Wednesday, October 26, 2011

Quirky Quixotic Quilts Quack Queens

The hardware store across the road sells televisions. They have their display set up in the window so you can watch sixteen or so different screens of the exact same channel at the exact same time.
The manager changes it on a schedule. At six a.m. he puts on the news. At ten he switches to sports. At one in the afternoon, it's cartoon time. At two, you can watch crime shows. At six it's back to news, and at eight he turns the TVs off while the night passes.

At seven thirty one in the evening I saw something that scared me. I didn't really catch any of the names, save one. I don't much care about names anymore. And in the end, I don't care to retell the whole story.

Girl. Young. Had a life to live. Disappeared. Cross-country killing spree. Not detected. Until now.

What she saw during her travels was so bad that she would rather mutilate herself than see it again. She would rather stab out her own eyes than -

And I thought I had it bad.

Her hospital room - she's not quite dead yet - is being guarded, said the anchorman. I'm sure I could make it to Arizona, but...I'm afraid. I'm afraid of getting in another scrape with the police. I'm afraid of being helpless. I'm afraid of making it worse.

I'm afraid of what I might see. I'm afraid that I might see some small remnant of her nightmares, and I'm afraid I wouldn't ever be able to stop running.

But I still have my mind and heart and soul and body, and blood still passes through my veins, and I would say a thousand prayers that I might not be guilty, that I might not have a pained conscience.

Poor Lea Ritter.

El techo, el techo, el techo está en llamas 
El techo, el techo, el techo está en llamas
No necesitamos agua
Deje al hijo de puta quemar
Quema, hijo de puta


  1. Lea Ritter?

    Wait, that' the hell do you know her last name?

    -Don't Shoot The Messenger-

  2. is her, is it? I thought so.