Comedic short story.....feedback would be mucho appreciated....other than comments on my grammar....I know it isn't the best!
Alexa Chung stared at Louis behind her sleek black rimmed glasses and ordered the student to stay for detention. The boy didn’t give a damn and shrugged his shoulders. The classroom emptied and it was just the two of them alone. Alexa Chung with in her fashionista glory, wore an ensemble that was so vicarious that it could cure any impotent men of their flaccid-ousity.
“So what are we going to do with you Louis? You continually disrupt the class and you have no respect for authority. You don’t study, your test scores are pathetic and you don’t even participate in class!?”
Louis slouched back on his desk chair and ignored the teacher, the fight between a mini leprechaun and an equal sized Muhammad Ali on his desk top was far too interesting to miss out.
“Why don’t you care Louis?” the teacher sighed. Suddenly the classroom door was kicked off its hinges with such force that it flew into the adjacent wall and broke into hundreds of little pieces. A fat balding cigar smoking man walked through. He donned a white vest, which had numerous stains ranging from mustard, ketchup, and crusty dry semen. His fat hairy belly hung over his belt which barely fastened his jeans, which looked like they were crying from such undue physical strain.
“Git over ‘ere Alexa. You don’t belong in no schoo! You best git back t’ the kitchin you ‘ear!” He plodded over to her and then readjusted his crotch, which even had flies hovering over it.
“NO! I told you to fuck off Cletus!” she hissed back at him. Cletus spat out his cigar and went right up in her face, and then stared her down. The femme fatale turned her head in disgust as she smelt the putrid stench of alcohol mixed with stale milk from his breath. Suddenly with the quickness of a Shaolin Monk he back handed her across the face and she dropped to the ground like a house of cards.
“Now I told you best git back to ma kitchin and make me some fucking pie, women! You ma wife which mean you mine!” Cletus then picked his now wailing wife up by the hair with one fat hairy arm till her feet were dangling off the floor, making her scream in pain.
The fat yokel felt a tap on his shoulder. He dropped his wife and turned around. “You better stop what you’re doing mate and fuck off. Otherwise I am going to make you look more battered than a cheap hooker’s fanny after a Friday night!” It was Louis. His words echoed with a confidence that shook the fat redneck to the core. Cletus quickly shook the feeling off. After all he thought it was just a kid.
“You gunna regret that kid!” Cletus swung his fists with the speed of a living Bruce Lee, but the teenager easily dodged with simple side steps. “Too slow fat man!” Louis quickly threw a jab to the man’s face and then let loose a serious of devastating combinations. Left hook, right hook, punch to the kidney, punch to the other kidney, roundhouse punch, roundhouse kick, kick to the shin, kick to the side of the head, and then he crouched to the floor and did a flying uppercut into the redneck’s balls. The man went flying into the air. The teen then pulled back and held his hands together, creating a ball of energy.
“KA-MEH-HA-MEH-HA!” the teenager shouted and the ball of energy was let loose at Cletus, who was still being catapulted from the previous blow. The energy ball hit the stench ridden man in the stomach and sent him flying through the ceiling and into the night sky, never to be seen again. Louis then walked to his awe struck teacher and pulled her and held her close to him. He stared deeply into her eyes, and she into his. He then passionately kissed her and…
Music was being played, music so horrendous that it would make elevator music cringe in embarrassment. The abysmal tunage seeped into the boy’s ears. Louis half opened his eyes whilst letting out a zombie-fied moan “Reeergh. Bleeergh. Bluck. Alexa, urgh!” The truth dawned onto him, it was the dreaded satanic symphony of terror, it was the alarm clock on his phone for school. FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK! He quickly stumbled for his mobile phone at his bed side. He grabbed the device and mashed every button on it till such horrific sounds were no more.
The teen was frantic to get back to his sleep that he turned onto his front but realised his teenage morning wood made him pirouette instead in such a position. FUCK! So he quickly turned onto his side and closed his eyes in hopes he could get back to the fantasy where his beloved Ms Chung waited. The teenager started to see Alexa again. She was holding a seductive smile, a smile that evoked more about sex than even a porno ever could…
“WAKE UP! You’re late!”
