Save Your Life

VERSE 1

You’re laying on my sofa getting high on my medicine

I couldn’t call the police without a shred of evidence

That you stole everything from me and my family

Left us broke and broken, on the edge of tragedy

So even if you’re drowning in the ghost river

I won’t swim after you, I’ll just let you shiver

You better grow gills and a fish tail over your legs

If you make it to the surface, grab your tin cup and beg

CHORUS

I’m never going to save your life

So get ready for the afterlife

You’d never do the same

For me on any day

Now it’s time to say

Now it’s time to say goodbye

VERSE 2

You got inside my head and you’re not getting out

Can I get on with my life? The answer is in doubt

My favorite music is all but dead to me

I got all this passion, but not enough energy

So even if you’re dangling over jagged rocks below

I’d turn and walk away, this is your own death row

You’d better grow wings and a halo over your head

If you fly to the top, it’s because you’re already dead

CHORUS

I’m never going to save your life

So get ready for the afterlife

You’d never do the same

For me on any day

Now it’s time to say

Now it’s time to say goodbye

BRIDGE

Forgiveness is a violation of my boundaries

It’s hard to let it go when my brain takes a pounding

I’m stuck in second place, but I’ll keep dipping lower

That’s called mental torture, it keeps getting slower

I can’t hold a job, I can’t live my life

I can’t drive a car, can’t marry a wife

My dreams are all gone with the wind

And that’s why I refuse to forgive

CHORUS

I’m never going to save your life

So get ready for the afterlife

You’d never do the same

For me on any day

Now it’s time to say

Now it’s time to say goodbye

Bulletproof Bikini

Marguerite Macintosh may have been wandering around Helgor City in little else than a metal bikini, leather boots, and a furry cloak, but this chilly weather should never have been confused for the “dog days of summer”. The only things keeping her warm were the burning pain radiating off of her fresh scars and her boiling blood over this wardrobe fiasco. Her bastard sword was sheathed on her hip; she kept a firm grip on the handle while her other hand carried a mysterious leather sack. She heard enough testicle jokes in her lifetime that they were to be expected when she carried around a package that big.

As she trudged down the sidewalk of this vast city with bustling marketplaces and massive architecture, Marguerite made sure to give stone cold glares at the various men who passed her with dirty thoughts racing through their melon heads. The smiles they gave her, the whistles, and the chuckles were enough to boil her blood even further. The women were equally worthy of her scorn; they twisted their faces in disgust, as though Marguerite was going to steal their husbands right in front of them.

Because the streets were so jam-packed with horn-dog men, racing children, and jealous women, she couldn’t help but bump into a few of them, though she wondered how much of that contact was on purpose. There were a few hands here and there and in an ideal world, those hands wouldn’t be attached to their owners’ arms anymore. The bastard sword was right there, yet she kept it sheathed the whole time.

“Just a few more blocks,” she muttered to herself. The frosty weather nipped at her flesh almost as harshly as the poor sucker she had been in combat with only an hour prior. Those razor talons and blade-like fangs were far from Marguerite’s idea of a fun time. But a payday was a payday and a meal was a meal. “That son of a bitch better not stiff me this time,” she said, referring to her mercenary boss Goldsmith Kingsville.

“You said stiff!” said a giggling teenaged boy as his father pulled him away, also in a chuckling mood.

Marguerite’s knuckles had turned as white as the frosty weather at the strength she was gripping her hilt. She could cause a city wide bloodbath that could only be written about in holy scriptures. She could leave heads rolling down the street like the beer barrels the men probably consumed by the gallon. She could leave intestines strewn across the cobblestones while the diarrhea they contained painted an accurate picture of all the bullshit this place was known for. She thought better off it and continued down the sidewalk. “The real battle…” She stopped herself before her words could be misinterpreted again by snot-nosed kids.

A few more bumps, gropes, and hee-haws later, she finally arrived at the steps of the Kingsville Combat Club. They would prove to be a long climb, not because of the distance, but because of the sharp pains in her leg scars with every step. She sucked it up and pulled herself up the stairs into the stone-carved barracks. It was somehow less painful than being leered at by horny men and scowled at by jealous women. And then she remembered that the cycle would begin all over again once she walked through the doors of her workplace, which she did.

