Yellow Mama Archives

Brian J. Smith
Home
Adhikari, Sudeep
Ahern, Edward
Aldrich, Janet M.
Allan, T. N.
Allen, M. G.
Ammonds, Phillip J.
Anderson, Peter
Andreopoulos, Elliott
Arab, Bint
Augustyn, P. K.
Aymar, E. A.
Babbs, James
Baber, Bill
Bagwell, Dennis
Baird, Meg
Bakala, Brendan
Baker, Nathan
Balaz, Joe
BAM
Barber, Shannon
Bates, Jack
Baugh, Darlene
Bauman, Michael
Baumgartner, Jessica Marie
Beale, Jonathan
Beck, George
Beckman, Paul
Benet, Esme
Bennett, Brett
Bennett, Charlie
Berg, Carly
Berman, Daniel
Bernardara, Will Jr.
Berriozabal, Luis
Beveridge, Robert
Bickerstaff, Russ
Bigney, Tyler
Blake, Steven
Bohem, Charlie Keys and Les
Booth, Brenton
Bougger, Jason
Boyd, A. V.
Boyd, Morgan
Bracey, DG
Brewka-Clark, Nancy
Britt, Alan
Brooke, j
Brown, R. Thomas
Brown, Sam
Burton, Michael
Bushtalov, Denis
Butkowski, Jason
Butler, Simon Hardy
Cameron, W. B.
Campbell, J. J.
Campbell, Jack Jr.
Cano, Valentina
Carlton, Bob
Cartwright, Steve
Carver, Marc
Castle, Chris
Catlin, Alan
Chesler, Adam
Clausen, Daniel
Clevenger, Victor
Clifton, Gary
Coffey, James
Colasuonno, Alfonso
Conley, Jen
Connor, Tod
Cooper, Malcolm Graham
Coral, Jay
Cosby, S. A.
Crandall, Rob
Criscuolo, Carla
Crist, Kenneth
Crouch & Woods
D., Jack
Dallett, Cassandra
Danoski, Joseph V.
Daly, Sean
Davis, Christopher
Day, Holly
de Bruler, Connor
Degani, Gay
De France, Steve
De La Garza, Lela Marie
Deming, Ruth Z.
Demmer, Calvin
Dennehy, John W.
DeVeau, Spencer
Di Chellis, Peter
Dick, Earl
Dick, Paul "Deadeye"
DiLorenzo, Ciro
Dionne, Ron
Domenichini, John
Dominelli, Rob
Doran, Phil
Doreski, William
Dorman, Roy
Doherty, Rachel
Dosser, Jeff
Doyle, John
Draime, Doug
Drake, Lena Judith
Dromey, John H.
Duschesneau, Pauline
Duke, Jason
Duncan, Gary
Dunham, T. Fox
Dunn, Robin Wyatt
Duxbury, Karen
Duy, Michelle
Elliott, Garnett
Ellman, Neil
England, Kristina
Erianne, John
Espinosa, Maria
Esterholm, Jeff
Fallow, Jeff
Farren, Jim
Fenster, Timothy
Ferraro, Diana
Filas, Cameron
Flanagan, Daniel N.
Flanagan, Ryan Quinn
Francisco, Edward
Funk, Matthew C.
Gann, Alan
Gardner, Cheryl Ann
Garvey, Kevin Z.
Genz, Brian
Gladeview, Lawrence
Glass, Donald
Goddard, L. B.
Godwin, Richard
Goff, Christopher
Goss, Christopher
Gradowski, Janel
Graham, Sam
Grant, Christopher
Grant, Stewart
Greenberg, Paul
Grey, John
Gunn, Johnny
Gurney, Kenneth P.
Haglund, Tobias
Halleck, Robert
Hamlin, Mason
Hanson, Christopher Kenneth
Hanson, Kip
Harris, Bruce
Hart, GJ
Hartman, Michelle
Haskins, Chad
Hawley, Doug
Haycock, Brian
Hayes, A. J.
Hayes, John
Hayes, Peter W. J.
Heatley, Paul
Heimler, Heidi
Helmsley, Fiona
Hendry, Mark
Heslop, Karen
Heyns, Heather
Hilary, Sarah
Hill, Richard
Hivner, Christopher
Hockey, Matthew J.
Hogan, Andrew J.
Holderfield, Culley
Holton, Dave
Howells, Ann
Huchu, Tendai
Hudson, Rick
Huffman, A. J.
Huguenin, Timothy G.
Huskey, Jason L.
Irascible, Dr. I. M.
Jaggers, J. David
James, Christopher
Johnson, Beau
Johnson, Moctezuma
Johnson, Zakariah
Jones, D. S.
Jones, Erin J.
Jones, Mark
Kabel, Dana
