Munmun(26)

But he just kept squinting squinching scrunching his face and murmuring, “Ugh, what day is it,” and, “When’s the test.”

“Peens are attacking you,” I said. “Peens the size of your whole body.”

“Ugh, is the test today,” he said.

“I guess we have to do this every single night for a while,” I said.

“Warner,” yelled Chess, finding me. “Stop, please.”

“Hi, Chess,” I said. “Please, feel free to watch as peens hose a jerk in scum.”

But sad Chess watched me, not the peens.

And I was exhausted and the night was dying, the morning was calling, most dreamers were awake, so I let myself relax the hellscape, the screams turning into birdcalls, demons vaporating into wind.

Only the peenpit remained after a while.

“I think I’m think I’m think I’m supposed to think I’m supposed to be at my interview,” said Glen, blindly reaching out for anything that wasn’t a peen, but toobad, all peens in there.

“Chess, can you please find Usher, please give a home to him atleast,” I started asking Chess, said it a few times to his fading face, couldn’t hear me probably though, wouldn’t remember.

I woke up in no pain and with barely any thoughts, no hurt and no hope either.





LIFEANDDEATHWORLD


The girl Grace warned me that morning before she dumped the garbage.

“Hello if you’re in there,” I heard her say. “Please come out, I need to dump the garbage.”

So I wriggled out through the loose slats in the bottom.

“Oh,” she said. “That’s how you get in there.”

“Yeah,” I said.

She dumped the garbage, glanced back at the foodstand, flicked her eyes over to the alley, and I followed her over there.

“Hey,” she told me. “I’m really sorry, but you probably can’t keep staying in our garbage.”

“I know,” I said.

“What’s your name,” she said.

“Warner,” I said.

She froze a little.

“Oh no,” she said.

“What,” I said.

“You’re the littlepoor they’re talking about on localnews,” she said. “Who stole the gun.”

“Oh right,” I said. “Hey. I don’t have the gun anymore. I mean that’s not something I do very much.”

She started backing away, back toward the restaurant.

“Hey,” I said. “I’m powerless. I’m sleeping in garbage with busted ribs. Littlepoors can’t hurt someone as big as you. We can only hurt each other. Please.”

But she was still backing away, lots of wobbly fear behind the fakegreen lenses.

So I said, “Well, okay, look. Thank you. Thanks for everything. Call the cops if you want, if there’s a reward, or just if you don’t want to get in trouble. It’s okay. I’ll wait here.”

But she just shook her head and went inside.

I mean look. Where was I going to go, what was I going to do. I could try to escape to a different neighborhood, hop into a bus wheelwell maybe, hope the cops aren’t looking for me outside Sand Dreamough, start all over in a strange new place and come up with new plans, alone.

But the alone part was the impossible part. The alone part just made me feel too empty and terrible to try anything.

“Come up with a plan,” I told my brain, and my tiredout from dreaming brain said, “Please, no, I’m exhausted.”

So I cleaned myself up at a fountain and after that walked up to a cop on the street and said, “Hey, I’m Warner, I think you’re looking to arrest me.”

They don’t have handcuffs for littlepoors, instead they put you in the car all belted up tight inside a box they call the littleseat, but it’s not a seat, just a box full of belts where you flop and crash anytime the copcar takes a turn.

Most of the other littleseats were empty. I glimpsed one other kid on the way in and his eyes were crazy, also his nose was full of bloodwads.

“You think you’re looking at me, or what,” he yelled at me on my way in.

Scumbag littlepoors, they yell at you furiously, but if you yell back the same way, sometimes it turns you into bestfriends.

“If I’m you, I mind my dang business,” I barked at him, and it turned us into bestfriends for the tenminutes until we got separated.

“So what did they get you for, dave,” he said once I was strapped in and the cops were way up front.

You’re about to hear a lot of guys call each other dave in this story because squadwise, Lossy Indica is nonstop dave territory. Obviously you got a few groups of dans from up north, maniac crews of todds creeping in from the desert, but in Lossy Indica proper you can prettymuch call any rando a dave and he won’t bust your teeth.

“I stole a gun and shot it a couple times,” I said.

“Oh fantastic,” he said. “You’re the little redrat who tried to shoot a faceboy. All the faceboys have been looking for you, dave.”

“Great,” I said.

“Beautifull, beautifull, and mightIadd delicious,” he said. “Dave, those faceboys are going to eat you.”

“For sure,” I said.