I mean, no matter what happens, he’ll always be my brother. He could tear my dick off and throw it out of a speeding car, let me bleed out into the center console while screaming obscenities at oncoming traffic, and I’d love him just as much as I ever have and ever will — and let me tell you, that’s a whole fucking lot, and it’s forever.
~ ~ ~
An Influential Future
Unless they are burned in heaps upon heaps upon heaps in a dying world, our whispers shall remain.
Said I.
Said no one.
Strange Flutters
It is December. You smell the chimney fires and the cold wind. The last time you heard, it was only ten degrees outside. Most winters around here are like that. You smoke a cigarette and never quite know when you are done exhaling. Your breath leaves ghostly impressions behind you, little reminders that there is a behind-the-scenes machine working overtime for your existence.
I’m six years old. It’s Christmas, my mother’s baking pies, and the presents have all been ripped open and strewn about the carpet in the living room. I’m wearing a Batman cape, ready to take on the day. I’m scoping my brother’s new ThunderCats toys. I like mine just fine, but I always seem to like his things better. He’s got Lion-O in the air, doing somersaults and backflips, kicking the shit out of a GI Joe. The TV is on, playing A Christmas Story or Scrooged or something, my dad snoozing out on the couch. I reach over for one of my brother’s toys, expecting a slap, but he smiles at me, all toothy and sincere, and hands me Lion-O. Here, we can fight the bad guys together, he says. And I truly feel happy. I know it’s only a matter of time before I’ll annoy him. And then he’ll take his toys back and go off to his room alone. I know things will go back to being normal — but I don’t care, especially not now, not in this moment. Things are good, not bad, we are alive and living, not dead, not yet, not ever, so long as we know we’ll live forever, not bad, not good, but together, sealing ourselves, here, with one last joke:
Knock, knock!
Who’s there?
You.
You who?
You tell me.
Parts of this book were previously published in the following publications:
“Baptisms for the Dead” at Hobart
“Disney Vacation” at Everyday Genius
A shortened version of “A Cat Dies” called “Meat” at Short, Fast and Deadly
“Just Rain” at Revolution John
“Riots” at NOÖ Weekly
“Cough Syrup”, “Phone Sex”, and “Collapsible Lungs” at Vol.1 Brooklyn
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
Thank you: Jamie Iredell, Michael Seidlinger, Ken Baumann, Mike Young, Scott McClanahan, J. David Osborne, and Peter Markus — for your help and guidance and friendship. Big thanks to Kevin Sampsell, publisher extraordinaire, for believing in me enough to bring this book out into the world — and for being an awesome dude and great friend.
Tina Morgan: Thanks for having the great editorial eyes you have. Your suggestions really made things pop.
Bryan Coffelt: Thanks for one of the illest book covers to ever hit a bookshelf.
Ariana Marquis: You are a wonderful publicist. Thank you, thank you, thank you, and thank you.
Chad Droegemeier: Thanks for being the best friend a guy could have. I love you, man. You took some wonderful pictures, and I’m glad they’re right here in my first book.
Mom, Dad, Amanda, Paul, Cherrise, Shelli, all of my nieces and nephews: I love you more than you could ever even imagine and more.
Fran, Randy, Jane, Peter, Mat, Big Liz, and extended family: your support and love are both abundant and beautiful.
Liz: you are everything — have been since I met you and always will be, forever and always. Love you
About the Author
Troy James Weaver was born, raised, and remains in Wichita, Kansas. His work has been in Hobart, Atticus Review, Heavy Feather Review, and elsewhere. Witchita Stories is his first book. He is also the author of Visions (Broken River Books).