Put It In Your Pantry with Your Cupcakes

Tuesday, August 31, 2004


Among the passengers, Jacob Healy was the lone head, or hippie I guess. The others had all died. Stretching, he scratches his head;the hairs bristle at his touch. "Where am I?" he thinks to himself. His head sports a 2 inch gash which he doesn't seem to notice. Blood forms puddles on his ear, flowing along the ear to another puddle on his shoulder. He remembers. Juneau, midspring of 1984. Going to Juneau to do what? He remains stable on his seat, pondering the moment. He moves and it shifts. The memories flow in again. Vegetation the main interest. A barren plateau set against the agonizingly beautiful Pacific Ocean. Opposite the ocean grows massive knuckles. The mountains. Breathtaking. Jibboo. He had wanted to purchase it for his own private use. Why not? he had said. It's land. Maybe make some money. But that is not where he is. He is on his feet, shuffling to the door. Blown off. Pieces here. Fragments there. Who else survived? James Connty. Footprints. Connty missing. Coincedence it's not. Skimming the remaining seats. All there. A morbid sight but one he must look at. He's on his own now. Out of the darkness. BAM! Sunlight hits him at all angles. He can feel them richocheting off his arm, his shoe, his head. Baggage in turmoil on the outside ground. He sifts through. CDs. Check. CD player. Check. Baggies. Check. Munchies. Check. A sudden hunger overcomes him. He creates more turmoil. Connty's bag missing. Guess that guy's alive and well, Jacob thinks to himself. He puts on some Dead and grooves to it. Still sifting for a morsel of food. Lightbulb! Food carts. Grabs his bag. Miraculously finds a flashlight. Back into darkness. Flip! Light bounces from wall to wall creating illumination. Stumbling, singing, grooving with and to the Dead. "Pouring its ashes..." Sees death again and must turn away. A dry puddle of blood spills down his shirt. Red rivers flow. Food! Food! Back on the contraption comes food. 50 small meals. 50...49...48. Stuffed. Save the rest for later. Back through death illuminating shadows dance. Puppets in a play. Arms there. Arms here. Front of the contraption. Radios sizzle and crackle. Arms flailed against impact. "Read...me.." He picks it up. "SOS" "lights all shining on me, other times..." grooving. Riding the trip. Bag full of meals. Bag full of music. Bag full of baggies. Sees the footprints. Darkness gathering in the wings, waiting to be sprung on unsuspecting travelers. Pondering. Deciding to wait. Radios still sizzling and crackling. "...sleep tight, don't let the bed bugs bite..." Ripples of sound. Grooving on this sound. Off to sleep. "...blossoms blooming..."
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