Kaplan, Barry Jay
Kay, S.
Kempka, Hal
Kerins, Mike
Keshigian, Michael
King, Michelle Ann
Kirk, D.
Knott, Anthony
Koenig, Michael
Korpon, Nik
Kovacs, Sandor
Kowalcyzk, Alec
Krafft, E. K.
Lacks, Lee Todd
Lang, Preston
Larkham, Jack
La Rosa, F. Michael
Leasure, Colt
Leatherwood, Roger
Lees, Arlette
Lees, Lonni
Leins, Tom
Lemming, Jennifer
Lerner, Steven M
Lewis, Cynthia Ruth
Lewis, LuAnn
Lifshin, Lyn
Liskey, Tom Darin
Lodge, Oliver
Lopez, Aurelio Rico III
Lorca, Aurelia
Lovisi, Gary
Lucas, Gregory E.
Lukas, Anthony
Lynch, Nulty
Lyon, Hillary
Lyons, Matthew
Mac, David
MacArthur, Jodi
Malone, Joe
Mann, Aiki
Manzolillo, Nicholas
Marcius, Cal
Marrotti, Michael
Mason, Wayne
Mattila, Matt
McAdams, Liz
McCartney, Chris
McDaris, Catfish
McFarlane, Adam Beau
McGinley, Chris
McGinley, Jerry
McElhiney, Sean
McKim, Marci
McMannus, Jack
McQuiston, Rick
Mellon, Mark
Memi, Samantha
Miles, Marietta
Miller, Max
Monson, Mike
Mooney, Christopher P.
Morgan, Bill W.
Moss, David Harry
Mullins, Ian
Mulvihill, Michael
Muslim, Kristine Ong
Nardolilli, Ben
Nelson, Trevor
Nessly, Ray
Nester, Steven
Neuda, M. C.
Newell, Ben
Newman, Paul
Nielsen, Ayaz
Ogurek, Douglas J.
Ortiz, Sergio
Pagel, Briane
Park, Jon
Parr, Rodger
Parrish, Rhonda
Partin-Nielsen, Judith
Perez, Juan M.
Perez, Robert Aguon
Peterson, Ross
Petroziello, Brian
Pettie, Jack
Petyo, Robert
Picher, Gabrielle
Pierce, Rob
Pietrzykowski, Marc
Plath, Rob
Pointer, David
Power, Jed
Powers, M. P.
Prusky, Steve
Pruitt, Eryk
Purfield, M. E.
Purkis, Gordon
Quinlan, Joseph R.
Quinn, Frank
Ram, Sri
Rapth, Sam
Ravindra, Rudy
Renney, Mark
reutter, g emil
Rhatigan, Chris
Richardson, Travis
Richey, John Lunar
Ridgeway, Kevin
Ritchie, Salvadore
Robinson, John D.
Robinson, Kent
Rodgers, K. M.
Roger, Frank
Rose, Mandi
Rosenberger, Brian
Rosenblum, Mark
Rosmus, Cindy
Ruhlman, Walter
Rutherford, Scotch
Savage, Jack
Sayles, Betty J.
Schneeweiss, Jonathan
Schraeder, E. F.
Schumejda, Rebecca
See, Tom
Sethi, Sanjeev
Sexton, Rex
Seymour, J. E.
Shaikh, Aftab Yusuf
Shepherd, Robert
Sim, Anton
Simmler, T. Maxim
Sinisi, J. J.
Sixsmith, JD
Slagle, Cutter
Slaviero, Susan
Sloan, Frank
Smith, Brian J.
Smith, Ben
Smith, C.R.J.
Smith, Copper
Smith, Paul
Smith, Stephanie
Smith, Willie
Smuts, Carolyn
Snethen, Daniel G.
Snoody, Elmore
Sojka, Carol
Solender, Michael J.
Sparling, George
Spicer, David
Squirrell, William
Stewart, Michael S.
Stickel, Anne
Stolec, Trina
Stryker, Joseph H.
Stucchio, Chris
Succre, Ray
Sullivan, Thomas
Swanson, Peter
Swartz, Justin A.
Sweet, John
Tarbard, Grant
Taylor, J. M.
Thompson, John L.
Thompson, Phillip
Tillman, Stephen
Titus, Lori
Tivey, Lauren
Tobin, Tim
Tu, Andy
Ullerich, Eric
Valent, Raymond A.
Valvis, James
Vilhotti, Jerry
Waldman, Dr. Mel
Walsh, Patricia
Walters, Luke
Ward, Emma
Weber, R.O.
Weil, Lester L.
White, Judy Friedman
White, Robb
White, Terry
Wilsky, Jim
Wilson, Robley
Wilson, Tabitha
Young, Mark
Yuan, Changming
Zackel, Fred
Zafiro, Frank
Zapata, Angel
Zee, Carly
Zimmerman, Thomas

