Short Story just for fun

I don't normally publish short stories on this blog, but I am today, just for fun. Enjoy!





The Thick-Skulled Hog, And The Thick-Skulled Man



Archie, brother Al, and uncle Joe sat out on the back porch after dinner, swatting away mosquitoes, and taking long drags off the quart of wine they passed back and forth to one another. It was getting near the end of summer, and the California air was warm enough to sit out at night, but still had a little frost and chill to it to make it seem a little cold.

“If we was back in Mississippi right now, Al,” Joe asked, “do you think it would be warmer, or colder sitting out on a porch this late at night?”

Al and Joe had come in from Mississippi on the bus a few weeks back looking for work. They had found enough of it to pay for their own food, and wine, but hadn’t yet saved enough money to travel on anyplace else. They were temporarily stuck here in California with Archie, his wife, and their three children.

“It would be humid as a whore’s cunt, I bet. And with a helluva’ lot more mosquitoes than we got out here.”

Al answered Joe’s question, while sipping back on the jug of wine. The backyard of Archie’s house was littered with old clotheslines, and clothespins. There was a chicken coop off in the far corner, with several hens, and one big, mean, brown rooster. The children’s toys were scattered about in the dirt, and Archie’s carpentry tools lay about the yard, as well. All of this was in a backyard enclosure no more than six by eight feet.

“You should build yourself a tool shed, Archie.”

Al suggested, letting that cool, foggy wine buzz sink over him.

“As soon as I do, Ma will have me packin’ up to leave somewhere else.” Archie answered. “She does that to me every time. If we get settled in too comfortable, she’ll want to leave. Same old story.”

Archie’s wife, whose real name was Blythe, but they all called “Ma” because that was what her kids called her, came out on the porch then, and began sweeping the dust off it right out from underneath the three men’s feet. All three of them did their best to stay out of her way. It was obvious that within the marriage between her and Archie, even though she did all the cooking, and cleaning, and took care of the children twenty-four hours a day, that she was the one who was in charge of the household. A few years back, when Archie had been doing more drinking than working, she had left him to live with relatives in Tennessee. Though Archie was a drunk, a gambler, and basically a scoundrel at heart, he did love her and his children enough to clean up his act somewhat, and lure her back.

When she was done sweeping, she pointed the broom handle at the lazy hog laying over against the fence, at the edge of the yard. The hog was always a contentious issue between her and Archie. Ma claimed the hog took up too much room in the little backyard, while Archie favored it, for he had plans to breed it someday; if he could ever find anyone in the area with a sow that would take a liking to it.

“Will you kill that old hog, finally? He’s as lazy as you are, and stinks twice as bad. We could almost get a milk cow back here, if that dumb hog wasn’t in the way.”

“Well, that’s an exaggeration,” Archie replied. “It would have to be a teeny-tiny cow you buy, to fit in this little speck of a yard we have.”

“I’m sick of it!” Blythe snapped, causing Archie, his brother, and his uncle to all rise out their seats uncomfortably.

“Even though you boys been workin’, and bringin’ home money, we’re low on food. That hog could probably feed all of us, and the kids, for about two weeks.”

Al licked his lips, looking down at the hog’s rump.

“I’ll bet that pig is as tender as a slice of veal. What, him layin’ here in that little patch of dirt for how long?”

“We could a make a sport out of it,” Joe suggested. “See that sledge over there?”

Joe pointed to the fence on the other side of the chicken coop from where the hog lay. Archie’s big sledgehammer, that he mainly used to bust up old boards with, rested against the fence with weeds growing up around it’s steel head.

“You ain’t gonna’ kill no hog with a big hammer.”

Al chirped in, understanding exactly what was on uncle Joe’s mind.

“I’ll bet you five bucks, I could, Al. And if I can’t, I’ll lay down ten that Archie could do it. He’s a hair stronger than you or I, I figure.”

“The hell, he is,” Al said in retort, rising to grab the sledge off the fence. He tapped the hammer side off on a rock to get the dirt and weeds off of it. Then, he and Joe coaxed the hog over into the middle of the yard, and had it lie down so they had full arching, swinging room to knock it’s head off.

