Ethan Cunningham
Brick
The Sunday Times dated June 19th, 2007 ran a story where a young man who had just married his high school sweetheart succumbed when a loose brick fell from the sky and knocked him dead in the street. Multiple witnesses agreed to seeing the brick but no two could agree on exactly where it came from. It seemed to materialize just before striking the victim only to spontaneously dematerialize immediately after.
One expert in the mathematical study of dynamic systems and chaos theory, Garett Billings, weighed in on the matter: “Sometimes shit happens.”
Police officers investigating the incident could not be reached for comment as they were suspected of not existing at all.
Further complicating the occurrence, two witnesses—a married couple named Loki and Isfet—claimed the winning jackpot lottery ticket found on the deceased belonged to them but had been dropped in shock upon seeing the young man crumple beneath the sudden (but not entirely unexpected) “Act of God.”
“A ridiculous instant,” stated one bystander who did not directly witness the event, having heard about it third-hand. Their opinion remained solid and immutable.
The young man left behind a bride of equivalent age, who, when interviewed, revealed that she married her husband believing he was already laden with princely riches. She did not question his studio apartment in a low-rent part of town. Their honeymoon was scheduled for two weeks: a drive across the country on just five dollars a day.
In the meantime, the lottery ticket’s whereabouts remain to be seen. For now, it resides in my secretest pocket, next to my phone and a floating gum stick still in its wrapper, hastily approaching its past-due date, at which point it will have toughened into an inedible brick. I will chuck it in the bin and it will disappear into another dimension out of sight, mind, and possibly time itself
One expert in the mathematical study of dynamic systems and chaos theory, Garett Billings, weighed in on the matter: “Sometimes shit happens.”
Police officers investigating the incident could not be reached for comment as they were suspected of not existing at all.
Further complicating the occurrence, two witnesses—a married couple named Loki and Isfet—claimed the winning jackpot lottery ticket found on the deceased belonged to them but had been dropped in shock upon seeing the young man crumple beneath the sudden (but not entirely unexpected) “Act of God.”
“A ridiculous instant,” stated one bystander who did not directly witness the event, having heard about it third-hand. Their opinion remained solid and immutable.
The young man left behind a bride of equivalent age, who, when interviewed, revealed that she married her husband believing he was already laden with princely riches. She did not question his studio apartment in a low-rent part of town. Their honeymoon was scheduled for two weeks: a drive across the country on just five dollars a day.
In the meantime, the lottery ticket’s whereabouts remain to be seen. For now, it resides in my secretest pocket, next to my phone and a floating gum stick still in its wrapper, hastily approaching its past-due date, at which point it will have toughened into an inedible brick. I will chuck it in the bin and it will disappear into another dimension out of sight, mind, and possibly time itself
Ethan Cunningham is a writer, poet, photographer, and general all-around “artist” type. He just likes to create. His short works can be found most recently in Abstract Elephant, Corvus Review, HASH Journal, and others. Although from New York, he presently domiciles in California.