Fiction: few shots of tequila

By George Gad Economou

she jogs on the beach, along the surf, the fresh salty breezeblowing the sweat off her face. farther down, a shadowy figure trudges around on the sand; she’s moving towards him but she’stoo close to home where a hot shower and a warm meal await to circle around him.

the junkie notices the jogging young woman in a pair of tight shorts and sports bra, her long, red hair waving with the wind. after four hours of the sickness, the lambent beauty is not enough to make him forget the sweet poison that murdered his dreams. momentarily, he recalls his former self, the man he once was. he trips and falls face-first on the damp sand, his trippydaydreaming brutally interrupted.

the dog chases his tail, going round and round in the sand failing to understand why he can’t catch it. gyrating in his position till he becomes dizzy and collapses, drawing in short bursts of wet, refreshing breaths. abandoned at the beach days ago, yet he stays, secretly knowing she will return for him. someone’s coming; a woman. he jumps up and wiggles his tail. his eyes bulge, his heart thunders. can it be?

 

* * * *

 

tall strangers of the night envelop her, the smoke in the room is smothering but she smirks and giggles at every lame jokedespite shuddering under every crude, drunken touch. a cigarette lit, her throat burns as if she’s swallowed lit charcoals; her insides turn into an oven, she stifles her coughs, tries to extinguish the flames with a sip of beer.

the floor begins to spin, the figures enshrouding her becomeblurry; sounds, colors, and movements conflate into a single,incomplete, imperfect picture and she’s the center of the grotesque amalgam. more jokes, bolder touches, the empty glass is replaced with a brimful one. another cold one, the froth glistens on her lips, she licks them clean while gazing at those around her.

laughter, touching, slow dancing. the night still young, strolling together in the crowded Saturday streets, avoiding thestaggering, mumbling drunks and waving at strangers. something to eat and a pack of cigarettes before heading home. not alone.

 

* * * * 

 

getting scolded for defecating in the wrong place; his face lowered, eyes half-closed. incomprehensible words buzz in his head, the apprehensive tone crystal clear. tail tucked between his legs, he trots to the corner to curl up and be invisible for a while. 

he watches her move about wearing nothing, the pink skin glistening from the sweat. the scent puissant, he lifts his headonly to drop it a second later, the harsh voice still ringing in his head. soon, she comes near him, gives him a soft, tender caress on the head before setting down a bowl of food. thankful, he eats. she squats next to him. the scent that pierces his nostrils becomes stronger. almost impossible to concentrate on the food. 

a tingling sensation; touches in areas never before touched. analien, euphoric feeling. food’s forgotten as the hand moves up and down slowly; he simply sits still. panting. smiling, even if it doesn't show. she smiles too, broadly. another pat on his head. soft movements of the fingers across his body, playing with the fur.

a soft bark escapes his mouth, his tongue hanging out of his mouth; exhaustion. for a moment, there was pleasure hitherto unknown, then, suddenly, pure physical exhaustion. he rests his head on the floor, shuts his eyes.

she struts away, licking and sucking her fingers. he falls asleep:a rabbit in an undulating field, it’s not the pleasure of hunting that drives him forth.

* * * *

 

almost no one in the bar; it is, after all, only 2 in the afternoon. he orders another bourbon neat, lights a cigarette. stares into the cloud of blue smoke rising in front of his face, watching itevanesce into tiny particles. she saunters in, climbs on his neighboring barstool. orders a beer. he smiles; she smiles.

they start conversing. the bartender is busy playing with his phone, he only gets up when they ask for a fresh drink. suddenly, people start storming in. it’s evening; they’ve beentalking for six hours straight. drank a lot. there’s no intoxication,only the gentle dizziness of superlative chemistry. they walk out the moment the crowd gets too much to handle. they hate people but instantly liked each other.

grabbing a sandwich to eat; they sit down on a bench, continue their discussion about nonsensical subjects. talking about anything just to keep the flames going. continuously changing topics, always finding common ground, or something to argue about. never raising voices, never getting angry.

sandwiches wolfed down. back to peregrinating the streets,searching for something to do. I have a bottle of bourbon at home, he says. she smiles and the whole world is illuminated.his eyes land on a young woman walking by surrounded by three drunk men. just yesterday he would have followed them, befriended them, joined their party. not today. never again, he says to himself with conviction.

