the hallway.
Tommy threw himself back onto the metal bed.
And then Tommy cried.

Time kept dragging on. Momma did not come for hours. Tommy listened for the whistling trains as they left town. Four of them went by, before she arrived.

When she came, her face was gray and her dress was yellow. Her white shoes moved slow down the hall. She clutched the cold, white bars of his cell; keeping her eyes on the concrete floor.
Tommy did not get up from the bed. Just looked at her. "What the fuck is going on, Momma?" he finally asked, when she did nothing.
And her laugh was bitter and when she looked up her eyes were anger. "You little bastard, you stole my fucking last bottle of vodka."
"Oh, my God. Is that why I am fucking here? Did you fucking call the cops on me Momma? Holy fuck."
"Shut the fuck up, Tommy. They found you passed out and stinkin' in the fucking park."
And Tommy knew it was true.
She shook her head and snorted at him. "Samantha is dead."
And Tommy knew that was true, too.
"Do you fucking kill her, Tommy? Did you fucking kill her?" He watched Momma lose grip of the bars, collapsing low to the ground, onto her knees. She clutched at her thin sides. She shook. She whimpered. "Did you fucking kill her?"
And Tommy did not get off the painted bed. He just turned his head, so he did not have to watch her cry.
"God will forgive you, if you tell the truth, Tommy. God, just tell them the truth when they ask you, Tommy."
And Tommy snapped his head towards. He could taste the scream in his mouth. "Just get the fuck out of here, Momma. Get the fuck out. You fucking pitiful whore, Momma, just go."

Punks-Third Time's the Charm

It's 3 a.m.

Minnie was 14. She liked wearing bright red lipstick and getting high. She felt bad that she had not saved Tommy any of the pot he had bought earlier that day. But he did not ask her where any of it was, instead he just pulled her down to the floor beside him and filled his mouth with hers. She ran her fingers over his bare, smooth chest and felt his heart race beneath her fingertips. She did not resist, when he turned her around, as he undid the zipper of his jeans and lifted the red t-shirt she was wearing, so he could enter her from behind. He leaned, reaching forward, grabbing her breasts and squeezing hard,as he used them to push and pull his dick in and out of her.
She could feel his teardrops falling on her back. When he was done, she gave him her KISS sweater, so he could keep himself warm, then she rolled the roaches that were left; mixed with tobacco from one of his cigarettes. She let him smoke the joint to himself. After, he told her he liked fucking her that way, then he kissed her and left.

Minnie was smoking the first of the three cigarettes Tommy had left her. She was tired and would save the other two until morning. And because she had decided not to go to school in the morning, she did not set her alarm clock.
She knew the footsteps on the stairs were her father's, before she saw him. She had not heard him cross the kitchen. He knew.
He was standing there, at the bottom of the stairs, in nothing but his red underwear and he knew.
"Well, well, well," he said, as he strolled over to the foot of her bed. He crossed his arms, over his chest. He shook his head. Tongue in cheek. "Well, well, well...I knew you were a whore, but I just could not prove it."
He grabbed her ankles, jerked her downwards. The red t-shirt slid up.
No fucking underwear," he muttered, staring down at her nakedness.
And she did not care because at least he was not looking in her eyes.
When he yanked her legs, spreading them wide apart, coming up between them, Minnie thought he ws going to hit her in the face. She put her arms up over her face.
He reached in underware and pulling himself out; he moved himself over her and rubbed the head of his cock up and around her hairless cunt lips, then over the inside soft and pink flesh; still slippery with Tommy's cum. And then he slammed himself inside of her.
She came three seconds after he was inside of her. God help her, it felt good.
He could feel her muscles tighten and relax; could feel her quickened breathing on his shoulder; oh she was so tight.
He grunted, when he came inside of her.
And when he pulled himself up off of her, as he began to walk away, he said, "That boy didn't do that for ya though; now did he?"

