Monday, January 6, 2014


Martin stares at me from the front stoop as I leave for work in the morning.  It is the same stare that will greet me when I arrive home in the evening.  This stare does not depict sorrow or fear at seeing me leave or joy upon my return.  Instead Martin’s stare is empty.  The stare says: “Do what you want; your choices can no longer affect my life.  Come, go, laugh, cry, live, die.  It makes no fucking difference to me.  Whatever.”  This indifferent attitude is probably for the best since Martin’s not so distant future includes a soak in boiling water followed by a bleach bath. 

Cory said that Martin was one of the older ones, weighing only about 160 lbs with a 2x2 rack.  I tell Martin this is nothing to be ashamed of, that the size and proportions of a rack are not all that matter.  Martin stares at me, “whatever.” 

As Cory and I sit down to dinner, I offer a silent prayer of thanks to Martin for his sacrifice, and I know the disembodied head on the front stoop is staring into the twilight lit wooded front yard.  Whatever.

Submitted  to for the week 109 challenge.


  1. first, I thought Martin was a disengaged significant other. I was confused by the boiling water and bleach bath, but found clarity when the rack came into it :)

  2. Lol Okay you confused me at first :P I thought Martin is a the type of careless husbands we found normally in our society these days ! Clever ;)

  3. I, too, was initially confused, but loved how you write this. And I like that his name was Martin.

  4. Is it a deer? I don't even know haha But great work.

  5. Creepy, coldly indifferent, calculating........all signs of a good story, well told. Glad I ordered the pizza instead. :)