Read Online Kill Marguerite and Other Stories by Megan Milks - Free Book Online
Authors: Megan Milks
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over to grab her purse, the knobs of her spine showing through her thin blouse.
He flipped the pages. âNow, if I wasnât stuck for material tonight, Iâd go on not reading itâbecause it drives her batshit.â
Remembering Ju-Rin in the walk-in closet, he flinched. Ju-Rin kneeling, bent over a giant Ziploc bag in her fancy dress, her vertebrae pushing through her skin. Heâd caught her in the bathroom mirror as he was getting ready for their date last week, dinner at a fancy restaurant to celebrate this very gig. Her fingers went deep; tears leaked out her eyes as her slimy fingers hammered down the back of her throat.
âSee, Iâve learned about myself through this relationship. Isnât that nice, to really learn about yourself? Iâve learned...that Iâm one passive aggressive sonofabitch.â The audience laughed.
He stared at her in the mirror. Donât bother to close the closet door or anything. Jesus. As if she sensed his stare, she glanced up and met it in the mirror, her eyes wet, defiant, her fingers still going at it, reaching down. Then she shifted so he couldnât see her face, just her back as her head bent down, the hard bolts of her spine jerking above the low-cut back of the dress.
âIâve also learned that my passive aggressiveness is on a whole other level from hers. Infinitely more passive, infinitely more aggressive,â he said over the laughter.
âSo bring it on, bitch .â
He pulled open the medicine cabinet mirror a little bit more, angled it so he could watch. The rice porridge came up in small spurts of gooey whiteness. Her fingers went back at it with vigor, wetly stroking. He watched them push down deep to trigger her gag reflex. Her jaw musclesworked to widen further until she looked like she might swallow her own hand.
Her fingers left a glistening trail of saliva from her wet lips, and he pressed his boner into the edge of the bathroom counter.
Later, at the restaurant, heâd said to her, âSo, when are you coming to see the new set?â The fork paused on the way to her lips. She chewed thoughtfully, then said she didnât want to jinx him. Things were going so well.
âThey are, arenât they?â he said. They clinked their glasses.
He frowned down at the page in front of him.
âOkay. June 11th.â He cleared his throat. âThings with Jason are going so well....â
The audience roared.
MY FATHER AND I WERE BENT GROUNDWARD
My father and I were bent groundward and picking up pebbles while arguing in our confused, disconnected way, when from up above and behind us the sword of Hephaestus swung down mercilessly to slice my father all the way plumb from his asshole through to his left hip. Then for a second go it came back around, back into the asshole and down through the groin to sever his left leg completely. The sword of Hephaestus was forged of a bronze and silver hybrid that changed color from bronze to silver to blinding in the light. It was lean and strong, and handled effortlessly as it whipped through my fatherâs ass.
Before disengaging itself from his body, my fatherâs left leg shivered a bit, then plopped over and into the sand. From his pelvis, blood sprayed in an arced line, like water from an oscillating sprinkler. I rushed towards him, sorry for all I had said, and intending to offer support before he lost balance completely. As I ran I saw with horror from the corner of my bulging, terrified eyeball that the sword of Hephaestus was now swinging swift and directly toward me. There was no getting away: I knew this, and flinched. The sword of Hephaestus caught me between the thighs and sliced off my right leg, easy. The blade took an abrupt swerve then, the flat side slappingmy ass before striking the ground and rescinding into an overcast sky.
As you might guess, we hopped around screaming as blood gushed out of our hip joints and clotted the sand into
He flipped the pages. âNow, if I wasnât stuck for material tonight, Iâd go on not reading itâbecause it drives her batshit.â
Remembering Ju-Rin in the walk-in closet, he flinched. Ju-Rin kneeling, bent over a giant Ziploc bag in her fancy dress, her vertebrae pushing through her skin. Heâd caught her in the bathroom mirror as he was getting ready for their date last week, dinner at a fancy restaurant to celebrate this very gig. Her fingers went deep; tears leaked out her eyes as her slimy fingers hammered down the back of her throat.
âSee, Iâve learned about myself through this relationship. Isnât that nice, to really learn about yourself? Iâve learned...that Iâm one passive aggressive sonofabitch.â The audience laughed.
He stared at her in the mirror. Donât bother to close the closet door or anything. Jesus. As if she sensed his stare, she glanced up and met it in the mirror, her eyes wet, defiant, her fingers still going at it, reaching down. Then she shifted so he couldnât see her face, just her back as her head bent down, the hard bolts of her spine jerking above the low-cut back of the dress.
âIâve also learned that my passive aggressiveness is on a whole other level from hers. Infinitely more passive, infinitely more aggressive,â he said over the laughter.
âSo bring it on, bitch .â
He pulled open the medicine cabinet mirror a little bit more, angled it so he could watch. The rice porridge came up in small spurts of gooey whiteness. Her fingers went back at it with vigor, wetly stroking. He watched them push down deep to trigger her gag reflex. Her jaw musclesworked to widen further until she looked like she might swallow her own hand.
Her fingers left a glistening trail of saliva from her wet lips, and he pressed his boner into the edge of the bathroom counter.
Later, at the restaurant, heâd said to her, âSo, when are you coming to see the new set?â The fork paused on the way to her lips. She chewed thoughtfully, then said she didnât want to jinx him. Things were going so well.
âThey are, arenât they?â he said. They clinked their glasses.
He frowned down at the page in front of him.
âOkay. June 11th.â He cleared his throat. âThings with Jason are going so well....â
The audience roared.
MY FATHER AND I WERE BENT GROUNDWARD
My father and I were bent groundward and picking up pebbles while arguing in our confused, disconnected way, when from up above and behind us the sword of Hephaestus swung down mercilessly to slice my father all the way plumb from his asshole through to his left hip. Then for a second go it came back around, back into the asshole and down through the groin to sever his left leg completely. The sword of Hephaestus was forged of a bronze and silver hybrid that changed color from bronze to silver to blinding in the light. It was lean and strong, and handled effortlessly as it whipped through my fatherâs ass.
Before disengaging itself from his body, my fatherâs left leg shivered a bit, then plopped over and into the sand. From his pelvis, blood sprayed in an arced line, like water from an oscillating sprinkler. I rushed towards him, sorry for all I had said, and intending to offer support before he lost balance completely. As I ran I saw with horror from the corner of my bulging, terrified eyeball that the sword of Hephaestus was now swinging swift and directly toward me. There was no getting away: I knew this, and flinched. The sword of Hephaestus caught me between the thighs and sliced off my right leg, easy. The blade took an abrupt swerve then, the flat side slappingmy ass before striking the ground and rescinding into an overcast sky.
As you might guess, we hopped around screaming as blood gushed out of our hip joints and clotted the sand into
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