Part 2 of 3
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Tonight, our heroine, Ruby, spends some time considering the dead end she’s found herself in, while also making some surprising discoveries.
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044 - Ruby Departed: Box Canyon Blues, Part 2 of 3
[ Music ] Welcome to FlashPulp episode 44. Tonight, Ruby departed, Box Canyon Blues, part 2 of 3. This evening's story is brought to you in part by Opoponaxfeathers.wordpress.com. It's like the Kingdom of Caring, but without all those patronizing bearers. That's Opoponaxfeathers.wordpress.com. [ Music ] [ Music ] Sunday, it blew me in my arms, I stumbled out. Here is the shadows I lived with our number left. [ Music ] FlashPulp is an experiment in broadcasting fresh pulp stories in the modern age, 400 to 600 words brought to you Monday, Wednesday, and Friday evenings. Tonight, our heroine, Ruby, spends some time considering the dead end she spanned herself in, while also making some surprising discoveries. Ruby departed, Box Canyon Blues, part 2 of 3. Written by J.R.D. Skinner, art and narration by Opoponax, and audio produced by Jessica May. [ Music ] June 30th, I woke up and the place was still empty. There was a persistent old man in a blue dress shirt banging on the boards outside, but none of the other shufflers seemed interested in taking up his rallying moan. The smell doesn't strike me as Aunt Vanessa anymore. She may have been a big and sweaty lady, but she had more modesty than the stench I awoke to. I haven't had a nightmare in a long time. I wonder if it's because I never sleep deeply enough to dream. I spent a lot of the day watching the ebb and flow of the canyon from a second floor window. You know what I hate? You can always tell which of the zombies have had at least one meal, as they've chewed their own lips off in the process. Daydreams of fishing kept sneaking into my thoughts. It's probably the hunger. Dad and I wasted plenty of summer down at Spruce Creek, but I don't remember catching much. It was nice just to spend time with them. There was a policeman in the middle of the crowd around noon, just bouncing around like a slow motion moth in a jar, and I couldn't help but wish I could reel him in with a clown-sized fishing rod. I could have really used the pistol in his holster. Instead, I watched him trip over some kids' red and white trike, only to spend half an hour rebounding between two short rows of fence before finally stumbling away. I know he's been gone for three years, but I'm glad dad was cremated. Every now and then, while I was busy staring and thinking about campfire pickle, I'd notice a dog come running down the shoot. Each pass was like one of those experiments with magnets I remember doing in grade school. All the zombie filings line up to face the animal as it scoots by, but as soon as it's passed, everyone goes back to wandering into each other. Poor little muts, too. The ribcages are hard against their skin as they run. Can't be many leftovers in that kind of dinner crowd. I tried whistling a few times, and it would always bring a few of them around, although they'd never stopped long enough to do tricks or anything. After a while, the noise was starting a press against the door, so I cut it out and decided to explore the rest of the upper floor. I'd actually spent a long time at the window as a bit of a stall. As the heat of the day grew, so did the smell, which was obviously coming from somewhere else on the floor. Some days, like when I've barely eaten, I have a weak stomach. I assumed the smell was grandma in the bathroom. There are three bedrooms up here, as well as the bathroom and a linen closet. All of the walls are white, but two of the rooms have posters up. One room has a bunch of hockey players, I don't know, and the other has a Hannah Montana collection. The hockey room, whose closet I slept in, had been stripped, as was Hannah Montana's. But in the center of what I assumed was the parents room, was a perfectly made bed. I closed the door and gently lowered myself. The comforter shifted under me. It was a water bed. I ripped up the sheets, laughing. The end was easy to find, although it took some practice to handle it without wasting a bunch. I drank as much as my belly could handle. In retrospect, I hope it wasn't full of bacteria or something. The bathroom is occupied. After a bit, I sealed up the nozzle and sat on the edge of the bed, which promptly collapsed. It took me a while to move all the siding. I was worried about popping the mattress. Shifting the huge water balloon was tougher than I expected. Once I was done, though, I had a moment where I thought I'd struck it rich. The only parts of the bed that were original were the mattress and the four boards that had been set along the sides as camouflage. What I'd been sitting on were nine of those coolers you can plug in to self-refrigerate. There hasn't been power in three weeks, but I was still hopeful. Anyone who took the time to find nine identical coolers must have been relatively well organized and must have had some time to do some considered looting. The smell was what really burst my bubble. Cracking each one open, I found exactly the same thing. There must be something like 300 pounds of rotting bacon in there. I can only assume they retrieved it from a delivery truck or maybe a local grocery store. Since spraying all the water out of my belly and into the crowd below, I've spent some time thinking and writing. But mostly, I've been keeping my head at the window screen, trying to ignore the smell of rot coming from all directions. Flash pulp is presented by HTTP colon slash slash Skinner dot FM. The audio and text formats of Flash pulp are released under the Canadian Creative Commons attribution non-commercial 2.5 license. [Music]