The cuckoo clock went off. It didn't keep time, nor can anything for that matter. It hung on the soffit above the sink and seemed to have a mind of it's own. The bird was a masochist and let the cat have its way with it. All its feathers were gone now. Now a wooden skeleton just popped out sometimes five times in an hour, sometimes not for five days. Its home was in dire need of a carpenter. It sounded more like a frog.
Dishes heaped in the sink and ice cubes crashing down in a glass. The entire kitchen had been freshly painted in old grime. The black sheep cousin of yellow colored the floor and refrigerator. Whiskey breath and stale smoke hung on shelves like figurines of big eyed boys fishing. He belched out a carp.
He filled the glass again. His long transparent fingers did the work, thin lips opened, and belly ready to feel the fire. He rubbed old visions out of his eyes as if it were dust. He sat alone with his sprits, but never offered them a drink.
When he was a child he use to visit his Grandparents farm. He would ride on Grampa's lap as he drove the tractor. On one visit, Grampa had one too many beers and got too close to the drainage ditch. The huge tire landed on his belly, pushing his soul out. As his soul floated above his boyish shell, it debated going back. It tore in two. One went back and one did not.
At seventeen he was happy in his new car. A green GTO, faster than the wind. It was not good on gas, nor ice. It found a telephone pole and made a disturbing call. His souls sat on the curb as the lights flashed and uniformed men performed their duties. The soul that had left earlier was lonely and thankful for the companionship. It pleaded for the latter to stay. The compromise was followed by another tear.
A few years later he was in a war. A bullet found him. He lay waiting to be found by his enemy. Though he didn't understand why they were the enemy, he was cut again. He was drawn and quartered by himself. He was lighter.
The table was filled. To his left was a small boy. His innocence lives on in him. To his right, an older boy. Immortality died with him. In front of him, a young man, who no longer believes everything he is told.
He filled his glass again and added to the full ash tray. The ash tray was from Las Vegas. It had five cards painted into its base. Four Aces and one Joker. It said "Have A Lucky Day" under the hand.
"Is everyone laughing except the audience"?
�2003 Daniel J Harris