| this is oh so blue A MAGAZINE OF FICTION, POETRY & MORE! |
| black |
| this is black shadow |
| ZYGOTE IN MY COFFEE.COM |
| ISSUE #1 $O.OO |
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| JAN. 04 |
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| David leaned in close to her. She shrunk back, could smell the scotch and other things. “Elvis Presley,” he slurred, “sings other fella’s music with style an’ conviction.” She clenched her teeth. “You’re disgusting.” “Mandara, baby …” The dog whimpered and wet the morning newspaper. “Listen to that little radio of yours, huh? Listen, to the crap that’s coming out it. That’s mind control, baby.” “The radio,” she said, “isn’t even on.” “Yeah,” he looked around the apartment, “oh … yes it is.” “Where have you been?” “You ask that question, because you care. Okay, I know that.” David scratched the top his head. He needed a shave. He needed a shower. “You need to see a doctor,” she said. “Charlie Parker baby, I was in Charlie Parker’s basement, listenin’ to him blow those bop constructions, soundtrack of slipping over the edge, dig?” “You’re horrible,” she said, “and Parker died forever ago.” “That’s what you think, kiddo.” Sirens, outside, whirled with delight, seeking more blood. David noticed the wallpaper cracking and peeling itself back at its own leisure. His eyes hurt and he had to squint from the sudden glitter of that morning light against the knife gripped in her small white hand. Mandara had the lost look of rubber-room eyes. There is no escape from the filth of togetherness, she thought. |
| “Oh shit, baby. Look, I’m sorry,” he said. “Don’t get all Norman Bates on me.” “No, you’re not. You don’t even know what that means.” “I was listening to the King on the juke and …” “You smell like scotch, you smell like …” |
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| I Murder You, Baby |
| by Bradley Mason Hamlin |