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THE HEART OF M and M

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THE HEART OF M and M

THE HEART OF M&M By Yelena Tylkina

In the middle of a passionate embrace
I will leave you
Walking out slowly
Barefoot
On the broken glass of your shattered feelings
Bloody trails of my wicked heart


It is two o'clock in the morning when Berty opens the refrigerator door. Like a sharp blade of a kitchen knife, the refrigerator light slices through the violet darkness of the night. Berty moans, bends his body backward and wrinkles his face from the overwhelming slap on the face - the sudden, sharp ray of the electrical light. He curses out loud. An explosion of profanities ricochets from the kitchen walls and another voice from far away wishes that the Euro-Nigger-garbage-trash- basura - Berty, is killed in a horrible accident.

Berty sprays farts in to darkness like a long chain of shots from a semi- automatic gun and bellows in to the night, Ah, you muddahfuckah son-of-bitch, come over here and fart on my balls when I screw you on the back of your mother!

Berty Matti is fully awake now. Bare foot and wearing only from his wrinkled shorts, he scratches his hairless chest and gazes into his refrigerator. Before him lie bags of treasure: M&M�s, Butterfingers, Milky Ways, Hershey�s �Kisses� and �Hugs�, �Kit Kat�s� and any type of soda that one could imagine. Obviously, Berty has a sweet tooth. His addiction to any cheap chocolate often awakened him at night, but he never kept a stash of sweet goods near his bed, preferring his chocolates cold and crunchy. He would stuff a small, icicle- cold piece of the candy-bar under his tongue and, in just one second, roll back his eyes from the intense, pleasurably rich sensation of melted chocolate dripping into his throat.
Berty would feed himself chocolate slowly, piece by piece, not quiet biting the chunks of the chocolate bar, but breaking it to start the melting process between his fingers. Afterwards, Berty would always suck his fingers for hours on end for extra nourishment.

At this hour of the night, he makes his journey to the kitchen not only for his sweet fetish, but also because he feels compelled to talk to the human heart that he maintains in a oversize mayonnaise jar on the bottom shelf of the fridge.

�Sleepy?� Berty asks the Heart.

� Not really, not after that splendid intellectual exchange with the neighbor. How are you doing, you chocolate slut? Come for reinforcement, eh? What? Your chocolate blood level has suddenly gone down? Remember when she made those chocolate hearts for Valentine�s Day? You lied to her that you have to watch your figure and ate only one little heart. Remember? She made those hearts from very expensive chocolate, following the French recipe for champagne truffles step by step. Do you even know what champagne truffles are, you Philistine?�

Berty screws up his eyes, bends his knees and shifted his body from side to side, ready to throw or duck the first punch.

�Don�t start with me�, Berty hisses to the Heart, dragging words through his teeth. �She was a heartless bitch.�

�Well, of course she is heartless bitch now, you mental pygmy! I am here,
Aren�t I?� The agitated Heart responds as it moves nervously in arouse of a premonition of a fusty argument or a verbal fistfight.
� When you stabbed her that night in the street, a dabble coupon assassin, she was bleeding and screaming from pain!�

�Yeah, she was bleeding alright, but with all the colors of M&Ms and laughing in my face. The bitch had chocolate in her veins.� Berty mumbles. � She broke my heart! That lying snake, that evil cunt, the red haired witch��

Berty chews on those last words and his voice begin to break. He turns his head away from the refrigerator. The Heart can see Berty�s athletic, tattoo-covered shoulders shaking. The now sniveling tough biker can�t stop his tears. The Heart desires to embrace, caress and comfort Berty by kissing his eyelids and his lips. But, without the Heart�s mistress, Ms. Candy Slutky, formerly of Omaha, Nebraska, it is now impossible.

In a feeble attempt to fix the awkward situation, the Heart softly whispers: �I love you, Berty. You always in my heart.� But Berty already collapses to the floor and gagging on his tears, covering his head with his arms to protect himself from emotional kicks, while screaming: � Stop it! Leave me alone! Go away! You are ugly piece of flesh, I despise you!�

The Heart leans against the glass wall of its cell, thoroughly enjoying the impact of its wicked experiment.

Fiction @2005