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Rate This Contest Entry: Contest: June 30th, 2005 Author: Greg Jackson Time for a Killing “It’s time for a killing”, Jerry calmly announced to his wife as she struggled against the rope he had tied around her wrist and ankles. This was a job long over due he thought. “Hell, I ain’t no chump”. He paced the dirt floor of the tin roofed shed behind his grandfather’s house. His wife’s mumbled profanities only quickened Jerry’s pace. She tried screaming her usual obscenities earlier, but he took the bandana from around his head and tied her mouth with it. His thoughts held to the refusal that anyone would consider him a coward. Killing would end all doubt. He knelt before his wife; her face was contorted in anger. “When I was a boy I kilt snakes wit my bare hands woman. I caught and kilt rattlers. Big rattlers! When they’d jump at me I’d catch um with my hand right behind they’s head and squeeze…” he demonstrated by grabbing the back of his wife’s wrist and shaking her. She struggled vainly against him and Jerry released her, rose again to engage in his pacing. Dust rose from his boots. From some far off place the buzz of a sawmill echoed in his head. There was the familiar embrace of a mother’s love cut short. There was a dark place where a hand forced itself upon him and a sick feeling rose. He looked to the work table and saw his axe, clean, strong and purposeful. “Jerry! You out there boy?” The scratchy voice of his grandfather cursed. “Damnit, come here and help me up out of this dang blasted outhouse!” “Damn good for nothing mongrel of a grandson,” Jerry could picture the old man spitting out tobacco juice. Drunk, the old man would try wiping the spittle now lining his bottom lip and angling below his chin and neck with one free hand, but would only succeed in spreading the brown fluid on the collar of his worn shirt. “Damn! Jerry get out here!” Shut off from the true light of day by the shed, he inspected the sharpness of the ax by streams of light admitted through the gaps in the wall. The blade glimmered. He fell into a state of momentary bliss. The blade was sharp enough to slice through bone. “Where the hell are you boy? I done messed myself all over! Jerry!” The old man was unyielding in his squalls. Jerry lowered the axe and turned towards the door. “Be there directly Pa’! Hold on to your britches!” He looked at the struggling woman on the dirt floor and laughed. She was dusty and matted with sweat and dirt. She banged her head on a wooden pillar and tried to scream through the bandana. Jerry smiled at her. “I told him to hold on to his britches. You get it? That was a funny.” Jerry secured the lock behind him. He walked slowly to the outhouse. In the distance the old man fidgeted. He was horrible and mean as well, but he was kin. Throughout the years the old man had lied to Jerry about everything. There was nothing decent and good about him. But the same blood ran through their veins. Whatever the consequence heaven had in store it would be determined by the nature of their ways. His grandfather for better or worse, kept him clothed and fed. The old man tried to get up and fell back hard onto the wooden seat of the makeshift toilet. As Jerry approached, a familiar stench filled the air. “Hew wee Pa’ what in the hell did you eat? A rotting coon? Man, you stanked up the place a might terrible more than usual.” Jerry smiled, and propped the axe against the open door. Thinking the old man might find some humor in his predicament. “Shut up you no good for nuthin waste of sperm! You think this funny? Your Daddy had more fun choking his chicken than messin’ in ya’ Ma’. His grandfather wiped his hand along the interior wall of the outhouse. Jerry’s slight smile vanished. “Well, I didn’t get to know my Ma’, now did I, old man? You and my Pa’ saw to that. Besides, that aint’ no way to talk to me, specially since I the one helping you off the damn shitter.” “You disrespect me boy! To hell with ya’ Ma! She ran off with that colored boy from down the way after you was born an never heard tail of her since. I aint’ surprised ifn’ you aint’ got colored blood in ya’ with that kind of a Ma. So don’t tell me what way I can talk. You and especially her ain’t got on grounds for telling me how to talk to nobody. As for your Pa’ he was a good son-in-law. Did every thing I told him to do. Even beat that heffer of a daughter of mine when I told him he had to. Hell I beat her, but she was wild tailed from the day of her birth.” The old man had long forgotten his grandson standing in front of him. He talked to invisible strangers. “Damn shame about my son-in-law. Got himself caught on that conveyer belt down at the