I Still Hate That Charlie Bradberry


So, I was sitting in my local Starbucks, sipping on a grande salted caramel mocha with no whipped cream, when Charlie walked in. That Charlie Breadberry, with his fat nose and his minacing gash of a mouth, turned upward in a smile. His cartoonishly large red eyes. Oh how I hate that Charlie Bradberry.

He walks in with this foul grin on his face. He walks up to the barrista and repulsively opens that gash of a mouth: “I’ll take a grande salted caramel mocha. No whipped cream.” He says.

The nerve of that guy. Where does he think he get off even ordering the same thing as I.

He gets his drink and walks toward the door. He stops.

“Jack!” He says. “Fancy seeing you here friend.”

I look up at him standing there. Where does he get off directing that vile stench of words toward me.

He stands there awkwardly for a minute. Avoiding me with those red eyes when I don’t respond. He finally walks out the door.

I couldn’t stand it anymore, that Charlie Bradberry, with his looking and his speaking and his being. So, I followed him out of the Starbucks.

I’m not sure what exactly happened next, due to blacking out in an uncontrolable rage. But when I became aware of everything and the rage was gone I was just standing there.

I stood there, over the body. Holding the blood smattered knife at my side. I’m not sure where it came from, the knife. I stood there starring at the corpse. Chanting. The same word over and over again. A name. Charlie.

That was a weird dream right? Because it was most definitely a dream. Okay, it was not a dream. I killed Charlie Bradberry. Charlie Bradberry is dead.

I called the authorities and they laughed at me when I told them what happened.

“Death isn’t real you idiot.” They howled over the phone.

I pleaded and pleaded for them to come. They finally agreed to.

When the authorities arrived, all three of them, we all stood over the body of that Charlie Bradberry. Looking at it intently. Amazed. Like, what are bodies supposed to do when a person dies? No one has died in like, ever. What are we supposed to do now?

Today’s Quote of the Day is:

“I speak of only the things I see and hear; A vague shadow in the morning light, A terrible, high pitched, soul wrenching scream, A low rumbling growl that makes my skin itch.” – Francis Malay

Thanks for reading.