Meat Popsicle

It's a weird sort of thing, dying. Never thought I'd go out like this. Natural causes, not likely. Car crash, yeah probably. But I had my money on liver disease, to be honest. This, though, not this. Not in a million years this. I been through three ex-wives, four DUIs, a stint in a mental institution, and Desert Storm, and selling ice cream to screaming brats in the ‘burbs is what gets me killed. Ain't that some fucked up luck. So glad I never knocked anyone up.

I knew something was up when that old bitch with the Garden Club-whatever sign in her front yard followed me home after my first route. Stuck up, old broad always giving me the evil eye. Should have never came back after that. But she didn’t do nothing, just followed me home and hung outside my place for a while, then left. Must’ve been scouting me. She’s a little, old lady anyway, I could take her.

I don’t know why I came back. That guy was nice though. The garden club whore's neighbor. Heh, someone being nice. That was a big waiving red flag. I should have known they were in cahoots. It'd been a long time since anyone had a kind word for me. I was a sucker. Plus, he made some damn fine "homemade lemonade". Ha! The drink always calls me back. I can't even remember his name. He's about to so some weirdo shit to my body right now and I can't remember the shithead's name. Fucking booze, always fucking with my brain.

I guess I deserve this. Those kids from the accident didn't make it, except the one. The gimp with the fake leg and half his face missing. Kind of mashed up his noodle too. Drooled when he was talking to the judge in court. Damn. That was my fault. I did that. I screwed up a kid for the rest of his life and killed his friends and I got off with a slap on the wrist.

It wasn't right, I knew that. But being an Army Vet has its perks, I guess. I'm an American hero, dammit. HA! Slurp the alphabet soup and they leave you alone. Go to AA meetings, check in with the PO when you're supposed to, take some DUI classes. Done, everything all better.

I knew the lemonade tasted funny this time. Not like dusty, bottom shelf funny, like floppy, numb tongue funny. Knocked me on my ass. But that's what I wanted, right? Numbness? That’s why I drink... or drank, whatever. And here I am. I’m a dumbass. I got done in by an asshole with an ice cream truck fetish. Always asking questions about what I put in the ice cream. Weirdo.

Why am I cold? I can’t move and I’m cold. Sounds like there’s someone else here. I can’t see shit. Can’t tell if my eyes just won't open or if I’m blind. The hell? Wait, there’s more of them. Besides the guy. I hear them now. That makes sense, the bastards. Sounds like the old garden club slut and one other. What's he talking about?

What the...? Are they...? Oh God! What is that?! They’re cutting me! Stop! Stop! They can’t hear me. I can’t make my mouth move. I can feel them cutting, all three of them, but I can’t move. Why can’t I move?!

They're divvying up my body parts. I can hear them talking about what they’re going to do to me. Are they gonna fucking eat me?! Holy shit, this is some really fucked up shit. They’re slicing and dicing up my insides and putting the pieces on serving plates. Oh God, make it stop!

Are there more of them? Too many voices, I can’t keep up. It sounds like the whole fucking neighborhood. Hold on, is that the kids?! The ones I sold ice cream too?! It is! Those sick fucks brought their kids to an ice cream man buffet! I knew this town was messed up. I fucking knew it! A whole town of murdering, crazy, cannibals!

They always looked at me like I'm garbage. Same as the rest of the world but not the same. I couldn't put my finger on it, but I knew this place wasn't right. Everyone’s so fucking happy and helpful to each another. Like bullshit nice to everyone... except me. I get the side-eyes and mumbles under the breath. Even the damn kids look at me like they hate me. The only nice one is the guy. The guy whose name I can’t fucking remember. The guy whose table I’m on right now. HA! I fucking knew this place was wrong and I came back anyway. Goddamn! Why did I come back?

Getting fuzzy. Think I’m losing too much blood.

Needed the money. Need to fund my habit. That’s why I came back. No one wants to hire a drunk with a history of PTSD, institutionalization, arrests, and an attitude problem. I could have applied for disability or some shit, but I’m no pussy. I’m a man and I earn my keep. A real man. Ha! I'm a real man with a real ice cream truck given a real route that no one else wanted.

That’s the only reason they hired me, I bet. They couldn’t get anyone else to come out here. I knew something was wrong. They knew too. Hell, they’re probably here now, chowing down on my guts. They’re probably all in this together.

Fuck. I deserve this. Should’ve never driven that night. Was too hammered. Wouldn't be here now if I stayed home. Should’ve never come back here.

Barely feel it anymore. Fuzzy. Feels fuzzy... wuzzy... was a bear. Fuuuzzzy. That’s a funny word. Fuuuuuzzzck it.

When it's your time to go, it's your time to go. Maybe that's why I came back. It was my time to go. Maybe I wanted this.

Survived desert heat, bullet wounds, the government and VA only to die in the suburbs, being carved like a turkey. Gobble, gobble. What kind of bullshit is that?

How long have I been here? Feels like forever.

Still cold. Doesn't hurt anymore. That's cool... like me. HAHA!! Where’s my snare? I'm fucking frozen, like a… meat popsicle. HAHAHA! Zing! I’ll be here all night. HAHAHAHA! I'm fucking funny.