Firefly July

Joseph was a child that never stopped smiling. And in the presence of his father he absolutely beamed, so much so that in public people who didn’t even know him would often stop his father and say, “My goodness, what a wonderful boy you have there, and his smile, have you considered putting him in the movies? He could sell anything.”
          “Oftentimes I have. Say ‘thank you’ to the pretty lady, Joseph,”
          “Thank you, pretty lady,” Joseph would say smiling up at them.
          And oh the cooing of the pretty ladies would begin.
          “And he’s a charmer!”
          His father would smile and pat his son on the head.
          “Like father like son, my dear.”
          “Oh you’re just wicked,” and they’d swat their hands at his father, making sure to lightly touch him as they did it.
          “And where is his mother?”
          “She is in a better place,”
          “Oh, I’m so sorry,”
          “It is what it is,”
          “Oh sugar, but he is just so wonderful and happy looking. You’ve done a fine job.”
          All throughout the South Joseph and his father drove stopping in one town after another, filling order deliveries for 35 millimeter cameras in the local camera stores. Listening to tapes of Credence Clearwater Revival, drinking Fanta Orange, and being enthralled by the stories of Greek and Norse Gods as his father drove the station wagon.
          Staying in small motels, and occasionally camping in the local sites if weather permitted. In that summer somewhere between Texas and Kansas the month of Firefly July passed with a thousand glowing bugs whizzing by the car at night.
          It was 1984 and the world was magic.
          One morning as they loaded their luggage into the back of the station wagon Joseph began to tell his father about how “In the future all the houses, fire stations, and candy factories would be made entirely of gigantic super strong Lego’s. It’s the only thing that makes sense. Because when you get tired of a building you can just pull it apart and make a better one.”
          His father looked down at him, cocked his head to the side as he thought about it for a second, and then said, “Goddamn Joseph that is excellent idea. I firmly endorse it.  In fact I think you should be the one to pioneer it.”
          Joseph smiled even more. Over pancakes and maple syrup Joseph intended to tell his father about his next great idea. The cloning of miniature dinosaurs, to be sold as pets because after all, what kid wouldn’t want their own Tyrannosaurus Rex?
          As they stood at the back of the station wagon moving the last of their luggage to make sure it wouldn’t roll about when traveling a fat woman in high heels, short red skirt and half empty beer bottle in hand stumbled up to them. The clicking of her heels was only surpassed by the stink of booze that was so strong a spark could have ignited it.
          She stopped about seven feet away from them looking from father to boy and then back to father. Hungry and leering.
          “Can I help you, madam?” his father asked her.
          “I know what you want… You want to fuuuck me,” she slurred and took a solid drink till the bottle was emptied, and then smashed the bottle on the ground.
          “What the shit?” his father said pulling his son behind him.
          She reached down and pulled up her skirt exposing a hairy brown pussy at the two of them and made moaning noises while sticking her tongue. At that angle she also had to use her forearms to press her gut up and back so they could see her pussy properly.
          They grimaced and she frowned.
          Then she pulled a small one shot pistol out and fired one bullet through his father’s face. It was a sharp click, followed by a small hole above his right eye, a trail of red blood running down the side of his nose and off his chin.
          He crumpled and fell face forward onto the ground. Joseph saw a hole as big as an orange in the back of his father’s head.
          Joseph looked back at the woman, her skirt still up, pussy looking back at him, the golden cross dangling between her fat tits.
          She looked at him pointing the gun at his face now. She smiled again.
          The bullet was a dud.
          “Fucking faggot,” she said to him.
          Then stumbled away down the street, turning eventually into an alley way.
          Joseph stood there, with his hands at his sides, looking at the hole in the back of his father’s head.
          He would never smile the same again…

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