Esta and Cookie

Esta and Cookie







He couldn’t trust himself anymore, completely unresponsive to his own actions, tide there in Grot Park on his park bench bed… just like Jesus must have been he thought, Jesus didn’t die on a cross he died on a park bench in the middle of a city. The only difference was that Jesus was more in control of his actions than this man. I remember seeing Jesus in those last minutes he didn’t cry and weep, he smiled and laughed until that last hit faded away and with it his body shrivelled up to that sour lemon of resentment that eventually evolved back into a man that man was Kurt Esterhuizen or as I knew him Esta. 

         Who knows how he tide himself up, probably the one thing that he’s done for himself in over twenty years and good on him the sneaky fucker court me while I was sleeping, I mean you can’t stay awake for ever watching and leading, like blue tits looking after their young. For once I can’t get him out of this; I need some help… wait till one of these shadows forms into a pillar of flesh. “HEEEELP” I scream from him but no one’s close, “you gonna pay for this Esta!” I taunt him but he’s so Bo jangled he couldn’t respond even if he wanted to. Needle still in his arm drool and snot freezing up over his mouth, breathing like a dog on his death bed, wheezing and hissing but I know it’s not over yet, two more years the stop watch says but something needs to get him out of here if my plan is to work.

         ‘This time I win cookie’ he garbles out in bubbles of snot. I laugh like calyces on a hand hard and peeling and return the gesture by making him eat his venomous snot.

         ‘After all these years we’ve been soul mates, you still don’t learn. I’ll get out of this, and you know what will happen after that?’ His pupils zone out like a kid hearing his parents telling him that they don’t love each other anymore, which I take as a yes. Like being bitten by a rabid dog my poison slowly works it’s way into Esta with words of venom sinking in, turning him a vile green such as the colour of the bile he pukes up every ten to twenty minutes. ‘You know its useless, work with me and release this body of its pain.’

         ‘Please.’ Esta says in a child trying to get what he wants kind of way.

         ‘Come on baby, your starting to hurt my feelings now. What have I done to deserve this, I thought we had something special. I’m all you got man.’ Speaking as if I was a pimp to one of my Ho’s who wants to leave. ‘Come on now let’s get out of here you must be icing over.’

         ‘I… Can’t’ the pain barrier is too much for him. He can take it.

         ‘Shore you can baby, you can’t survive alone; you can’t even eat without my help, can you?’ I see an early morning jogger doing his rounds like it means something. His face clean like he can’t lie or be aggressive, another one of those pitiful human beings who needs society to tell them how to live but is so unaware of how the game works that he thinks he’s achieving the precious words Living Life. ‘Here comes the knight in shining armour now. Plead to him Esta, make him feel like he’s done a good deed make him into a hero.’ As always he does what I say, he needs to, he has to. This is his biggest addiction by far. I am the blood in his veins now I am his right hand, he is me!

         The pitiful addict of society jogs closer until I know Esta’s gurgling can be heard. “Now say it like you mean it, cry it out, just four letters HELP. NOW!!”

         Esta cries out the words that I scripted for him but only gets out three of them. “HEL” then coughs up a hair ball.”

         Like a superhero calling to a damsel in distress he jumps and rotates in our direction. Disgusting he could have even said the words DANGER and fly to our aid. “EH hi I’m Joe are you ok?” my God I think, his name is even Joe he does pick the saviours well if this guy was any cheesier his name would be Jesus or Clark, an eye for an eye. This Joe stands there talking for a while which I don’t even comprehend to listen to because I know it will be complete bollocks so I close Esta’s ears with metaphorical cotton wool and tell him the next line on my script.

         “Plese” and again he fluffs it. It still works to satisfaction though as the meat head starts to untie Esta’s right arm then the left. I crunch his spine and Esta limps out into a slump on the floor. The man who’s name I didn’t want to know slides his sleeve up over his hand and with a disgusted look on his face goes to Esta’s right arm and pulls the silver sword from this stone of mangled flesh, instead of lofting it in the air and pronouncing himself king he wrist flicks it in the bin like a young girl touching something icky, I just know this guy is a Christian. With us still mangled in a heap on the icy grass he dumps us on his back like a fallen soldier and walks.