 

* * * *

 

plodding through the sunday morning crowd, keeping her gaze glued to the ground to avoid curious glances; only on occasion does she offer a smile to other well-dressed women shamblingon their heels as they rush home during the dank, wet early morning hours. she nearly trips a couple of times, tough to walk on cobbled stones on high heels, especially hungover. she tries to recall last night’s events; she recalls seeing three guys sleeping naked, one in the bed the others on couches, as she slithered out of the apartment.

all she needs is to get under the shower to remove the rankstench every pore of her body emits; something’s stuck under her nose, its smell burning her flaring nostrils. never again, she promises, knowing perfectly well it’ll happen again. it’s thesame lie she tells herself every sunday morning, whether she’s clambering home in algid weather wearing short dresses and high heels or shooing people out of her apartment to wash the bedsheets and clean the apartment up while battling raging hangovers.

someone crashes into her; they’re in the same situation. hislong hair greasy, messy. they both stagger about and hold on to each other, barely avoiding tumbling down. he smiles; she reciprocates. they see in each other’s eyes their own hell being reflected. they take off, each to their own destination. she’sfinally home.

the hot water cleanses her body; images from last night play in her pulsating head. she cringes, towels herself down, lies on her bed stark naked. as she stares at the ceiling, she recalls the man that nearly made her fall earlier. closes her eyes. her body heats up as a blitzkrieg of still images surfaces in her racing mind, reminding her of what she’s done; she groans, rolls to her side,and manages to vanish into Morpheus’ magical kingdom, aware that history shall repeat itself the next weekend, and the one after that, and so on and so forth, ad infinitum.

 

* * * *

 

several people are sitting on the couch while he’s lying on their feet, listening to the bizarre sounds they make. it’s an almost hypnotizing noise. she’s all dressed, the scent from the other dayis absent; he misses it. lifts his head, she gives him a tender pat. she crosses and uncrosses her legs. her skirt hikes up, the familiar, mystifying scent reaches his nose.

with his tongue protruding from his mouth, he moves his snout closer to the source of the tantalizing scent. she pushes him away and he succumbs despite the magnetizing power of the smell. the others hee-haw, she giggles; music to his ears. he lays down and hides his face under his foreleg; it’s alright, he thinks. closes his eyes and dreams of other days, the ones where she didn’t reject his advances toward the mystical source of unadulterated pleasure.

in his dream, he stands behind her and an overwhelmingly tingling sensation captivates his entire body, as spasms force him to wake up. more horselaughter reverberates across the room; in her eyes he discerns something else. he catches the falsity of her giggles as the others point at him with tears in their eyes. he gnarls; she scolds him. 

with his tail tucked between his legs, he retreats to the bedroom, away from the cruel company. jumps on the bed and sniffs at the bedsheets, once more entranced by the captivating scent.

 

* * * *

 

they lie in bed together, sharing a fifth of rotgut and enjoying the stillness of the night. talking is unnecessary, just being closesuffices for them to communicate. the window is open, letting inthe frigid winter air that disperses the clouds of smoke, and her head rests on his shoulder. 

staring dead into the void, encountering refulgent lights despite the crepuscular midnight of the past and he smiles after a hefty swallow of the elixir of life. a soft kiss wets his neck, her hand lands on his chest, evicting the elephant that has been sitting there for years. lighter, elated, he leans toward her; their lips lock.

their moans reverberate in the air, waking the neighbors up; neither gives a damn. their bodies amalgamate into one, the bottle rolls down to the floor, shatters. come morning, he’ll crawl through the shards of glass to reach the toilet; now, he doesn’t care. for once, there’s a reason to combat the hangover, to better himself. more kisses, a tight, warm embrace; the world makes perfect sense and it feels like an implausible dream.

