A Foppish Death

The vial of mercury broke and water began it’s hasty escape from the 120 year old pipes it’d been trapped in since the remodel about 2 years ago.

The water knew not where to go or how to handle this freedom. Pressure blasted it out, gravity pulled it down, and it seemed the only thing to do was to begin saturating the fine shag carpet, the antique coffee table, the bananas et al in the fruit bowl, the tempurpedic mattress, and a previously-sleeping girl who experienced quite a wet awakening (not speaking of her third eye, which had never seen the light of day).

Tiff let out a screech of dismay.

It was the middle of the night. As any human living in a first world country instinctually knows to do, Tiff scanned the area for signs of fire, smoke, or any other impedance.

Seeing none, aside from the boisterous army of water raining down upon her sanctuary and sanity, Tiff reached for her iPhone as her first line of defense.


The screen was as black and lifeless as Michael Brown.

She chucked it through the glass of her 14th floor downtown window.

She watched in terror has her faux-fur and suede and flapper get-ups drooped with the weight of moist genocide. No more Saturday evenings for these garbs, or casual dry cleaning Sundays; no, the future of these foppish fools looked rather grim.

Tiff led a lavish life. She worked hard most days to portray herself in a hip and reputable fashion. Hair needs to stay kept, as well as physical stature and a proper propelling of life as a moderately successful caucasian woman. Mental stability had to be maintained as well, which was achieved through nightly masturbation and the occasional shallow hook up.

THIS, was not what she needed. The water level in her flat was now about an inch high. Water destroys life quicker than it creates it, as we’ve seen in the story of Noah’s Arc vs. Life As We Knew It.

And so it goes… Though Tiff wasn’t quite hip with Vonnegut quotes or ideology such as she was with hole-in-the-wall hangouts and up-and-coming bands.

Everything was destroyed, as far as she was concerned, and there was absolutely no way in hell that she could start over from scratch.

Tiff jumped, following suit of her now-surely-dead iPhone- crying tears like the fountain of water propagating from a fire sprinkler.


Billy Joe chuckled to himself as he turned the corner from the alley way onto the street side of the building. This was the fifth city he had hit.

He removed his coat and shook some excess water from it, still chuckling.

The first time he’d credit carded the door of a perfect stranger’s apartment and held a lighter to the unsuspecting vial of mercury that serves as sentry to the anxious fire-thwarting water behind it, was in New York 1 month prior. Billy Joe had grown sick of the city he was born and raised in, and decided to cause a little mischief. He took such a thrill from the event that an overbearing paranoia came attached. He hopped on a bus out of the city, and upon arriving in Kansas City MO to his cheap, runaway motel grew restless and decided he had to repeat the mischief.

The cops may have caught on, Billy Joe figured, if he’d repeated the deed multiple times in the same city. So after hitting New York, KC, Albuquerque, and Tempeh AZ, he had to fulfill the manifest destiny in Los Angeles.

Strutting down the sidewalk, heart still beating from the thrill and escape down the stairwell of the high-rise, Billy Joe was halted in his tracks- not by cops, not by a mugger- but by a 125 female body traveling at about 70 meters per second.


Tiff’s ostentatious lust for life and Billy Joe’s apprehension of it were perfectly portrayed by their ultimate fates: Tiff on top and Billy Joe- well, you know.

Stay vain, kids.