There ain't no cure for the summertime blues.

[Cardinal Pizza Deliverance.]

There's a dead girl in the corner, her hair is sandy blond - more sand than blond, and her face is covered with freckles. She wears an ankle-length skirt and a floral blouse, graceful and serene in her Goodwill clothing. Her glasses sit on her nose so that she has to push them up every couple of seconds.

She's got a deck of cards and when she isn't dealing out futures for other dead or lost girls, she plays solitaire because I can't always see her. Sometimes she sits alone for months at a time just laying cards down one after another. Telling herself stories of what could be, what almost was, and what won't ever happen never never NEVER.

But sure as seasons she blooms every summer, like a cancer or mold. Something beautiful but reeking of death. When the heat runs high I can hear her voice, see the anger painting her features, twisting the delicate bones into something rigid and wrathful.

Then she fades away when it cools off, as if Autumn tempers her tantrums. As if the fall allows her to lie still in her grave again, and sleep until late Spring nightmares make her restless and wake her up.

Sometimes another girl keeps her company. This one wears a horrible itchy plaid wool skirt that's too short and an overly floofy blouse with a stupid bow that ties in front. With shoes that pinch the feet and hair left hanging pale and loose so any passing hand can grab and give a hard tug.

They play skip-rope or hopscotch or jacks. They play with the dead girl's cards, examining each picture for clues and portents. Sometimes they will confide silly secrets but never serious ones. Sometimes one will sing, or the other. The dead girl only knows hymns. The other only knows country songs and some rock 'n' roll.

Everything they have they share and share alike. Food, games, nightmares. But they don't know it. They think they're keeping the deepest, darkest, most terrible secret all to themselves so as not to taint their friend with the filth of it all. They try so hard to do this they don't realize they both have the same secret.

Time passes and they fade, in and out, in and out. Sometimes one girl, sometimes two. In and out, in and out.

As years go by the girls get smaller though they stay forever the same. And sometimes other boys and girls show up. Sometimes these new friends stay for years. Sometimes they fade after mere minutes. Sometimes one little girl or another recognizes what the new friends don't know themselves and the little girls keep their secrets all the tighter. Those new friends always leave quickly.

After awhile the girl who isn't dead realizes it's only the ones who hold the deep rotten secrets that stay so long. They leave stains on everything they touch whether they want to or not. No matter how hard they scrub or how neatly they sit so still.

Sometimes one girl or the other can clean up someone else's stains some, help them leave less dirt behind. Sometimes they make it worse. Sometimes their secrets are so heavy there's no room to breathe. Sometimes their secrets are so light, they could float away if only the wind would blow hard enough, fast enough to break them free of their tethers.

But no wind is that strong.

[Doktor Howl]

That was kind of awesome.

[Cardinal Pizza Deliverance.]

That was kind of awesome.

Thanks. There's a screaming woman and a drowning boy, too. Haven't gotten to them yet.

[Cardinal Pizza Deliverance.]

I was actually trying to write a rant but this came out instead so I moved it from Or Kill Me to here since I didn't know what else to do with it.

[Doktor Howl]

That was kind of awesome.

Thanks. There's a screaming woman and a drowning boy, too. Haven't gotten to them yet.

I was thinking that wasn't the whole thing.  Normally, I'm more of a horror guy than, um, not sure what this is.  But I like it.

Also, on a technical level, the writing is awesome.

[Cardinal Pizza Deliverance.]

That was kind of awesome.

Thanks. There's a screaming woman and a drowning boy, too. Haven't gotten to them yet.

I was thinking that wasn't the whole thing.  Normally, I'm more of a horror guy than, um, not sure what this is.  But I like it.

Also, on a technical level, the writing is awesome.

Thank you kindly. There's horror coming, if I keep on with it. It's sort of watered down angst with a side of stale fear at the moment.

[Mesozoic Mister Nigel]

Ooooh I love this!

[Q. G. Pennyworth]

I love this so hard. Small typo: first paragraph "glass" instead of "glasses."

[Cardinal Pizza Deliverance.]

I love this so hard. Small typo: first paragraph "glass" instead of "glasses."

Thanks! It's one of those things that got tangled in edits. :P

[Anna Mae Bollocks]

Keep this one going, it's great. 

[Cardinal Pizza Deliverance.]

The screaming woman's hands are tangled in a matted mane of hair the color of dried blood and spent soil. The more she thrashes the more entangled she becomes. Partly on purpose, to allow her greater victimhood because she can't defend herself. And that justifies her pain and her inaction. She cripples herself to validate her mental and emotional paralysis in the face of a disaster she created for herself.

She will never leave because she believes she cannot. And she hates it. So she handicaps herself to make it easier for people - for one particular person - to abuse her over and over again. Because it's what she deserves. It's all she ever deserved.

A cheap faux satin nightgown is the only thing she wears under a mud-splattered denim jumper, the skirt of which is bloodstained. She shuts her green eyes tightly and thrashes so hard that bloody clumps of hair are pulled from her scalp, though she never is freed. Her mouth is painted red and smeared, the teeth yellow and knocked out. Scars march up and down her legs, her arms are  sun-browned and strong. She smells of salt water and daffodils.

And she screams and screams and screams. There's no difference in being punished and waiting for punishment, it's all the same.

No one can help her because she's where she belongs. No one can stop her screaming because she's trapped in hell. No one can tell her to shut the fuck up, just once, Jesus Christ because no one else exists in her world.

It's just screaming.

[Doktor Howl]

You're not right.   

Still, awesome.

[Cardinal Pizza Deliverance.]

You're not right.   

Still, awesome.

I get that a lot.

[Doktor Howl]

You're not right.   

Still, awesome.

I get that a lot.

So do I.  I talk to people the way I talk on PD, and everyone shoves over to the other side of the bus.

[Cardinal Pizza Deliverance.]

You're not right.   

Still, awesome.

I get that a lot.

So do I.  I talk to people the way I talk on PD, and everyone shoves over to the other side of the bus.

I don't talk a lot in public unless I have someone to keep me on track. Something reminds me of something else and the next thing I know I'm telling a story from whenever and all I can hear is people sobbing or telling me to SHUT THE FUCK UP, WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU?