The Last Word

{WC: 500)

“Reward, what reward! Yeah I ain’t stupid but I ain’t no moron, neither, reward, what reward… I—ah, ooh! Geez this ain’t ‘posed to hurt like this, be this bad. What am I some retard?”

“Maybe, maybe not.”

“What, who said that? C’mon, speak up or shut up ghost!”

“I am no ghost.”

“Oh yeah, right, of course, Angels-r-Us got them a twenty-four hour worm now, that it?”

“So you acknowledge my voice?”

“Sure, why not? I’m hearing lots of voices already, why not yours? Find a counselor and all that, they said. Yeah, they even tell you to ‘calm down’ and all that crap, but where exactly did those morons learn all that, huh? Tell me, Angels-r-Us guy, where?!

“I will tell you now that I am no angel, but it seems we’re not strangers.”

“Hey you listen to meflappy, I’m in no mood for stupid mind games—not by you or my eighth-grade teacher or my mother or that Pastor Fred Dickhead or your best friend, you hear me?!”

“Yes...”

“Good! Now shut up or stop this bleeding. You can’t do that then this thing we got goin’ on here is over, flappy, you got that? OVER!”

“But I’ve got something better to—”

“There ain’t nothing better right now.”

“How do you know that?”

“’Cuz I got me in this hole and I sure as hell can get me out, that’s how! It’s just too friggin’ bad for me that some ego-trippin’ voice got the hot urge to yap away and now I’m so worked up I can’t even feel my—ah! AH!”

“So I oughta just leave you in that peace and quiet then. That right?”

“Ain’t…it hurts…too much…man!…beat it! Hear me? Get outta here!”

“Not without sharing something with you first.”

“Oh? And why the—damn this hurts!—why the fuck not?”

“I had a car, much like yours, that—”

“Aw, come on! I ain’t in no mood for damn stories, leave me alone! Just sh—ah! ah…jusshut-tup!”

“Bullets are a bastard, aren’t they?”

“What, got me a low-life angel with me here, now, do I? ‘Course they are!”

“I feel your pain, my friend, I do.”

“Yeah? How’s that…”

“No, my friend, how is that.”

“What the hell! Get it off! Get it off!”

“I can’t, that’s the last of my strength.”

“Wha…”

“What you see there on you, that black and charred thing sittin’ there on your chest—well, now your neck—is the leftovers of my right arm. Wrecked up just like you.”

“B-but that means you’re...”

“Yeah I ain’t got time like you, so now you shut up. I’ve been holding out for long, so, so long, and for who knows what. But I’m just as lost as you, ‘cept my time’s up, so now you listen to me.”

“What—”

“You’re my somebody-who’s-gonna-hear-my-last-words body. There just ain’t no runnin’ this one out. This business you and I obviously share…it just ain’t worth it, man. It just…ain’t…worth…it...”

"What ain't? Hello...?"