Soiled: Donny and Elliot

Thump.

Thwack.

Thump.

"Why do you always have to be such a dick-wad?"

Thump.

Thwack.

Thump.

"Seriously.  Why?  What the hell did I ever do to you?"

Thump.  Thump.  Thump.

"Blargh...why do I even try?"

Crunch.

"I don't know why you try", Donny said through a heavy sigh, "It's not like anyone really gives a shit about what you say.  If they did you'd prolly not be sitting here with me in this goddamn graveyard trying to find something worth selling."

Elliot looked at Donny and proceeded to roll his big blue eyes.  In truth they had become more milky than blue as of late but he was not going to acknowledge this.  Women always commented on his beautiful baby blues and that my friends, is called an Opening.

"Got a smart mouth on you for a glorified grave digger.  Wait, should I say grave robber?  It's so hard to keep track of your career anymore.  Doin' whatever shit job pops up because heaven knows yer not reliable enough to have a real one."

Donny snorted and spit out a mouth full of grave dirt.  

"And you call me the Dick-Wad you sanctimonious load?  If I'm such a douche, why the hell are you here he asked again as if someone was blatantly ignoring him so they could hear the sound of their own goddamn voice?"

"You damn well know I have no other choice, Buster.  You and me are tied together.  Now and forever.  Like a good married couple. 'TIll death do us part or whatever."

"You mean undeath I'm assuming?" Donny Chuckled.

More eye rolling.  

"You know what I meant asshole.  See?  This is why you never had any friends back in the Real.  Because you are a dick.  There I said it.  You are a dick.  Do you feel better?  I know that I do with that huge weight now off my chest."

"El...I don't give a shit what you think or how you want to describe me.  You and I are here for a reason.  We screwed up.  We screwed up real big and pissed off the wrong guys.  Guys that don't give you a second chance.  Guys that would just as soon cut off you head or throw you in a river gift-wrapped in a burlap sack."

"I don't know if they were all that bad.  Maybe we could have reasoned with them?"

Donny looked at Elliot, took a cigarette out of his shirt pocket and lit it.  

"Elliot...they cut your goddamn head off and threw me in a fuckin' river.  Did you try to smooth them over while they were sawing through that stack-of-dimes neck of yours?  I sure as shit didn't have the chance to do jack while they loaded me into a child molester van and chucked me into the Mighty Mississippi."

Elliot opened his mouth to speak but the words didn't come.  He went to cough but it appears that such a simple action is impossible to one who no longer has a throat.

Donny lowered his head, picked up his shovel and went back to digging.

"Why did you pick this guy anyways?"  Elliot said, using his nose to point at the headstone, "The hell is Mervin Peachtree?".

"Dunno.  Figured that this was as good place to start as any.  Not like Griffon gave us a map and said Dig Here Yeh Poncy Jackasses.  Can you still see or do I need to move that bowling ball head of yours?"

"Please".

Donny stepped from the graves, three feet or so in, and grabbed a patch of black curls on Elliot's head, moving him to the top of the late Mr. Peachtree's headstone.  Elliot grunted in pain as he did this but it was purely reflex.  He couldn't feel shit.  Donny knew this because he was devoid of feeling as well.  Perhaps this happens in death or maybe its something to do with being stuck in this Limbo.  

Who knows?  Someone does but fuck 'em, they ain't here and these dead folks ain't helpin' any either.

"The hell are you looking for anyways, Donny?"

"Jesus Herbert Christ do you listen at all?" said an agitated Donny, "That Griffon guy said we needed to find something for him and he'd let us out of here.  Something he lost to one of these stiffs in a card game but fucked if he remembers what it was he lost.  All he said is that it was the color of Jade and the size of a fist.  I don't know about you but I don't like it here.  Place is giving me the jibblies..."

Almost on que there came a howl not unlike a wolf only larger.  The howl was followed by a rustle in a nearby bush and the clang of the padlock on the cemetery gate as it blew in the wind.

"The hell are we anyways?" Elliot whispered.

Dark, heavy laughter came from behind the boys and Donny jumped with a start, swinging the shovel backwards and knocking Elliot from his perch.

"SONOFABITCH!", Elliot shrieked.

A tall, slender man in a dirty brown trench coat stood before them.  Silver strands of hair hung beneath a hat that he must have stole from Indiana Jones.

"You boys, y'all got yourself in a sticky bit o' trouble yes ya did." Griffon said in a voice that he clearly stole from Sam Elliot or vice versa.  "Little feller over there should have kept his gawd-demmed hands to his gawd-demmed self.  Would have kept yeh both alive if yeh weren't such gawd-demmed fools.  Now lookit yeh.  Stuck here in Limbo as a dead drowned boy and his severed head pal.  Ha!  Watta mess you two jerk-offs are."

"Uhm...hey Griffon...we were just talkin' about you man.  Any chance you can lend us a hand findin' this thing?"  Elliot said through chattering teeth.

"I'll give yeh a heads up as it were boy, but first lets talk about this place and what yer gonna do ta get out."