Fictionlet
Voices were now making their way across the night air, evidently from the small, squat, square building in the middle of this sea of car corpses. Yellow light was spilling out of the far side of the building, illuminating what looked like a probability cloud of flying insects. Brigid and Greg crept up the narrow alleys between cars, and as details became clearer, it became apparent that the building was in fact a trailer, hoisted up on cinderblocks, with the wheels long removed and wiring run to it. There were bars and chicken-wire gratings on all the windows, which seemed superfluous considering that the glass was long gone and the windows had been covered up from the inside by plywood anyway.
There were two sets of voices; one had the tinny and far-away sound of a television babbling to itself at the low volumes characteristic of a household where the TV was never turned off for any reason but just had the volume adjusted down a bit when people weren’t actually sitting stupefied in front of it. The second set of voices was much louder, and evidently came from people present.
“Yeah, yeah,” said one of the voices, masculine and grainy, “I can just see you goin’ to a reunion of that goddamn Bible-thumping family of yours, ha ha HAA ha ha! They wouldn’t let you in the fuckin’ door.”
“HAA ha ha HAA,” agreed a second voice, this one feminine and also grainy. “What you mean? I see my momma all the time.”
“Yeah, your momma,” said the first voice. “Shit, that bitch don’t know half about you or she’d kick you out of the family. Ha HAA!”
Greg winced and glanced sideways at Brigid, who just rolled her eyes and pointed down another row of cars. “Come on,” she mouthed, but was silent.
“After all that work she did takin’ me to church,” said the feminine voice. “She thinks I’m goin’ straight to Heaven.”
“Pfaw shit,” said the masculine voice. “You always been a evil bitch. Your cunt’s the only part of YOU goin’ ta Heaven! Ha ha HAAAA ha HAAA!”
“Ha ha HAAAA ha ha HAAAA ha HAAAA!!!” agreed the feminine voice, at which point Greg looked like he might be physically sick. It was hard to tell which had hit him harder — what the man had said, or the fact that the woman hadn’t immediately decked him for it. With a look of deep anguish, he followed Brigid in the likely general direction of Steggles’ wayward car.
-The Gneech
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