“I know your life is a never ending nightmare full of horror and deceit. I know you are often at odds with yourself and this horrid thing called life. Every morning is filled with contempt as you have this endless debate on whether or not you should kill yourself in your shower or while your K-cup brews or in your car that is neither new nor old but works just fine. These things I know because I’m sitting right next to you. These things I know because I’m looking at the same things you are. These things I know because we share the same eco-friendly renewable water source in the same god damn forsaken city on the banks of some form of water. I know all these things, I think all these things because I too live a life of perfect balanced, zero struggle life know as modern society. Chances are we think the same exact way but out of pure boredom let’s say I don’t. Because we have to be different in this world. We have to be special when it comes to things like this in life. Odds are against us though. Dictated by our most basic thoughts. Experiences we believe to be different, unique in and of themselves. We went to the same school, learned from the same books, ate the same shitty food, and lived near perfect replicas of the same life. Let me guess you played doctor? Let me guess you owned a copy of GTA 3? Let me guess you couldn’t catch’em all on paper or digitized? Let me guess you thought you were special? Well you’re not, you and I are more alike than you and I might think. We are so close you and I that we could be one in the same. Chances are we are in fact the same robotic, institutionalized, modern guilt individuals walking side by side right now. We could say hello to one another but we won’t. We could relate our dream suicide scenario but we won’t. We could discuss just how much we actually hate each other but we won’t. Because what’s the point? Why tell you everything you already know? Why bother letting you in on our little secrets? We all have secrets, guilty pleasures, they are all the same but we have them. We imagine that they are the little things that make us different. That the tidbits of information we hold dear separate us from fact and fiction. When really there is no such thing separating us at all. We live a life of fact and fiction. We live a life of knowing we are the same, fact. We live a life thinking in some way we are different, fiction. We live lives that are exactly the same. We fuck women and men who are exactly the same. We blindly follow the dumbest of our kind because we know that they are the same. We read books and stories, watch movies and shows on people or about people who are exactly the same. Like you I will do nothing to change this. Like you I will be proud of what I have become. Like you I will ride this life into the ground hoping for something better but being served up the exact same thing. There is no difference between animal and man we were put here to do the exact same thing, suffer until our last dying breathe.”
“What an interesting report Timothy,” the teacher calls out from behind her desk. “Not quite “A” material but informative all the same in its own way. Go ahead and take your seat with the rest of the class.” She shuffles some papers. Disheveled herself, “Umm, if we could have Stephanie, Stephanie Keaton come up next.” Stephanie gets up from her seat and takes her place at the head of the class. “Now Stephanie why don’t you tell us something fun you’ve learned this summer.”
At least Timothy knows what the hell is going on… this twist was a last minute addition… one added without thought… the best kinds… been a while since I wrote this… but I’m sure this was meant to be some big speech… some epic quest to prove to myself… prove to everyone… the shallow pool we inhabit… I think it worked… even if Tim Tim has a long way to drag his corpse… I think there is something inherently interesting behind the idea of a child rattling off dark thoughts…
Something hidden beyond the surface of innocence… maybe because at times I feel like a child trapped in an adults body… screaming… this is fucked up… and being greeted with deaf ears… No one cares about anything until it starts happening to them… until it is too late… and then… well then it doesn’t really matter does it?… by then it has become the new normal… something to add to the shit pile… and something to embrace… to accept as part of life… well that wasn’t at all fun Stephanie…
Until we meet again… I hope all is well… Thank you to all of those that read their way through my mind… thank you for all the support… big or small… Take care of yourself… keeping working towards your dream… and I’ll see you back here once again…
I look at the world, seven minutes cold, flashes of life, and passed out drunk. I awake with burning, stinging, sleepless eyes. I awake with a sense of belonging and at the same time a longing. Awaken but yet I must still be dreaming. Dreaming for something better or something worse. I awake with my dick still standing. Standing at full attention looking for any attention. Ready to release one more load or another gallon of piss. The decision is not on the brain, but in a gateway smaller than I can imagine. Made of flesh and blood as is the rest of me. This is every morning. This is a constant. These are the things I think about and I do not know why.
