I Need You to Understand (a flash fiction piece)

Something awful has happened, Lyle. You have gotta believe me. I know that I am a representative of the liberal Jew run media, but I’m telling you the truth. You are decapitated. It seems like a difficult thing to process, I know, especially since your head is not attached to you and quite frankly, Lyle you weren’t the sharpest tool in the shed anyhow. Not nearly so sharp as the machete that detached your head. You’re a dumb fuck, Lyle. A dumb, headless fuck.

You remember how last night I called you up and I told you I had a tip that a bunch of coeds were decapitated by a machete? It’s okay, take a second. You’re a little slow. Because you’re fucking headless. I’m sure if I were headless my memory wouldn’t be so great. Don’t call me names, Lyle. I’m trying to help you remember why you’re headless. But you are, Lyle. You are headless. Shit…okay, this is hurting my argument. Let me just jog your memory. You remember now? Yeah. You remember the call? Good. Remember you told me I was a liar? Then I told you to check your daughter’s room? And then you found her body, on the bed, in the puddle. And her head was under the bed. And somebody had stuffed all of those red crayons into her vagina.

Then do you remember what you said to me? You told me to stop making up stories or you’d put me in the drunk tank. And you did. You lectured me on making up stories. Told me you didn’t have time for my shit when a serial killer was loose. You didn’t seem to make the connection. It’s okay. Take a second. No, I didn’t just make that up. Then this girl gets wheeled in, headless, bunch of red crayons in her pussy.

And I screamed and I said “I told you so” and still you kept me in there for another hour til they brought in another girl. Naked. Stump where her head should be. Red crayons? You remember the crayons now, don’t you? It happened. Wasn’t just what the Jews paid me to say. And you looked at the body and you looked at me and you decided to look into this weird machete decapitator theory.

So we got into the squad car and you turned on talk radio and they said that murder didn’t exist. And so you hauled me back in and it took two more victims getting wheeled in headless with dozens of red crayons in their cooches before you decided that maybe this murder theory had some legs. So you remember that now? Yeah? Good. That was really fucking tiresome, Lyle. If you weren’t my brother, I might have sued you or something.

So you got a call on your police radio that a great big, hulking guy wearing an Archie mask and carrying a dripping machete was seen outside of a sorority house. At first, you insisted it was some kind of rush prank. But then you saw the guy and decided you’d shoot him for participating in such an insensitive rush prank. So we got out of the car, you took aim at this hulk of a man wearing an Archie mask and you reprimanded him for skulking around outside a sorority house waving a machete around when a serial killer was loose. The guy survived three shots to the chest, then chopped your head off and left you here, headless in front of a sorority house full of screaming girls.

Even though you have somehow figured out how to survive without a head, Lyle, I severely doubt that you will ever make sheriff.