The Dead Don't Die, They Go To Florida

"Its 5 O' clock somewhere"

The old wind up alarm clock rested at 8pm on table next to a bed slathered in silky green material. A frail old woman stood facing the mirror that sat appropriately atop her bathroom sink. She looked into the mirror; her hair was short and red, her smiled was propped up by her dentures, freckles littered her wrinkled and leathery face, and her eyes were a green so vibrant, that you’d have to fight an herbivore to really get the best of them. The woman stood on the balls of her feet and opened up the cabinet behind the mirror. She took out two pill bottles, one was a prescription of ambien for one Dakota Flume, and the other was a pill bottle that had been freed from its label.

“Dakotas home, Dakotas’s home” came a voice from the living room.

               Dakota looked in the mirror and rolled her wrinkled eyes.

“Oh shut the fuck up you stupid bird, I’ve been here all night” replied Dakota to the voice

“Down the hatch, save for later. Down the hatch, save for later” came the voice again,

“I’ll shove you down the god damn hatch if you don’t leave me alone Robert” replied Dakota.

Dakota looked back at the bottles in her hand, she removed a pill from the ambien bottle and put it onto her tongue, closed her eyes, and clenched down. She chewed the pill and gnashed it around in her mouth, and as she did so she stared at her lips in the mirror. They were as wrinkled as a dehydrated fish, and mirrored the texture of their lips perfectly. She could see the outline of her dentures as they gnarled their way through her nightly ambien.

“One for now, one for later” chirped the bird from the living room.

“Well, he’s not wrong.” muttered Dakota to herself.

She then proceeded to put another single ambien onto her tongue, which she too chewed up and gulped down. Following her second dose, she removed a third pill from the bottle and placed it into the bottle with no label that lay before her. Her bottle of ambien was now entirely empty.

The phone rang, Dakota perked right up, she set the pill bottles down and rushed into the telephone, All 73 previous years of her life fueling her speed. She had the spunk of a 50 year old. Upon reaching the living room she stared directly at her corded phone that clung desperately to putrid green wallpaper. The phone was silent, but again came a ring, and Dakota whipped around as fast as she could to see a grey parrot tilting its head at her with a beak half cocked open,

*Ring, Ring, Ring* the sounds of a telephone ringing could be heard pouring out of the parrots opened mouth.

“You fucking bird, you’ll be the death of me” snarled Dakota as she walked towards the bird.

“One for now, one for later!” chortled the bird

Dakota reached the birds cage and opened it up, she let the bird climb to her arm and said,

“Robert, you’re a good bird, but my god are you a pain in my ass”


She rustled over to the kitchen where she opened up a cabinet to grab some nuts. The bird now perched on her shoulder; she opened up a bag of almonds and drew one up to her perky, but wrinkled smile, and began to chew. She was so small that Robert’s head actually reached higher than hers as he peered down at her. She stared into the single eye of the bird that was looked down at her with a cocked head and said,

“Here you go Robbie; Mama D has some medicine for you.”

She cocked her head towards the bird and opened her mouth; the bird pecked the food right from her mouth. As he did so her lips curled around his beak and she tried to make as much eye contact with him as possible.

“Some for now Robbie, I’ll give you more later.” Cooed Dakota softly into whatever kind of ear a bird has.

               She walked him back to his cage, her bare feet clinging to the lime green floor tile, she took small steps, minding her way through the furniture as she guided ol’ Robert back to his cage. After placing him back on his perch she turned and stood for a moment. Her small house was on the fringes of the one and only sunshine state, Florida.  It was one of several homes in the area to not have been updated internally since sometime around the 50s. Looking at Dakotas wonderful home, you’d never guess it though, or you just assumed it was an average house. But oh lord was the interior decoration dowsed in gaudy old white women underpinnings. Aside from having ancient plumbing, water, and heating, Dakota lived in a lavish bachelorette pad for one woman pushing the end of her run. Her theme for her house was the green of limes. Tequila had been a close friend of hers over the years, and upon reaching 70 she realized she had to dedicate some of her possessions to the limes that fostered a love for tequila. The floors were a lime green tile with miniature limes painted onto the center, the walls were plastered with a dry green floral pattern that had quite the emphasis on the green portions. Her furniture was a complete set of two couches and a clear glass table with green legs. Her couches were both silk and colored forest green, and they were both neatly wrapped in plastic. Dakota could be heard telling Robert how one day her kids will want to have furniture as nice as this, but first it has to live through her. She’d sleep on a plastic bed if she thought it would heighten her homes value. Her TV was the size of a small couch, it wasn’t any 2000s product at all, luckily, thankfully, she updated her TV set in the 90s, making this one of the youngest pieces of electrical property she owns. Walking from the bird room, which was actually her backyard with a roof built onto it, she headed back to her bedroom. The phone rang again, but this time it was drowned out by the roaring sound of her bedroom television that she just switched on. It was I Love Lucy reruns until the end of time with this woman.

