Ron Koppelberger
Drunken Dry
Whiskey ice and shots of silvery thirst, all in all the dream was in drunken silent caress, a thirsty request for beads of sweating frost, filled to the brim Jim. He saw more inspiring seasons and moments in revolving mirrors of rain, sweet rain, clean air and sober harvest yet all the drink cried, “Deliver me unto the dry tongue, the parched lips of deserts alone, of desolate abandon, deliver me in gulps and swallows of silk!”
He worried the thought for a few seconds and minutes unto days before he found the melody of dry ground, a foothold purchased in long drunks and tattered seams, bought by the pain in sleeping illusions of peace, borne of loud puking heaves and convulsing sweats.
He found the bone dust, the sand, the warmth, the sun, the hot winds of what one owns in the midst of chaos and cure. He owned dry drunks and days between the longing and that, in value, was the treasure he had sought for years. Through it all he had his vision, an endless horizon of dry wind and blue heaven, this is how he survived the drinks enchantment.
Ron Koppelberger
A Cause For Obsession
The light was fading in gentle degrees of gray, Whip Best insisted on a certain level of independence. He thought in careful silence as the red light flashed on the ancillary freezer; thirty-eight degrees the old-fashioned dial read. Whip tapped the dial and hummed, the backup generator was working nevertheless the freezer was growing warmer by the minute.
The storeroom was attached to the back of the three3 bedroom ranch house, he had added the extra room after buying the ranch, for futures bidden in human dominion, for the peace of an eternity in watchful purpose; he had added the freezer unit with the little cash he had left and it was woefully inadequate.
A moment of decision he thought, to contain the end, to hold the darkness at arms length, frozen, still waiting the breath of warmth and blood, the unit held utter darkness, the essence of evil condensed, pared down to what was a manageable quantum.
He had found the ancient cask in an old refrigerator, abandoned next to the west wood. He had thought of children suffocating and locked coffins. In the end he had grabbed his tools intending to remove the refrigerator door, thus leaving it safe.
He had opened the aluminum and steal door with a tug at the handle. The seal around the door sucked in air as he swung the door open.
The cask was laying on the metal slats of the bottom shelf. He remembered grabbing the cask and the sudden whispers of knowledge that filled his head. The essence of evil, in its purest form, just a sip, just a sip! He had known, the horizon had gone dark, edged by fire and approaching shadow, just a sip fer yer soul Whip. The moon was distant in the twilight sky, blood red revolving in turns of prophesy, dire spinning silhouettes, just a sip Whip, it coaxed. He knew what was contained in the cask as a shawl of evil fell down around him, the woods and the refrigerator. Just a sip Whip!
In an instant he had seen the cask frozen , benign from the cool circulation of ice flow and winter air. He knew as he took the cask home and prayed. Must keep it cool he thought as great geysers of blood filled his mind like old faithful in bloom. Whip had kept the cask frozen ever since.
Tapping the refrigerator he read the dial, forty-five degrees. The sky grew dark outside as ragweed sprouted all across town. The air filled with an orange sandy mist and the eyes of every child in town turned scarlet. Whip grabbed the freezer door handle and yanked the cask from the melting ice in the bottom of the unit.
Running to the kitchen he threw the TV dinners and frozen peas from his kitchen freezer as he slammed the cask into the ice box.
Leaning against the refrigerator he panted and sighed in relief. The darkness abated and he thanked god. The shadows could wait, for how long he thought, for how long?