The boy couldn’t believe it. He was so close, yet so far. A short elderly woman with big round glasses, that made her look bug eyed, had swung Louis’s bedroom door open. She had the look of a nice old lady but the demeanour of a demon that would rip your head off and then use it as the shitter. She walked in and went straight for the curtains and ripped them open with a snarling ferocity. She then stood there with her hands on her hips, with her mouth frothing as if she had rabies. The boy could barely acknowledge her existence, for he was still mortified about Alexa.
“I said wake up! You have school! That’s all you do is sleep, eat, and shit. Wake up you lazy, you lazy…. I SAID WAKE UP!” The banshee howled.The boy sighed in defeat and was about to pull his duvet off and get up, when he realised there was a slight problem, he was still harder than a 12 year old discovering internet porno for the first time. He slipped further under the duvet and shouted at his mum to go away. The frenzied women stared at the ill hidden teen and then began her verbal onslaught again.
“You have school! YOU WILL BE LATE! Don’t you care? You care about nothing at all, you lazy piece of shit!” The badgering continued, expletives, degradations of the boy’s capabilities as a man, and how much every other teenage boy in the world was better than him. The boy couldn’t take it anymore. He lost his opportunity to have coitus with the girl of his dreams in his dreams, and now he was getting insulted on all fronts by a berserker woman who would have given Boudicca a run for her money.
“WILL YOU FUCK OFF!” he screamed.
Then there was silence. Louis couldn’t believe he let those words slip out of his mouth, sweat escaped every pore and all he could hear under his duvet was the women’s slow heavy breathing. The boy could sense that he’d be lucky enough to escape this situation with one bollock, let alone two. Oh shit oh shit oh shit oh shit oh shit oh shit. Suddenly like a flash of lightening his mother ripped the covers off him, and the boy saw the women’s face, mangled with fury and the need to spill blood. Then something that no man should ever experience happened, something so horrifying that even a hardened Jedi Spartan Shaolin Monk warrior would cringe in fear, his mother’s eyes looked down…Louis was still pitching a tent.
Louis saw where his mum’s eyes went and the blood in his face drained. He knew he couldn’t hide it. He was still in a state of shock, confused to whether to be utterly humiliated or to be scared shitless. The queen of bloodlust then burst out into hysterical laughter. She laughed so hard she had to hold her sides to stop it from hurting, and she then turned around and walked out the room in fits of giggles. As she left she then said 9 words that would stick with the boy till the day he dies.
“I guess you don’t take after your father then!”
The boy looked down, and he finally saw his little’un finally began to lose its steam and shrink. He then let out a sigh.
Friday 14 November 2008
Thursday 30 October 2008
Lifestyles and Tribulations of a Caterpillar
The words were an inaudible drone in a supposedly understandable language. Each word devoid of emotion, each word degenerated to a cold collection of letters. The middle aged man, paunch with a gut that was ill-hidden by a dull green sweater, spoke with little care, so much so his words slurred. He moved with a languor that even a sloth would be repulsed by, and with shoulders hunched he wrote numbers and drew crooked shapes on the black board. The fat man then opened his mouth revealing yellow teeth and a tongue covered in a thick yellow paste, he then let loose more of his foreign babble.
“sedoma astrogabam teleisonaf….”
The boy stared at the man blankly. He had the side of his head resting on his arm, and the rest of his body firmly slouched on a desk. He stared at the fat man’s peculiar features, particularly at the old man’s red nose and how it contrasted with the pale face, also how it neatly sat on a bushy caterpillar like moustache. The more he stared the more the moustache seemed to come alive, as if it was alive.
The boy noticed that the bushy beast started to shake ever so slightly, as if it was awakening from a slumber. Then suddenly it wriggled its self to wake up. The boy was shocked but his face didn't show it. He continued to watch intently as the insect let of a yawn and then a few expletives, in a voice that was squeaky to a human’s ear but deep and Barry White like to a caterpillar’s. The caterpillar was suddenly alive with energy crawling around the fat man’s face with an enviable freedom. It crawled to one ear and entered it to then come out of the other. It then crawled up to the top of the fat man’s thinning head, and then rolled down to the chin giggling in its Barry White caterpillar voice. The furry beast then crawled up to the fat man’s face, past the fat man’s nose, which he gave a middle finger to, and then to the eyebrows.