sawmill. His blood red eyes steered to Jerry’s location. “You could have stopped that thing before it sawed that poor man in half.” The old man rambled on. Inside his own thoughts, Jerry remembered. “I stopped the saw, right as it got to Pa’s belly button. Blood gurgled in his throat, he spit blood like they do in them movies when they get shot in the stomach. He tried to spit out my name, but only made a worse mess of his face. Blood spewed, gushing from his mouth covering the upper mass of his body. He cursed out my name, finally. He never did ask for my help. Just cursed through blood, saying when he got his hands on me what he was gonna do. I remembered his hands on me. So helping him wasn’t entering in my mind. I sat down and watched his arms and legs shake like a rattler’s tail. Then I set that machine on again. But the old man didn’t know any of that. Jerry relished this thought. “Said he was at the creek killing snakes and didn’t hear nothing. I lost my son-in-law and was left with nothing but the memory of a whoring daughter. A no good ten year old grandson to feed and…” The old man’s eyes began to swell as if he would cry. “Let it go Pa’.” “Huh?” The old man looked passed Jerry to the shed door. He could barely make out a foot and ankle through a slit in the door. “What the hell you doing in my woodshed boy?” He yelled. “Take that bitch out to the woods!” He propped himself up with both hands along the outhouse doorframe. But his stance was wavering. He made one step outside of the little shack. And with a sinister look in his eyes the old man spoke. “What the hell you gawking at boy? Pull up my britches!” Obeying the old man Jerry kneeled and began to pull up the old man’s pants. “Oopps,” was all the man said before he sprayed Jerry’s forearm with urine while enjoying what he thought humiliating to his grandson. Jerry leaving the old man with his pants and underwear around his ankles stood. Smiling, the old man revealed his brown, rotting teeth. His was the haggard face of generational poverty, extreme prejudices, and hard times. Something snapped inside Jerry’s head. It was relief; weight seemed to lift from his entire body. “You think that was funny? Well how about this for laughs.” Jerry lifted the axe from where it rest, raised his arms slowly and in an unflinching movement, split the old man’s head. His eyes brightened with disbelief. The break was even down the middle. He held the axe steady watching the old man’s body collapse. “Damn. I should have used this axe a long time ago.” He turned the handle back and forth so blood ran slowly from edge to edge. It was hypnotic. The excitement was rapturous. The repeated blows were as good as anything. After marveling at his work, he gathered the old man and tossed his body in the hog pen. The sourly beast snorted, approached the body cautiously. He could hear his wife trying to force her weight against the locked door. He raised his head to the warm sun. He felt good and sweaty. Turning toward to the shed, he noticed the well and felt like a cold drink. Laying the axe on the grass, Jerry pumped water into a pail. His wife was still beating heavily on the door. “I should have strapped that whore to a pole,” he spoke quietly. When he had satisfied his thirst, he made his way to the relentless sound. He raised the axe and swung it toward the shed, impaling the steel blade into the door. It quieted her pounding for only a moment before it resumed. “Dumb ass girl.” He reached out to touch the door. It beat like a bass drum. The veins in his muscled arms bulged. Cool breath passed his lips as he slowly counted. Sweat beaded on his upper lip and he licked it between breaths. “One…He grabbed onto the lock. “Two.” He unlocked it. “Three.” He swung open the door and his wife kicked her feet out catching him on the shin and tumbling him to the floor. She, with a rush crashed her body into the hard ground. Raising himself, Jerry yanked her up by her hair and slammed her against the shed. He held her neck with one hand, and lifting her dress with the other he entered her. Her legs coupled his waist and she fell hard onto the shed. He eyed her with a mix of carnal lust and disgust. At the same time he felt he had found his soul mate and he press forward enveloping their bodies closer. He licked the mix of dirt and sweat that had settled on her neck. “I told you it was time for a killing,” he said through grunts. “I said I wasn’t no…coward.” He tugged the bandana from her mouth and kissed her hard. “But…you…didn’t…let me…see! You…hmm! Selfish bastard! You didn’t…let me…see!” Jerry reached for the axe… people have rated it so far. is the current average. |
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