Wednesday, October 31, 2018

Many Silvered Moons Ago

by Tim Fezz

 art by Jason Barnett

The year was ....>>>>> let's just say many silvered Moons ago. I put on a red-checked flannel and a Wolfman mask; some mascara on my hands to "mime" dirt. I pushed my finger into the oval and spun.


"It is Tim."
"Tim, you got the stuff?"

The stuff = a small vial of hashish.

"Yes Chip. I will swing by in forty one minutes."


I walked out into the Orange, snails clustered in the frost.


Kkkkknnnnnnoooocckkk Knnnnnnoooooccckkk

The door smiled open. Chip's Gran-Pap leaned against the frame.

"Uggggggg.....My Lawd............are you Lon Chaney's son?"
"Mr. Peak, it is just me, Tim Lonely Planet Wolf."
"I'll go get Chipper."

Chip appeared. He had some green paint on his face.

"What are you supposed to be? Gaucomole' Man?"
"Nah, I'm a Drug Addictrecently DEAD DEAD DEAD."

We walked into the leaves. 


The old airport was  home to dirt bikes and 'heads.  
We walked through the jungle to get to our friend's house. 

"Tim, do you think Love Gun is better than Destroyer."
"I think both are good, not greatlike Kiss Alive."
"Kiss Alive is a hard thing to top."
"Yes. I think Rock and Roll is drying up."
"Ever hear Sex Pistols?"
"Sex Pistols? Is that a joke? Love Gun? Sex Pistols?"
"No, my older brother bought their record. It sounds like fifties ROCK."
"An oldies band?"
"I'm not sure? I liked it, sounded nice and scratchy."

We came to the rotted farm house. 

"Let's smoke this hash."
"I'm ready."

I pulled out the vial. The contents looked like dried mustard. I put a lump into our bowl. Flame met dust.


"Holy Jipes. This is decent."

I handed the pipe to Chip. He lit it. Coughed his tonsils out.

"Dang Tim, is it supposed to be so harsh?"
"I'm not sure? Toby told me you get used to the burn."

We smoked half the vial.

"Chip, let's bag the party and wander the streets, collect some candy bars."
"O.K. by me."


We walked through the streets. Trees became fingers. 
Fingers became knives.

"I got twenty candy bars, three apples, five bags of popcorn."

Chip looked into his bag.

"I see ? Nothing."
"Let me see."

His bag had a hole in the bottom. 
All his gifts were given back to the street.

"No worries, have mine. I'm more in a hash mood."

I handed him my bag. 
We walked back into the woods; headed back to Chip's.


We walked into the house. It seemed "smudged." 
We saw Chip's Granpa sleeping on his favorite chair. 
A bottle of beer next to his curled hand.

We kept the lights off.

Candy bars evaporated. Chip decided to make an apple pipe.

I loaded the rest of the hash into the apple.

Outside the smoke climbed up the side of Chip's house.


"Let's go watch some horror movies."
"Won't we wake your Granpa?"
"No, he sleeps like the dead."

The Colossal Beast was on the small black and white TV. 
Chip put two pieces of popcorn atop his Granpa's head.

"See? He doesn't move."

The Beast pulled down electric lines. Men in jeeps fired guns.

I left after the TV turned into vertical lines.


The next day I awoke and went out to the dinner table. My mother handed me a plate of eggs. "Mrs. Stein called earlier. She had strange news. Chip's Granpa had died last night. Chip's father found him in a chair with popcorn on his head. How odd."

I almost choked on my eggs. 
We watched TV with a head-full of hash and a corpse. 

Chip was right, his Granpa did sleep like the dead.

Return later 
this evening for
on the FREEZINE of
Fantasy and Science

1 comment:

  1. Man, I love this story, Tim. It has got some very nice lyrical chops. Slicing as a razor clean through to the bone. A sentimental snapshot of times long lost. A breath of clean smoke, just enough to raise a corpse. Thank you.


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