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Baby It Was Divine-Fiction by P. K. Augustyn
Reservation Beer Run-Fiction by Daniel G. Snethen
Dark Streets-Fiction by Harry David Moss
Breathless-Fiction by Mick Rose
The "Birthday Blues"-Fiction by Cindy Rosmus
Redhead Reba-Fiction by Kenneth James Crist
Thor's Anvil-Fiction by J Brooke
You Never Know-Fiction by Jim Harrington
Something About the Devil's Pickup-Fiction by Walter Giersbach by
Do I Know You?-Fiction by Roy Dorman
The One and Only Alexa Kalekar-Fiction by KJ Hannah Greenberg
Guillotines Cause Permanent Disability-Fiction by M. A. De Neve
Biology is Destiny-Flash Fiction by David Powell
Knucksie-Flash Fiction by Paul Beckman
Cell-Flash Fiction by Doug Hawley
Urban Renewal-Flash Fiction by Gerald E. Sheagren
Pearl-Poem by Meg Baird
Conundrum Street-Poem by Dr. Mel Waldman
The Hope of It-Poem by Judith Partin-Nielsen
Endings #2-Poem by Judith Partin-Nielsen
Immense Hot-Air Balloons-Poem by Alan Catlin
Red Fires Up the Bike-Poem bt Alan Catlin
Jazz Standards-Poem by Kevin Rabas
The Evening Air-Poem by Kevin Rabas
For K-Poem by Mark Young
The/Secret Life/ of Wilhelm Reich-Poem by Mark Young
A Line from the Leningrad Cowboys-Poem by Mark Young
Delta Leo Remembers Her Nephew-Poem by David Spicer
Rosa and the Creep-Poem by David Spicer
Tribe of Two-Poem by David Spicer
Cartoons by Cartwright
Hail, Tiger!
Angel of Manslaughter
The Gazing Ball
Strange Gardens
Gutter Balls
Calpurnia's Window
No Place Like Home
ALAT
Dark Tales from Gent's Pens

rservationbeerrun.jpg
Art by Steve Cartwright 2018

Reservation Beer Run

 

Daniel G. Snethen

 

     Me, my bitch and some rez dogs were partying at Denby Dam late one Friday evening. We were all smoking peji and drinking alcohol while listening to some P-Diddy rapping from Billy’s woofers. We were all high and drunk and the girls had all stripped down to their panties ready for a midnight swim.  The moonlight shimmering off their titties was nearly as intoxicating as the drugs and the booze and it looked as if every last one of us horny bucks was going to snag a piece that night.

     I was pawing Sammi’s melons and grabbing a bit of bootie when I heard Lloyd yell.

     “What the hell, aint we got no goddamn beer left?”

     I says, “Fuck man, what you mean we aint got no beer left?”

     “Aint nothin left but this Zima shit.”

     And I reply, “Only pussies and fags drink Zima.”

     Sammi gives me a tittie-twister, whispers in my ear and we run and hop into her Daddy’s beat up powder blue 1980 Chevy pickup, screaming out the window, “We’ll be back, just going to get some more juice.”

     We could see the dust billowing up behind us in the light of the full moon and I knew something awful was going to happen when that damn owl nearly flew into our windshield.

     “What the hell,” Sammi began whimpering.

     Not thinking and being stoned to the gourd, I started laughing.

     “That shit isn’t funny, you know what my Grandfather says about owls.”

     “Yeah babe, it means someone’s going to die tonight, maybe you or I.”

     That didn’t seem to help one bit. We pulled off the gravel onto the highway just north of Wakpamini and headed her Daddy’s Chevy towards Pine Ridge. The night was really eerie. The moon was full and blood-red like the engorged gut of an anopheles mosquito. Everything glowed with a copper color and the air was hot and heavy. I laid the pedal down and had the straight-six whining at 80 and shoved 2-Pac into the dash, turned up the bass and tried to ignore the weirdness of the night.

     Solitude, complete solitude, not a car in sight, none on the highway and no-one cruising the loop, as we barreled into downtown Pine Ridge.  A disturbing sight on a Friday night just past one in the morning. I thought where the hell is everyone as I headed south out of Ridge for the Nebraska border and White Clay and the beer I’d promised the guys.   Sammi was scared but I didn’t mind, as she nestled beside me, her nipples stabbing me like two pointy darts.

     “Is it me Sam, or did we smoke some strange shit, nothing seems quite right tonight.”

     “I don’t know, I just wish we were home, Grand Daddy’s always right. As soon as we saw that owl we should have headed straight back to Evergreen.”

     “And to hell with the booze and my bro’s… riiight.”

     Suddenly the truck started lurching and I heard something banging my oil-pan. My head hit the roof and I tasted blood when I bit my tongue, but managed to keep the vehicle on the road.

     “Jesus Christ, what the fuck did I hit?”

     “What the hell you stopping for Dane?  Don’t you dare pull this mother fucking truck over...shit you pulled the mother-fucker over.”

     “Shut up Sammi, I gotta find out what I hit...probably just some big ass snapping-turtle or something.” 

     I got out of the truck to check what I’d run over and it wasn’t no big ass turtle, but it was something. It was a man.

     “Christ Sammi, I killed him. I killed this drunk bastard. How the hell was I supposed to see his ass on this mother fucking road. Shit, I’m in trouble now.”

     Then what do you suppose my bitch does? Why she gets out of the truck and walks right up to the stiff and kneels down beside it.

     “What the hell you doing? Get away from that bastard. Don’t touch it. Why the fuck you go and touch it for? Shit, let’s get out of here before the cops come.” 

     I opened the door to the Chevy and shoved her, not too gently, in and scooted her ass over and climbed in behind the wheel myself.

     “Dane,” Sammi cried.

     “Yeah.”

     “You didn’t kill him.”

     “What!!!” I stammered.

     “I said you didn’t kill him. The old fart was cold when I touched him and I felt dried blood on his neck. He was already dead when you ran over him, he was already dead!”

     A loathsome shadow floated over White Clay, a malign shadow which summoned the hairs of my back to suddenly stand at attention. I turned my head. In the rearview mirror I could see a midnight denizen hovering over the drunken corpse, its cape gently blowing like the wings of a massive bat. It slowly descended upon the gruesome repast; I ground my gears, hauled ass and got the hell out of White Clay.






Daniel G. Snethen is the owner and publisher of Darkling Publications. He serves as vice-president of the South Dakota State Poetry Society. Recently (May 2017), 10 pages of his poetry was anthologized in Resurrection of a Sunflower, a tribute to Vincent Van Gogh, curated by Catfish McDaris. Snethen's poetry has been published by Bear Creek Haiku; Cover of Darkness; Danse Macabre; Dark Gothic Resurrected; Haiku Journal; The Horror Zine; Miller's Pond; Pasque Petals: Thirteen Myna Birds, and several other publishers of poetry. Snethen also coaches oral interpretation of literature and Poetry Out Loud. He has qualified two high school students for the National Poetry Out Loud competition in Washington DC and has had the SD State Poetry Out Loud runner up on two separate occasions. His favorite poet is William Blake and his favorite poem is “The Rhyme of the Ancient Mariner” by Samuel Taylor Coleridge.




In Association with Black Petals & Fossil Publications 2018