Just as she had predicted, the sparring orcs, in metal armor much more protective than hers, took a break from their exercises to evilly-smile and snort at her. Some of them swirled their tongues around like they were about to eat a delicious roasted ham. Others wiggled their fingers in anticipation of a hard grip. One of them whistled like his voice was a jazz instrument, much to the hee-hawing delight of the other mercenaries. Again, Marguerite could turn this entire room into a farmhouse slaughter fit for oinking pigs. But she thought better of it and picked up her walking speed towards Goldsmith’s office. She slammed the door behind her and the sounds of sparring continued.

And there he was, his booted feet on the desk, his velvet purple suit on, a cigar smoldering in his mouth, and his eyes pasted to his magazine. His entire room was decorated with artwork of half-naked models and leopard print rugs. Marguerite had her angry eyes locked in not on those, but the pervert who hung the pictures there in the first place. He peeked out from his magazine and waved at her before blowing a drooling orcish kiss.

Marguerite marched up to Goldsmith’s desk and slammed the package on the wooden surface, almost creating a few splinters. She pulled the draw string on it and revealed the head of a rival orcish warrior, which made Goldsmith’s eyes light up like a shooting star. He grabbed the head by its hair and examined it further to make sure everything was on the up and up. “Fine job, Margueritie-Sweetie.” She cringed at that nickname. “Our client will be very happy with this!”

Marguerite then slammed her coin bag on the table with equally brutish force and opened it. She pointed inside and said, “Karma. Karma!”

“If you insist.” Commander Kingsville pulled a metal box from underneath his desk, unlocked it with a massive key, and scooped up handfuls of gold coins to put in the Marguerite’s bag. She closed it up, jiggled it next to her ear, and stuck it on her belt, ultimately satisfied with her payday. Goldsmith put the metal box away, but she was still there with her arms folded and a murderous look on her face. “What? You got your payday, now get lost.”

“There’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you, Commander.” Marguerite cleared her throat. “Are you okay?”

Goldsmith throatily laughed and slapped his desk a few times. “Are you kidding me, babe? Business is booming! I’ve never felt better in my life! Are you okay, my ass!” He laughed some more.

“That’s not what I meant, Commander. What I meant was…are you okay…as in…what the hell is wrong with you?!”

“Huh?”

“These other mercenaries, all of which are men, get to walk around protected head to toe in armor while I’m stuck out in the cold-ass weather in… whatever this is! You say business is booming, yet you can’t afford to get me some halfway decent armor?!”

Goldsmith placed a hand on Marguerite’s shoulder, which was instantly swatted away. “Listen, lady. Walking around in a metal bikini isn’t so bad. It’s lightweight, so you can move around easier. You have any idea how heavy those other suits of armor are?”

Private Macintosh grabbed her boss’s jacket and snapped, “Cut the bullshit! This skimpy armor isn’t going to protect me from anything! Look at all these scars! Look!”

Goldsmith pulled on his own collar to signify discomfort. “Trust me, I’m looking.”

“Exactly! You didn’t buy me this piece of crap armor because you wanted to protect me! You certainly didn’t want me to move faster, because let’s face it, fast-moving women make it impossible for you to do your little thing with them. This isn’t protection, Commander! This is fantasy!”

Goldsmith shoved her to the floor. “If you want real armor so badly, then use your payday to buy some! There’s enough in that coin bag to get you at least…”

She got up and got right back in her boss’s face. “You paid for their armor, now pay for mine! You just said yourself you have the money to do it, now quit stiffing me and…”

“Stiff this, you dumb bitch!” Goldsmith tried to slap her with the magazine, but she caught it just in the nick of time and started poring through it.

This wasn’t a literary publication at all. Not a single poem about flowers and shit. Not a single piece of prose about gallant battles. Not a single epic about conquering giants. Just pictures. Pictures of women wearing the same metal bikini as her. Just when Marguerite’s stomach couldn’t twist and wind any further, the final picture in the magazine…was of her. A realistic drawing of her wearing that same bikini, posing seductively at the reader, and blowing a kiss.