The eyebrows were just as bushy and even somehow contained crumb remnants of the fat man’s breakfast. The caterpillar then suddenly jumped on top of an eye brow and began to ferociously mate with it. With each thrust it let of a wild squeak. This went on for 10 seconds, which is 30 seconds in caterpillar years. Disappointed with the services provided by the eyebrow the caterpillar slapped the eyebrow on what seemed to be the arse and then did a running jump off the fat man’s nose. The horny bug landed next to the fat man’s worn out brown loafers, which had an ominous smell of egg, dog poo and a hint of vinegar. It acrobatically landed in a ball and rolled a few feet and then uncurled onto its back.
The boy’s eyes followed the critter with bemusement, he watched closely as the little insect tried to roll and get onto its back, and each time it failed. The boy was enthralled, so much so he failed to notice the blood supply to his arm being cut off by his rested head. A mild sense of pins and needles was going to be the order of the day. Finally with one last push the caterpillar was able to roll itself back on to its front. It followed with a few seconds of wheezing and coughing out phlegm. After the whole ordeal was over it adjusted its crotch region and headed over towards a desk populated by a girl who looked equally as bored as the boy. This girl was a thing of beauty, the Holy Grail of teenage wet dreams. With legs that defied physics because they never-ended, an arse so plump and juicy that Sir Mix-alot would cower in awe, and two breasts that were so perfect that they attainted sentient consciousness and occasional conversed about abstract poetry.
As the multi-legged fiend waddled towards the damsel he whistled the Great Escape. The boy was forced to move his head a centimetre to see, an action that almost required too much effort. The furry critter then jumped onto the girl’s sandaled foot and pulled its self up the manicured toes. There was no horrendous odour belonging to this foot, for this foot was the foot of a Goddess who created many a tent in young boy’s pants, so it had to of smelt nice. The horny creature then slowly climbed the leg that was so smooth it would make baby’s bottoms cry in envy. The lustful insectoid carried on up and up and up, till it reached the edge of the girl’s denim mini skirt. It then slowly turned and looked at the boy and gave a menacing laugh, kissed the girl’s thigh and then made a gesture that conveyed an all too true message that the boy was a wanker. The boy just carried on staring without showing any emotion but on the inside he was hurt, because he knew the caterpillar was about to embark on an adventure that he’d kill for.
“CAYDSIAL! GOSSDAVAB! YATSFAB!”
The boy quickly sat up and looked at the fat man who was frothing at the mouth and staring at him. He looked around at all the other bored young faces that were at looking at the scene. He then turned to look at the fat man with the look of a terrified deer that was stuck in front of a moving car’s head lights.
“Toghat! Igias what is the answer to gobaligook!” The teacher became more livid, and one with a keen perception could see he was perking up with sadistic excitement, some might even say it was sexual.He then raised his voice into a patronising tone that only a teacher could master.
“Louis. What would the radius be for question two? Are you even listening? Pay some bloody attention! Now please tell me what the radius is?!”The boy just looked dumbfounded and swore under his breath. As he gawked at the teacher he could have sworn he saw the caterpillar on the teacher’s face wink at him.
“sedoma astrogabam teleisonaf….”
The boy stared at the man blankly. He had the side of his head resting on his arm, and the rest of his body firmly slouched on a desk. He stared at the fat man’s peculiar features, particularly at the old man’s red nose and how it contrasted with the pale face, also how it neatly sat on a bushy caterpillar like moustache. The more he stared the more the moustache seemed to come alive, as if it was alive.
