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2
The thing about delirium, Abner says presently, lips brushing my earlobe,
is that a piece of it always stays with you.
One by one Abner munches the river leeches with a creamy stroganoff sauce and tells a story about being the lone
gunner in a depleted infantry unit hoofing its way across the French countryside. The unit is subsequently ambushed
and Abner falls and strikes his head on a rock and wavers in and out of consciousness as his comrades fall to their
deaths around him without a gunner available to provide cover spray. The head injury ultimately results in a stainless
steel plate and Abner at this point lifts a flap of skin and displays the tip of said plate directly below his
hairline and says, Makin' its goldurn way out the older I get.
Incoming! yells Abner. He slips on a combat helmet, retrieves the shotgun and/or walking cane from the wall and
heads for the door with surprising grace and speed given his age and stoop-shouldered status. Several minutes after
Abner has gone I determine this a perfect opportunity to escape and thus jump up from the cot and exit the shack
without stopping to gather clothing or sustenance or the accoutrements of everyday living. I am naked and may or
may not be covered with the caramel colored salve but the positive news is that my injured foot no longer hurts
and I am able to make good time as I travel through the river jungle. Within a hundred yards Abner spots my person
and takes up chase while waving the walking cane and/or shotgun above his head and screaming in a kamikaze fashion.
As I flee I notice a number of red-faced people who wear undershirts and/or bandanas emblazoned with the Rebel
Flag lounging in the trees and I call out for their help but they seem perfectly content to watch my demise from
above, the inbred fuckers.
A clearing opens in the river jungle revealing a set of train tracks currently accommodating a slow moving line
of train cars ornamented with a wealth of graffiti such as Fuck Duck and Junior Loves GDaddy and SNATCH! I risk
a glance behind me and observe that Abner is within ten yards and making up ground and licking his lips and drooling
liberally as if he intends me as an afternoon snack, pancreas and all. One of the train cars has its doors open
and I grit my teeth and attempt to travel faster in hopes of securing a position therein but just as I get my hand
on the train car I feel Abner's grip on my shoulder and fully understand this to be the end of my existence. His
grip disappears in an instant however and I successfully pull myself up into the empty train car and look back
to see Abner swarmed under by perhaps a dozen of the red-faced people who wear undershirts and/or bandanas emblazoned
with the Rebel Flag.
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More published work by Andy Henion:
www.InkPot.com, Pindeldyboz.com, & Monkeybicycle.net
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