Cover Me

Author’s note: This story first appeared in the Spring 2007 issue of HeavyGlow.

Off on cheap Zinfadel and silly gillyweed. New slippers squeeze toes and cradles heels. The aroma of sandalwood is thick, and the cat is crying after dinner.

Does any of this matter?

It’s the minutia of life that travels on every second, every minute, building hours. Hours of time gone on and impossible to reclaim.

One more glass, one more hit. What’s the total, ma’am? What’s the damage, sir?

Easy microwave fudge becomes a way of life. Disposable and easy, it has to be easy. If it’s not easy, it’s not wanted. Until the end of the glass. Then, if it’s not hard, it’s not wanted.

Where’s the meeting room and who’s paying? Whose name is on the title page? Who signed this tax form, really? I feel the need – the need to create a new document.

So I can fly. For seconds that turn into minutes which build hours.

Hours build days. Days, weeks. And so on.

The question is, how high can you go? How high will you go? The stability is compromised when the northerly wind blows cold and cruel in its whiteness. Fierce.

Hungry.

Show, or hide the rulers? Does it matter? The cause and effect still ride the rails, one merging into another with nary a seam. Will the days unite when time ends, united at last in one enormous payday?

Or, will it culminate in a handful of bonus tokens with a twenty-five dollar purchase?

Talk to the hand in your ghetto-speak, with a half-price dinner on the line.

Cover me, will you?

(c) 2007, Annetta Ribken. All rights reserved.