Second Honeymoon

 Originally published at Slit Your Wrists Zine, republished at Revolt Daily

 Second Honeymoon
“I thought that they would recognize it right away. You would. The fraudulent atmospheric rhetoric and subsequent esoteric ramblings on the cosmic distortions of mankind as shot through and out the wrong end of a telescope.” He fumbled taking his gloves off, frustrated at their stupidity, how easy they were to catch. It almost wasn’t fun anymore.
“Downplay them, downplay their faults. I’ll get the mop bucket.” One of us had to stay calm.
It wasn’t so much blood as the last time.  Getting rid of the carpet was the best thing we ever did. But I never know though, when the evening fades over midnight and gives way to the light creeping up over the edge of the earth, silhouetting the trees, what kind of shape either of us will be in come morning. We’re just so thankful that it isn’t happening every night. I mean, we’ve got control of it now, the temper.
A Robin Red Breast chirped ,whirred outside my window, in a sing song so happy, I couldn’t stand it. I don’t remember biting his head off, but who knows? Not to be casual about it but let’s face it, we don’t have time for this sort of thing. We need our sleep. So, if a little animal cruelty will speed the plow, well, you weren’t here. It wouldn’t stop singing Claire de Lune. It was beautiful though, my favorite color. He killed the Scrub Jay, all that blue, at least the Red Bird was pretty.  So much noise. We let the other one of it get away. There was no time. So I was mopping. He was passed out on the sofa in front of a Godzilla movie. Mothra was totally winning. That’s when there was a knock on the door. We weren’t expecting company.
Crisp and navy. Darks and badges, like they knew for sure. “You have the right to…”
“Bang! Bang!” Because he had me by the hand then we weren’t going down without a fight. Out the back door and over the fence, truck parked in the alley where’d he’d left it the night before. Blood still running out the bed. Keys in the ignition. Bonnie and Clyde with a Chevy step-side.
Firing out the back window while he drove. Hooked it around a corner too fast and threw me into his lap and then back out.  We kissed. We laughed. New clip. “Bang! Bang!”
And up by the river, we knew we were going to get away. I left my night gown on a tree branch blowing like a strange windsock, put on the pants and shirt he’d swiped from the gas station. He said I looked sexy. I bet I did.
We were back to square. We needed to rob something else. It had been easier at the house when we could dispose of them at least without being noticed, or so we‘d thought. Now, we were on the lamb. Does anyone say that anymore? Well, if the shoe fits. We said everything. We used everything we could. We did whatever we wanted.  They said on the radio that we were both crazy and to be on the lookout. Two young lovers, who couldn‘t pay back their student loans. Genius I.Q.’s but utterly lacking in emotional depth, said the profiler. Helped when we needed to escape though. Our hair dye stained the sink in the first motel that would have us. We laughed, there was room in the inn.. We made love over the memory of the tourists we’d killed on our honeymoon. I thought I saw the end of the world in a helicopter light out the frosted glass of the bathroom slider but it weren’t so.
They didn’t get us ‘til morning.
Brushing my teeth. Slammed against the wall by a blast. There it was, leaking out of me, me. It didn’t seem real, just some strange hole in my t-shirt. Drenched in my favorite color. There was only long enough before the lights went out to see him falling away from me, with all that splintered glass. It looked kind of like the 4th of July for a minute. It really did.

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