The boy noticed that the bushy beast started to shake ever so slightly, as if it was awakening from a slumber. Then suddenly it wriggled its self to wake up. The boy was shocked but his face didn't show it. He continued to watch intently as the insect let of a yawn and then a few expletives, in a voice that was squeaky to a human’s ear but deep and Barry White like to a caterpillar’s. The caterpillar was suddenly alive with energy crawling around the fat man’s face with an enviable freedom. It crawled to one ear and entered it to then come out of the other. It then crawled up to the top of the fat man’s thinning head, and then rolled down to the chin giggling in its Barry White caterpillar voice. The furry beast then crawled up to the fat man’s face, past the fat man’s nose, which he gave a middle finger to, and then to the eyebrows.
The eyebrows were just as bushy and even somehow contained crumb remnants of the fat man’s breakfast. The caterpillar then suddenly jumped on top of an eye brow and began to ferociously mate with it. With each thrust it let of a wild squeak. This went on for 10 seconds, which is 30 seconds in caterpillar years. Disappointed with the services provided by the eyebrow the caterpillar slapped the eyebrow on what seemed to be the arse and then did a running jump off the fat man’s nose. The horny bug landed next to the fat man’s worn out brown loafers, which had an ominous smell of egg, dog poo and a hint of vinegar. It acrobatically landed in a ball and rolled a few feet and then uncurled onto its back.
The boy’s eyes followed the critter with bemusement, he watched closely as the little insect tried to roll and get onto its back, and each time it failed. The boy was enthralled, so much so he failed to notice the blood supply to his arm being cut off by his rested head. A mild sense of pins and needles was going to be the order of the day. Finally with one last push the caterpillar was able to roll itself back on to its front. It followed with a few seconds of wheezing and coughing out phlegm. After the whole ordeal was over it adjusted its crotch region and headed over towards a desk populated by a girl who looked equally as bored as the boy. This girl was a thing of beauty, the Holy Grail of teenage wet dreams. With legs that defied physics because they never-ended, an arse so plump and juicy that Sir Mix-alot would cower in awe, and two breasts that were so perfect that they attainted sentient consciousness and occasional conversed about abstract poetry.
As the multi-legged fiend waddled towards the damsel he whistled the Great Escape. The boy was forced to move his head a centimetre to see, an action that almost required too much effort. The furry critter then jumped onto the girl’s sandaled foot and pulled its self up the manicured toes. There was no horrendous odour belonging to this foot, for this foot was the foot of a Goddess who created many a tent in young boy’s pants, so it had to of smelt nice. The horny creature then slowly climbed the leg that was so smooth it would make baby’s bottoms cry in envy. The lustful insectoid carried on up and up and up, till it reached the edge of the girl’s denim mini skirt. It then slowly turned and looked at the boy and gave a menacing laugh, kissed the girl’s thigh and then made a gesture that conveyed an all too true message that the boy was a wanker. The boy just carried on staring without showing any emotion but on the inside he was hurt, because he knew the caterpillar was about to embark on an adventure that he’d kill for.
“CAYDSIAL! GOSSDAVAB! YATSFAB!”
The boy quickly sat up and looked at the fat man who was frothing at the mouth and staring at him. He looked around at all the other bored young faces that were at looking at the scene. He then turned to look at the fat man with the look of a terrified deer that was stuck in front of a moving car’s head lights.
“Toghat! Igias what is the answer to gobaligook!” The teacher became more livid, and one with a keen perception could see he was perking up with sadistic excitement, some might even say it was sexual.He then raised his voice into a patronising tone that only a teacher could master.
“Louis. What would the radius be for question two? Are you even listening? Pay some bloody attention! Now please tell me what the radius is?!”The boy just looked dumbfounded and swore under his breath. As he gawked at the teacher he could have sworn he saw the caterpillar on the teacher’s face wink at him.
This is How I Roll
An old story of mine.
“I fought in Nam so fuck you!” a tall lanky ginger haired boy muttered.
“And I fought the gay black communist Jews in 92. Gaynus!” a short oriental boy replied. Then the oriental lad went and quickly grabbed the other boy’s nipple and squeezed. The victim yelped in pain from the nipple genocide. A quick kick to the shins was the swift response.
“Damn it. That fucking hurt you ass hole! Anyway Sir Charlie Dimmock what’s on the menu for tonight?” the oriental boy laughed out.
