Frozen Pizza

A story set in the middle. Uploaded Wednesday December 1, 7:46 PM.

The red washed-out color of IGA's dirty awnings hung over my body like a menstrual cloud. I looked up at them as the doors in front of me opened automatically. The sky was the color of salt.

The freezers hummed like the generators outside, and the only thing in them was pizza. The fake kind. Frozen pizza.

All the windows that used to be big and bright were boarded up. There was no more glass. All of it was blown out by bullets. Bricks. Cinder blocks. All the doors on the old pop cases were torn off, and there was nothing inside them. The register belts didn't work. There was only one person working there. She didn't like me.

“This it?”

“Yeah.”

There were rows and rows of empty metal shelves. Freezers in back that once held milk were now dark and useless. Half the store was torn apart, whipped around, destroyed like it'd been in a tornado. There were boards there too.

There was no more paper or plastic. You just carried your pizza home like a good boy, right under your armpit. This is how it was done. You took it home and fed your family.

I handed a quarter to the woman who owned the place and walked out. I had a fun time. I needed the fresh air.

“Dumb f****t get outta here.”

There was a thing sitting out on the corner. It was unshaven and had a big overcoat on like all things did. In its hands it was breaking apart pieces of frozen pizza and eating them, slowly but surely, its rotten teeth crunching down on them and cutting the gums. Blood ran down onto its shirt. It was hungry, I could tell.

“Are you hungry?” I asked it.

“Dumb f****t.”

I took it firmly by the scruff of its neck, whipped out a razor, and cut out both of its eyes, as is customary when one encounters a thing. Then, with deliberation, I opened my pizza and broke off a piece, shoving it into the thing's mouth. I think he might've cried if he had eyes.

I walked down the street, past one of the Five Town Trees, and saw another thing from afar. It was sitting in a barren field, hungry and abused and lonely. As is customary, I went over and cut out its eyes, feeding it a frigid piece of my pizza. He quietly whimpered, and I continued walking.

It was a very cold day. I realized this as I traipsed down my driveway, pizza under my arm, my house grim and rotting not far off. The door was permanently open, and I crawled under, greeting my wife as if customary and washing my hands.

“I fed two bits to things.”

“Did you get their eyes?”

I took the four eyes from my pocket and laid them on the table. “Here they are.”

“Good.”

She kindled the stove and put the pizza in the oven. I took my remaining seventy-five cents and put them in the jar. I filled the generator with gasoline. Chores finished, I sat down on the floor and began reading the Book of Days.

“Are you reading?”

“Yes.”

“Good, that will ensure the harvest is plentiful.”

When the pizza was finished, she laid it out before us and we ate in silence. I read from the Book of Days, and things were pleasant.

Later on, we went to sleep.