My name is Rob Gillaspie. I have never written a bio for myself before. Hell, I've never even been published before. This is my first honest attempt at a rejection slip. I stumbled across your website online, read through some of the selections, and figured I should give it a shot.
I live in Kansas. I was born here, I've almost died here a few times... hopefully I can escape before the hammer finally drops. I've been homeless, I've been a drug addict, I've hung out with drunks, killers, and thieves for most of my life. Somehow I've come out of the tunnel with my sanity intact. Is this the life of a writer?
There isn't a personal website. I use the computer at my local library, just like the commercial says. You can contact me here: r_gillaspie@yahoo.com
Here's the story, email style. As you instructed, I've also sent it as a Word document, attachment style.
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COTTON FEVER
SCRATCH
I am sick, I am diseased beyond repair. My skin is gray, my tongue is swollen, my breath escapes in jagged bursts. The stench of rot oozes from every pore, hanging in a smog above my head. I am slowly turning into a monster.
The moment catches like a needle in a groove. Everything begins to skip and repeat. I'm trapped in the seconds between waking and dreaming, watching my life unfold through flashbacks and excerpts of shitty dialogue. The days are the same, the faces are the same, the writing is always the same. The only thing that changes are the needles in my arm, and even those start to feel alike after a while.
This is my world, and it's coming to an end.
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MUD
Pris rolls the glass tube between her lips, face turned towards the ceiling. Clusters of open sores line the corners of her nose and mouth. She holds the flame steady, drawing her cheeks in, until the entire rock has melted away. The air between us reeks of burnt hair and plastic.
The phone isn't ringing. I watch it from across the room, feeling my guts churn. I haven't taken a shit in close to three days; now everything threatens to explode in my pants. I cross my legs and focus on picking scabs from the back of my neck.
Lester says, "So Lola's cleaned up now, huh?" He gingerly taps another rock into the end of his pipe. "How's she feel about you staying off the wagon?"
"She doesn't know. I haven't told her. She doesn't know."
Pris is on her feet, pacing the room, straightening books on the shelf. Her clothes hang like loose skin from her wiry frame. "Fuck her anyway," she snaps. "She's been totally different lately, trying to tell us what we should and shouldn't do... Turning into a god damn hypocrite, just like everyone else in this town."
I shrug. My shirt is plastered to my chest with sweat. "Things got too heavy for her lately, is all."
"Oh, bullshit. I know her better than you. You think she'd be okay with you staying on the needle? I bet she'd throw you out of the fucking house."
"I dunno. Maybe."
"No maybe. She's a bitch like that. And she's the one who got you strung out in the first place."
I check the clock on the wall. My eyes fall back on the telephone. Why isn't it fucking ringing?
Lester sucks down another hit. The tips of his fingers are singed. He closes a fist and presses it against his chest.
"Yeah, fuck her," he coughs.
Pris leans against the arm of the couch. The insides of her elbows are swollen and puckered. She doesn't seem to notice, but looking at her makes my whole body itch.
"Jesus fuck," I say. "Is he ever gonna call or what?"
"He told me one thirty," she says. "We still have fifteen minutes."
"I feel like I'm dying here."
Lester points at me over the top of his knee. "You don't think Lola will narc us out, do you?"
Before I can answer, Pris mutters, "No, hell no. She's still my best friend. She wouldn't do that to us."
"Someone narced on Angie last week. Cops showed up at her place for no reason. She left a rig sitting out on her windowsill. They were threatening to take her kids away, all kinds of shit."
I look him square in the face. "Did they have a search warrant?"
He waves me away and shakes his head. "I don't know. Did you hear that Reggie sold Tom-Tom a balloon full of mud last week?"
"What?"
"It's true... Tom-tom went to the city, hooked up with Reggie... when he came back to fix up, he found out the balloons were full of mud, man."
Pris bites her thumb. "Holy shit."
"Did he kick his ass?"
"I don't think he did anything."
The phone rings. Everybody freezes.
"There's Reggie," Lester says.
--------
A DREAM
Wake up: There is a spoon in my hand-- dried, black cotton-- eyes hang like dead weights in their sockets-- music throbs in the back of my head--
The lights fade out.
