We Need to Do Something

by Max Booth III

Made during a pandemic because I’m a fucking idiot.

The next morning Bill messaged me very early saying something along the lines of “DUDE, DID YOU READ THAT FUCKING

SCRIPT?”. And I said something back like “NO DUDE, I FUCKING DIDN’T”. We only message in CAPS, saying dude and fuck a lot. Obviously.

Once I heard her refer to those tiny black heads people get on their faces and necks as “n-word babies”—only, she’d actually said the word. Of course, Dad had thought that was the funniest thing in the world. Thank god for cancer.

I didn’t tell them to get married. I didn’t tell them to have children. If they hate each other so much, they should just kill themselves, do the whole world a favor.

“Do whatever I want?” He laughs, then keeps laughing, getting louder and louder until he has to double over, nearly spilling the contents of his thermos. “Do whatever I want. Whatever. I. Want.” He wipes snot from his face with the back of his hand. “Tell me, babe, what is it you think I want to do?” Mom ignores him and motions for us to join her as he continues laughing. None of us understand the joke.

Dad shrugs. “I don’t know about that, but it certainly doesn’t look good.” He licks his lips, enjoying the attention. “There sure is a whole lot of red on the map. Oh, boy . . . ” Bobby gasps, drops the cards, and hugs his knees to his chest, rocking back and forth. “Let me see, let me see, let me see . . . ” Mom casts Dad an ugly stare. “Goddammit, Robert.”

What a disgusting piece of literal trash

The moment I got home this evening, it felt like he was begging for a fight, it didn’t matter with who—anybody would do, as long as they could bleed, as long as they could break.

The way they act around one another, it’s less like a marriage, more like an epic rivalry. Maybe that’s what all relationships are like. Maybe nobody actually loves each other. They just argue and fight and have babies and scream and break things and eventually everybody dies. The outcome will always be the same, no matter what anybody tries to do. Everybody dies. The end.

Guys who think they’re owed everything just for having a dick. Delusional assholes who think they’re the center of the universe.

Neither of us like where this conversation’s heading, but what can we possibly do to stop it? Last time he went on one of these rants and I tried asking him not to be such a racist, he called me a liberal snowflake. I didn’t even know how to respond to something so stupid, but he was positive he’d won the argument.

“And maybe something similar to nine-eleven has happened again, only here in Texas, which would make sense, if you really think about it. Most places nowadays, you don’t even got real, red-white-and-blue Americans, you know? You got these liberal communists preaching socialism kale salads. But Texas? Texas ain’t going anywhere. And that scares these terrorists. Makes ’em shake in their sandals.” “They crashed another plane here?”

I’ve never wanted to murder a human being more….well maybe Donald Trump

Did you hear about Melli? Her dad’s a drunk waste of space, passed out on their front yard. We saw her find him this morning and instead of helping she started stomping on his body before running down the street. Yup. She’s a total psycho.

And they wouldn’t be wrong. I was a total psycho. What kind of daughter kicks her own unconscious father in the ribs? I should have stepped on his face instead.

And now we’re stuck here, suffering the consequences. It’s Dad’s fault. It’s my fault. It’s everybody’s fault. We dig our own graves and then we jump headfirst.

Sometimes I can’t decide what would be worse: if we died from starvation or if we never died.

But Bobby can’t possibly be talking, because Bobby’s dead. He’s a corpse. He reeks of decay. It’s just the three of us now. Bobby died. Bobby died and he’s not coming back. No. That can’t be right.

“Think of it like this. A long time ago, something happened to me. Something killed me. Now inside my body everything’s rotting. Well, they were rotting, but things are different now. I’m better.” “How were they rotting?” “I could smell them. Decomposing from the inside out. Nobody believed me.”

“I’m a good boy,” the dog says from the other side of the door, only it’s not a dog at all, not with a voice like that.

“If we don’t eat something soon,” I tell them, “we’re going to die.” Dad laughs. “Mel, you’re one sick fuck.”

If worms burst from her mouth I would greedily slurp them down my own throat and ask for seconds. Nothing that belonged to her would ever be repulsive in my eyes. Anything less would make her somebody else. Anything less and she wouldn’t be the girl I loved.

“Easy,” I tell her. “The girl in the video, she was naked.” “Yes . . . ?” “She didn’t have any scars.” “Oh.”