The death of ole Charlie

His head slams into the side of the door frame, and he finally falls down on the ground, face first. He twitches a couple more times, tries to reach back and take the knife out o’ his neck, but he can’t reach it and he don’t have no more strength.

My heart is growlin’ like a cat in its blood. I look down both roads, but there’s no traffic tonight. I grab ole Charlie by the ankles and drag him to the side of Milk Road. His arms sometimes twitch, but not much. His hands are like claws and they drag the loose chunks of gravel between his knuckles. I don’t wanna see his face. Not now. My head is throbbin’, my stomach feels like it’s bleedin’ through to my chest, but I gotta hurry. Fake Mamma will be comin’ home soon, and I never want to see her again. Not ever.

So I pull Charlie with all my strength and dump him into the weeds beside the road. There’s a fat crop of wild asparagus at the side, and I roll him into it, turnin’ my head as he tumbles down into a gully of tangled weeds.

I see his face for a split second. There’s blood on his whiskers and blood running outta his ears and nose. He looks scared and stupid and amazed that he could end up dead so easy.


Excerpt from Cronic – Coming 4/1/15


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