“This is Madam Ethel Mertzola, She’ll be our medium for the night. She’s psychopathic” said Lucy on the TV.

 The show played just loud enough to damper the sound of the again ringing phone. Dakota stepped back into the bathroom, this time grabbing the small step stool she had forgotten she put behind the door. Stepping onto the stool, she looked at herself in the mirror.

The answering machine kicked in, “Hi, you’ve reached Dakota, I will answer your call, but first I have to hear it. Please just call again later” and then there’s a pause, and the sound of a woman laughing can be heard in the background.

“Mom, its Cheyenne, I just spoke to Townsend at the retirement home in Boca, he said he would love to meet you and go over something in regards to moving in there” said Dakotas eldest daughter

Cheyenne paused for a moment on the phone,

“Well anyways Mom, I just wanted to call and let you know that we ARE going to get you into a nursing home, and there won’t be a damn thing you can do about it.” Stated Cheyenne

               Dakota was staring deep into her reflection; she wobbled a little on her step stool, but regained her footing. She then collapsed forward, nailing the corner of the sink and flying off backwards propelled by an aggravated foot stool. She lay motionless on the floor, I Love Lucy blaring in the background, the phone now ringing again.

“One for now, one for later” called out Robert, his voice just barely carrying over the TV.

Dakota woke up in the driveway of her busy home. She had blood caked onto her nose that ran down her chin. She was wearing nothing but a night gown, a night gown that was covered in a stream of blood from the neck down. Dakota felt something roll out of her hand as she went to lift herself. For a 73 year old woman, Dakota was quite spry. She shakily lifted herself to her feet and watched as a lime rolled from beneath her, down the drive way, only stopping because of the drain ditch that passed through that area had caught it and stopped it dead in its tracks.

“What in the fuck?” said Dakota with a deep sense of uncaring curiosity.

               She looked down at her hands; her palms were covered with what looked like ash.

She wiped off her hands on her gown, it was now stained black and red, a combination of colors that really accentuated her red hair. She began to walk towards the entrance, stumbling, when she heard the phone ringing. She rushed into the house to answer the phone, and when I say rushed, she walked with the stature of a 60 year old on a mission. She reached the phone only to realize it was already picked up by the answering machine,

“Hi, you’ve reached Dakota, I will answer your call, but first I have to hear it. Please just call again later.”

She looked at her telephone, and followed its cord that wrapped around the corner of her kitchen and out into the den. On the floor towards the U bend of the cord was a small pile of loose feathers. She withdrew the curiosity of her gaze and redirected it at her pill bottles that sat neatly in front of the keys for her phone. As before, one pill bottom read Ambien, and the other was free from labels.

Dakota walked from her kitchen to her bird room, Robert was nowhere to be found. She walked into her bedroom and then into her bathroom. She recalled falling in the bathroom, but there was no sign of a fall, no sign of the origin of the blood caked onto her face either.

“ROBERT!” yelled Dakota

She began to search the house; she noticed some feathers lay loosely on the floor next to Roberts’s cage, much like the ones near the phone, and she walked over towards them. She crouched down below the cage, but lost her balance and nailed the center of the table holding up the cage, it began toppling it down on her.

“God damnit!” she shouted

She walked back to the kitchen with an air of suspense dawning across her face. The clock read 5am, but the sun had not yet risen.

“5am? I don’t understand” said Dakota curiously

The phone rang abruptly, breaking the silence and confusion.

“Hello? What do you want, its 5am” said Dakota with an uncalled for amount of ferocity

“Mom, I’ve been calling you all night, you called me 3 hours ago freaking out. All I could get out of you coherently was “One for now, one for later” and then you hung up.”

Dakota looked quite confused, but it passed and she replied with,

“Cheyenne, you god damn kids keep trying to get me to go to that god damn house of death. I don’t plan on dying as a group activity, I want the trip all to myself!” yelled Dakota

“Mom you need help, you’ve been acting crazy recently, and I just want you to be happy”

Dakota looked down at her bottle of ambien on the counter, tilting it over to see if it had any contents left, it didn’t, and then said,

“You kids want nothing to do with me unless it involves my money. I know you’re all waiting for me to die. I’ll have you know that I am only 73 and I’ve got at least 20 more years of ticking before I boom” said Dakota

Dakota sighed and looked at the toppled bird cage in the distant room.

