Only Dialogue/God Knows

…Um, She is unemployed and he works at Taco Bells.

That is a good job.

You ‘re an asshole.

No really that is a good job.

She didn’t even blink as she acknowledged his sarcastic tone.

Whatever.  So, it all went well?

Yeah, a lot of people showed.



His phone rang,

I got to take this.

She tacitly agreed with a nod and then walked towards her apartment door-

Okay, Maybe I’ll see you later.

Only if I am visible.




He grabbed his belongings and walked to the door hitting it with his free hand as he popped the lock with his key and a jarred spin of the knob.  The door had been unhinged from a recent robbery.  Always lock the doors he said, always.  Never forget that.


Once inside, exhausted from the day he almost collapsed on the floor, yet talking and walking to his room he made it to his bed and crashed out on the roughly made blankets.  A long day to end the weekend, and only the beginning of what was supposed to be his studying for finals.  Unload the bag, put the food in the fridge and chill.  Chill like the Minnesota weather.


I want to see you, I need you.

Why?  For what- He said with impatients.

I want to see you.

-She was obviously drunk again…


The reality of the situation was that love was the thing to possess, as family and friends have proven over time, time and time again.  This is what you need.  He must have this success, God willing, human body willing.  The search had started, life had begun, mission named and understood.  Onward to prosper for the better, and please, without skipping a beat.




…You want water?


With ice or no ice?


He sat on the bar stool, she looked at him.  And asked-


With ice, yes.

Ice is bad for you.

He didn’t care he thought.  (What the fuck is with the questions?)

Okay, then without ice.

I will give you a little ice, you know, cause ice is bad for you…

Yeah, I am just thirsty can I get the water?


After a wedding, some moments after, a worker sauntered to the bar.  He pulled out the stool set his bag to the ground, half on an iron foot rail half mid-air, and hopped on the wooden seat.


(He felt holy from the ceremony he witnessed earlier, a pretend Christian, a stand by follower.


How does one pretend to pray?  I’ll show you; look down, cup your hands and bow your head a little.  Don’t make eye contact and don’t move in any unholy fashion, stand still until the words are done.  God won’t even know the difference…)


Foolish jump, childish, energy expended to the point of no energy at all.  He made it.  All the simple things in life were all that mattered at the moment.  Some water some food, and little conversation.  There was only time for important conversation, no time to just chat.  And his water with no ice.






Do you want red or white?


Okay, red it is.

But get me my water first.

Yeah, I figured you were thirsty.

I am still thirsty, can I get my water?

Here is the wine, and I’ll get your water in a moment.


(fucking parched)


She sat the wine down in front of him on the white marble surface.  He glanced at half-full glass with practiced charm in his eyes, a charm that could only come from someone beaten and weak from a hard days work.




Tangled in this mess of ex-lovers, limited time, and no money he sat, he sat to eat.  He was grateful for what he could get, and especially when the expense was free.

No charge for this one.


Mostly anything you want.


A stiffly sore worker hardly able to handle a fork much less a plate; with a stomach like Germany circa 1942; too much to eat and he would die-bloated and all.  Half starved, half stuffed and lying dead for the vultures to consume, had they not attracted the same condition.  A soldier’s candy bar would be fine. 



He would lay, too much pain to bear, too much to think about to even care.  He was gone.  He took the glass of red wine and put it to his lips.  He tilted the glass and it spilled down into his mouth, droplets only, barely to the back of his throat, when compared to the portion left til the end of the meal.  He downed two glasses of water consecutively, a full plate and a half of another, and then he finished his wine.  He made some discussion of how to make things easier for his like and took to the street.


Some mornings it seemed as though sleep had been stolen and there wasn’t enough to get in the night.  Other mornings, mornings such as this, there was a yearning, which brought him out of bed at times so early the sun was still at rest.


Mornings like this, where there are too many problems in the world to solve with sleep.  Nothing to sleep on, there was too much rolling around in his head, likewise the sheets and wool blanket.  Where would he sleep?  Where would he eat?  What would he do when the light broke?  The surface area where he worked, ate, and slept provided little company in the waking hours.  He trembled at the thought.  Tuff though he had to be, his frailness was enough to stricken him to life, and leave him tired in the evening.  Tired from a day of just subsiding, a day of naught for another tomorrow.


He ran thoughts through his mind, examining each one.  One by one they seemed less prosperous than the one before.  One by one he let fear take hold and guide.  He had for so long been in control, only to realize now he had lost all hope of directing himself.


She claimed his room was possessed.  She would wake to him introducing himself to an unseen guest in the wee hours of the morning.  The guest would be in the corner, covered in still blackness, but ever present.  He would sit up, straight up and start moving his mouth.  He had stopped hitting in the night, no more screams as well.  Most was fine.  He didn’t notice he was talking to a make believe something.


He slept the night until she woke him.  She would wake at 3 am and talk til dawn.  He didn’t understand.  He would ask…


Why do you wake so early in the night?

I can’t sleep I have anxiety attacks from your sleep talking, to whatever that is in the corner.

Fuckin… I can’t deal with you, you have to sleep longer.

I am just going to leave.

Literally you are insane.


Can you fix that and pass out.

I can’t have a conversation with you at… what time is it?  3:23 am.  I can’t have a conversation with you at this time.

Fuck you!


The door opened, footsteps down the hallway, another door, and then shut.


Sonofabitch, I can’t deal with this.


He did not chase after her.  He sat in the dark nude, fully awake trying to wrap his thoughts around the events.

He thought about it for a minute more and then he thought about buying a revolution, buying a catalyst for a revolution, buying  He thought that was less crazy and careless than she.  The morning was coming, and he needed sleep.  Light slipped through the shades and stuck on his sheets, a cold grey light.  Shades were drawn, but the white light came in and leapt upon the walls.  The stucco had become molded cartoons, there for the taking.  They were stuck on the wall since the original was covered over with slathers of white.  There was, apparently, a pig, a ghost, a dead man; these were accidental effigies of impatience. He saw nothing but alabaster paint where they saw farm animals and dead people.


Days kept coming and going, the sun would rise and turn hot, then it would fall and burn out into dusk, and then dark.  Humans crawled the earth searching for what was left.  Day by day it got a little worse.

She called back later in the day, she wanted to talk more


I wasn’t angry, I was just happy to yell at someone.

The old you is back.

Yeah, and I a masturbated 3 times this morning.

The old you is back.


She looked at him, blankly staring, and he responded.


I’ll have some coffee and we’ll see where that takes us.  Have a nice life.


About Terry Scott Niebeling

Hello, My name is Terry Scott, a human being with flaws. twitter: @sirterryscott Buy my ebooks:
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