Gizzard 2: This Time, It's Personal (There is no Gizzard 1)

[Philip K Dick]

Gizzard 2: This Time, It's Personal (There is no Gizzard 1)
by S.PUMPKIN

Chapter 1:'
   When I was 16 I was smoking a lot of pot. In fact I would regularly hop parties just to score some bud. It was very late one summer night and I'd had a pretty bad cold for about a week (now receding), confined to my bed and feeling pretty miserable. I'd scoured and smoked every last bit of resin in my whole room. Needless to say I was pretty desperate for some weed. It was then that I made the unwise decision to text an acquaintance of mine who called himself Martin Bowles. Martin was one of those wigger-types, and I'm almost certain that that name was an alias. Consequently, he was an asshole and I hated dealing with people like him. Unfortunately for me it was nearly 3 o clock in the morning, and I didn't want to lose any of my buds by waking them up to ask to buy marijuana.
   So I sat on the porch outside and waited for Martin to show up. It wasn't ten minutes before I heard his shitty hip-hop music blasting from all the way down the street. He rolled down his window as he pulled into my driveway, and I approached the disgusting old Mustang.
   "Get in!"
   I reluctantly took a seat on the passenger's side, after swiping off a bunch of shit from the seat. I wasn't sure where to put my feet because Martin's car was cluttered with countless amounts of random crap ranging from old dirty toothbrushes to shattered glass fragments to wet brown paper bags. Unidentifiable and various-colored stains were everywhere. It short, it was the automotive equivalent of Bangladesh. Martin himself, a scraggly, bony guy, was wearing the same stupid backwards cap and football jersey since the last time I'd seen him.
   "How much you charge for an ounce?" I asked.
   "Hold on," said Martin, who hadn't even looked at me yet. His eyes were glued to his mobile device, an expensive-looking smartphone which he was tapping away at. It was literally five more minutes of this bullshit before I spoke again.
   "How much for an ounce?"
   "Gee whiz, nigga, why you so impatient?" Martin snorted and set the phone down on the dashboard. "Aight, how much you need?"
   "...An ounce." Martin's breath smelled like a public restroom in Toys 'R' Us mixed with shitty beer. Did I mention that I hate Martin? He tossed me a clear plastic bag stuffed with what appeared to be weed.
   "Fiddy."
   "Sorry?"
   "Fiddy dollars, dumbass."
   "What, is it that good?" I held up the bag to examine it.
   Martin shot me a look. If he was angry, I had no idea what for.
   "I'm just wondering." I said. "Fifty bucks is a lot of money for an ounce."
   "I'm just wondering." mocked Martin. "I ain't gotta sell you shit. You want it or not?"
   "Fine," I said. "Wait here, I don;t think I even brought fifty dollars with me." I went for the door and suddenly I felt a hand clench down on my shoulder.
   "You tryin'a fool me?" said Martin, glaring me down with his bloodshot eyes. "Sit the fuck down."
   I was already sitting down, but I let go of the door handle and reclined in the seat. I was starting to get uncomfortable, and a little nervous.
   "Listen dude," I began. "Maybe this isn't a good idea right now."
   "Shut the fuck up," he said. His eyes were peeled open, and he wasn't blinking. I tried to look away as not to provoke the guy. I caught a glimpse at what must have been coke and a few different pills that I really didn't want to know the names of. At this point with Martin beginning to huff and puff like a big bad fucking wolf blowing the whole load of coke up his nose, I thought it would probably be a good idea to scram. So I did. I ran out and back into my house, where I slammed the door and locked it. A feeling of relaxation washed over me as I walked back to my room and heard the sound of an engine fade off into the distance. I lay down on my bed and sighed deeply. I hadn't scored any weed, but at least I had avoided a violent outburst from that moron. I closed my eyes and quickly fell asleep.

   I woke up two hours later to the sound of glass shattering. Bolting upright in bed, the first thing I saw was Martin's goddamn face poking through the hole that had once been my window. I was still halfway-unconscious at that point, so I may not have fully comprehended quite what was going on. Martin hurled himself into my room, shards of glass scratching bloody wounds into his arms, legs and torso that he evidently couldn't feel. I pretty much froze up in shock. I probably thought I was still dreaming. Martin staggered over, a blood-splattered finger pointed right at me. He stumbled forward  and fell over right by my bedside. I looked down at him, by back glued to the wall, until I realized it had been at least 6 or 7 minutes since Martin had last moved at all. He wasn't even breathing.
   Martin was dead. Also he'd made a huge fucking mess of my room. This would probably be a hard one to explain. I immediately thought of calling 911, and my hand was actually nearing my pocket when I realized I couldn't do that. If the police came into my room, I would no doubt be arrested on some count of drug possession. I couldn't let that happen. I also now couldn't let my parents know what had happened, because the first thing they would do would be to call the police. Still somewhat in shock, I gazed down at Martin's body, double-checking to see if he was still dead. He was.
   This was something of a dilemma. The only question now was who the fuck am I going to call?

2 B continues

[sev]

like

[slack]

no way im reading all of that

[sev]

no way im reading all of that

you are inferior

[CoolDrMoney]

good ol S. Pumpkin

[Philip K Dick]

[funzop]

i missed these

[sev]

please update

[Philip K Dick]

i will do one chapter ev\\\'ry week

so the day after b/w comes out ill post one!!