nothingicoulddo.jpg
Art by Steve Cartwright 2018

NOTHING I COULD DO

 

                                        by Brian J. Smith

 

 

 

THERE wasn’t much I could do but lay there with my eyes squeezed shut while they did it.

We were about to go to bed around nine because she was about to go back to the university when there was a knock on the door. I walked over to see who it was at this ungodly hour when the door burst open and they stepped inside one by one. The chain snapped off the wall and danced across the kitchen floor as two of them grabbed me by the arms and sent the others into the bedroom.

          They slammed me onto the floor and whipped and kicked me until it hurt. Beneath all the beatings, the sound of torn fabric and the squeal of bedsprings mingled with the worst sound a man could ever hear.

          “Help me! Get off me, you-you! Help me.”

          The panicked tone of her scream burrowed into my brain, chiseling away not just pieces of my skull but my soul, too. They laughed when they were done, and I couldn’t taste nothing but blood on my tongue and feel a thousand rivers of pain and shame pumping through my chest and stomach. I couldn’t see their faces, but I could tell they enjoyed every minute of it.

          “Get him in here.” One of them demanded. “I want him to watch.”

          They rolled me onto my stomach and dragged me into the bedroom. They’d stretched her across the bed, her head jutting over the side of the mattress, her face half shrouded by a falling curtain of blonde hair. A tall broad-shouldered man in black clothes and a matching black ski-mask was lying behind her, his crotch pressed against her exposed white rump.

          Another man stood in the far-left corner, aiming a sleek metallic camcorder with a little view mirror on the side.

          When they pulled my head back to look at him, the man on the bed said, “You know why we’re here don’t you, Mickey Boy? If you’d just given us what we want—.”

          “I’ve got until Thursday.” My lips were bloody and swollen. “You told me I had—.”

           “I’ve had enough of your shit. I’ve given you plenty of time to get us the money.” He hissed through the ski mask. “I’ve got ways of getting what I want.”

          The sound of his zipper made my heart skip a beat; a blanket of gooseflesh broke out across my skin. She squeezed her eyes shut because she knew what was coming; we all did. He didn’t exactly ram it into her but he did a job of finding the right place. The slap of flesh against flesh mingled with his grunts and the sick satisfying giggles coming from his bookends; two of them continued to hold me down while the other one recorded every second.

The more she screamed the more they grunted. There were too many of them, so the odds were stacked against me; five on one and you were a mouse trapped by a pack of hungry cats, their eyes glinting with something stronger than blood lust and the sweet taste of anger.

          I had no one to blame but myself; no one. I’d gotten into some trouble and needed a major fix and I’d have done anything for that fix.

          It gets that bad when you haven’t had it after a while. You feel ants crawling under your skin and no matter how many times you scratch yourself you find out you’ve done nothing but scratch yourself so raw it hurts and then you feel your stomach twist up like a Christmas bow going in every direction but where it wasn’t supposed to go and then you begin to sweat so bad it soaks into your clothes and hair and when you try to wipe it away it keeps coming back. And that was before the shivers and the hallucinations.

           I tried to look away, closing my eyes to block this moment from my memory, but they pulled my head back behind my shoulders and made me watch as they took turns. One would finish and then tag the other one in and so on. One time wasn’t enough and when they finally finished, they beat the hell out of me but I blacked out before I could feel the rest of it.

 

                                                          *****

 

THAT was twenty-four hours ago.

          Now I’m in the hospital and I’m hooked up to so many tubes and machines I don’t know which one is doing my peeing or pumping my blood. I can’t hear much of what the doctors are saying but I get the gist of it. They repeat it to the nurses as much as they do to the cops: broken ribs, contusions and two broken legs and a dislocated shoulder.

          And all because I couldn’t go without that sweet juice pumping through me for just one night and then the next night and then the next night after that. I couldn’t pay my dues to The

Devil so he came to collect not just my soul but Tonya’s virginity as well. She was the most God-fearing woman I’d known in my whole useless life and she had plans for that virginity but here I’d gone off and gave it to The Devil because I couldn’t keep a simple promise.

          She wanted me to change; she was as good a reason for me to spin my life back around into the right direction as any other. Instead, I’d dragged her down with me and I couldn’t blame her if she hated me for the rest of her life. I deserved everything I got.

          There was only one way for me to keep them away from me or my family.

 I’ve turned up the morphine drip and now I’m waiting for that sweet ride on Cloud Nine to carry me off to wherever I’m meant to go.  

          Don’t worry, Tonya. This wasn’t your fault.

          Daddy Loves You.

Brian J. Smith has been featured in numerous anthologies, e-zines and magazines in both the mystery and horror genres. His books Dark Avenues, The Tuckers, Uncle Bubby, and Three O’Clock are still available on Amazon for Kindle. He lives in southeastern Ohio with his four dogs, where he eats more than enough spicy food that no human being should ever consume, already has too many books and buys more, and doesn’t drink enough coffee to suit his palate, and cheers on the Ohio State Buckeyes. He can be found on Twitter under BrianJSmith13 and on Instagram under buckeyefan913.

In Association with Fossil Publications