 

* * * *

 

HI MISS PIGGY; HI MISS PORKY PIG. every morning the same nightmare. GOODMORNING MISS PIGGY, ATE YOUR BREAKFAST FOR TEN THIS MORNING OR ARE YOU GONNA EAT US? plodding across the narrow corridors haunted by constant cackling; a merciless mocking follows her everywhere. sits on her chair. 

bam!, it gives way. flat on the floor, amid the broken wood. WE’D GET YOU A CHAIR MADE OF REINFORCED STEEL, BUT YOU’D BREAK THAT TOO! YOU’D BREAK A MOUNTAIN IF YOU SAT ON IT! cachinnations, endless, cruel, harsh derision. the soundtrack of her nightmares, every single night the same thing. over and over.

WHERE DO YOU THINK YOU’RE GOING, MISS PIGGY? surrounded; four against one. unfair odds. IT’S A MIRACLE YOU CAN STILL WALK! HAVE YOU SEEN YOURSELF? YOU’LL DIE ALL ALONE; NOT EVEN CATS WILLAPPROACH YOU. STRAY DOGS CHASE YOU BECAUSE THEY THINK YOU’RE A TWO-LEGGED COW! LOOK AT YOU!

cornered against the wall, nowhere to go. their glares malign and baneful, their words poisonous daggers through the heart. THE CIRCUS HAS COME TO TOWN. MAYBE YOU CAN GET A JOB THERE. I HEARD ONE OF THEIR ELEPHANTS GOT SICK AND THEY NEED A REPLACEMENT. nonstopbelittlement, every day. for years. tears in the night. onerousmornings. every weekend staying inside and staring out of the window. classmates going out, girls and boys, laughing, talking, partying. always locked up inside, solace in the tranquil rooms of the house.

YOU’LL DIE ALL ALONE AND THEY’LL NEED A TRUCK TO CARRY YOUR COFFIN! 

IF YOU JUMP OFF A CLIFF INTO THE OCEAN, HALF OF THE WORLD WILL DROWN!

GOODMORNING MISS PIGGY. HAVE YOU BEEN NAMED MISS UNIVERSE OF THE COWS YET?

 

* * * *

 

awoken by footsteps, immediately leaps up, exposing his teethready to defend his home. it’s only her and his deep growls turninto jocund barking. he dashes at her, tail wiggling. she squats down, her face in front of his, her big, blue, refulgent eyes staring at him with ardor as she scratches him behind the ears.

she’s stark naked and mechanically he moves his face lower, following the tantalizing scent that swirls in his crazed mind. toolong since he last felt the exquisite pleasure of being inside her and excitement has his body tremble.

she tries to push him away but he’s too strong and determined. at first, she talks to him, he can’t comprehend what she’s saying.she whispers. a soft sound that strengthens the tingling between his legs. she peers about, then gets down on all fours, holding her knees spread. it’s the signal he has been yearning for. thewarmth and wetness feel supernal. he moves faster and faster, thrusting harder, deeper. he understands her moans and moves faster.

a loud, angry scream overshadows their sounds; suddenly it gets too tight. he can’t get out, trapped. his body on top of her, someone bawls. she bellows, this time in pain. she whimpers. 

finally, he’s free. a man yells at her; he saw him earlier. he’snaked, too. he lifts his arm, palm open. he buries his teeth deep into his calf, tearing away at the muscle. more screams and tears. she pulls him away. copper in his mouth and he licks his teeth; highly palatable. the stranger is on the floor, holding his leg, while a crimson river streams through his fingers. 

more strangers arrive, taking the man away on a bed with wheels. they’re alone again. she shouts at him, then locks himout on the balcony. he lies there, in the rain, befuddled.