Marguerite’s breathing hastened. Her heart thumped in her chest while an icy river of anxiety cooled her burning scars. She dropped to her knees and vomited on the magazine, completely undoing her entire nutrition for the day.

“Oh, don’t act so disgusted! That’s the best art you’ll ever see in your lifetime! He’s great at what he does!”

Marguerite wiped the vomit from her lips and slowly rose to her feet, her trembling hand gripping her hilt even tighter than before, to where her palms were beet red. She angrily whispered, “Did you just say…HE’S great at what he does? He? As in…the male gaze?!” She finally pulled out her bastard sword and sliced Goldsmith’s desk in half, causing the boss to jolt backwards in fear. Sure enough, he had other magazines of half-naked girls stashed in there as well as his cash box.

Goldsmith pulled his collar in discomfort again. “I can explain!”

Not giving him a chance to do so, Marguerite threw a thunderous slash his way and sliced his massive head off, the last of his fucked up mind oozing on the carpeted floor. She dropped to her knees again, shaking in a combination of anger, disgust, and fear. Commander Kingsville had been masturbating to her this whole time. He had thoughts about her. He wanted to be with her. That metal bikini wasn’t practical in any way. It was all a perverted fantasy. Marguerite threw up yet again, this time loudly enough to draw the ire of someone knocking on the door.

“Hey! What’s going on in there! You alright, boss?!”

Thinking quickly, Marguerite took her bastard sword and wedged it between the double door handles. She didn’t know how long the lock would last considering how hard the orc was knocking. The sword even bent a few times like it was made of rubber. Marguerite took the cash box, grabbed Goldsmith’s head, and chucked it through his stained glass window, giving her an easy escape and the orcs enough reason to slam even harder against the doors.

Once the doors broke down, Marguerite, with cash box in hand, ran like the wind. Her leg scars flared up to where she was begging for an amputation. But she kept running through the back alleys. She kept hearing the sounds of orcs grunting behind her. Those throaty screams and curses, as much as they pounded against her eardrum, they softened the further she ran. And then she took a sharp turn into another alleyway and her legs finally gave out on her. Blood running from the wounds made her dizzy. The burning sensation caused her eyes to well up in pain. She was certain the orcs were going to chop her up and have her for lunch…or have her for lunch regardless, which made her gag even more.

But then the orcish voices were gone. She couldn’t hear them anymore. If she was dead from her wounds, then heaven looked an awful lot like Helgor City. It wasn’t heaven at all. Maybe it was hell. Maybe it was some unseen god punishing her for murder and theft. Speaking of theft, the cash box was still right there by her side. She patted it and breathed a sigh of relief once she knew it was safe.

“You know…maybe I will buy my own armor…and a vacation…I wouldn’t mind a vacation right now…”

Crow Cop

“Read me the summary on this one, Hammy,” said Dexter Young as he cocked his magnum while sitting in the passenger side of the van. He tucked the weapon in his pants and pulled a pair of black ski masks out of the glove box, one for him, one for Hammond O’Hara a.k.a. Hammy.

Hammond sat in the driver’s seat flipping through various pages in his binder until he found what he was looking for. “Toni J. Mathews. Age 39. Recently divorced from her husband of five years after citing irreconcilable differences. Part of the settlement deal with her husband was that she was to receive a topaz ring worth fifty thousand dollars, maybe more on the black market. According to my research…”

“Ha! You did research…” chuckled Dexter as he winked at his partner.

Hammond got a good laugh out of it too. “Anyways, from what I’ve seen, she keeps the topaz ring in a safe in her bedroom. As far as I can tell, she has no security systems other than that safe and the only occupant living with Miss Mathews is a parrot named Mirko.”

Dexter blew out some air, shook his head, and said, “I asked you to canvas possible threats in the neighborhood and all you could come up with was a fucking bird? No cameras, no alarms, just a fucking bird? You know what? Maybe we won’t have to stop by KFC after work. I just hope the bitch has a working stove in her kitchen. I don’t see why not. She is a woman, after all; that’s kind of her thing.”

Hammond shook his jowly head and chuckled, “You’re awful, Dexter. You’re just plain awful.”

