– tony.espino –

a human. for now.

9.16 | august

chronicle of an unreliable voice

Folder 22

Stuck behind another death truck. I don’t know how they don’t vomit standing on the back throwing trash in it all day. You have to have a strong stomach to be a garbage man. I once knew a garbage man who couldn’t stand the sight of fresh strawberries. It drove him mad. He would begin dry heaving. But if you put them in a trash bag he had no problem looking at them. Would even eat them. But only from a trash bag.


The Phantom was sitting on a couch next to the Lady in Blood. The Conjoined Triplets sat across from them.
“Now you three are going to teach me. Understand?”
“What are they teaching you?”
“They know what they’re going to teach me. Magic.”
“Magic?”
“Yeah. They passed the test. You were there.”
“Were there other tests? Have you done that before?”
REWIND
The Lady in Blood opens the furnace door. She moves around a pile of ashes and prods at three charred skulls.
“Dammit.”
FAST FORWARD
The Lady in Blood doesn’t respond.
“This is messed up. I’m leaving.” The Phantom stands up to leave. The Lady in Blood pulls him aside.
“Listen. You’re not going anywhere. You don’t get to climb inside my dream like some creep and just bail after I set some conjoined triplets on fire. Besides, you have a giant X on your face. Who else is going to accept you?”
“I don’t need your acceptance.”
“No? Because it sure seemed like it when I found you running from your boyfriend, Art.”
“She was trying to keep me for her art collection. That’s what I was running from. That horrible art collection and the damn¬†Trench Coat in High Heels.”
“Trench Coat in High Heels?”
“Yeah I don’t know how else to–”
“Where? Tell me.”
“I don’t know. The house I escaped from. It had a really long driveway. A very strangely long driveway now that I think of it. Near where you found me.”
“We need to find her.”


The garbage men stare me down while they dump trash in their truck. They think I’m following them. Some sort of spy sent by corporate to make sure they don’t eat all the profits. I’m no spy. I try to tell them so with my eyes. But they assume that’s something a spy would do.

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This entry was posted on August 9, 2016 by in books, comedy, fiction, flash fiction, humor, writers, writing and tagged , , , , , , , .

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