Stimulus Plan

by Chad Haskins

Check pulse.

Shake body.

Slap face.

Drag ass out of bed.

Kick to bathroom.

Use cold water.

Shove face against mirror.

Hold up photo of wife and kids.

Wrap tie around neck.

Draw three red zeros on

mirror with lipstick.

Force him to look.

Make him repeat these words:

“My fucking bank account,” and

“I am a good husband and father.”

Choke with tie and shout,

“Prove it!”

Let go.

Give him a gun.

If he shoots you,

there is hope.

If he shoots himself,

he was dead already.

Good luck.

Spoiled

by Chad Haskins

She moved back in

with her ex-sugar daddy. . . .

claimed she needed some

place to stay

and not to worry,

would only be temporary—

as if sucking his mother-fucking

cock again instead of mine

had an expiration date.

by Chad Haskins

I’ve got them in my sight—

a witch, a big cop and a little cop.

The big cop has a golden

gun and a sparkling badge.

The little toddler cop, I guess, is

supposed to look like the other,

but the familiar nose, eyes,

hair, and face don’t match.

About 2 years and 9 months

ago she made love to me,

and said she wanted to

marry me. The next day she

left, and I never saw her again,

until now—having driven

1100 miles to find out for sure

what I always suspected. . . .

She wanted a baby for herself

and her 30-year-older sugar daddy,

but she never loved me like she said.

I’m scribbling all this down now,

still holding my rifle in the other—

See Babe—I am talented!

Hope you get those fucking plastic

Jack-O’Lantern candy holders

filled up with something tasty,

like SweeTarts.

And if you read this note someday,

you will already know I didn’t ruin

your Halloween tonight or try to step

into the life you stole from me—I became

the goddamn lonely ghost you created

me to be . . . the one that doesn’t haunt you,

even if he tried.

by Chas Haskins

Good morning Sweetie . . .

Rise and shine!

Here is breakfast in bed—

eggs and orange juice,

without antifreeze,

just as you like it.

I see nobody cracked your

skull with a baseball bat

while you slept.

Let’s drive to the mountains today,

not allowing the carbon monoxide

to build up in the garage while you

wait for slow-poke me.

We can hike to the summit

and look down,

careful not to slip and fall

onto the jagged rocks below.

Afterwards, let’s go downtown

and take a walk,

not tripping in front of an

oncoming bus.

I hear they have a new lion

exhibit at the zoo . . . wonder

what the feeding time is?

If we eat at an outdoor cafe,

the odds are low that a hit man

would snipe you.

Finally, when we return home

I will kiss and carry you

back to bed,

laying your precious head

on these soft pillows . . .

not suffocating you underneath.

Chad Haskins lives in Georgia. Chad enjoys reading crime fiction and horror stories. He also likes to go fishing and is a Bob Dylan music fan. Chad's writing has appeared, or is forthcoming, in a few places, including The 5-2, Yellow Mama, Coffin Bell Journal, The Horror Zine, The Flash Fiction Offensive, The Citron Review, and Golden Sparrow Literary Review.