the damned kid blogging

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hookersorcake:

It was shortly after the war that my dead mother began sending me ice cream.
Every afternoon at 5:30 sharp a big black limousine would pull up and the driver would get out. The limo’s rear window would lower and a bit of smoke would come out and the driver would reach in, retrieving a gallon bucket of ice cream. Always a different flavor. The driver was a young fumbling man who always said the exact same thing. “Its from your mom.” And then he’d hustle back to the limo and hop in and take off.
Its funny, because I don’t recall anything significant about her and icecream. I think it was the 5th day when I opened the door to see a gallon of rocky road thrust in my face when I lost it. I ran down the sidewalk screaming at the limo, “My mothers been dead for seven years!” You think this is funny?!” The rear window lowered and I saw something. It was a form of light wearing a black and white set of coveralls. I fell into the beings mouth and fell backwards down a long dark tunnel. I landed in a white room and was bound and tortured by sweet little kittens for what felt like 2 or 3 days. They cut off little pieces of me with their tongues until a was a screaming pile of bleeding sand. I sat there, every molecule exploding in searing pain until the pain become nothing but a dull roar. I then watched a hawk slowly circle down from high in the sky until it landed on my head and relieved itself. I then listened to Careless Whisper by George Micheal for about a week until I dried up completely and blew away on a southeasterly wind across a vast ocean and slowly reformed back in my own kitchen.
There was a knock at the door. Wow, deja-vu. It was 5:30 again. I went to the door. The delivery man held a gallon of rocky road out to me. I stared at the limo and the back window slowly rolled up. I took the Rocky Road, my mind agape. I went back inside and ate the entire gallon, alternately weeping and laughing. It was delicious.

It was shortly after the war that my dead mother began sending me ice cream.

Every afternoon at 5:30 sharp a big black limousine would pull up and the driver would get out. The limo’s rear window would lower and a bit of smoke would come out and the driver would reach in, retrieving a gallon bucket of ice cream. Always a different flavor. The driver was a young fumbling man who always said the exact same thing. “Its from your mom.” And then he’d hustle back to the limo and hop in and take off.

Its funny, because I don’t recall anything significant about her and icecream. I think it was the 5th day when I opened the door to see a gallon of rocky road thrust in my face when I lost it. I ran down the sidewalk screaming at the limo, “My mothers been dead for seven years!” You think this is funny?!” The rear window lowered and I saw something. It was a form of light wearing a black and white set of coveralls. I fell into the beings mouth and fell backwards down a long dark tunnel. I landed in a white room and was bound and tortured by sweet little kittens for what felt like 2 or 3 days. They cut off little pieces of me with their tongues until a was a screaming pile of bleeding sand. I sat there, every molecule exploding in searing pain until the pain become nothing but a dull roar. I then watched a hawk slowly circle down from high in the sky until it landed on my head and relieved itself. I then listened to Careless Whisper by George Micheal for about a week until I dried up completely and blew away on a southeasterly wind across a vast ocean and slowly reformed back in my own kitchen.

There was a knock at the door. Wow, deja-vu. It was 5:30 again. I went to the door. The delivery man held a gallon of rocky road out to me. I stared at the limo and the back window slowly rolled up. I took the Rocky Road, my mind agape. I went back inside and ate the entire gallon, alternately weeping and laughing. It was delicious.