Bullet God

Parker sits in his room; the grey walls are peeling and bubbling from water damage over the years. The ceiling is caved in on one side and the there is a plastic tarp covering part of the floor with pieces of fallen plaster and brown water.

He is just sixty eight years old and sits naked except for a ski cap that he has tied around his ears. In his hand is a snow globe that he shakes erratically,while whispering the periodic tables over and over under his breath.

He hears a crash come from somewhere in the house and knows that his daughter is trying to find his stash...beat him to it...damn her. He rises from where he sits and grabs the first thing that will cover him. Which happens to be the plastic tarp, small fragments of the plaster cover his bare arms and chest and the stagnant water drips from his fingers.

The rustling of the plastic can be heard from the house as he makes his way down the narrow hallway, ducking his head to avoid the exposed pipes from the low ceiling. His large body blocks the doorway to the kitchen as he looks at his daughter lying on the floor on her hands and elbows with her ass in the air, sniffing lines of smashed barbiturates.

The pills he had waited for, for hours down at the clinic. Luckly for him they'll give you pills for anything these days, no one can just have a "bad-day" they must be depressed or bipolar or have A.D.D. How sad for the countless people striving to be perfect, and how they'll never achieve the normalcy that they strive for without filling a prescription every week. But it was good news for him, knowing that perfection does indeed come in the shape of a pill, but not when used as directed.

"Just what in the hell do you think your doing ya little hussy?" Parker bellowed, flailing his arms about wildly, knocking several of the grease filled pans and blackened glass dishes to the floor.

"I wasn't feeling all too good when I got up this morning" Monica replied dramatically. "I think I might be coming down with something".

"Well you can go down to that forsaken clinic and get yourself your own fix". Parker sneered. He was smart enough not to leave his entire stash in one place. He thought of the handful or so of tranquilizers in the ashtray on his bed stand and a calm fell among him. But the sight of her bloodshot eyes, matted dark hair and the white power tracing from her nose down to her cheek filled him with a rage that he knew would not leave her living. She too saw this look of malice creep over his face and began to scoot backwards slowly towards the open pantry door.

Parker looked in disgust at the whore trying to reach what she thought was safety, and it might be for the moment....but she knew as well as he that there was nothing safe. Not in this house and not with the blood that ruins in thier veins.

Monica managed to scramble into the pantry in time to hear a greasy dish hit the door and shatter on the floor outside. She was feeling good now; her high had not been blown despite her daddy's best attempts. What a greedy man she thought to herself as she pulled the torn curtain from the small window and lay down with it on the floor. Staring up at the sunlight coming through the rips in the aluminum foil that was the covering for most of the windows in the house she thought of what was to come tonight.