 

* * * *

 

he heats up the junk in the bottle cap; their eyes are bloodshot and teary. she’s pallid. he takes her hand in his, as softly as possible, she retracts it. her stare glued to the floor, counting the countless bottles. the junk is drawn into the syringe. they share it. 

colors; they escape. for a while it’s like it never happened. theycrash back into reality, violent landing. it’s dead. it was never born but it was alive. it was theirs. they couldn’t go through with it. murderers at a young age; a baby never meant to see the light of day.

it was conceived during a wild night, and it died the same way it was begotten; a junk hallucination and nothing more. lying on the same bed, staring at the same darkness; no smiles. noholding each other. it’s snowing. the window’s locked. the blindsare rolled down. nowhere to go. only one road remains open. 

they cry themselves to sleep. many months lost in the sweet mist of junk. he wakes up, stumbles through the needles and the bottles to reach the bathroom. hurls. heats up the junk. breakfast, the most important meal of the day. 

in the rising high, he sees her. she’s sitting on the couch, staring catatonically at the vast nothingness of other worlds. he goes near her, shakes her. nothing. the spike still in her thigh. kissesher on the cheek, on the lips. he doesn’t comprehend. not yet. too early, too high. it’s the rush. closes his eyes, rests his head on her cold shoulder. colors engulf him. she’s still alive, they’re galloping through colorful meadows, strolling along the calm sea at the beach near his apartment. they chase seagulls like small, carefree children. 

consciousness; realization. he cleans the apartment, throws the needles and the bottles away. finally calls for an ambulance. theynever buy his story that he just found her dead but they have no proof. she’s buried. he’s still alive, barely. lost everything in one dirty needle.

 

* * * *

 

new town, new people, new surroundings. no more miss piggy. it’s all over. the struggles, the fights. nights and days spent in the gym. jogging after midnight. new studies, a job. gradually, more glances come her way, and they’re not of disgust. a smile appears on her face. vigorously training, working; going out.

every night, more and more flirt with her. eventually, she barely has to pay for a drink. new sensations, new experiences. itfeels alien. she forgets miss piggy. she’s dead, turned to ashes, obliterated. new beginnings. an ominous cloud hovers dangerously low above her head, threatening to pour upon her the worst deluge the world has ever seen. no escape, yet she manages to live despite the constant darkness. 

 

* * * *

 

she keeps on jogging, huffing and puffing, but the memories push her forth, forcing her to run the extra mile. the junkie remains on the sand, incapable of clambering up to his feet. hestares at her lustfully, it’s been too long since he tasted the luscious lips of a beautiful woman, but when he lost everythingthe desire to pursue life dissipated. he wiggles his tail, then lowers his head; it’s not her. the scent feels familiar, yet alien too, and he stays there, waiting. she’ll come pick him up. sheincreases her pace, a few hundred meters remain and she wants to get away; shower, she reminds herself, then eat something light and get dressed. tonight, she’s hitting the bars. he rubs his eyes, listens to the roaring sea; under the waves hide all his dreams, the dead passion that still haunts his junk nightmares. awarm tongue across his face. he approaches the fallen man; tenderly, and cautiously, licks his beard, tasting dirt and something bizarre. a faint pat on the head the only reward. theystay close. she turns her head, fearful of being followed by the madman; the junkie sits up, his arm around the dog. they stare at the slowly descending crimson orb in the sky. she almost stops;trudges on, sticking to the tight schedule. he kisses the dog’s head, lights a cigarette. they both pant, for different reasons, while the red, candescent disk disappears under the sea along with everything that shall never be reclaimed. 

 

* * * *

 

“Here you go, man,” Jim said and slammed a bottle of beer and a shot of tequila in front of me. “On the house.”

“Thanks,” I smiled and sank the well tequila, washing down its crudeness with a long pull of beer.

I pushed the yellow pad away and fired up a cigarette. The dirty pages were to be hidden under the mattress of whichever whorehouse I’d spend the night in.

George Gad Economou, currently living in Greece, has a Master’s degree in Philosophy of Science and is the author of Bourbon Bottles and Broken Beds (Adelaide Books), Of the Riverside (Anxiety Press), Reeling Off the Barstool (Dumpster Fire Press), and The Omega Of Us All (Anxiety Press). His words have also appeared, amongst other places, in Spillwords Press, Ariel Chart, Cajun Mutt Press, Fixator Press, Horror Sleaze Trash, Outcast Press, The Piker Press, The Beatnik Cowboy, The Rye Whiskey Review, and Modern Drunkard Magazine.