Wake up: Lola dances at me from across the room-- kneels on the coffee table and crawls towards me-- drags herself though a sea of crushed cigarettes and half eaten candy bars--
"Touch me, please, touch me."
Sinking in my chair-- tongue is like sandpaper in my mouth--
"You look so serious, don't you want to touch me?"
I manage to croak, "I... just want... to watch you..."
Insects crawl beneath my skin-- snarling jackals with swastikas for eyes gnash at each other's genitals-- Lola forces sand down my throat until my stomach explodes-- I fall back into an upright position, the world rushes past my ears with a roar--
Wake up: Bathroom-- toilet-- nose touching water-- a sick, ugly noise in my ears-- retching, dying, white dots dancing in my eyes--
--------
PARK
Nine twists her face against the afternoon light, lips pulled back over a mouthful of broken glass. "Nice day for a walk, huh?" she says, reaching into her coat.
A stray dog lurks near the edge of the gazebo. He glares at us from the corner of his eye. I lean back against the park bench and watch him pretend to sniff the ground. "I guess so," I reply. The dog seems to retract at the sound of my voice. "How were things in the city?"
She reaches for my hand and presses something into my palm. My heart sinks when I realize what it is. I absently thumb the paper envelopes as I stuff them into my pocket.
"Oh no," I groan. "What's this? Not more of that powdered shit..."
She throws her hands up in the air. "Hey, don't look at me. He was out of balloons when I got there. We were lucky to score anything at all."
I grimace, thinking, How much of my cut did you keep for yourself?
Nine picks up on my look immediately. "Y'know, Lester steps on your share more than anyone, so don't even start with me."
"Hey, I'm cool, don't worry about it."
"That guy's crazy. You should steer clear of him. Ever since his old lady got him strung out on crack he's started acting like a fucking wingnut. Both of them have."
I decide not to argue with her. How can I? Everything she says is true.
"You heard he's been knocking over gas stations, right? With a BB gun?"
"Yeah..."
She sighs and stands up to leave. "That guy's gonna get his head blown off someday."
I watch her tail lights as she fades in the distance, scattering dead leaves behind her.
--------
SHOWER TRICK
"I'm back..."
Lola is sitting on the couch in her bathrobe. She has the remote control in her hand. She doesn't even look at me when I cut across the room. A half empty drink sits on the table in front of her.
"Did you hear me?"
She nods, eyes glued to the television.
I hesitate before taking my jacket off. "Is everything all right?"
"I'm fine... Just a little hung over." She looks over her shoulder at me and smiles. "How was your walk?"
"It's warmer out than it looks." I tug at my shirt, pulling the collar up over my head. The stench of my unwashed body is trapped against my face; I somehow manage to tear myself free. "Don't know why I wore a jacket. I'm sweating like a cunt right now."
Lola turns back to the screen. A tiny elf with a flamethrower dances through a field of paper lilies. "Maybe you should take a shower," she suggests.
"Already on it."
I close the bathroom door and lock it behind me. I make sure the water is running loudly enough to cover my movements. I take off my clothes and draw the curtain for added effect.
Once the shower is running, I dig for my tools: spoon, lighter, syringe. I lay everything out in front of the sink and reach for a cotton swab. I have to sharpen my needle on the back of a matchbook to keep it from bruising my arm.
The shower beats against the curtain and spills into the drain. Everything begins to skip and repeat, skip and repeat, skip and repeat.
I wrap the tourniquet; I give it a sharp pull.
This is my world, and it's coming to an end...
--------
LIPSTICK
Growing up in the trailer park, I had this friend named Rusty Meeks. The two of us used to smear our faces in black paint and stalk the other kids with cap guns. When the neighborhood bullies tried to chase us down, Rusty would lead them back to his trailer and sic his dog on them.
It wasn't long before someone got bit. Rusty's dog came back with a bloody chunk of someone's ass in her mouth. The other kids pretty much left us alone after that.
One day, Rusty knocked on my window with a long stick. "Come down to my place," he said. There was a look of urgency on his face. "I have something to show you."