“Fuck you is on the menu. I am going to make tuna and pasta. Anyway I need to ask you...” Before Charlie could finish the sentence his friend began to childishly imitate him. He jutted out his jaw and spoke with the maturity and mannerisms of an autistic five year old.
“I am Charlie, I like tuna. I have a small penis”
“God! You’re such a dick! So can you...” Again he was interrupted but this time his friend started to jump up and down whilst doing the imitations. “I am Charlie I have a big nose. Look at my big nose!” A solid punch to the spine was the just retribution. The oriental boy clutched his back in pain and manically laughed.
“Okay, okay dude. What do you want to say?” Mr Dimmock just stared at the other boy for a few seconds , thinking whether his friend would interrupt again. “We need to sort the bills out before I leave young Mr Done.” Both boys were silent, only the humming of a fridge, and the hyena like laughter of teenagers from outside were the only noise to be made. Mr Done just looked down for a brief second then fixed his gaze to an adjacent wall and muttered “Yeah. We can do that some other time.”
Then he quickly lashed out and pinched Charlie’s nipple again, only this time it was the type of nipple twist that would make a S&M fanatic wince in pain. “You fucking chimponaught!...Anyway lets watch telly, I think Southpark is on.” Both boys headed to the living room. It was Spartan and tidy in appearance but the odd eccentricity dotted it, adding life to such a dull abode. A blown up inflatable sheep stood in one corner, whilst a signed picture of Jesus was pinned up on the wall along with a drawing of 3 old men in an orgy, and scattered magazines like The Economist were left about almost bringing such a den a tiny bit of credibility. Charles Dimmocky Dimmock went to one of the ripped leather chairs and sprawled his lanky arms and legs all over and moaned in pleasure whilst Mr Done went over to the TV to switch on the infernal device. He stood next to it balancing on one foot trying to switch the power on with his toe, unable to bend over due to his severe case of apathy. The channels were flicked through, and through, each channel delivering a different response.
“Fucking hell she’s one fat bitch. Stop eating fatty fat fat!”
“How can anyone like music like that? It has no meaning! Kerrang is full of fucking commericialised emos now.”
“Man I would so rag the shit out of her. And then jizz in her hair just to piss her off.”
“Oi dick head I was watching that, I like Jonathan Ross!”
“Fuck Jonathan Ross and fuck everything you love and fuck you for liking him. Finally some Southpark!”
Mr Done went back to the sofa and jumped on to it and stretched out. The living room was filled with sporadic laughs for the next thirty minutes. As the show finished Mr Done slowly got up and let loose a belch and fart, each with their own distinctive pitch and sulphury smell.
“Well I am off to bed. I am so fucking tired. So fucking can’t be arsed with work tomorrow man. Fuck’s sake. Anyway night man,” Mr Done moaned whilst excreting even more bodily gasses. “Okay. I am going to go cook. Night” the Charlie Charles replied. The dark haired boy lethargically dragged himself up the stairs to his room whilst his big nosed friend headed to the kitchen.
Now all was quiet in the household, with the only noise being the occasional creek of door hinges and deep sighs from the young men. Suddenly a loud piercing sharp beeping from the smoke alarm was heard throughout the house and roars of cheers immediately followed after. Cheers that were akin to when yobs spotted someone dropping a pint glass in a bar. As the smoke alarm eventually switched off the shouts subsided and the house returned to its lonesome silence.
Sunday 31 August 2008
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.
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.
Sunday 17 August 2008
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.
“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.
Thursday 7 August 2008
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?”
“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?”
Wednesday 23 July 2008
The Drugs Don't Work
“What does it feel like?”
No words could describe the cosmic euphoria that I was feeling, the enlightenment that accompanied the vision of the universe through all of its divinity. So I could only reply in the best way I could.
“It feels like fucking Buddha.”
Unfortunately this incredible sense of well-being quickly turned into a suicidal decline of insanity. The feeling that one’s mind is lost forever isn’t the nicest of experiences along with the morbid thoughts that the only way to escape from such a place was through death. Then the feeling that I might hurt someone because I was in such a state further heightened such irrepressible anxieties. The best simile I could come up for such an experience would be saying it’s like having the best sex you ever had in your life then the lights switch on and you find out it’s your mother. That’s drugs for you.
