Copyright © 1997 Dave Voorhis, All Rights Reserved

This day be no different from the last, 'cept for you coming along with me. I can hear you readin' me in here, an' you be thinking this all is jus' what some guy writ, an' you be thinkin' the voice in you head is YOU, but it ain't, cuz right now it's me. I be thinkin' for you now, so you jus' follow along close 'cause it's all real, an you in it, an' you don' wanna trip on nuthin'.

See, we start where i be lyin' in bed 'fore dad's up; he still snorin' (in the other cot) like rippin' cardboard (hear him?) so i lies here an stares at the roof stains, an' the light bulb is breathin' in an' out, an for sumpin' to do i strokes my dick an scratches itches. Then my stomach growls (feel it?), an' a bug or mouse or sump' runs unner my back, so's i get up, tippy-toe like, an' watch the bottles not clink so i not wake up dad.

An' i'm working on some bread we had left, me sittin' at the kitchen table, like there's anything 'cept kitchen in a trailer. An the peanut butter climbs outta the jar onta the bread. But there's nuthin t' drink 'cept dad's booze, which ain't for breakfast and ain't no use for me anyway.

Oh, dad's wakin' up now -- see his fat brown body? An' he's only got on unnerwear, makin' a off-white stripe bout his middle, like some huge shit-beetle with white markin's, an' he come over all stompin' an' stinky, an he plops down t' suck a bottle like always.

-Wha' fuk you doin, boy?- he say, an picks tween two tooths with one of the two forks, an other han' white knucklin' that bottle like it was itchin t' run.

I don' say nuthin', cuz he be tellin' me what i doin', anyhow.

-Y'go out an SEE, boy. You ain't a SEER yet, boy. We be the ones who SEE. Y'got that?-

It ain' nuthin t'me, jus his noise as always. 'Tween his mouth an' his ass, 'tain easy to tell which makin' more sense, half the times. I shrugs, i guess.

-Y'see what y'see. Don' nuthin' differn'.- He turns away mad scowling, like in lookin' at me, he seen a worm in his shit.

-Fukyew- he say.

An he staggers to t'door, an moves the board that blocks it, an pulls down his gotch an casts his rod. He pees. I figger he oughta pee in the bottle 'n save on booze, but I don' say so, cuz he'd make me suck it.

-G'out there boy! Y'go lookin' HARD for it t'day, an' yew be SEEIN.-

So i go, jus' like always, cuz this be how the routine goes. Tain't no differn' for a million billion years.

I walkin' pas' the other trailers, all slap-shackle-slap metals 'n hammered wood, brown an' brown pieces flappin' in breeze an' stuff, all dusty dry dirt gravel an' shit old cars with windows broke out an the greasy engine aside, mostaways. An sometimes a dog sleepin' in one or under, or jus garbage that nobody ever took. Some other folks see me, gettin' up if they sober (few) or still pissed (most), but they know me so there's no notice. They don' see YOU acourse, cuz you be jus the one readin' me. Off t'distance you can see the hills, just black 'n' grey off there, an' all sand to that point, an the road to town up a ways. No trees to count, but y' got tufts a weeds in li'l islands where ain' nobody rode a four wheeler or dirtbike in a while. Each trailer gots its bobfire above it, 'bout three feet above the trailer or whatnot, all aglow even in the day, an' the face starin at you from all angles, all grinnin', an' that pipe.

An' i go to north, where it ain't so flat an' the older kids don' go with their bikes, on account of the real deep sand. i walk long this way a while, an' i come to the guy who's always here.

He be squattin' down on his haunches, this little ugly guy, no more'n two feet at tops, his skin yellow as piss an' puckered an wrinkled like a raisin, an' his withered bald head gots two horns an' all gnarled veins, an his mouth jus' stays wide open all the time, an his eyes always rolled back like marbles so's just the eggwhite 'n' red threads show. He gots that river of yellow gush just a pukin' out his mouth, day in an' day out, an his sides pumpin' like a cat takin' a shit, only like real hard to keep the flow up. An' the chunky drooly puke be poolin' all round him in the sand, so's you can't see feet or nuthin'; just ankle deep in it. An' where his dick should be, there's this tube wormin' deep in and suckin up the ooze, and bringin' it back in him to run through again, so he don't need no extra input or nuthin'. But that's just the way he is.

So i askin' him what's up, an his eyes roll down 'til they jus' black on black on black, like the light jus' scared to come round, an he cuts off the pukefall, an' when it's done drizzlin' off his tongue, you can see all these sharp teeth.

He say to me -Jorge, you have one with you today- and that's YOU of course, but i don' never need introduce the reader, acourse, cuz you know each other, or will.

An i ask him 'bout YOU, but you know all that stuff, cuz it's you, so no need to say it here, 'cept at the end, where he talkin' about the Redemption 'n' stuff, an i gettin' all 'cited, an he say -Jorge, I am only the Hand, you know this?- An' i say, -yeah, i know this-, an he say -You will be the Place?- An i say i can be. -And the Reader is one?- An i know you is, else you wouldn't be readin' this.

An i go. An i come to the rocks, an here i split into three, so the jar birds can carry my pieces to the top of a high place. An when they done takin me there, i join myself an' look down, an i can see the trailers, an' the town off distance, 'an beyond that the hills. An' from here, i can see that the hills are jus' flat, like boards propped up from behind. Some, i can see on edge, an can see the hills jus' maybe a foot thick. An' beyon' the hills is all jus' white blank nothing, like they ain't decided what should go there yet.

An i set there a while, before I split myself again an' let the birds bring me down, or maybe i jus' turn to water an' flow down. Either way. It be nearin' lunch time, an' my stomach is hungerin' again. On the way back, the yellow guy is there as always. I've never seen him gone, and I've been this way every day since we started.

An' i come into the yard there and there's dad in his shorts, clankin' on the '78 chevy rust trucket, head swallowed by the hood an' lickin' the spark plugs or somethin', an' he's throwin' wrenches an' suckin' hot beer an' blowin' farts. If it starts, he says he'll go inta town an haul sumpin' for ten bucks an buy beer. If it don't start, he'll walk inta down an beg or steal beer. I never seen it start.

An' he sees me an' asks if i seen anything yet.

-Nah, ain't seen nuthin' dad- i say, and seven new red suns line the iceblue 'n' cotton sky like hell's beads, an' clouds grow wings t' fly aroun' the suns, an the ground turns all pink an' brown like cold beef, an' it all squeezes up aroun' the trailers an' the truck an' dad an' shit, and it's all moundin' up inta some great suckin' soft flesh, all tentacles an' hair an' ooze an' slick holes, 'an it sucks all the hard stuff all down gone.

An' all tha's left of the sand an' trailers an' hills an' dad is this big crater cunt in the groun'.

An i think i crawl down in it an' be born again.

-Nah, but i ain't seen nuthin'.- Ain't seen nuthin' at all.