EXITS ARE - Shaun Gannon

^\\-... You Found the Body; It Was Cold ...-//^

By Mike Meginnis and Shaun Gannon

m: You found the body. The body was cold. I was there too but I did not find the body until after you'd already found it. You recognized the body. You told me who it was. You said:

s: your brother is dead.

m: I said, "It's hard to recognize him with all that extra weight, and his face like that." We were in the cellar, with the wine. There were stairs that led to the second floor. There were the wine racks. There was the cold, dead body of my brother, newly fat. There was blood beside the body, but it wasn't very much, and really it was wine, not blood at all.

s: search brother for clues of death

m: In my brother's pockets you find his keys (only three: probably apartment, mailbox, car, but maybe not at all), his wallet (twenty dollars cash, business cards, Subway loyalty card, Chipotle loyalty card, Starbucks loyalty card, driver's license marked for an organ donor), his Swiss army knife. There is no outward damage on the body, though there are wine stains on his shirt.

s: sniff wine around body for unusual smells (i am a wine expert and can sense abnormalities)

m: It's possible the wine is poisoned! (It definitely smells abnormal. But you're not a poison expert. That's my bag.)

s: i tell you, "he may have been poisoned!" and shrink back

m: I tell you there's only one way to find out. I kneel on the floor and prepare to lap up the possibly poisoned wine that felled my poor brother. I say, "If I am dead, then it is true." (My expertise in poison is already coming in handy.)

s: i gesture for you to taste the winepool in an "after you" motion

m: I drink of the wine. I don't die immediately, "but it may be a slow-acting poison," I say. "We'll have to wait to find out. Maybe you should drink some too. To be sure." My cheek twitches.

s: check inventory

m: You have your wallet and its contents, a cellular phone (no good in the wine cellar, you know from past experience), a book of matches, your keys (to your apartment, your mailbox, your car), and the hat on your head. The hat on your head is a white fedora. You always wear it when you are handling or thinking about wine.

s: remove white fedora and cover dead brother's face with it, out of respect

m: The dead brother's face is covered with a white fedora. We are standing in the wine cellar. You are bald without your hat.

s: exit wine cellar

m: You walk up the stairs and into my home. Because you did not ask me to follow you I didn't come; I am still kneeling beside my dead brother's body, waiting for the poison to kick in. But you know your way around my house. (My mansion.) You are presently in the kitchen. The stairs to your east lead down to the wine cellar, and the cold, dead body therein (as well as mine). To the north and south are two hallways. The kitchen is well-furnished, with many tools for ambitious cooks, and many knives, and many cutting boards, and a very wide refrigerator, and two kinds of oven, and a freezer used exclusively for meat.

s: yell for help to see if anyone else is home, such as a housekeeper

m: No one comes. Not even me. (Which may be a cause for concern.)

s: grab one of the many knives

m: The first you find is a long, serrated bread knife with a blunted end. Do you believe that my brother was murdered?

s: i believe you murdered your brother.

m: Then you should avoid me at all costs, and you should not tell me what you believe. (At least until the poison does me in. If, that is, it does.) What motive could I have for killing my brother, whom I claimed not to recognize?

s: revenge.

m: That may well be. There's only one way to find out.

s: return to wine cellar

m: "Hello," I say. "You found a knife." My brother is still dead. "I can't feel my arm."

s: i tap the knife to your seemingly dulled arm

m: The arm does not move. Nor do I react.

s: i kneel down and lap at the winepool, announcing "we are blood brothers. we live together, we die together."

m: I say, "That's a very good idea. You are right. And now both my arms are numb. Perhaps this is how it begins."

s: "we have to remove the loss of feeling to retain our humanity." i begin to saw your initially numb arm off.

m: I watch you saw. I bite my lip. I attempt to maintain the appearance of neutrality.

s: have i lost the feeling in any of my own limbs?

m: I don't know how your body feels. It's why I asked. (My severed arm falls to the floor. My blood flows slowly.)

s: i saw off the same arm i removed from you as a sign of solidarity, to show you that i don't suspect you in your brother's death

m: "How kind!" I say. "How brave!" I would hug you with the other arm, were it not also numb. "We are bleeding on my brother's body," I say. I say, "Perhaps we should do what we came here to do: drink the wine."

s: i search the area for wine glasses or other vessels for which we could contain wine to drink without looking like dogs lapping at a puddle

m: You remember the white fedora. (Breathe.) You have always taken comfort in the fact that your hat can serve as a large glass, (breathe), if you need it to. (Breathe.) You notice I am breathing rather harshly.

s: i remove the hat and place it on my head, as i must wear it when thinking about or handling wine

m: You could drink from the bottle. (Breathe.) You could use the dead brother's wallet. (Breathe.) You could get some glasses from the kitchen. (Breathe.) You could break two bottles in half and use their bottoms. (Gasp.)

s: i pick up the open bottle and hand it to you first

m: I take it with my teeth, seeing as my remaining hand is useless now. Now I hold the wine bottle between my teeth, looking crazed. This does not aid my breathing. The bottle's neck begins to crack.

s: i run upstairs

m: You are upstairs. . . . (Breathe.) . . . You are in my quiet, empty house. . . . (Breathe.) . . . The lights are flickering. . . . (Breathe.) . . . How is the poison progressing inside you? I barely have the strength to narrate.

s: i call 9-1-1, telling them there are two dead people in the basement and that i am dying

m: The woman on the end of the line does her best to sound unconcerned . . . . . . . . . . She asks you where is the house . . . . . . . . . . She asks you who it is that killed them . . . . . . . . . . and are they still in the house . . . . . . . . . . and how do you feel . . . . . . . . . . are you crying . . . . . . . . . . maybe I am crying.

s: i run outside to check the address on the mailbox, keeping her on the line, telling her that the ambulance should rush here as at least one person in the basement is an organ donor

m: She says they will be coming soon . . . . . . . . . . and soon I will be gone . . . . . . . . . . and you will be alone, here, alone.

s: will i continue to exist without you?

m: . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . I don't see why not. (I don't see.)

s: will i have purpose without you?

m: . . .

s: i return to the wine cellar

m: . . .

s: i break open a bottle of wine

m: . . .

s: i drink from the bottle until it is empty

m: . . .

s: i drink another bottle

m: . . .

s: i lie down on the cold cement floor

m: . . .

s: i close my eyes

m: . . .

s: i think, "that god damn asshole only had one more stamp until he had a free six-inch sub"

m: . . .

s: i let everything go black.

m: . . .

s: the moment the paramedics blast my chest with electricity, the conductive wine i have chugged reverses the voltage into their bodies and murders them

m: . . .

s: the dead paramedics, rife with contagious electroinfection, transmit their disease to the second set of paramedics attempting resuscitation

m: . . . . . .

s: the local hospital contacts the CDC and alerts them of a paranormal threat

m: . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

s: the CDC gives a press release about a tropical disease exposed within alcoholic beverages in a selective area, while also alerting the FBI about this anomaly

m: . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

s: agents of an unnamed agency are dispatched upon the site

s: the agents enter the basement and see three desiccated bodies, one in a white fedora. "what a stupid hat," one says. THE END.

Bio: Shaun Gannon is the co-creator of Let People Poems. He has been published in so many places, places that you reach through your dreams and read via kissy wishes, places that are made of stardust.

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