The Thief And The Garden

by Nikki Isaak © 2009

Jerry, drunk and coked-up, stared into the darkened porn store.

Closed—fuck! I was going to steal a butt-plug and a magazine—

High as he was, he could barely hold that thought.  Jerry stepped out from the doorway of Eupornia,  leered at two young, cornholable women who paused their chirp-chattering to throw him dirty looks as they passed.

“Suck me off, you cunts!”

He didn’t see one of them pull out her cell phone and call the cops, because he vomited in the recycle bin-garbage can.

I need another bump.

Wiping his sick-crusted mouth with the back of his sleeve, he pulled the plastic bullet out of his front pocket.  He turned the tiny dial on it, put it to his nose, and inhaled deeply.

“Aaaah.”  Clarity returned: instant nose and brain fire, pounding temples, pupils dilating.  Flipping the bullet-dial down, he returned it to his front pocket.

He resumed stumbling down the otherwise quiet, late-night Main Street, sniffling and swiping at his runny nose with his coat sleeve.

The city clock tower tolled midnight.  It was officially Jerry’s forty-second birthday.

The backyard garden was well-lit, the two-story house dark.  The fence separating the garden from the street was four feet tall, cyclone covered with forest-green mesh netting to keep animals out.

But not this animal.  Jerry licked his lips, he couldn’t stop it—anymore than he could stop himself from stealing.

Stealing was a high unlike any other.  The only time his mother had paid any real attention to him was when he got busted shoplifting, laying him across her legs, the underside of his boy-cock rubbing against the top of them. . .

It’d taken his mother two times to realize what was going on in Jerry’s pants.  Pushing him away from her, she’d said: “You’re a weak, sick boy, Gerald.  You know why your father left?  Because of you, an ‘accident’—my misfortune—”

After that, she didn’t touch him unless she absolutely had to—which was rarely.

Jerry’s erection, briefly florid, wilted.

He opened the unlocked gate as quietly as he could.  In doing so, he knocked his left shin against the metal gatepost.

Jerry stifled curses, stepped between the wet rows of vegetables.  His feet sank into the soft earth.

As Jerry reached for a tomato, a blunt object was smashed into the back of his head.

He went out like a porch light.

_______
© 2009 Nikki Isaak. All rights reserved. Content may not be copied or used in whole or part without written permission from the author.

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