The bad taste that has slipped into my mouth overnight doesn’t go away even after I try to brush it out or smoke in a replacement taste. My teeth hurt like they have been grinding away layer by layer all night. It’s the little stresses that kill you not the big stuff. It is the little stuff that slowly eats you alive. Taking this and taking that but in the end they take everything anyways. If you are one of the lucky ones you won’t even notice the discomfort. I notice every little instants and yet I let it happen. Hell I join in on the pleasure every now and then. Daily. I smoke another with the taste still very much intact. I didn’t need another one, but at this point what is one more? One more nail, one more stake in the heart. Tiny needles pressing against my chest cavity heading for my soul. It wasn’t the taste or even my dick that woke me up today earlier than death or even the sound of a crying baby. No, it was a dream, a light version of a nightmare that is my life.
My dream, nightmare, inner vision was about my grandmother. A devil of a woman whom without I wouldn’t be standing here today. Allegedly there is no scientific facts to back up these claims. I hate my grandmother. She was a bitch. Therapy could help me describe my true inner feelings better, but she’d still be a bitch. In the dream she pretends to be a sleep as my grandfather rattles off a list of shit she would like for dinner. She has exact instructions on what she wants and how she wants it to be. Treated like a slave in life and in my dreams I feel bad for my grandfather. It was no wonder he went a little crazy. It was no wonder they found him in possession of a trunk full of dead cats and a collection of women underwear. Luckily it didn’t go any further than that or you might have heard of him. He lives in a cozy little place far removed from society now. Better put he is basically dead.
“This but not that. Make sure you get it right or else,” she says in my mind and my dream. Or what the fat bitch is going to get her lazy ass out of bed and kick your ass? She hasn’t left that bed by choice in maybe a year. Conversations with myself always seem one-sided. I can see her while she fakes being asleep. Patiently listening to make sure he plays his part as always. He says one more thing before I awoke, “We know all about your past experience with food, but we also know you always screw up.” What do you think that the dream meant? I hope it means that she is or will be dying, but she is already dead. Not a loss or a gain just more of the nothing that fills this world. Shouldn’t waste my time on people who don’t matter, didn’t matter, or don’t care. The brain doesn’t work like that though.
They still find their way through though don’t they? Slip through the cracks no one knew were even there. Tear the wall down and leave you with nothing but rubble. Drinking could be the reason, life could be the other, and living without a purpose could be the answer I’m looking for. How am I to live with so many distractions? A gun fight erupts outside, a flood down the street drowns hundreds, and yet I sit staring at a screen looking for answers.Ignoring everything that is going on around me. Her little eyes scream for attention and the sound to follow. The present is only for a moment but the past is a life time.
This is a fiction story… I guess that goes without saying… Some of it is real… I did have a dream that woke me up… and a lot of it is false…My grandmother is still alive… still an asshole… I should be more empathetic to my grandmother… many of us have lost theirs already… but then again you were probably loved by yours…
I’m not bitter… even as I try to not come off as such… Life is life… enjoy it while you can and with the ones you love… don’t waste time spending it with people who don’t give you back everything you put in… We are all worth more than that…
So, as you can see I have clearly lost my mind. Oh, wait please forgive me. I forgot that I took your eyes. You can’t see anything so, allow me to describe the horrors you are about to feel and most certainly taste. Hey, have you tasted blood before? Nothing? No Answer? How rude of me you have no tongue which to speak. How silly of me to keep forgetting the things I have already done to prepare for this evening. If by now you don’t think I’m crazy you really should start. That warm iron taste, the one that reminds you of childhood, picking off old scabs, and licking away the blood is from the parts of your tongue that just won’t heal. It should taste sick at first, but by the end of all of this it will become comforting as you hold on to what memories you have left. My apologies regardless, but you have been more than difficult during all of this. I envy you none the less, you know? No one has ever treated me this way despite my demands. I’d pay good money for an experience such as this. It’s always too sick or too wrong. That’s how this all started. Worthless sex workers. I didn’t want it to go this far. Do you believe me? What difference does it matter? They set me free from all my pain. Hopefully I can do for you what others were too afraid to do for me. Excuse my laughter I was remembering the screams and inevitable reminders of past mistakes. The memories like to bounce back in place while I work. Well enough of this talking let’s begin the fun. Never. Never shake your head no at me you sniveling cunt. I’ll cut your dick off and ram it down your throat. Is that clear? Sorry, that was unfair. You didn’t deserve that outburst. It’s just. It is hard being on this side of the veil you know? We’re good right? Your hair is so soft it calms the nerves. Good take a deep breath, first things first we must maintain the sharpness of the blades.
