Fiction

HOW COULD I?

My mirror says I’m an old man. My preacher says I’ll burn. Carl Jung says my Shadow Self pretends others did it, not me. I’m sorry! How can I own my own sins? I wanna be good. What to do with my infractions against other humans? And the animals?

Well, I have a storage unit, but it’s already running over…. Don’t lock it up. Maybe someone will steal some. Oh, do I mean steal some of my guilt? What nut would do that? [I know, what nut would even make all that guilt?] I don’t want to make more guilt in the world….I’ll give it away, free! But who would want it? Oh, I know–lots of folks like anything that’s free! Time passes. Still no takers. …I know! I’ll sell it! El cheapo! One ninety-nine a peck. Going like hotcakes now. Oh what to do with all this money?…

Am I not keeping my guilt alive in the world? Worse still, someone else is carrying my guilt. My Shadow Side hops a ride whenever it can, away! Oh pooh to growth! It seems impossible. ALL RIGHT! I accept my guilt! I’m a hateful, deceitful person who doesn’t keep his promises I have dirty thoughts and even worse, I’m sure. The motive is good, but how about the result? Now I’m stuck with self-acknowleged Monster Me: a cold prickly and no warm fuzzy….

BUT I WANT THIS TO END DIFFERENTLY! I know–I’ll buy back my own guilt! Hey guys, I’ll buy back my guilt from thee! There–penny for penny, dollar for dollar. But WAIT! My guilt has shrunk! Has it evaporated? Have good intentions been rewarded? Thanks to the ether. I’m really a Harris fan now; no funny business.

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Doug Shivley stepped onto the porch of the duplex and keyed in the front door. His dad was on a long haul for the bottling company, and he did not have to worry about his mom, who’d left them three years ago. He eased off his ball cap and leaned forward into the front hall mirror to check his forehead. He should have used a gun, but he had no way of knowing she was a he and a fighter…. or at least a kind of a he.

He swayed. Maybe he was drunk. Suddenly losing strength, he headed for the bathroom, grabbed a towel and climbed into the tub. He didn’t want to have to explain blood to his dad. He would have to beg off summer session finals and lie low. Bitch! He could not go to the Emergency Room for treatment due to fear of being collared. He smiled grimly. The bitch can’t go to the ER, either! Damn conniving bitch man!

2 b continued?