#5 SIN CHRONICLES | DEATH COMES IN THE MORNING

_{Photo by Dmitry Ermakov on Unsplash.}

The Bible lies open on the table beside the bed. In the beginning, was the... I tear the chapter and verse and pour the weed on it. Bible pages make good blunts, Martey used to say. He was an asshole and he is dead now, my man, Martey. They blew his stomach wide open at the junction, close to where One Eye Janet sells plantain and sauce. His intestines fell to his feet like old Christmas decorations; my man, Martey.

I roll the blunt and let Saint John's gospel sit close to the gas lighter. I roll my thumb over the lighter and study the blunt in my hand. I turn to the snoring body on the other side of the bed. What is her name? She was beautiful last night. Now, she just needs to go home.

"Hey wake up and stop drooling on my pillow."

The body turns and yawns, expelling a sour smell of old beer and stale cigarettes from her spit encrusted lips.

"Come on, it's morning. I need to get to work" I say, smacking her behind. She's got a round bum.

"You's roll a joint, how da fuck is that look like going to work?" she asks, opening one eye.

"hey... Hey... Don't use swear words in my crib. See I am trying to talk to God."

I light the dope and take a drag, then I let the smoke sit on my lungs for a minute, before I let a bit out and drag it back in, then I let it out again and drag it back in again. Her hungry eyes follow the smoke in and out my lips. I smile and she frowns.

"That's no prayer and you can't go to work high on dope. I am going back to sleep."

"Men... Get your trashy weave and sour breath off my bed. Don't you have a home?"

She ignores me and faces the wall. I hate this about her. Every morning she wants to stress my morning ablutions and devotions. I take a long drag and stare at the blunt, my lips open in a circle.

"Take, smoke, then get the fuck out." I hand her the weed.

She turns to me, smiling and takes it from my hand. As I leave the bed, she begins to sing lustily;

"Amazing grace, how sweet da sound..."

She has the most amazing voice I have heard but she can't read or write; what a shame. I enter the bathroom.

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INTERLUDE

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_{Photo by Justin Roy on Unsplash.}

Sweaty skins on warm bed sheets,
Naked limbs encrusted with sleep.
Moon beams wooing the curtained scene,
Death comes in the morning.

Dandelion dreams and hibiscus memories,
Bogus jeans cradling swinging hips
Leaving dirty plates on sagging sinks.
Sweet soft lips of errant winds
Caressing old music sheets, the piano stills.
Death comes in the morning.

Gun fights on TV screens,
Game consoles triple gunshot wounds bleeding,
Family prayer meetings consolation seeking.
Sirens, sirens; stretching bodies
On pavement crashing.
Death comes in the morning.

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My man, Martey liked to say, Bro, when your throws are landing on oneses then you need to leave the game and head on home. My man, Martey was a regular book of wisdom. It didn't help him though when he got shot the other day.

A car backfires outside as I pull my zipper down and urinate into the toilet bowl. 'God forgive me for my sins. I pray my soul to keep if I die today.' Morning devotion done, I flushed all them sins away.

As I lay my hands on the bathroom door, I hear my front door crashing and footsteps rushing in. The girl pause her song to scream but two silenced shots silence her lips. I rush to the window and I stand there, confused, pulling at the sash when the bathroom door opens gently and Boss walks in. How he found me is the least kf my problems.

"Are you going some place, my boy Friday?"

I hate his voice, always soft, always cultured.

"Not at all. Mosquitoes have been a nuisance lately, I was checking to see if they came through here."

"Mosquitoes, nasty little things. You know one time, my daughter got malaria and typhoid at the same time. I cried, my friend, I cried." He replied, staring at me with eyes that has never shed a tear in their miserable life.

I adjust my penis that seem to have left my boxer shorts and was somehow resting on my laps, probably curious, as I hop from one foot to the next.

"Come let's have a talk. Two grown men can't be talking in the bathroom when there's enough space out here."

I nod. My tongue is suddenly swollen in my mouth.

---

The room is quiet. Billy 'The Kid' Graham is reading my Bible and smoking my blunt. He smiles at me and goes on reading. I wish I have a hammer and some really long nails; I will start with his hands, then his balls, then his eyes and tongue. I imagine killing him slow and refuse to look at the bed.

"When you and Martey came to work for me, I told you two things; don't steal from me and don't touch my girls, did I not?" Boss asks, staring at the bed.

I nod, my eyes on Billy. I used to be good, writing poetry, going to church to kneel before the cross, counting beads as fervent prayers spill from my lips then Martey came with his plans. Yes, my man, Martey always had a plan. His plans just never included him swimming in his guts and looking stupid doing it. Why did I quit that shit?

"Boss you know me, I don't do such things. I just do my job and go home."

He nods and motions to Billy. Billy gets up and drops a black bag on the floor between us. I know what is inside the bag. I bought the bag last week and I had hidden it between a crack behind the toilet sink in my mother's place downtown. I swallow but there's no spit. Weed tends to do that to you.

"Martey is dead. It is a waste of time blaming it on him then. Do what you want." I mutter. My heart is rattling in my chest like a kid on sugar rush.

"Should I shoot him now, boss?" Billy asks, his voice sounding weird in the silence.

"Don't be an ass. Do you know why he stole this? Do you have another writer to reply letters and chat up clients? The fool is a resource and he knows it."

Billy goes back to his seat and I smile and wink at him. I was not going to die after all. I just bought a new pair of jeans; black, won't fade in water, thick like a blanket. I have not won it yet. It won't be cool to wear it for the first time in some undisclosed trash dump.

_{Photo by Noel Lopez on Unsplash.}

"I have a job for you."

I smile some more, This I can do. I even turn to look at the girl's airless scream and her sad breasts.

"Sure boss, anything."

"Good man. You are going to write very convincing letters to those families. You are going to tell them that their daughters are dead in the nicest way possible." He said.

"But they are not... Are they?" I ask, my eyes wide with disbelief.

Billy chuckles and flips another page of my Bible open. I turn to him, my boss, and he shrugs. He kicks the bag before me and I hear the wet sucking sound of flesh and blood. I squat and open it and in there are the girls' passports, their panties and their hearts. I puke into the collection. Billy chuckles again.

"I hope you still have those skills with words? I must take my leave; places to go, people to see." Boss says as he turns to the broken door.

At the door, he turns back to me;

"Somebody gave the police a tip about ritual killers and they managed, in all their incompetence, to find a page from that your novel, the page with your signature, at the crime scene. Guess whose name is signed on it? I guess you'd be really busy eh? I will send you paper and pen."

Billy chuckles again as both of them leave me empty.

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I stare at the bag, the door, the bed, my hands and then I crumple to the floor like a used condom even as sirens sing their songs and footsteps rattle about the sidewalk. Bless me father for I have sinned... My prayers flee my trembling lips.

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THE END

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I am sorry this is poorly plotted. I am not feeling too good. One side of my head hurts and I think I need to take a break off steemit for a day or more. Once again I apologize for the poor quality. We will meet again.

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