Now my drug taking experiences have led me to enjoying such activities that involve being sleepless in a tent with a Viagra induced hard on whilst praying that the sandman would send me to la la land rather than skull fuck me in every facial orifice. How does such an event come about I hear you say? Well I was given rub-on Viagra at this festival, me being the generous person that I am accepts the gift. So this bad boy is in my pants, and after a long day’s worth of rave, speed, pills, and other assortments I come back to my tent. I was unable to sleep, unable to do much at all due to all known company enjoying dream world. So I am lying there, thinking what can I do? Then a light comes on and me being the curious chipper I am reach into my pocket and pull out the lovely blue Viagra cream. Got nothing else to do, so why not, so hey presto my lil’un is standing at attention! Unfortunately during the wrist activity that occurred next the nice-ities of speed and other substances wore off. So whilst pummelling away, I start to feel like death had just took a runny vindaloo shit on my brain. Now I am in this tent too tired, and too exhausted to even finish myself off. So there I lay all alone in my oven baked tent sweating my bollocks off, a cock harder than industrial concrete, and a head ache making me wish death was ever so close by. Now kids, this is what happens to people who take too many drugs.
For me I am getting closer to the point of quitting the whole lot. The excuses that I tell myself to hide the fact that I commit brain cell genocide are running out. My brain is quick and brutal in its responses to such justifications
“No you fucking dumbass, just because you've eaten an apple today doesn't mean I will be ok after you snort ketamine with cocaine. God I hate you so much!”
I can’t keep it up anymore, and I don’t want to. The body is giving up and so is the mind. There is so much more to life and I want enjoy them with more than one brain cell. I want to move onto bigger and better things like…..like………….aaaaah fuck.
No words could describe the cosmic euphoria that I was feeling, the enlightenment that accompanied the vision of the universe through all of its divinity. So I could only reply in the best way I could.
“It feels like fucking Buddha.”
Unfortunately this incredible sense of well-being quickly turned into a suicidal decline of insanity. The feeling that one’s mind is lost forever isn’t the nicest of experiences along with the morbid thoughts that the only way to escape from such a place was through death. Then the feeling that I might hurt someone because I was in such a state further heightened such irrepressible anxieties. The best simile I could come up for such an experience would be saying it’s like having the best sex you ever had in your life then the lights switch on and you find out it’s your mother. That’s drugs for you.
Now my drug taking experiences have led me to enjoying such activities that involve being sleepless in a tent with a Viagra induced hard on whilst praying that the sandman would send me to la la land rather than skull fuck me in every facial orifice. How does such an event come about I hear you say? Well I was given rub-on Viagra at this festival, me being the generous person that I am accepts the gift. So this bad boy is in my pants, and after a long day’s worth of rave, speed, pills, and other assortments I come back to my tent. I was unable to sleep, unable to do much at all due to all known company enjoying dream world. So I am lying there, thinking what can I do? Then a light comes on and me being the curious chipper I am reach into my pocket and pull out the lovely blue Viagra cream. Got nothing else to do, so why not, so hey presto my lil’un is standing at attention! Unfortunately during the wrist activity that occurred next the nice-ities of speed and other substances wore off. So whilst pummelling away, I start to feel like death had just took a runny vindaloo shit on my brain. Now I am in this tent too tired, and too exhausted to even finish myself off. So there I lay all alone in my oven baked tent sweating my bollocks off, a cock harder than industrial concrete, and a head ache making me wish death was ever so close by. Now kids, this is what happens to people who take too many drugs.
For me I am getting closer to the point of quitting the whole lot. The excuses that I tell myself to hide the fact that I commit brain cell genocide are running out. My brain is quick and brutal in its responses to such justifications
“No you fucking dumbass, just because you've eaten an apple today doesn't mean I will be ok after you snort ketamine with cocaine. God I hate you so much!”
I can’t keep it up anymore, and I don’t want to. The body is giving up and so is the mind. There is so much more to life and I want enjoy them with more than one brain cell. I want to move onto bigger and better things like…..like………….aaaaah fuck.
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