FWA

The following short story was inspired by a skit from a recent episode of Boston's Favourite Son. Boston's Favourite Son is a black comedy podcast.

Jermaine had been driving for six hours straight. He hated doing these long extended trucking runs. It took away from his wife far too much, he had barely slept in days, he was pretty sure he was going to miss his daughter’s recital again and he wouldn’t hear the end of that for days. On top of all of that his back was playing up again, he shifted in the seat of the truck’s cab again trying to find a better position that would feel more comfortable. He was still aching even after moving he reached around for the bottle of pills he kept in the side door. He knew he really needed to clear it out as it was filled with candy wrappers, empty bags of chips and fast food packaging. He eventually found them and popped the bottle open with one hand, tipped one into his mouth and washed it down with some water. The packaging said not to exceed the dose, but fuck it, he would be fine.

******

Barry had just got off from another late shift at work. He knew he should just be heading straight home to Brenda, and she probably had the evening meal waiting for him already, but he was stressed and needed to have some early relief before heading home. He drove to this darkened street leading to one of the industrial estates. There were no cameras, most of the street lights weren’t working. It was perfect. He pulled up in a darkened spot and got the lubricant out of the glove box. Barry took down his trousers and squirted a generous amount onto one hand. He pulled down his trousers and started giving himself some much-needed release.

*******

Jermaine was feeling drowsy but he wasn’t that far from one of the final stops on this really long haul they had him on. He could get a few minutes after he had finished. There was nothing perishable in the back he might even stay over in a motel and get back on the road tomorrow. He yawned, but his hands were still on the wheel. He felt his eyelids getting heavy, eighteen hours on the road was starting to take its toll.

******

Barry was just about to reach the moment of sweet climax when he heard the horrible screeching of metal. He had been sat there with his eyes closed and concentrating on little else but his own relief. He looked up at the last moment as he saw the rig bearing down on him. His last moments were of regret, wishing he had got to spend his final moments with Brenda rather than with his trousers around his ankles.

A few hours later, that was how the traffic cops found him, trousers down, his flaccid penis gripped in one hand. The one officer back couldn’t help but laugh at his colleague as he had to mark down FWA as the cause of death once again. His colleague was always the one who seemed to end up as the reporting officer for these losers.

******

Simon hated working the night shift at the morgue, and it was even worse tonight as it was Halloween. He just knew they would be bringing in some crazy who bought it, doing something really fucking weird. He was always the one who got stuck with these shifts, he was the new guy, and then after that time he got caught sleeping on the job. His boss wasn’t letting that one go for a while. Then there was the fucking cat. A long-haired female tortie. Who keeps a cat in a morgue? She only hung around for treats and attention from everyone else. The cat hated Simon, always getting in his way or jumping up on counters and knocking things over.

He had just finished stitching up one of the bodies from the road traffic accident from a few nights ago. It was fairly routine, and there hadn’t really been anything particularly unusual about his organs, what he would have expected from a reasonably healthy male in his early thirties. He looked over the chart and notes the guys in the department had left him with. He shook his head at seeing FWA on yet another report. The guy deserved a little more dignity than that regardless of how he had spent his final few moments. He had just been in the wrong place at the wrong time. He looked over the cabinets and grimaced when he saw what was in some of the samples from the scene.

It had been raining heavily all evening, and Simon had heard thunder a few times. He hoped that the weather might put people off from going out. He cursed when he was plunged into darkness, knowing that the generator had cut out again. He got his phone out and turned on the torch and headed into the basement to try and turn it back on. He fiddled with things in vain for several minutes, and nothing was coming back on. He cursed under his breath and knew he would have to call for maintenance; he was sure they were going to love this and would really be quick about coming out on Halloween.

He headed back upstairs to the dissecting room. He stepped back inside and felt something brush against his legs. Simon found himself experiencing a combination of jumping due to whatever it was that had touched him and stumbling over by accident. He slammed into the medical cabinet and distinctly heard the sound of glass breaking. He realised what it was that had caused him to flinch and was about to scream fucking cat when he felt some sort of fluid landing in his open mouth. The taste and the texture felt disgusting to him, and he ended up swallowing by accident. As he swallowed, the lightning struck the building again. Simon felt a strange sensation coursing through his body, memories and thoughts that had not been his. He felt himself slipping out of consciousness, he must have hit his head harder than he thought when he hit the cabinet. The last thing he remembered was that fucking cat hissing at him again.

******

Her friends kept telling her to stop wearing black. The mourning period was over. Brenda had ignored them she wasn’t willing to say goodbye to Barry just yet. She had loved him, and that was what mattered. She still wore the ring he had given her. They were going to get married in the spring, and now he was gone. He had his faults, but she could see past them. When the police had come that night, she couldn’t believe them at first. Then they told her how he had died, she was even sure one of the officers had been laughing when they told her. She had decided that she would make a complaint to the department in the morning. Then she heard a knock on the door. She was curious who it could be, as the last of the trick-or-treaters had been hours ago.

Brenda opened the door and was surprised to see a young black man in spectacles standing there.

“Can I help you?” Brenda asked

The man had a look of surprise on his face, like he was expecting her to know who he was.

“Brenda, it's me, Barry”, the man told her.

“Is this some sick joke? Did Harriet put you up to this?” Brenda replied in disgust.

“Brenda. I’m serious this is Barry, your fiancée.” The supposed Barry responded.

“Barry died last week.” She replied matter-of-factly.

“Brenda, really, it's me. I love you. I can prove it to you.”

“Tell me something I love.”

“You love these little pastries from that bakery down on the corner of Calhoun. I used to go and queue really early in the morning for them.”

“You could have found that out from a Facebook post. I will call the police if you don’t leave.”

“When you were six. Your parents kept mice. You had this little train set, and you put the mice in as passengers. They escaped, and you never told your parents the truth. You only told me when we started looking for pets last month.”

Brenda stood there in shock. She had only ever told a few people that story. Two of them she had not spoken to in years.

“Barry”, Brenda said, almost crying.

‘Barry’ stepped into the apartment and hugged Brenda. He held her until she stopped crying and they started kissing. Barry was back she could look past the changes. He was now a foot taller, had previously been Caucasian and now had far better hair. All in all, Brenda thought she had done pretty well out of the situation. They got married in the spring, and Brenda gave birth to her first child a few months later.