Salamander McDivet was always doing bad things. He was always selling old ladies to young misters, without tax, and with zero appreciation for the humor involved. His house was full of the worldliest of possessions, on the free, stealstyle. He caught neighborhood bluebirds in terrible traps made from dental floss and carrot spoils, and he never let them go.
Once a young child falling from a tree was reported to have called out to Salamander, "Help me, I'm falling!" Cool Salamander sat in the cut, mugging mean and denying rescue to the ailing tiny person. As the child's undoubtedly soft and pudding-like forehead slammed into the harshly paved gravity plate, Salamander released a low "
Fuck yes. " with full disregard for anything precious.
I should tell you that Salamander McDivet was a Navy man. He wasn't actually blue, but at first glance you'd swear he was some sort of cobalt, mellowing out in the manor of a merman, merged with mallow and malice. "All of the m's," I said to myself as I wrote that last line.
So yeah, McDivet was some sort of warsmith or weapons marshall. He used to design things that totally ruined the design of other things. Kablooms were always coming out of his brain, and later on they would come out of his trousers in the slowest of puffs. Lets call them Reese Puffs. Ew. Anyway, no one in their right mind would ever volunteer to talk to or even be in the same space as him. He got lonely, he ate a lot of meat pies.
The other day I saw him buying some stone capers and fish wallets in the market on Scrumm Street. That place is usually so gross that I don't spend my dollars there, but I was out of Perry winkles so I hesitantly and nervously trotted into that annoying swamp of a carnival. It was wet, like
stink wet. You could have swam in the sea that was the customers. They were all covered in hanky drips and plaid shimmies, and you could see tears waiting to dance free from their television eyes and Facebook noses.
I wanted to run. My head was 'bout to get sprung.
As soon as we made eye contacts, McDivet slammed his eyes all up on my groin, licking his chops and almost everything else he could lick at the time. I thought to myself, "Why the fuck does McDivvles love his tongue so much? I sure as shit don't."
He looked at me hard, through the sea of sad bodies and bent souls. His lustgaze was like a fever lazer, crushing my bits with the fractions and follies of an eighth grade pervert. I should've ran. I should've dove into an alley or whatever.
"Hey, what're you thinking about?" he asked me, sliding his vest off. He was wearing this vest of cucumbers, ugh. "Want some gum?"
"He he, no th-thanks," I stammered, spilling my pee everywhere. I was almost certain that I was about to get draped, or whatever you call it. You know, when some creepy old pervert takes control of your body and covers it in drapes. Sick world we live in.
"You sure? It's
passionberry." He looked like the worst thing ever. "Boys love passion, and they are pretty into berries, too. At least that's what my friend Jerry tells me. Have you met my friend Jerry? He's really soft. You'd love him!" He reached into his pocket with a grin on his face, his hand fumbling around like new lovers in a sand box. Sweat poured from his ducts, sealing the deal on creep central.
This was it. Drape for sure.
Salamander pulled out a pack of gum labeled, "Not Fake Gum." He closed his eyes for a split second and I ran. I ran so fast and hard. He eventually opened his eyes and shouted something, but I was too far to hear.
As soon as I got home a man was waiting there with my mom. I told them both my story and the man asked me many questions of wonders and quandaries, and I told him all I knew. Most of the quarbers were about Salamander. Apparently he and my mom were convinced he wasn't real.
"Son, you suffer from what we call a
fucked up brain," he told me. My mom started crying and ran into the kitchen room. I turned to the man and asked, "Who are you?"
In an excellently soft voice he cooed, "My name is Jerry."
