Tuesday, September 16, 2003

Somewhat of a Serial By S. Morgan Bartash

A gallon of milk can be a formidable weapon, especially when carried in the dominate hand. Kianti Augi found this out in the wee house of August 19 walking home. She had no idea where she had got the milk, but she was glad she had it when she heard the footsteps approaching rapidly from behind her. Icicles had been shooting up the veins of her right hand, she realized, in the slow, stubborn way one does with a mind swimming with the aftereffects of alcohol, tobacco, and loud music. This told her that it was cold, and she had been carrying it for quite a distance.
As the plastic jug smashed against the guy’s head, her brain sidestroked off, and she tried to recall why she wasn’t driving home. She had driven the Rexmobile downtown with Nick and Reena and Brook and Progressive Dan, hadn’t she? Milk splooshed over her attacker as the cap popped off, then glugged out onto the sidewalk. She was surprised to see it was chocolate. Then, as the guy lunged at her in a dairy-soaked rage, she turned and ran.

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