...and I Must Be Lonely

Samantha was sitting on her front porch, as he walked by. She whispered his name, jumping up, to run towards him.
"Jesus," he jumped, too. "What are you doing up so late?"
"Shhh," she whispered. "Lets go back to the park."
"What are you doing up so late?"
She looked down towards the ground, then handed Tommy over the book he had just noticed. "I was reading this, again."
Tommy looked at her queerly, after he read the title, in the streetlamp light. "Charlotte's Web? I had to read that in Grade Five. Why are you reading it?"
She looked at him, embarrassed. "I like to read it once a year still. I probably do at least once a year."
"But what for?"
"It makes me remember."
"Remember what?"
"Come on," she began to run. "I'll race you to the park."
Tommy beat Samantha fair and square, to the picnic bench, near the big oak tree.
When she sat down Tommy wasted no time; he never could. "God, Samantha, I really want to kiss you."
"You always want to kiss me, Tommy, and I always tell you no." She sighed at him, but smiled.
"But you never, ever stop me," He said and to prove his words were true he kissed her.
And when Tommy right hand covered her breast, she pulled away from him and said, "Oh, Tommy, I pray the Lord forgives me for you."
And Minnie, standing behind a different tree, at the park, was crying hot tears of betrayal and was swallowing,No, you better be praying to God, so He'll fucking save you from me...
That is until she saw Samantha's mother, storming towards the picnic bench.

Tattoos of Memories and Dead Skin on Trial

Dear Tommy,

I do not know what to do. It is two o'clock in the morning and I am sitting up here in the hospital and I should be studying for my history test, if I am awake anyway, but I am bored of reading. Mom's at work tonight and everyone else is too tired to come up here and I did not want Grandma to be alone. It would have been the first time. Everyone says she is going to die. No one comes right out and says it to me though. Which is stupid. I am fourteen years old, (almost 15!) not four.
I went to visit your grandma for a little bit tonight too. I hope you do not mind. I just know it is really hard for your family to make sure there is someone there for her all of the time.
It is so weird that both our grandma's are here doing the same thing, at the same time.
Sometimes I feel really bad because I think of all the times I just hated my Grandma.
This one time, Mom had found some writing that I had done. I was in grade five. I kept it tucked into the book I was reading, as a bookmark. And I would read it every time I opened the book. Sometimes I would read it twice. I know I read it a lot. I remember.
I knew it was good too, Tommy. Because it scared me. It really, really scared me. My own words terrified the crap out of me.
It was about Hell. How it must look. How it must feel.
When my Mom grabbed me by the arm, she was pretty mad, waving my piece of paper about. That scared the crap out of me too.
She dragged me to the car and Dylan and Scott were already strapped in the backseat and she made me get in.
She said, "I called your Dad at work. He is going to meet us at your Grandparent’s."
And they were all there. Dad and Grandma and Grandpa and all my Aunts and Uncles. They made me sit there in a chair, waiting on Aunt Deborah and Uncle Wyatt to show-up, while they passed around my writing; gasping and looking up at me to shake their heads. Even my two older cousins, Drake and Phillip were there and they read it too. (you know Drake. remember you met him that time at the church picnic?)And when Aunt Deborah and Uncle Wyatt finally arrived and read my words...all Hell broke loose.
And that scared the crap out of me too.
They yelled at me: "Where did you copy this from?" "What book is this from?" Drake aside: The Satanic Bible "The Devil is in you" "She is going to Hell. You are going to hell"
Just this dizzy sea of angry red faces.
And it made me angry too because they did not believe I had written the words. I kept saying, "I wrote it. I wrote it."
I looked at my grandmother and I said, "I wrote it." And she believed me. But instead my grandmother said, "The Devil wrote this." And then she lit her green lighter and lit the paper on fire.
And I cried and I cried and I cried.
I hated her so much for taking my words away.
The Devil did not write it. I had. Even if the Devil had worked his way into my soul, why would he want to show his kingdom under such unforgiving and terrifying light? In fact, if my soul was taken over by anyone it would have been God. Maybe He was letting me in on a little secret.
When I think back on it now, I am still sad I do not have that writing anymore. I tried to re-create it so many times, but never could. But I think my grandmother was trying to do some good. When she pronounced the work of the Devil everyone else took it to be I was in the clear. Saved from Hell. Whatever. She might have saved me from them bleeding me.
And besides, I know God is on my side and I have known that for a long time. And I know He is on your side too.
But I still did not talk to my Grandma for three months.

I feel really bad because of the other day, when you told me you could not come see your grandma because you felt bad for not always liking her. You are not alone. I feel bad too, but I still wish you would come up and see your grandma and stop beating yourself up over all the bad things you think you have done. Because you do lots of good things too, Tommy. Like making me smile. And He knows that too.
And that’s all that really matters.
Write back soon,
Samantha