Fire Arms… by Jay Marvin


Fire Arms

       It sat hard, motionless. At times benevolent. At times cold Statistic hungry for eats. Frank stared at it hibernating on the coffee table. Outside? Still air, sound of big rigs in the background. Frank ran grainy, yellowed films of partisans being shot by the Bolsheviks in 1917 Russia he had taken in when he was high school.
       What happens when you die? How many con men had he heard on boarder stations XERF, XEMO and XLO. Send your money to Brother Rosie or Reverend Ike and go heaven. Frank had his own way of going there and it was free. “Franks Plan For Living On Nothing.”
       Frank bolted off the bed grabbed his 21 and ran out from [under the blanket of darkness].
       He knew he’d do it someday, blow his brain wide open like pieces off lobster on the half shell. Today wasn’t the day. Instead, he sat on a rusted fuel barrel head supported by odd-job fingers with torn flesh and both real mineral and manufactured crap; tucked under his finger nails. Tears like large, wet balls began to roll down his cheeks.
       Where had he gone wrong?


Jay Marvin was a former talks show host. He was published in “The Best of NYQ” twice. He has a new book of poetry out called, “Death Dance,” and an avaunt guard novel out from FC2 titled, “Punk Blood.” His new work has been translated into Italian and published in Italy. He can also be found online on his rolling blog of “Frank Stories,” at

Copyright © 2012 by Jay Marvin


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