I hopped on my bike and we raced to his yard. It was the middle of summer; I remember how hot the sun felt on my naked back. The trailer park belonged to the kids in the summertime, during the days when our parents were at work and there was nothing else to do but cause trouble. We took turns leaving skid marks on Rusty's patio, then he led me around back to the tool shed.
"Check this out," he said. He reached up and clicked on the overhead light. The entire ground below our feet was littered with cans of chrome spray paint. My eyes immediately fell on the stack of porno mags in the corner.
"So what?" I asked. "My dad's got those under his bed. What's the big deal?"
Rusty pushed his glasses to the bridge of his nose. "No, not those. This..." He picked up a can of spray paint and shook it next to his head. "This shit'll get you high, man. Reeeeal high..."
"What do you mean?"
"God, you're stupid." He unfolded a plastic bag from his pocket. "Do you want to be cool or not?"
I didn't say anything. I could only watch in fascination as he flicked the bag open with a snap of his wrist. His small eyes regarded me over the rims of his glasses.
"You're not gonna tell anyone else about this, are you?" he asked.
"I guess not..."
Before I could say anything else, he filled the bottom of the bag with spray paint and pressed it against his face. The plastic heaved in and out as he took one breath after another. The shed was filled with the sound of his lungs, hunh-hunh-HUUUNH.
"Are you all right?" My voice was raised to a frantic pitch.
Rusty let the bag slip from his mouth and smiled. His eyes had assumed a glazed, dreamlike quality. "I'm fuckin' great," he sputtered. There was a ring of silver paint around his lips. "Wanna try it?"
We spent the rest of the afternoon sucking down fumes. The metal walls around us began to throb with a dull ringing sound. Rusty climbed to his feet and started bouncing back and forth across the floor of the shed.
"If you jump high enough, you'll hang in the air," he shouted. "Watch me! It's true!"
I gradually became aware of a sharp pain behind my eyes. The aching pulse flashed along with the sound in the walls. I tried to stand up and shake it away but my legs didn't seem to work. I watched Rusty bounce, giggling like an idiot, the front of my shirt soaked with drool.
"You're doing it, Rusty!" I cried. "I can't believe you're fucking flying!"
I almost didn't notice the door crashing open, but Rusty did. He seemed to freeze in mid-air. I followed his gaze to the figure standing behind me. For some reason, I wanted to laugh.
"What the HELL are you guys doing in here?" Rusty's father was bright red, quivering at the shoulders. "Rusty, what do you have all over your face?"
Rusty fumbled for the words. I pitied the poor bastard; I had totally forgotten how to speak.
"Um... lipstick?" he said.
His father reached across and punched him in the mouth. Something hot and wet splattered me in the face. When I looked up, Rusty's face was covered in blood.
"Come here," his father rumbled. "Come here RIGHT NOW."
And that was when Rusty Meeks did the unthinkable, the thing I had never seen him do: He began to cry.
I was on my feet in no time. Somehow, I made it between the old man's legs and across the patio without him reaching me. I heard him screaming at my back as I stumbled over my bike.
"Get your ass home! I don't need you coming around getting my boy in trouble! You're lucky I don't give it to you just as bad! DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME?"
The next day, Rusty woke up and set fire to the milo field behind the trailer park. The entire neighborhood gathered to help the fire fighters, but Rusty just stood there and watched it burn. It was truly an amazing sight.
--------
DEAD
"Wake up, goddammit, hit him again."
Something sharp strikes my face. White stars dance around the corners of my eyes. Reality fades in, struggles for purchase, and quietly slips away.
"Don't you fucking go out on us..."
When the blackness finally comes, it feels like a welcome release. A sleep within a sleep. I close my eyes and pull away from my body, drifting through the water, serene.
"FUCK--"
A deafening WHOOOOSH and suddenly I'm awake, screaming, every muscle strung to the point of snapping. I open my eyes and see my shriveled dick swimming between my legs. Tendrils of black vomit swirl into the drain at the foot of the tub.
Lester says, "Welcome back to the world, asshole."
