Through My Baby’s Eyes
My name is Mercury Jones. One would guess that I was a professional athlete and I had given myself a flashy nickname. That wasn’t the case. Nor was I slippery in any way. My name was given to me by my asinine father, who stayed around just long enough to saddle me with that moniker. The ink wasn’t dry on the birth certificate before he bolted for parts unknown. Now the question you may have is why. Why did he name me this? Because his friends which were marginally less stupid than him bet 27 dollars and three lines of coke that he wouldn’t take a drink from a thermometer. He did. The comedy of errors didn’t stop there, he drank, snorted, got up and meandered to his then girlfriend’s, my future mother’s house. She snuck him in and before he almost died from heavy-metal poisoning they had a booty call, where I was conceived, lucky me.
Not two seconds after the deed was completed, my father John Jones, his eyes crossed, his skin turned the color of a fire engine then he fell off the bed onto the floor where he began having convulsions. My mother the naive brain-child that she was before heroin became her substance of choice thought he was being funny and that somehow having sex with her had blown his mind. That was of course until my grandfather, retired US Army, Gunnery Sergeant Matt McCoy ran into the room to discover what all the noise was about.
“What the hell is going on Deirdre?” His daughter had her nightgown hiked up past her thighs and the little scumbag he couldn’t stand John, was completely naked. “Did you poison him?”
“Poison? No daddy.” Deirdre quickly pulled her gown down.
“Betsy call 911!” Matt shouted out the door. “John is here!”
“Did you kill him?” His wife shouted back in question.
“I would have, but he seems to have done the hard part himself. Help me turn him on his side Deirdre.”
Deirdre didn’t move. She was looking down on John who was turning all manner of colors. Her fear now was that she may have caught whatever was ailing her boyfriend.
“Now Deirdre! This is the time you chose not to touch him? Might as well, this will be the last time in a very long time you are going to be able to see him. That’s provided he makes it through the night.”
The ambulance was in the affluent neighborhood in less than four minutes. “Where’s the patient?” One of the EMT’s asked as he came in through the front door. “Any idea what’s wrong with him?” He asked when Matt escorted the two of them upstairs.
“Beats me, knowing this jack-hole he probably snorted cyanide.”
The two EMT’s looked at each other.
“Listen I don’t know what’s wrong with him, he snuck in here, diddled around with my daughter then fell off the bed and there he lies.”
“Daddy!” Deirdre cried embarrassed.
“Miss do you have any information that could help?”
She shook her head. “He came from his friend’s house, that’s all I know. Is he contagious?”
“Yeah we wouldn’t want you to catch stupid.” Her dad chimed in.
“Tough to say what is going on without a toxicology report, my guess is poisoning of some kind.” The first EMT said as he took a quick set of vitals. “Harold let’s get an IV in him and we need to transport right away.”
My father was in the hospital for three days, it appeared that the cocaine may have actually saved his life. Sped up his system to remove the mercury or something like that. Who would have thought cocaine could have medicinal properties? My grandfather had my mother in a virtual lockdown, he barely gave her enough alone time to take a shower. How she’d managed to get a hold of a pregnancy test was a mystery that she had yet to reveal, and with her now drug-addled mind, chances were she didn’t remember anyway. She somehow got the test yet didn’t have the foresight to dispose of it properly, left it on the vanity. The blue ‘plus’ sign must have given her such a shock she had not been able to think clearly.
Good old Matt was a through and through Catholic and could not see his way for his daughter to terminate the pregnancy, so he did the next best thing and dragged John’s ass to the altar. A shotgun was not visible but it was definitely implied. Yeah all good marriages start off when a 17 year old pregnant girl is forced to marry her 17 year old jobless boyfriend. As soon as I was born, like I said ‘dad’ split, mom was right behind him. Not physically, he didn’t leave a forwarding address, no she found heroin and so enjoyed chasing the dragon, most times she didn’t come home for days. Luckily for me she had moved back in with my grandparents or I would have been another casualty.
I was two, when Matt and Betty had had enough and kicked their daughter to the curb. They raised me as best they could, which given the circumstances was pretty good. I have no complaints, my childhood was decent, I didn’t grow up wanting to shoot up my high school or light cats on fire. I just wanted to marry my girlfriend Rachel, who just happened to be my best friend and raise a family the way it was supposed to be done. We waited until we both finished college before we got hitched. Then waited until we had our careers going before we decided on having a child. I won’t lie, I was scared. Scared I might have more of my father or mother in me than I dared to acknowledge. Would I flee upon his arrival? Or would I drown out reality in a haze of drugs?
Neither, the day my son was born, I fell deeply in love with him. I could not imagine any existence that did not involve him. He was three weeks old when things began to round a dark corner and travel off into the abyss of insanity.
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The stench of frozen rotted meat is in the air! Welcome to the Winter of Zombie Blog Tour 2014, with 10 of the best zombie authors spreading the disease in the month of November.
Stop by the event page on Facebook so you don't miss an interview, guest post or teaser… and pick up some great swag as well! Giveaways galore from most of the authors as well as interaction with them! #WinterZombie2014
AND so you don't miss any of the posts in November, here's the complete list, updated daily: