A.G.E's Joint

The parking lot had turned into a macabre fiesta. Dia De Muerta on a bright spring day. Sirens mixed with mournful Latin songs echoing everywhere. Blue and red strobe lights contrasted with the yellow crime scene tape cordoning off the area where the bodies were. Only, there was no dancing and no masks,just a multitude spoken prayers for the fallen. They rose like eagles as the ambulances left with the victims. Soon, shouts of blood lust and revenge rung out in several languages, reverberating off the dirty brick walls.  Sitting on an overturned paint bucket, the small, dejected man watched in the shadows of the empty apartment. The Psychic’s vision was coming true. Mother had reached down from the sky and put that fucking little bitch in front of his car. Sarah pulled away at the last moment, just like in his nightmares . Jeremy can’t be successful, Mother’s voice boomed in his head. He isn’t worthy of anything. A total failure, stuck in the middle without ...

So, what to do? Moon slanting through the kitchen window, Jeremy had his notebook, a bottle of Cutty, and bemused smirk. Taking a slug from the bottle, he turned a page and assessed all that happened. On the good side, the trip to farm far exceeded expectations. Watching the stump evaporate as exciting and he was ready to do it again. He guessed it was like it the first time for sex or something.   At least that was somebody told him it was like, an explosion.   He never felt any explosions. He’d never had sex with anyone, he didn’t think. Nobody ever got that close. The bombs were a good substitute. He could screw those who screwed him from afar and not getting of the mess on him. The size of the device was set. 24”X 1 ½”. It produced enough of a blast to affect those within 50 feet. There was still the matter of additional shrapnel. He was leaning toward 8 penny finishing nails, maybe with some washers and nuts of similar size. They were small enou...