The lights blink out. I think, I was supposed to be dead, I was supposed to stay dead... thanks for ruining it for me.
Cold water splashes me in the face. I snap to with my fists in the air, bellowing. Someone lays a hand on my shoulder and forces me back into the tub.
"Calm down, man, try to stay awake."
I want to say, Fuck you, but the words won't come.
Lester's face appears in front of me. He has a pitcher of ice water in his left hand.
"You went out, man," Pris says. "Tommy found you sitting in the chair and you didn't have a pulse."
Someone calls out from the other room: "Biggest smile I ever seen on a dead man."
Shadowy hands threaten to pull me down. I close my eyes and fall forward.
Lester dribbles water onto my scalp. I yelp and sit upright, shoulders straight, hair dangling in my face. My temples pound a symphony of painful despair.
"If you keep nodding off, I'm gonna keep waking you up." Lester sets the pitcher down on the floor next to him and reaches over to help me out of the tub. "I don't wanna have to leave you in a dumpster, but I will if it comes to that."
I fall into his lap and heave. The water is still ice cold when it leaves my body. He jumps back without thinking, and my head hits the floor. I'm faintly aware that my lap is soaked with urine.
"Ugh." Lester storms out of the room in disgust. "Pris, help him clean up. We've gotta get him out of here..."
--------
COMMUNION
I open my eyes in a bar. The beer in front of me begs me to crawl inside. I imagine myself sinking through the top of the can and drowning. I have a hard time believing I can function anymore.
Murphy claps me on the shoulder. "You're still here, man. Drink up."
"Ugh." I reach forward, press the beer to my lips, and swallow. The walls of my throat grate together.
"There, now," he says. "Isn't that better?"
"I stand by my previous statement: Ugh."
Murphy could have ruled a thousand tribes in lesser days; his fists are almost as big as my skull. His bearded face splits into a grin that seems to darken the entire room. "Did you tell Lola what happened last night?"
"No. Fuck no."
"You're lucky they didn't just put you in the river or something. Nobody would have ever heard from you again."
"Yeah..."
Last week, I burned Murphy for sixty dollars without even thinking twice. He fronted me the money to pick up some smack, and I never got it for him. I don't even remember the reason why. I woke up behind someone's couch with an empty wallet and a needle in my arm.
When he confronted me about it the next day, I called him a "fat fuck." Oh, how he wanted to kill me.
"You see," Murphy says, signaling to the bartender, "we need to get ourselves a centrifuge. Then we could get all sorts of pills-- dilaudids, percodans, whatever-- and run that fucking buffer off the outside of them. They would break down pretty easy after that."
I borrowed the money from his girlfriend to pay him back. I once saw Murphy split a guy's face open with a single head butt. I'm pretty sure he wanted to do more than that to me.
"We need to get more of those blue tweaker pills from that kid at work," he says. "Those ADD kids, they've got it made."
"Yeah..."
Murphy was quick to forgive me, possibly too quick. He understands the mindset: a drug will often make decisions without the user's consent. In all fairness, he really should have kicked my ass. Maybe it would have knocked some sense into me. But probably not.
"Last week," I tell him, "I banged a whole ounce of cocaine in front of the computer."
"Really? Did you get anything written?"
"No."
He laughs and slaps a ten spot on the bar. "Another beer for my friend here," he orders. "And a couple of shots, too. We've got something to celebrate tonight..."
--------
WITHERING
Lester catches himself nodding and snaps awake. An unlit cigarette dangles from his lips. The sound of running water echoes from the bathroom.
"Hey," I mutter. My voice reaches him from a thousand miles away. "Hey, Lester... Didn't there used to be electricity here?"
Lester blinks. "Huh? Oh... they cut it off yesterday..."
Pris staggers into the room, hands dripping, face puffy and red. "Is my face all swollen, guys, does it look swollen to you?"
Lester doesn't even look. "Pris, stop picking at your face. You're getting water all over the bathroom. Go clean it up."
Pris mumbles to herself and wanders back into the bathroom. The sink is flooding over, splashing down onto the floor. She stares into the mirror and probes her twitching eyebrows. Her bare feet splash tiny circles in the water.
