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Pieces
    “ Motherfricken, Shiite Muslim, Cork
Soaking, Bastage, Son of a…Bunghole!” Austin Powell exclaimed after
the hammer had slammed down on his thumb. He dropped it and
squeezed the rapidly swelling digit with his other hand. A large,
dark blood blister grew beneath his thumbnail and he cringed in
pain. He knew it would take months for the nail to be normal again
and he was hoping the pressure in the blister would find its own
release. Cutting through his nail to pop the blister and relieve
the pressure was not his idea of anything remotely fun.
    “ Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God…Owww.”
He chanted as he sat down on the step above the one he was
replacing. His feet pressed faint prints into the well-packed dirt
floor and he tried to will the pain away. Its intensity made him
lightheaded and he rocked back and forth until it subsided to the
point he could continue his task.
    The house’s previous owner neglected to do
any preventative maintenance in the low traffic areas and Austin
was trying to remedy that. Entering the cellar, he’d almost fallen
through two rotted steps near the top of the staircase, and aside
from the bottom step he was currently replacing, the rest seemed
sturdy enough. He’d vowed to replace every board the first chance
he had, eliminating their need for maintenance for many years.
    He’d spent most of the morning ferrying the
cellar’s contents into the shed beside the house. Due to the
condition of the main steps, he’d used the horizontal wooden storm
doors at the rear of the cellar where, for some reason he couldn’t
imagine, the steps were in much better condition. He’d moved
everything because he was having a cement floor poured in the
cellar the next day. He envisioned shelving units and pegboard
keeping things neat and organized.
    He picked up the nail he’d been attempting to
hammer when he hit his thumb, and positioned it back in the detent
created from its sharp point. He heard rustling behind him and
turned to see a large rat sitting on its haunches, staring at him,
unafraid. Austin possessed a typical disgust for rats. He
considered them disease carriers and the presence of one here, in
his home, was unacceptable. The rat simply looked at him, its eyes
still and attentive, as if waiting for food. Did the previous owner
feed this thing? Why was it so bold and unafraid? There would be no
rats in Austin’s house, period, end of story. He mentally added rat
poison to his shopping list and threw his hammer at the small
intruder. The hammer skipped off the floor near the black furred
rat and it turned and skittered through a small hole in the
baseboard. The rat stopped just inside the hole and turned around,
peering at him with its shiny black eyes. It seemed to be
memorizing his face, plotting revenge on him somewhere deep in its
tiny brain. Austin threw the nail and the rat turned and fled, its
hairless, pink tail thumping against the baseboard in its hasty
retreat. The first place Austin would put the rat poison was that
baseboard hole. He had found the entrance to its home, and resolved
to kill it.
    He retrieved his hammer and nail and finished
installing the step with a flurry of noise, meaning to show the rat
he meant business, and it should stay away.
    He walked up the stairs, stretching over the
two rotted steps He would make a trip to the local hardware store
after he attended to his smashed thumb. The pain had already
lessened substantially, but a low, deep throbbing had set in and
didn’t appear to be leaving anytime soon. He ran it under cold
water. Why? He couldn’t say. It seemed the right thing to do and he
hoped it would shrink some of the swelling. He put a few ice cubes
in a plastic bag and lay it over his sore thumb. He sat down at the
small, round dining room table and pulled his smart phone out of
his shirt pocket.
    He had only recently relinquished his
hold on the past and traded in his flip phone for a new smart
phone. One of his favorite apps was