Dexter slapped Hammond upside the head and warned him, “Remember, no using real names. You’re Hammy and I’m D. Got that? I don’t want you forming bad habits when we’ve got the biggest score of our lives just waiting in there for us.”

“Sorry, man. My bad,” said Hammond as he tucked his ski mask in his jacket pocket. Both burglars dressed in dark clothing that blended in perfectly with the night air. They exited the van and sneaked across the street like ghosts, not prompting one porch light to flare up.

Once they reached the front porch, they pulled their ski masks over their heads and pulled out their magnums. “Ready to roll?” Dexter whispered.

“Ready as I’ll ever be…D!” whispered Hammond as he pulled out his lock picks and worked his magic on the doorknob. Slowly, carefully, and silently, The chubby burglar unlatched the bolt and even held the door open for his partner like a true gentleman. “After you, Dex, I mean, D!”

“I’m warning you, dip shit, if you blow our cover, you’re a dead motherfucker!” snapped Dexter. The two burglars crossed the threshold and Hammond gently pulled the door closed behind him. The entire house was as dark and silent as the streets themselves. Still, Dexter and Hammond weren’t going to take chances and tiptoed across the hardwood floor like ninjas.

They nearly jumped out of their skin when the light came on in the bedroom and a weary female voice asked, “Hello?” Dexter caught his partner drooling through his ski mask when the two of them saw Toni Mathews wearing little more than a sports bra and tiny shorts in the lit doorway. Not bad for a thirty-nine year old, thought Dexter. She had her blond hair up in a ponytail, which Dexter knew was an advantage for a horny partner like his.

Toni rubbed the sleepiness out of her eyes and turned on more lights in the house until she found herself in the living room with Dexter and Hammond. She wanted to snap awake and let out a shriek of doom, but the two burglars wrestled her to the ground with Dexter keeping his gloved hand over Toni’s mouth. The divorcee struggled and writhed while her stifled screams vibrated off of Dexter’s hand, but Hammond was already playing his role to perfection when he was wrapping duct tape around her ankles and knees.

Binding her hands and mouth became a much easier task when Dexter pressed the barrel of his gun against Toni’s nose and angrily whispered, “Shut up, bitch! Shut the fuck up! You make one more sound and I’ll blow that pretty head of yours off your shoulders!” Shaky and teary, Toni had no choice but to lay still while Hammond wrapped tape around her wrists and gagged her as well.

The two burglars dragged her bound body against the couch and sat her upright against the cushions. Dexter kept his gun pointed against Toni’s forehead and silently, but tensely said, “Listen good, lady: we’re not going to be staying a while. We just want one thing and then we’ll be out of here. If you try to resist us or call the police, you’re going to have splattered brains all over that pretty sofa of yours. You understand?”

“Wah! Call the crow cop! Call the crow cop! Wah!” squawked an avian voice from out of nowhere.

“That must be the goddamn bird,” said Hammond with a look of concern behind his mask.

“Thanks, Captain Obvious. Go find the fucking thing and shut it up!” ordered Dexter. Hammond’s heavy and clunky movements towards the back of the house prompted Dexter to snap, “Can you make a little more noise please?! I’d love to have the cops on my ass!”

“Wah! Make some more noise! Make some more noise! Wah!” squawked Mirko again. A subsequent yelp of pain from Hammond followed by the sound of wings flapping caused Dexter’s adrenaline to pulsate throughout his body. The heavy burglar came back into view holding his now bloody nose. “What the fuck happened?”

“That little bastard bit me! I don’t care if I get the chair, I’m killing that bird!” said Hammond.

“Wah! You’re gonna get the chair! You’re gonna get the chair! Wah!” squawked Mirko.

“Shut up, you little piece of shit!” shouted Hammond before firing a round into the dark and prompting Dexter to wrestle him to the ground.

“Are you out of your fucking mind, Hammy?!” snapped Dexter as he held his hand over his partner’s mouth. “You can’t be doing shit like that, you fat fuck! One more outburst from you and I’m putting one between your eyes! You and queen bitch over here can let the bird sing melodies to you for all eternity!”

Hammond removed his partner’s hand from his mouth and said, “Wait, wait! What if we take the tape off of the bitch’s mouth and make her call the little fucker over to us? Are we really going to be outgunned by a goddamn parrot?”