God, isn’t that a sexy sound? I use to do this beforehand Out of sight. Out of mind kind of thing. Always be prepared, but where’s the fun in that? That’s good keep up the moaning. I like that you still try to make words. It’s a little hard to understand you without a tongue in your mouth. If only you could see how hard I am you might appreciate what’s going on. It interests me to see how the muscles get removed from bone. Have you ever watched a butcher work? It’s like magic. The skill, the craft, the determination. It’s almost as if the knife is his hand or part of him. My father use to be a butcher and I’m embarrassed to say that the papers call me the same. I am not my father. I don’t have the skill my father had. It is almost insulting you know? Being compared to a skilled profession such as that. This is more trial and error than anything else. He used to come home smelling of blood and death. Some days he would let me skip school and let me go to the shop with him. He used to say, “One day my boy you will be a butcher.” That is about all he ever said to me. That or this is for your own good before he would beat me. That’s it that simple. Life at times is only that simple. Right or wrong simple minded thought. We know different don’t we? We’ve seen more than just the butcher block. For all his skill and all his talent he was nothing more than a dumb piece of shit is what I mean. He didn’t like my reading, jealous of my education. A transition of the times from craft to thought.
Long story short he disappeared shortly after my eighteenth birthday. Mother closed the shop and I inherited the very knifes you can feel today so, in a way the papers and my father were right and believe me that makes me very unhappy. I thought about becoming a doctor once. Hey, hey you still with me? Good, but now I am only sure that I will be studied by one. Don’t know how that is going to work though as I’m fairly aware that I am what one might call crazy, but then again it’s not me they have to convince it is the twelve other people. Now for the fun part at least for me anyways. I never liked going to the dentist myself, but if I don’t at least pull out most of your teeth fucking your mouth gets a little rough after your dead. There I go laughing again. I had you going didn’t I? I mean I am going to rip out your teeth, but what kind of sick freak do you think I am? Do you honestly believe me too be that far gone? Sit still now this is going to hurt unfortunately. A byproduct of all of this but if I snap the tooth rather than pull it. Well you’ll only have to feel it happening again, but don’t worry I have needle nose pliers as well. Your choice though honestly I can go either way. Shh… Stop your shaking or you are only going to make it that much worse. I know that some of it is involuntary, but you really must try to calm yourself. Think of something peaceful. A happy moment from the past. Your childhood maybe? The laughter is involuntary as well I must say. Man the fuck up already. We’ve made it this far. What’s a little more pleasure? Wait… Did you hear that? Fuck, mother is home. I guess we will just have to finish this later. She hates it when I work in my room. Try not to die now. You promise? Promise you won’t die on me. We still have much to discover about each other.
Not too sure when I wrote this… another take on one of my favorite subjects… torture… this story is more about the little details… for me at least… I like to take similar scenes from the past… and expand on them in some way… that makes it sound like I have someone tied up in my garage… haha… I don’t… not yet at least… but it’s the other twelve people I have to convince…not you…
This as been another installment of Fun With Words or Is He Crazy?… Truth be told what’s the difference any more?… Enjoy talking to myself in the dark none the less… Until tomorrow… I hope all is well…
What do you say with a million lives to say it? What do you do with a million days to do it? An endless array of endlessness that accumulates into a pool of endless ocean. A fully powered and operational confusion ray shown across a thousand skies would still not explain all the confusion I feel inside. The isolation of all the knowledge that needs to be said greatly increases the feelings closing in on me. The pages have become displayed on the walls. Three layers thick and making no sense at all. The words bleed together like poetry at first. But after long consideration the words mean nothing at all. Turn the page. Start again. See what comes out and in the end find no solace at all. What is the meaning of this madness? What is a lifetime spelled out in words?
I pace the room once again. Careful to not knock over the stacks. The pages that could not fit on the wall without nails. Hammer and blood. Zig zagging through future trash. The trash that riddles my mind. Have I said all that I mean or mean what I’ve said at all? The words trickle out like a stream that will one day be a waterfall. A tiny hole in my head that won’t stop leaking. The thought becomes dizzying. Dazed and consumed by all the words. I bump one of the stacks. It cascades threw out the room like a great wave of the coast of some mystical land. It blends and bends its will to all the other stacks piled up across the land. I stand in a sea of words, an ocean of thought. Even as I stare at each one. Remembering each pen stroke for what it was once worth. I can think of no meaning. No cause to add to this madness I have chosen to live.
