Pasture

Pasture

By: Antwan Crump

It was always this, the morning after. Strong gusts of wind surrounded me. I had to throw the body. I couldn’t. I tried every tactic they had taught me. “Think of something evil” and “Think of what makes you mad”. I couldn’t, I thought solely of the life that I’d taken. Who makes me the executioner? What gives me the right?

I dragged the body to the lip of the river. Regret consumed me. It wasn’t worth it, I thought as I punched out his teeth. I may as well finish, (the motivational thoughts never encouraged me in the proper direction) but I finished. I always finished.

I’m not a monster. I was just a man, faced with an unthinkable decision.  It wasn’t his fault either. He was just defending his honor – I was doing the same. He’s heavier than he looked. Fucking Budweiser. I hate guts. I’ve always hated guts. Beer supported guts. That may have added to my hatred. Yet this fat bastard, had to go and run his mouth. You could’ve just drank a beer. Maybe your cheating wife,would still have a husband. You fucking smell.

Come on you piece of shit. A branch stuck on to his jeans. I don’t have time for this. Really? After all I’ve done for you, you give me trouble, now? Whatever. Your legs gotta go.I dropped the body in the field (Spit on him too, if you must know. He pissed me off – even in death). My saw was never far from my sight. I’m a handy man, it was my duty to be prepared.

The body laid there, stinking. His face looked as dumb as ever -tongue hanging out- I cut that off first. I was surprised. I’m used to the “No! Don’t! Please!” , not this time. It went as easy as Sunday morning. I should’ve shoved it up his ass, but I’m a Christian(and not a gay).

The mountains looked beautiful. I was surprised, the sun wanted to see this. I smiled for a second and thought Even God wanted to see this cock-sucker dead. His stupid sun-glasses slid under his chin. “Motherfucker!”, I cut his eyes out next. I had too. He was mocking me. Piece of shit. I wish I could kill him twice.

The sun reigned further above me. I was dragging this heavy, dog shit-filled body, across the wheat. Wouldn’t you know it. Eye-less and tongue-less, he still had some bullshit to say. A loud flatulence left his corpse. I dropped the body, and ran about five feet away. Corpse farts, smell worse than the corpse. Although I do smile, every time I remember that the last thing he did was shit himself.

I lit a cigarette (carefully), as the funk made it’s rounds across the fields. Dangerous decision, thinking about an action, after it’s done. Maybe he didn’t have to die, I thought -rolling the Marlboro between my fingers. It may have just been a joke. No one jokes about that, and gets to survive. I knew that, any simple man could figure that out- especially in our city- Fuck him.

His stinky body, felt as if it was getting heavier with every tug. The smell of urine and crap, wafted over me in waves, disgusting waves. I was finally at the river. It’s quick paced stream was eloquent. I apologized to the water, for what I was about to do. I threw his tongue first, than his eyes. They swayed down the current, with no issue.

The body was a bit more difficult. Bottom-heavy, really. If I had to explain it. Realistically speaking it was all a matter of balance. Gut first, then roll. He went in pretty easy after that. Face down. You didn’t ask, but face down. He floated slowly out, and then the stream took him out to the Atlantic. Son of a bitch, I still remember his smell. He deserved it. I stand by that.

I got back to the bar, Umm… Let’s say about an hour later. Earl, of course was standing behind the bar – ready to serve me the regular. I drank (obviously) and laughed along with the fellas as they watched the game, and jeered the announcers. It was a regularly good night.

After the game -our team won- it was a big whooo haaa between everyone, but they filtered out, as many had been over-served- Earl came and spoke to me. He wasn’t his normal fun-loving self though. He came to me with genuine concern. Concern that I felt, and worried me.

“You want to tell me what happened back there?”,he always asks with a tinge of incredulity. Of course I shrugged my shoulders, (Our friendship needn’t the burden of truth). “Where did he go? You two were talking, and he disappeared, then you disappeared. Talk to me Reggie.” Shit. He’s gotten paternal. He knew I wasn’t close with my father. I’m not even sure how to respond to this. I’ll go with truth.

“Reggie! What happened to him?” (What else could I do but tell the truth?). He disrespected this bar, he disrespected you, and everything we stand for. I promised myself that I would never allow this to happen again, so when it did; I just reacted. I’m sorry Earl.

“Where is he?” I slit his throat in the bathroom, threw him in the truck, drove him out to the river, and tossed him in it. “Jesus Reggie” , his punitive tone always got to me. Listen Earl, it was a problem. It was a problem. We never have to deal with it again, I  swear.

Earl stayed quiet, only subtly judgmental; drying a glass. I was still as well. This had been a hard enough day. The morning news played. Earl glared at me, while I drank my Pabst, and hoped he would remain a loyal friend. “Well.” he said as I downed my drink. “That’s the last time someone says nigger in here, without a nightmare.” Earl continues cleaning the glass, I ball my fist, and request another round.

The End.

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