Toni sobbed through her gag and shook her head no at the burglars’ plans. Dexter creepily crawled up to his victim and said, “Oh, yes, yes, yes. You are going to call that little bastard over to us and it’ll be winner, winner, chicken dinner. And just so there’s no confusion, we’re under no obligation to keep you alive during this heist. We’re only doing it out of courtesy. Well, that’s not really true. We do have to keep you alive. After all, the last time I checked…Hammy and I weren’t into necrophilia!”

The two burglars chuckled at the rape joke while Toni’s sobs grew progressively louder even with tape on her mouth. “Hey! Hey! Hey!” snapped Dexter. The third hey was said with enough force to get Toni to stop making noises. “The only noises you should be making are the kind that bring the future KFC meal over to us. I’m going to rip the tape off of your mouth and I swear to god if you scream for help, you’re going to join your birdie friend on the dark side.”

Dexter ripped the tape off while Toni stifled a painful scream, too frightened not to take the threat seriously. “Now that I’ve restored your first amendment rights,” said Dexter. “You know what you need to use them for. Call out your monster.” Toni could do nothing but sob hysterically until Dexter’s “Now!” scream gave her extra motivation.

Trying to keep her lips steady, Toni whistled and said, “Here, Mirko! Come on over to mommy!” The unstoppable sobbing weakened her voice to where she couldn’t pull off a full whistle.”

“Oh, what the fuck was that?” condescended Dexter. “Put some gusto into it, you crazy bitch!”

“Wah! Put some gusto into it! Put some gusto into it! I’m a crow cop! Wah!”

Dexter and Hammond pointed their gun in the voice’s direction while Hammond shouted, “Where are you, you little shit?!”

Dexter felt a hard double kick in the back of his knee, causing him to drop on his ass and accidentally fire a bullet into Hammond’s ass. Dexter’s eyes bulged out of his skull as he watched his partner trying to suppress a shriek of pain while holding his bloody anus. He could see Hammond’s chubby lips quivering like a boat motor. “Hammy…” the burglar said softly. “It’ll be okay. Just lay down and…”

Toni repeatedly kicked Dexter in the face with her bare soles as if her life depended on it. The burglar felt his nose snap in two and a few of his teeth fall out of his mouth. Meanwhile, Mirko flew threw the shadows and nibbled on Hammond’s nose some more, tearing flesh and dining on blood. Both burglar’s screams were as obvious as fire truck sirens and the whole neighborhood’s lights started to flare up.

Dexter could hear the sounds of doors opening and slamming shut in between face distorting kicks to the face. Neighbors with shotguns and handguns burst through the front door and rushed to the scene of the crime, pulling tape off of Toni’s body and asking if she was alright.

By the time Mirko flew back into the shadows, Dexter and Hammond were lying on the floor with gashing faces and rearranged features. Once Toni was free and steady, she removed both of their masks to reveal their ugliest features, to which the armed neighbors made gagging noises of disgust.

“All this crazy shit over a topaz, huh, Dex, I mean, D,” slurred Hammond.

“Sorry, sweetheart. There’s no topaz here. We just like to encourage intruders, that’s all,” said Toni with a sickeningly benign smile.

Dexter opened his swollen eyes as wide as he was allowed and asked, “What the fuck are you talking about, lady?”

“You think you’re the first ones to try to pick apart this neighborhood?” asked Toni rhetorically. “This place used to be a popular gang neighborhood. And then we cleaned it up and lured more scumbags like you to come and join us. We’re making this city a better place one dead motherfucker at a time.”

“But I did research,” whined Hammond while spitting out blood. “I did fucking research!”

“Wah! You did research! You did research! I’m a crow cop! Wah!”

“Shut up, you stupid fucking bird!” shouted Dexter as he reached for his magnum and instead was showered with a hailstorm of bullets from the neighborhood crime watch. Hammond didn’t stand much of a chance either as his body instantly became a pool of blood and organs on the hardwood floor.

The last thing to go through Dexter Young’s mind, aside from the bullets, was a little child’s voice asking, “Can I pet your birdie, Miss Mathews?”