A Yellow Umbrella and a 9mm
Marco and I finally found the dump. It took hours and hours of driving around in the dominating depths of the night and rain, but we found it. We were looking for something, or I guess I should say, Marco was looking for something; I honestly couldn’t care less.
Apparently when Marco’s mom was moving out of her house a few days ago, she decided that the stuffed animals her son hadn’t used or even given a glance to in literal decades were ready for the dump. She had the patience of the saint for always dealing with his shit all on her own for years, so to be honest this didn’t seem all that bad in comparison. Marco’s mom was always worrying about him, but I don’t think it every really bothered him all that much.
Marco came to my door that night, furious, for whatever reason. It was pretty unintelligible but eventually I figured out that he wanted his stuffed animals back and he just couldn’t believe his mom could do this to him. I wasn’t paying too much attention after I sorted out what’d gotten him so pressed, and I’d already began smoking some crystal before he even got there, so I was pretty out of it. As his rant ended, he saw the pipe laying on the coffee table next to me; he said he wanted just a little before we went out on our journey.
By the time we’d actually gotten to the dump, it was 3 AM. I honestly don’t remember what happened in the 5-hour gap in between, but hey, we got there, I guess. Marco had brought a pair of bolt cutters in the trunk and within a minute or two, snapped the metal chain wrapped around the rusting metal, chain-link gate. Along with the cutters, a drenched- Marco grabbed a bright yellow umbrella and walked as fast as he could through the mud and rain; I didn’t grab my umbrella, I was already too wet for it to make any difference.
The dump was covered in heap upon heap of random junk, sorted into imperfect categories. I could spend a lot of time try to describe it to you, but I can some it up in just a few words here: A messy, wet, muddy, smelly, unintelligible yard of filth.
Marco was pacing back and forth, peaking into some of the piles from time to time, but mostly muttering to himself.
“I can’t lose these. Fuck. I can’t lose these. Shit. She really doesn’t understand.” Marco’s ramblings weren’t anything I worried about, he’d been going on and on with them at the apartment too. The growls and barks of the disgusting hounds they let loose in the place to keep out people like us were growing louder and louder, making me want to end this journey as quick as possible. I tapped Marco on the back, prompting him to flash his eyes in my direction faster than I expected him too.
“We should probably find a pile with cloth stuff; they’d prolly be there.” I said, trying to take in my surroundings, but I couldn’t. Everything seemed to mesh together in a slimy putridness that hung around everything I saw; including my own body.
Marco nodded feverishly and snapped his neck back and forth, before spotting something that gleamed his widened eyes. He sprinted over to the bottom of one of the piles, and when I finally caught up with him, Marco, with the umbrella hanging over one shoulder, was holding up what he had spotted; A cutout of Cameron Diaz (I think?) from the early 2000s, hardly clothed. He held it in both hands, his eyes blazing through the dirty cardboard ones in front of him.
“Do you think she’d be better than Stacy was?” Marco asked, still looking at the gentle smirk on the actresses’ face.
“It’s a fucking cut-out dude, and besides, Stacy didn’t even have as good of tits as her, won’t be a whore either.”
“Yeah, I guess so.” Marco brought the cutout closer to him. “I don’t know, something about the way she’s starin’ at me makes me think she wants me.” I began to snicker until I spotted a cardboard box that was previously sitting beneath the cutout. Marco followed my eyes and opened he box. Two crusty 9mm sat at the bottom, practically drowning in the water filling up around them.
“Look at these things!” Marco pulled them out of the box, one in each hand. “Everyone is gonna think we know what’s up if we’ve got these.” I walked over and grabbed one, and as I did so, a large flame enveloped the hand carrying it before disappearing a moment later. “What’s up, dude?” said Marco, seeing the confused expression on my face.
“Nothing.” I chuckled. “Maybe I could give Johnny a taste of this, then he can’t keep hoarding all the crystal.”
“He still hasn’t forgiven you for shorting him last time?”
“Yep. Said this batch I’ve got right now is the last one I’m ever getting from him.”
“Are they loaded?” Marco asked, standing up from his crouching position, gun in one hand, yellow umbrella in the other.
I opened the chamber and found nothing. “Well, I guess the look of a gun can be good enough to scare Johnny.” I said. Marco looked at me, then the floor,
“We gotta get my stuffed animals.” I followed him around for another few minutes before we heard a wild clambering around a pile stacked with wooden chairs. After a few seconds, the noise stopped, a hush fell over the both of us. From behind one of the junkyard hounds began to bark and bark, we turned around to find the slobbering creature speeding towards us. I raised my 9mm and began to pull the trigger only to hear a deafening, defeated click echo out through the rain, barking, and mutterings of Marco.
Marco and I tailed it out of there, beginning to turn to the left, only for another hound to sprout out of the garbage, prompting us to turn right.
Marco jumped onto a pile of clocks of every variety, I meant to follow suit but slipped in the mud and fell face first into the grime and mess below. One of the hounds grabbed hold of my leg with their fangs; I struggled, screamed, pleaded, cursed, but the thing wouldn’t let go. The other hound was circling around me, it’s eyes emblazoned with reddened fury and hatred of my very being. I thought I was a prime kill for the demon until I heard a loud BANG and quiet thereafter. My eyes left the mud and looked upwards; apparently Marco’s gun hadn’t been empty.
He'd shot the hound attached to my leg in the side. The wretched thing limped away as fast as it could, while the demon scurried the other direction full sprint.
I didn’t even get to say a word to Marco, he’d already began muttering about his stuffed animals again, trudging off in the direction of the wounded hound. I got to my feet trying to get the mud off my clothes, then limping after Marco.
“Where the hell you going?” I asked through pained breaths.
“I saw a piece of fluff in the thing’s mouth. It might be from my stuffed animals.” He said, gun in one hand, yellow umbrella in the other.
“Animals like these have rabies, Marco. I think we should be getting home.” My leg was getting worse, but Marco never gave a wink in my direction.
“Wait!” He said in a whisper. “Look.” He pointed ahead towards a cardboard box the hound had crawled its way into. A little piece of cyan blue fluff was hanging out the top. “That’s Fluffers the bunny right there, I know it.” He said. Marco and I strode carefully across the mud dominated ground towards the box. Our eyes creeped over the top to find a scene that left Marco in paralysis for seconds on end: his stuffed animals had been torn to bits by the litter of puppies laying in the box. The little pups grabbed onto the heads of little bunnies, bears, alligators, lions, etc. with their small yet still dangerous mouths, and left no crumbs for us.
The shock of this sight led Marco to dropping his yellow umbrella on the ground beside and stare into the eyes of the mother. I don’t know why, but the only emotions I can describe as the one on I saw on that animal that night, were fear, regret, and sorrow. It didn’t bark and bite, it just sat there in the cold rain, trying her best to warm her veracious little puppies.
Marco shot the mother in the head. The puppies began to yap and hop their little hops, but Marco’s eyes stayed glazed. He walked away without saying a word.
“Do you want you’re umbrella?” I asked, trying to think of anything to say. He stopped, turned around, and shrugged his shoulders.
“I’m already wet.” He stared at the floor, watching a puddle fill with waves created by the large droplets from above. “This stuff is wearing off. I’m getting more.”
“Where you getting more crystal from?” I asked. He showed the gun to me,
“We can pay Johnny a visit.”