“Mom, you’re acting strange, we kids love you, and you mean the world to us.”

               Dakota let out an audible “PFFFFT” at the words “you mean the world to us.”               Dakota twirled the cord on her phone, her eyes now darting to the antique microwave in the corner next to her prehistoric fridge, she met eyes with the time, it was 5:06am.

“I’ll go to the nursing home if you lot promise to stop making a fus about it. I’m 73; I am too damn young to be passing over to that side of Florida.” Said Dakota

“Mom, you aren’t going to have much choice in the end. Charlie is getting a court order to have to sent to a nursing facility that can accommodate you.” said

“You and Charlie can talk all you want, but that’s fucking absurd, why the hell would I go to a nursing home now, I am as healthy as a 52 year old on viagra.” Said Dakota

               Dakota walked into her dining room and stared down at the pile of feathers that lay amongst the lime riddled floor tiles. She looked from the pile of feathers, to the tilted ambien bottle, and then back to the pile of feathers.

“You said I called you earlier? Cheyenne, when did I call you?” asked Dakota

“You called around 4am mumbling about some nonsense, I just assumed you were having a senior moment” said Cheyenne.

               A look of panic struck Dakota’s face

“I’ve got to go, but I will die before I let you or the others take me to Boca. I will leave whenever my god damn bird decides its time. Then, and only then, will I join the rest of the leathery masses in Boca.” Stated Dakota

She dropped the phone onto the receiver as she tried to place it back. She went back to the bathroom, pill bottles in hand, setup the stool, and stared at herself in the mirror for some time. The wrinkles on her face had rubbed against the blood on it; it was releasing small little balls of caked blood into her sink. She held the bottles in her hand, overseeing the empty ambien bottle and peering into the filled contents of the blank bottle

“ROBERT!” yelled Dakota

               She opened her bathroom cabinet and out fell something; the sound of glass hitting the sink basin could be heard. Confused, Dakota looked down and gasped. Dead in her sink laid Robert. He had a lime slice in his beak and a bottle of tequila shoved up his ass. Little flecks of a white substance riddled his feathers giving him an even more deshelved look.

“ROBERT, WHAT HAPPENED” cried out Dakota

               She removed the bottle from the bird ass; tequila flooded out of his now gaping bird asshole. Standing in utter shock, she looked herself once over. The blood, the black stained palms, the lime, none of it made sense. A look of sheer amazement dawned on her face as she saw cigarettes floating in the ass tequila.  Dakota fell to her knees at a speed that nearly broke bones. She lay motionless huddled over herself, and looking to the tile in front of her, she saw a beautiful green lime staring back at her.

“One for now, one for later” she heard Robert say in the recesses of her mind.

Picking herself up, she took the bird, the tequila, the lime, and walked into her living room. Placing the bird on the toppled cage, she sat down and took a big swig of tequila, and just sat. She felt something in her pocket; she found an opened pack of lucky strikes and a small pile of salt. Nearly half of the pack was gone. After some more diving into her pockets she found a knife with blood on it and a lighter. Dakota lit up a cigarette and took a few more swigs of tequila, then stood up and walked over to her telephone and dialed a number, no one answered and she was directed to an answering machine,

“Hi you’ve reached the Greens, please leave a message after the beep” said a voice on the line. 
“Hey Cheyenne, its mom; I’ll go to Boca with you guys, but only if it means this will be the end of this whole ordeal. I think I did a bad thing last night. I just had some ambien and was going to lie down, but something went horribly wrong. I love you” said Dakota to the answering machine

               Dakota walked back to the bathroom and looked down at the now tequila covered sink, she swayed a little from what she had just drank. The lime Robert was holding was in her hand. Talking to herself she says,

“Robert heard me every night, “One for now, one for later”, like clockwork I would announce it as I took my nightly ambien. My damn kids want to send me off; I’m too young to be around old people. “One for now, one for later” was my motto, I swore I’d never go to a retirement home, and if they tried to take me. I’d take those extra little pills I’ve been saving over these months, and take them all at once. Well Dakota, Showtime. “

               Dakota took all of her pills out of the bottle with no label, and downed them in one large swig of tequila. She pulled from the collection of salt in her pocket and laid it on her hand in preparation for a shot. She looked in the mirror, then out to the hall, and then to the tequila bottle. Licking the salt off of her hand, she proceeded to down the rest of the tequila, cigarettes and all, and then sucked on the lime as a finisher. She began to sway uneasily, and then collapsed. She lay motionless in a pile of tequila that poured out of her bird’s ass.