| ZYGOTE IN MY COFFEE.COM |
| ***BIO*** G. Smith is from Oklahoma City. He raises his nine year old son, plays a mean goddamn guitar and doesn’t really take well to describing himself in third person. My work has appeared in World Literature Today 2, Oklahomapunkscenedotcom, among others, I write a regular fiction column from an Oklahoma City based newspaper called NONzine. I drink Boulevard Wheat when I’m off the wagon. Which is right goddamn now. At the moment I’m trudging through undergrad work with eventual plans of an M.F.A. in Creative Writing. I’ll be forever waiting for my wife to come home, who happens to not be the bitch in this story. |
 |
 |
| © 2007 zygoteinmycoffee Ink. |
| Home |
| Submit |
| Deleted Scenes |
| by G. Smith |
| The following story is being told as fiction. None of these events has actually happened. Although, if this story was ever to make it into the wrong hands and people actually began to seek out and develop a biography of the author, there might be some similarities with the shitty life the author has actually lived. To those individuals who wish to develop repercussions, the author repeats that the following work is fiction and actually he thumps his chest and says bring it motherfucker, I’ve lived off shit sandwiches since I was a kid, As a matter of fucking fact shit sandwich was the flavor of formula that my adopted mother fed me on day number three! Any similarities in these fictitious characters and real people are highly coincidental, more unlikely because even the people who might be mistaken as real life counterparts none of them are actually real, they are all liars and fucking whores, the characters that is, not the real people. The real people that are somewhat in and out of the life of the author are the greatest human beings on the earth. They are all selfless and kind and giving and ambitious and never let anyone down. They are the sweet early morning dew on this rose that is called life. The author wishes at this time to acknowledge all of those people in his past that has done so much for his wonderful exalted and truly blessed life.
I fucked her sister, I confess even though I don’t want to air the dirty laundry, but I did. She came over for some reason I can’t even remember. But I fucked the dog shit out of her in the living room. I bent her over the backside of the couch and went to town. But she was willing and eager and nervous all at the same time. There had always been a bit of energy between us. I knew it wasn’t right the way she looked at me when I touched her. I thought it could save me. I thought that if I just got some strange, then I would be okay, that I would be released of this terrible codependent grip. She was so much different yet the same. She was skinnier, nicer tits, nicer legs. I knew it wasn’t right when I tore off her panties. The smell of another world filled the broken home. I fucked the shit out of her for about three whole minutes and came to tears upon release. There was no magic, no emotion, no love, and there we were coupled with our pants still around both of our ankles, shoes on and wondering what the hell did we just do. She left quickly in silence. I thought that maybe I was cured, that maybe my obsession would lighten. A couple hours later, her sister called. Her sister was the love of my life, the reason I even tried. For the last few years, I had calmed down the drugfiend inside of me. I abandoned the ranks of the infantry and settled down with this angel to start a family. We had a son. I worked four jobs to provide and then once everything started to fall into place for us, the bottom fell out. She left me to raise our toddler alone. She had run off a month ago and gotten married in India. She wanted to see our son. She wanted me to bring him to see her mother and her mother’s new husband, husband number seven. So off we went, me and the boy, to the wedding reception. The reception was held in the bar of some ran down motel. We pulled in to the parking lot and my baby’s momma was standing outside smoking a cigarette. It was the first time I had seen her since she left the country. She wasn’t interested in holding her son. He slept in the car seat. She didn’t want to take our son inside. She wanted me to drive her to her mother’s apartment. On the way there, she looked at me the way she used to, smiling and giggling and tossing her hair. I didn’t ask her about India, or my ex-best friend, her new shitbag husband. I was just taking her home. She leaned over and brushed her nose onto my ear and the first words out of my mouth were annulment, you have thirty days for an annulment. “Shhhh,” she whispered and bit lightly onto my earlobe. I broke free, heavy feeling in my chest. “What the fuck are you doing?” “C’mon, baby, I haven’t seen you in weeks.” I looked into the rearview mirror and then looked in the backseat at our sleeping son. “Come home with us.” I said as she kissed my neck. “Later, take me to Mom’s first.” She reached down between my legs. “Let’s just go home baby, please.” She leaned down to me and said nothing and I drove with my thoughts, with the boy sound asleep, trying to keep the speed limit. Trying to stay away from the eyes of other cars. Trying to keep my eyes open and stay in between the lines. She was a pro. Out of spite, I say she had been training at this since she was a little girl. That’s how bad I still hurt. I say no woman could ever compare to her. Even if she wasn’t a swallower, she could fit the whole package, cock and balls, into her mouth and still lick your asshole. We got to her mom’s apartment and I as soon as we pulled into the driveway she said, “Call me, tomorrow.” She hurried inside before my bitching, and moaning and crying, the complete co-dependent package came. I took the highway angry, as I always did leaving her shit hole part of the city. But at the peak of my anger, something flipped inside of me. A wonderful peace came into my heart. A smile found itself on my face. A sinister smile and laughter. I found myself laughing hysterically, barely recognizing the noises that were coming from my belly. All of my plans just slipped away. I felt them give me a release. The love, the co-dependency, the dreams of her ever returning, and the desire to live that typical American picket fence family life just slipped, slipped away. I wouldn’t have to saw off her limbs. I wouldn’t chop her into bits. I wouldn’t have to buy a meat grinder. I wouldn’t have to bury her in the back yard or flush her down the toilet. I wouldn’t have to be questioned by the police. All of the plans I had for getting even, getting rid of her, getting her back for fucking my life up vanished. I was free. I hadn’t showered since before her sister |
 |
| Jan. 2007 |
| 76 |