BABY POWDERED HILLS by Justin Grimbol

The old man sat in his wheel chair looking over the snowy fields. He was covered in blankets, but he was still cold. His body trembled. 

 There was a baby out there. It was dark but the moon was full. It lit up the fields like a parking lot. There was a baby out there. He had seen it crawl out of the darkness and he had been watching it slowly make its way to his house.

At first he wanted to get out there himself and help it. But then he came to his senses. What was he going to do once he got out there? Nothing. He was too old. They would both end up freezing to death. So he sat there and watched and tortured himself with guilt and a whiny sense of uselessness.

A couple more hours passed. The baby was still out there and it was still alive, still crawling, making its way through the deep snow. Where did it come from? The old man wondered. It was a strong little bastard. That was obvious. God only knew how far it had traveled.

He felt silly just sitting there, waiting for the baby to come to him like that. What if the baby had no interest in him? What if it just walked by? The idea depressed him.

He felt tired. Eventually he dozed off. His head fell back and he began to snore and his breath turned to steam in the cold air. He didn’t wake until the baby was at his feet.

“What the hell do you want?” the old man asked him.

“I’ve been crawling around for days,” the baby told him. “You got any food in there?”

The old man looked at him suspiciously. The baby was being pushy. He didn’t like that.

“Come on, I got money,” the baby told him. “I got like two grand in my diaper. You got any whisky in that big old house? You got any pussy? I bet you got a ton of pussy in there. Farmer pussy. I bet you got like a whole heard of tough ass farm chicks in there.”

The old man didn’t say anything, but the disdain he felt was obvious.

“Forget you,” the baby said.

The old man watched as he crawled away. God damn, he thought. What the hell’s wrong with kids these days?

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Justin Grimbol went to Green Mountain College for thirty years. He majored in Partying and Dry Humping. He is the author of DRINKING UNTIL MORNING and THE CRUD MASTERS. 

Copyright Justin Grimbol