Lucy in Sky With Neon

Lucy in the Sky with Neon

By Rick Hartford

There was writing in the sky.

Huge red neon letters above us with the clouds.

One phrase being, “Look, Up In the Sky!”

As if we were doing anything else.

Then there was “Coming Soon to a Planet Near You,” and, get this one, “The End is Rear.”

Typo, right?

My friend Lucy says that the phrases aren’t really there in the sky, but rather projected into people’s minds by the lizard beings that now are deciding the future of the planet, their forked tongues slithering out and testing the air.

The air.

More about that in a moment.

Lucy has a way about her. She just looks at me with those green eyes that seem to sparkle with fire and you find that nothing else exists.

Even while scientists report that the atmosphere is gaining more oxygen every week.

Normal atmosphere contains between 20.8 and 21 percent oxygen, but now, globally, the percentage is 25 percent and rising. It doesn’t take being a card carrying member of the Lunatic Fringe to figure out that we are being colonized by aliens who are pumping more oxygen into the sky because that is what they need to breathe.

Nobody knows what they plan for us except everybody knows it isn’t good, I say to Lucy. We can count on that. I think they have dinner plans, that’s what I think. And we are going to be the entree.

Unless we all go up in flames first.

Alien lizards and flaming people aside, scientists say that we are going to have bug problems because of the oxygen increase. The bugs will start getting bigger. And stronger. The ant on my window screen in the kitchen. It seems to be trying to chew through the wire with its mandibles. I look at it for a long time as it works feverishly, wondering whether it sees me and whether it cares.

I find it hard to sleep, thinking about mosquitos as big as baby rats.

In the morning Lucy and I go for a walk. Nobody can drive their cars anymore. They just blow up when you go to start them.

I start and finish my cigarette in one drag and stub it out under the toe of my boot. The air around my boot catches like a tiny brush fire and then it goes out.

In front of us in the middle of Main Street Preacher Johnson is atop a soap box. There is a small crowd of people listening. He holds a cross and does the up down and over and out routine.

“The messages in the sky,” he booms, “are the work of the Devil. They come from Satan’s typewriter!”

“Preacher Johnson, Satan gonna be pitching some lightning bolts your way.” a woman in the crowd dressed in a pink mumu calls out. The others laugh.

After his big speech, Preacher Johnson approaches Lucy and puts a crusty left hand on her forehead. He stinks of gin. She backs up quickly but not quick enough and he gets his right hand on the back of her neck. She breaks away.

Sicko.

The Fourth of July comes and the level has risen to almost 40 percent.. People are getting wild. Pyrophoric. There are Fistfights. There is screwing with abandon in the grass.

People climb on each other’s backs and form human pyramids 30 feet high, battling each other like Hydras on crank. The fireworks are so ferocious that it looks as if the entire sky is melting. I feel like I am hallucinating with the reds and whites and blues showering down in the sky, sending hot ashes that set the trees on fire. Somehow the remaining stock of fireworks goes off on the ground, rockets screaming in every direction. A rocket goes over a woman's head. Her hair explodes into flame. She erupts in laughter.

Next morning Lucy and I go to a friend’s house who has a pool. Nobody is home but the door is unlocked and Lucy and I strip down and swim for a while. When we get out and start to dry off. I look at Lucy and notice her heart shaped locket is missing. When I tell her, her hand goes to her neck with an expression of horror. A tear streams down her right cheek. “My mother gave that to me,” she says.

“The fucking Preacher Johnson,” I say.

We get dressed and head downtown as fast as we can walk.

We go right to the hock shop. Jimmy Pimples is behind the counter. Ice pick acne. We went to high school together. He is looking at Lucy like he is going to lick her face.

“Hey Pimp, somebody bring in a heart shaped locket?

Pimp bends and gets a tray out from under the counter and there it is.

“Preacher Johnson stole this from Lucy,” I announce. “Her mom gave it to her. We are not leaving without it.”

Pimp looks like he has been in this spot a hundred times before. Everybody knows the preacher is a booze hound.

“One hundred bucks,” Pimp says.

“Is that what you gave to Preacher Johnson?”

That’s proprietary,” Pimp says.

Lucy rolls her eyes as I peel off the cash.

“Nice doing business with you,” Pimp says.

I put Lucy’s locket on a silver chain around her neck and when I am done she hugs and kisses me.

“Better open it up and make sure everything is in place,” I advise.

She takes a quick peek and then closes the locket without showing it to me.

“What’s in there?”

“Keep your eyes on the sky,” she says, her green eyes dancing.

I look up.

There it is, written in neon for all to see.

“The End Is Here!”

I self-combust in Lucy’s arms as she whispers sweet neon nothings in my ear.