Lester says, "Dammit, Pris, turn that fucking water off! You're gonna flood the house!"
"Okay..."
She twists the knob on the sink and pulls the plug from the drain.
The back of my head is itching again. I reach back and give it a frantic scratch. "What the fuck is she on, man? She's driving me nuts."
"Beats me. We were doing coke last night, she wandered off to the crack house. I swear she oughtta fucking move in there."
Pris materializes next to the couch, muttering something under her breath. She looks like a dying animal, starved, shaking, rabid. "What apartment is this?" she asks.
Lester slowly turns at the sound of her voice. "What?"
She closes her eyes and counts on her fingers: three, four five...
"Pris, this is our house. There is no apartment number."
"I need to know what apartment this is, Jenny's mom needs to know where she's been staying."
Lester flies up from the couch and grabs her by the elbow. "Jenny left town months ago, all right? Why don't you take those sleeping pills I gave you?" He hooks an arm around her waist and drags her towards the bedroom. Pris collapses in his arms, half sobbing, half laughing.
"Good night," she moans as he hauls her away. "Good night, good night, good night..."
--------
ANOTHER DREAM
Minutes into hours into days-- weeks into months into years--
The bed becomes my womb-- a timeless vacuum that swallows me whole--
Wake up: Lola takes me by the wrist-- her touch burns a hole through my skin--
"Why did you do this to me?"
She opens her mouth-- leans in for a kiss-- her face peels away in fat, pink strips--
"You did this to me... why did you abandon me?"
Insect eyes-- antennas-- clicking mandibles-- her greasy mouth devours my face--
Wake up: Naked-- sweating-- my pillow between my teeth--
Roll over-- Lola is sleeping-- she faces the wall, her back is turned towards me--
--------
DEAD AGAIN
A vast, empty void tugs at the base of my skull. Lester calls to me through a tunnel full of knives.
"Fuck you. I'm going inside. Do you need anything?"
The world fades back in: the passenger seat of Lester's car. Hot air billows from the dash, melting my skin to a sticky sheen. My eyelids are swollen and tender. I can tell that his fist is what drove me awake.
"Are you going to be okay? Can you hear me?"
An ice cube strikes me in the ear. I push myself back in the seat. The air around my head moves too quickly.
"You went out on me again, god dammit."
"I did?" I look down at the puddle of vomit in my lap. "I didn't realize I was so fucked up... How long have I been out?"
"Long enough. I couldn't find a pulse. I was going to stick some ice up your ass but I didn't feel like getting to know you that well." His voice has a sharpness to it, an edge that I've never noticed before.
I reach for the handle and pull myself outside. My knees draw up underneath me. I heave bile into the empty parking spot beside us.
"This is getting stupid. I can't always be around to bring you back to life. You're getting to be as bad as Pris..."
"I'm sorry..." Ashamed, I can't think of anything else to say. I dust myself off and climb back into the car. Lester starts the engine without saying another word. We make the rest of the ride home in silence.
--------
CLEAN
The river flows into the horizon. I squat over the rocky bank, running chunks of wet sand between my fingers. Above me, the sun continues its sizzling crawl towards dusk.
Tomorrow, I'm going to quit. Tomorrow, I'm going to tell her. My thoughts follow the current, bobbing and weaving, merging with the sky at the vanishing point. I can't do it alone. I am going to tell her. I have to.
I sneeze once, twice, three times in rapid succession. The spasms are already beginning to take hold of my stomach. I close my eyes and sink back into the mud. The rush of passing water lulls me to sleep, carries me through to that quiet spot in the back of my thoughts. I cling to the moment, I steady my nerves, I wait for the illness to overtake me.
The moment catches like a needle in a groove. Everything begins to skip and repeat. I'm trapped in the seconds between waking and dreaming, watching my life unfold through flashbacks and excerpts of shitty dialogue. The days are the same, the faces are the same, the writing is always the same. The only thing that changes are the needles in my arm, and even those start to feel alike after a while.
This is my world, and it's coming to an end. But maybe I can make it last for just a while longer...
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