“Which of you wussies is gonna’ hit it first?”

Archie asked, after they all threw five dollars into a bucket.

“I’ll take a whack,” Joe said, picking up the sledge. “I can barely lift this hammer, I swear. Hopefully, Al can finish it off, if I can’t.”

Archie and Al held their breaths together as Joe threw the hammer back over his shoulder, raised it up behind his head, and then brought it down square onto the hog’s forehead.

POOOOOOOMMMMMM!!!!!

The hammer made a terrific sound against the plate of the hog’s skull. It’s entire body convulsed under the blow, and a cloud of dust rose up from beneath it.

“Hoooooooollllllllyyyyyyy Crap!” Al yelled, stepping close. “Did you see that? It’s head just bounced off the ground like a basketball.”

“Sorry, Al,” Joe answered him. “It ain’t dead. I can see it still breathing.”

Archie had come up behind Joe also, to confirm the hog was still alive. When Al took the sledge from Joe, in his eagerness to prove he could finish the hog off, he threw the hammer back too quickly, and nailed Archie on the forehead with it. The result was a flat plank! sound of the sledge hitting Archie, and then another POOOOOOOMMMM!! sound as the head of the hammer drove the head of the hog once more down into the dirt.

“What the hell was that?” Al yelled, spinning around to try to figure out what had broken his arch-swing.

“You just hit your brother on the head with that sledgehammer, fool.”

Joe and Al walked over to Archie, and steadied him. His eyes were blurry, but he could still walk.

“Set me down, and have Ma bring me the whiskey!”

Archie demanded, slapping their arms off of him. They both did what he said, and within a few minutes of sipping on whiskey, Archie looked fine and good, except for a big, bruised knot forming in the center of his forehead.

“Hell, Archie,” Al joked, upon seeing Archie was not seriously hurt. “I can’t tell which has the thicker skull. You, or that damn hog.”

They could see the hog was still alive, and breathing, even after being hit hard with the sledge twice. Archie took up the hammer then, and went to have his turn.

He brought the sledge up, and then down upon the hog’s skull so powerfully, the sound it made was like a skillet slamming down upon a metal grill.

The hog wheezed, barely moving, but they could all see it was still alive. Ma came out then, angry about the noise, and the fact that Archie had drank half the whiskey after already finishing a jug of wine.

“You three grown men couldn’t put on old hog down?” She asked, spitting into the yard where the half-beat animal lay. “I guess I’ll have to take care of this myself.”

She went back into the house, and brought out a long, sharp butcher knife. She kneeled down next to the hog, gingerly grasping his head with her left hand, and with her right hand, in one smooth stroke upward; she buried the blade into the hog’s throat, pulled the blade out quickly, and then stepped back out of the way as blood spilled out of the now dying hog like a fully running faucet.

“Ah, woman,” Al said, disappointingly. “You ruined our game. Who wins the bet now?”

“All bets are off,” Ma said, with one hand grabbing the bucket of money, and the other hand roughly grabbing Archie by the collar, and forcing him to go inside with her. “I’m gonna’ take this fifteen bucks tomorrow, and buy more whiskey, and take my husband to the doctor. You coulda’ permanently brained him with that hammer.”

Al and Joe grumbled complaints about the money, but there was no real arguing with Blythe when she was angry. They moved the hog’s body after it had bled out, into a shady area so it would be out of the way.

Blythe took Archie back and threw him onto the bed. He had been stumbling, and slurring his speech, but she figured it was more due to the alcohol, than the whack on the head. She took his boots off for him, and threw an old quilt over him. Then, she got right down and kissed him on his forehead, where he was bruised and swollen from the sledgehammer.

“You’re just an old thick-skulled hog, yourself. Huh, old man?”

She asked him, but he was sound asleep, about as dead to the world as the night itself. Ma sat with him for a minute or two, making sure he was sleeping well, and then went to make sure all the commotion had not awoken the children, and those two lazy relatives of Archie had moved the hog’s body somewhere she could easily butcher it, and begin preparing a feast for the next day’s dinner.