Yellow Mama E zine

EYESORE

 

by

 

Cindy Rosmus

 

1987

 

 

          Bert, you fuck. It should’ve been me.

          That was the plan. Why I did what I did for you. The un-said. Beyond the backstage blowjobs you got from rock god “Jimmy’s” desperate fans. I mean the royal “ass-covering”: that rock-solid alibi. How I’d said you were with me.

         ‘Cos I knew what you did.

         “Sorry, Virg.” You couldn’t look me in the eye. “I tried, man.”

          Not hard enough.

          I was his type, not her. Out of all the bitches you showed him, he chose her.

Why? If he only dug blondes, why the opposite? That Siouxie-wannabe with no Banshees in sight. “Julie,” her name was. You even slipped that.

         The way she eyed him, I just knew. And of all of us crazy, shrieking chicks, he eyed her back!

         From up front, I saw that. Thanks to that “ringside” seat you’d got me. The brightest lights, flames, music, I was inside all of it! So close to that hot, muscular creature I lusted for, I could feel his sweat raining on me, but those eyes were glued to that Banshee-less bitch’s, not mine.

        Later, he’d fuck her, not me. You’d sneak her off, probably blindfold her, maybe gag her, throw her over your shoulder like some slaughtered beast. (Not the first time). To his hotel room, all nice and pretty, with a big Madonna bow on top!

         You ruined my chance, Bert.

          But only for sex.

          Every concert, Jimmy peeled off his sweaty, stinking shirt. Twirled it in the air, then tossed it . . . to some lovesick, lucky bitch.

          This time it’d be me.   

          Or else.

          I wasn’t sure how, but I’d catch it. No matter where he threw it, or how fast I had to get there. I knew shit about geometry, and angles. I was lousy at pool.

          But that shirt was mine.

          Hours flew by. Was the concert great? It could’ve sucked, for all I cared. My mind, my whole being was on fire, watching Jimmy fly across the stage, getting sweatier.

         Zebra pants, he had on, with that spangly white shirt. Any second it would come off. Real diamonds couldn’t make that shirt, or him, more precious.

        Around me, others watched, too. Dancing but waiting impatiently. Screaming. Bitches with even bigger, blonder hair. But against me, they stood no chance.

Jimmy’s shirt was mine.

        I’d kill for it.

        I’d brought a blade.

        Not just chicks, either. Jimmy drove guys nuts, too. Guys that liked . . . guys.

        Not far from where those poufy blondes hungrily watched Jimmy was a balding guy wearing—you guessed it—zebra pants! Three of you—all in one night—Jimmy, who was born to wear spandex; you, Bert, ‘cos being Jimmy’s manager was just no fun anymore; and that . . . nerdy creep, dancing off-beat, in his own baggy zebras, distracting us super-fans from Jimmy!

        Out of the corner of my eye, Jimmy shrugged. Suddenly, a flash of white!

         Smirking, Zebra Pants got so close, something like road rage hit me. But I wasn’t driving. I felt in my bag for the blade.

        Then, ecstatic screams from all over! Jimmy’s shirt was off, and in his hand.

        I had to get closer.

        The screams got louder as Jimmy twirled the shirt. Sweat-soaked and gorgeous, he looked right at me.

       “Please!” I begged.

       “Julie” would fuck him all night, then be gone. Like it never happened. For the rest of her life, he’d be just a memory.

        But this piece of cloth . . .

        Again, Jimmy twirled it. Still eyeing me, I swear I wasn’t imagining it!

        He had beautiful, soulful eyes. . . .

       When he tossed the shirt, it was to me! I knew it. Like a ballerina, I flew high into the air.

       And was knocked to the ground! As he caught the shirt, Zebra Pants shoved me roughly aside. I was almost trampled beneath fans’ feet. People kicked me, maybe on purpose.            Vicious chicks attacked each other, in search of the prize. That a guy would have it was inconceivable.

        Still on the ground, I watched baggy zebra legs walk away.

        Then pulled out my blade.

       Crawling on the ground, between fans’ legs, I pursued Zebra Pants, not caring what would happen next. Followed him all the way outside.

       Rage fueled me. How “Julie” had beat me to Jimmy’s cock, and now this creep to the coveted shirt. Most precious of souvenirs, dripping with Jimmy’s sweat . . .

       When I was right behind Zebra Pants, I got up, brought the blade up fast.

       But he was faster. Turned so he got me in the face. So close to my eye that I literally saw red. My face was on fire, a horrific, burning pain. I sunk down, screaming. I thought I would never stop screaming, even after the ambulance came.

      The ambulance sent by “Bert the Pimp.”

      Who owes me more, now that my hair can’t hide the scar on my cheek. And I have to wear an eye-patch.

       A real eyesore.

       Like zebra pants.

 

THE END

​

     Cindy originally hails from the Ironbound section of Newark, NJ, once voted the “unfriendliest city on the planet.” She talks like “Anybodys” from West Side Story and everybody from Saturday Night Fever. Her noir/horror/ bizarro stories have been published in the coolest places, such as Shotgun Honey; Megazine; Dark Dossier; The Rye Whiskey Review, Under the Bleachers, Pulp Asylum, Punk Noir, The Yard and Rock and a Hard Place. She is the editor/art director of Yellow Mama. She’s published seven collections of short stories. Cindy is a Gemini, a Christian, and an animal rights advocate.

​

     Sophia Wiseman-Rose (aka Sr. Sophia Rose) is a Paramedic and an Anglican novice Franciscan nun, in the UK.  Both careers have given Sophia a great deal of exposure to the extremes in life and have provided great inspiration for her.  

  She has travelled to many countries, on medical missions and for modelling (many years ago), but has spent most of her life between the USA and the UK. She is currently residing in a rural Franciscan community and will soon be moving to London to be with a community there.  

  In addition, Sophia had a few poems and short stories in editions of Black Petals Horror/Science Fiction Magazine

 The majority of her artwork can be found on her website.

  https://www.artstation.com/sophiaw-r6