Escape

some short stories that I've done. The first being the most recent (finished today) and the title is above.


Just do it! Just pick it up and end it all. Take it and jam it down your fucking throat and then let it take over. It’s what you want so just do it. It’s the only peace you’ll ever find. You think you're going to find love? There isn’t such thing for you, all that awaits is misery. Your alone in this life, no one will ever love you. You fucking piece of shit coward, you don’t even have the balls to make it stop. Look at yourself, crying, what type of faggot cries like that. Pathetic. Just pick it up and stick it in. It's what you want; you want all this to go away so just do it.

You think you can just walk away. What are you going to walk away to, do you have anything to walk away to!? Dumb piece of shit, even your mother thinks you're pitiful and she’s supposed to love you. Go on, run away to a different room and hide. Nothing has changed, your still, your still you. An ugly wretched excuse of a man that no one respects. Go on cry some more, what’s that going to change. Beg; beg for help, no one will heed your prayers. You’ve prayed before, and what has that done!?

It isn’t going to get better, there will only be repetition, and it will kill you. You have no one, and no one has you, so just do it, please just do it. WHY WON’T YOU FUCKING DO IT! You love the darkness so much, you love it when it all goes black, and you spend so much time in it, so make it eternal. The peace you will feel, you won’t feel the fear and the pain anymore, you won’t hear me anymore, you can be where you love forever, never to stir.

You can do it in a different way then, put the bath on and it can be slow and peaceful. Please just do it. I fucking hate you, I want to get away from you, and this is the only way. I won’t let you rest, I won’t let you a minute of your life of peace.

I can’t bear it anymore, you can’t bear it anymore, it hurts. Every breath hurts, every cold stare of disgust breaks us down, please just please. We won’t know what it’s like to be them, we won’t ever know. They smile, they laugh, they love, do you know what that’s like, do you know what they feel? You’ve never felt it before because it was never meant for us, this life isn’t meant for us, it’s for them. You will never build yourself up because they will always tear us down like they always do. How much longer can you take this? I can’t take it anymore, so I beg of you, it’s the only way we can escape.

…thank you...


Noise

The sweat seeped out till it formed a droplet which gently fell down the side of the man’s face. He quickly wiped it away and pulled himself out of the car whilst letting out a long sigh. He then adjusted his shirt which was uncomfortably sticky. The man slowly walked towards his home with his feet dragging on the ground. He got to the front entrance and fumbled in his pockets for his keys, finally finding them he opened the door. The light shot through the door and shone onto his face and he had to squint as his eyes adjusted to the newfound brightness. As he entered the hallway he took his shoes off and put them with his briefcase underneath in the corner.

The man walked through the hallway straight into the living room, there he saw his wife sitting on the sofa reading. She didn’t even look up, but the man was too tired to care. Out of routine he said his pleasantries and then carried on through the house into the kitchen. The man went to the fridge, and opened a can of beer. The sound of gas escaping the beer seemed loud in the eerily silent household. The man poured his drink, took a few large gulps and then gave a little moan of pleasure. He then headed to the rec. room with his beer, closed the door behind him and then sat down in an old tattered chair made comfortable by colour clashing cushions. A sigh of relief was let out as the man closed his eyes.

Suddenly the peace was broken by the shrill of a women’s voice and the frightened shouts of a boy. The man groaned and then chugged his beer down as if it would solve his predicament. He got up and headed towards the stereo nearby, but then the door swung open. His wife barged in with a face like stone, but from her eyes he could see the sadistic contempt. She rushed over to a shelf in the room and grabbed a gruesome tool of discipline. The object was a formation of several bamboo twigs, which were about a foot and a half in length and tied together at the bottom. Such an instrument was crude and malicious in design, acting like a cat o’ nine tails in the pain it dealt. She then hurried out of the room in silence, leaving the door wide open. The man gulped more of his beer and quietly lamented, his peace and quiet wouldn’t come so easily.

Screams pierced every corner of the house with the sobs of agony following. The man looked down at his beer, it was near empty. He went to get another whilst the chaos in his house continued. He cracked another beer open stared blankly at the kitchen wall. The wails of the tortured child went on to a sadistic beat. A scream would occur then followed by sobs, which would then be broken by another high pitched scream of pain. The man stopped staring at the wall and sipped his beer. He then took a small breath and went back to the rec. room. He looked at the door then walked towards it, and stopped for a brief moment. He then gently closed it.

The thin wooden door couldn’t hide the howls, the desperate unheeded howls. The man went back to his seat and sat down and took a tiny sip of his beer. He stared at the door with unblinking eyes. A last scream was given, given with all the pathetic desperation a child could give. It was gargled, blood curdling, and alien. The man closed his eyes and savoured his beer.

The screams stopped. Only sobs followed by the quiet deformed sounds of hurt could be heard. The father got up from his chair and turned the stereo on.


Para Nous

The feint trickle of light shone through the cracks of the curtain onto his face. Then a loud ringing of the bedside alarm clock went of and the boy groaned. The boy lurched towards the alarm clock and fumbled for it and then finally switched it off. He then fell back to bed and closed his eyes. A moment went by, and then another, he then gradually got up. He knew if he didn’t there would be consequences. His mind and body starts to slowly switch on and as it does the realisations dawn onto him. He remembers who he is, he remembers where he is, and he remembers the comforting nothingness that sleep brought him. Then he remembers why he longed for such mental silence.

He doesn’t bother opening his curtains but heads straight towards the bathroom and looks in the mirror and then pulls a face. Then suddenly stops and regrets it. Mustn’t do that, it isn’t normal he thinks. This brings on the cursed embrace of what is so apart of him, his fear. The fear leads him onto other thoughts, more dark thoughts, thoughts that can only be killed by sleep. Yet he still continues his morning routine in preparation for school, only out of fear.

His mother left him a packed lunch for school on the living room table, but she is nowhere to be seen. He grabs the food and the nearby school books and heads of into the bleak winter morn. The fear still pursues him, never letting him go, never giving him a chance for silence. He walks at a fast pace, head down, head always down. A car drives-by, it goes almost unnoticed by the boy, but he looks up and sees it and then smiles. The car smashes into him sending him flying into the air with shrapnel and glass. His body is left horribly mangled, construed and with the empty stare of death in the eyes. Then the smile fades as reality sets in, he hears the noise of the car fade away as it drives past. He carries on walking.

The boy sees his class mate waiting for him, someone tall and confident, but more importantly someone who could help him forget. The boy’s mood lightens up, as they head to school he tries to hurry conversation with the classmate, but such desperate talk doesn’t create the desired banter. The boy becomes more frantic and he asks a multitude of questions but with no success. He then tries boyish and obnoxious tom-foolery, thankfully it works. Both laugh and joke and the boy feels content due to the break of his insanity. But alas, like a persistent cancer the fear comes back stronger than ever. He tightens his knuckles and tries even harder to make it all go silent, he tries too hard and words are muttered. The tall boy looks at him at first perplexed, and then he nervously laughs thinking it must off been the boy being silly again.

They carry on walking in silence again but there is only noise for the boy. The mental volume increases, his mind further spirals into chaos, a chaos that leads to the absolution of fear. The boy’s skin prickles, his shirt collar starts to itch and his temperature reaches vexation. Then a shout is heard, one with the sound of kindness, but not towards the boy. The boy and his class mate stop, another school mate is seen across the road. The tall boy immediately crosses the road to greet the newcomer. The boy starts to follow but hesitates and stays where he is. He stays and waits in feeble desperation, hoping upon hope that they will signal him to come over. The signal never comes and the other two school mates walk away. The boy is left alone, alone to be anguished by what keeps him alive. A car drive’s by. The boy smiles again.

Every Hole Is Not A Goal

The gym is a place full of vanity and dull repetition, so obviously entertainment is required which more often than not comes in the form of a scantily clad woman jiggling on stair machines. It’s hard not to stare, because it’s such a better sight than your own sweaty arse in the mirror. Yet certain dilemmas arise like fat scantily clad women jiggling about, or even worse, that woman being your mother. These are all quite disturbing but don’t pose a serious question to a man’s morality, they are straight forward situations with straight forward responses. However when you’re in the gym and a very attractive girl whom is questionably young appears, that’s when the brain and the genitalia have it out.
“I would so like to fuck her,”
“Shut up Penis, she looks young,”
“But look at her Brain; she has those cotton short shorts on and look! SHE’S BENDING OVER! Also you know you have to be 16 to join this gym, so she’s legal!”
“Damn it Penis, stop it! That’s still wrong!”
“Wrong? That’s what will make it even sweeter big boy!”

You’d think a man would stick his dick into anything. This actually isn’t the case since there are so many ramifications that must be considered. A man must think about factors like “she’s fat so will my friends find out?”, or “she’s ugly will my friends find out?”, and how about the ole’ “she’s my sister so will my friends find out?” God knows I would love to stick my dick into a lot of things, but it unfortunately it isn’t that easy. Recently I tried just having sex with an ex, but that failed miserably because guilt and neuroticism’s became involved. Eventually the brain bitch slapped the penis and I’ve stopped knocking boots with her because it was just bringing out a me which I really didn’t like at all.

There are carnal tales of just straight out depravity and lust but I’ve never had the joys to experience it. The average UK man apparently has sex with 6 different people in his lifetime; this is a sad sad number. If I reach 30 and I haven’t had sex with more than 6 different girls I am going to get myself 6 different prostitutes, not even pretty ones. So the average sex life of a man lacks variety, which means there isn’t that much carnal depravity going around. Hopefully that just means there is a big market for it though, rather than saying dirty hot girls who have the sexual enthusiasm of rabbit in heat don’t exist. I’d rather believe in the former, it would make life that little more bearable and it keeps the lil’un happy as well.

So Wonely, I am So Wonely

“Hey you’ve got the Glasto wristband! AWESOME! I loved every minute of it!”
“Yeah, it was good.”
Then the infamous awkward silence occurs as we both discover that we actually hate each other. Ok, I’ve been looking at random people’s wrists ever since I went to Glasto, so that some kindred bond can be developed because we went to the same festival. This unfortunately isn’t true; every random Glasto person I’ve met after the event has been as charismatic as a child molesting daily mail subscriber. This is especially bad because I need new friends, not that I’ve got a problem with my old ones, it’s just that I need ones more geographically closer to me. I have after all moved back home to live with the parents in a small isolated town. This has meant the highlights of my days are an evening of masturbation followed with a finale of crying in shame and disgust.

It was so easy to make friends when I was younger, it use to be just “hey lets kick this leather spherical object around and then shout out jovial terms of endearment, hurrah!” but now it’s “what an ass hole, he likes Mika, Jesus I hope God skull fucks him and his whole family”. Well, ok, after 13 I stopped being the friendly type and became quite the loner due to a multitude of reasons. The fear of trusting someone and then having them rip your heart out became a developed trait. Then when you do open up and allow someone to see what you truly are you end up acting needy and erratic because it’s all so new. The tears follow and the feelings of betrayal are quick behind because “that one time” they didn’t answer their phone when you took far too many drugs and you thought you might off killed someone because you couldn’t distinguish reality and paranoid delusions. Then you realise you’re not as a big priority as they are in your eyes and reality strikes as the knowledge that the good times are gone. I can only hope such experiences make it easier to open up for new friends rather than the other way round.

Regardless, it’s tough shit, because I do need that social aspect of my life. I need the banter about why that woman would make such a better dicking then her friend. I need the philosophical ramblings about why life is pointless and how people should all just fuck till they’re covered in cum, sweat and blood (some girls will be on their period you see). But most of all I need that ear to listen to me when I am down, and the reassuring comments that I am not some insecure retard with a superiority complex. Some people will think I have the personality of a sociopathic stamp collector, but there will always be a minority who don’t. So for my own sanity and happiness I need to find these people and go “do you want to be my fwiend?”