Stare at each word. Each letter spelling out syllables and sounds. Meaning escapes me along the thoughts. Every passing moment descends further into nothing at all. The depths from under my skin. Flesh and blood. Meat without a taste. I can hear words as they echo out of the screams. Words played against a black screen. Images played to the silence of it all. A hollow sound that repeats. Blood drops, drops from somewhere though I am unsure where. A stream of red. A clue left behind? A whooshing sound blocks out the silence of thought. The blood pumps harder and faster within my head. Drip, drip. I can’t hear the noise. I can only feel it as I follow the trail. In circles I spin. Brushing up against the scattered pages of my mind. My bare legs chewed up amongst the pages. My blood bring new life to the words. Washing away letter for letter. Ideas for idea. Lost to the soul and pouring out of my head. A war fought bloody and hard. I continue to circle around the words like a vulture circles a dead carcass. I will find an answer to all this madness.
I haven’t showered in days. The new words keep pouring out all around me. The body riddled with sharp pains. I fear that I have become sick amongst the stacks. To quit now would mean that I should have never started at all. I’ve long since run out of paper. Resorting on writing scraps and bits of blood soaked left overs. I have lost track of where this is all going, but did I ever know? Follow the words. Follow the thoughts. Ideas set us free. Ideas separate the man from the beast. It is all here. Word for word. On display for any one with the time.
“A lost generation hoping for something to happen with the littlest effort at all. We all want to be millionaires, but no one has the heart to tell us that it won’t happen. No one has the heart to tell us shit.” Words cut out of my very chest. A pound of flesh I once called a heart. “They are all too scared, too afraid we’ll go shooting up the place. Our fragile minds can’t take the simplest of heart breaks. They fear that our trigger happy, unsympathetic, systematic minds with snap, and they are right for all the wrong reasons.” Man before the beast. Beast before the man. The call for blood of the innocent. The lives of a thousand sons and daughters. Is this not the calling of man? “Fear is nothing more than power. Fear is a manipulative tool used to take over the mind. They us the fear of it all to keep control. Governments, kingdoms, religion, and lies use the same tactics. Fear of the fear to keep control. Place in time. Fear equals control and control is fear. An impasse of conflicted ideas that have worked all too well.” Fitting in as the skin covers my mouth. Embraced by the society that birthed me. “A stabbed out swollen eye of infected corneas lathered so thick with bullshit that all we see is darkness. What about what is next? What happens in the end if no one stands up to the fleeting masses? The controls left in the hands of children. Evolution dictates that a change will cause adaptation to the original species. A rift will develop, slowly filling up with the lost illusion we once held.” Truth written in blood and disguised by lies of the mind. How could they ever lose control? More like them hidden amongst us like weeds that grow from the shit stuck in our eyes. “A river of deceit with a sediment so rich lies will grow like wild flowers amongst what is left of the masses. One could only hope. Giant man powered robots will reign supreme amongst the rubble of civilization. One great civilization shall rise from the ashes of our mistakes and in the end all the right will be wronged and all wrongs shall be righted.” A prophecy fore told in the shadows of the moon light on scrapped bits of paper. Cover the light with words and turn it off.
This is actually two ideas mashed together… a bit of a long post so I will keep it short… Nothing like a bit of madness to get your day started… Originally this was supposed to be used for a much bigger project about a writer losing his mind to the words… I got four pages deep when I realized no one wants to read about exactly what they are going through… So I chose all the best lines from that failed project… and tried my best to make sense out of it… or no sense at all… I just breathe the words… I don’t have to live them… and yet in some ways I do…
In some ways, it feels as if a part of me is missing and in other ways, I feel exactly the same. I hate being apart from her for whatever the reason. The long nights traveling for my job is when I feel it the most. Being on the road is like going through hell and then some. The restless nights lying in a bed of someone else’s filth. They say the beds are clean or at least the card on the pillow states, but are they ever really clean? How does one actually clean up the semen and the sweat that soaks up into the mattress? Sure your nicer establishments have some sort of protection. A mattress condom if you will but the cheaper places? The places I have to stay because my boss cares more about the bottom line than the comfort of the poor bastard who makes that line exist, those places are brimming with semen, sweat, and who knows what else. I find myself sleeping on the floor most nights on the road. Not that the floors in these skank motels are any cleaner, but I’m less likely to sleep in somebody’s fluids.
As I lie on this particular floor I wonder what she is thinking about in our nice comfortable bed. I wonder if she thinks of me or quite simply nothing at all. Another conference in the morning. Another meet and greet with unknown clients. Does well for business though I can’t say the same for my soul. I could say it would be good for me if I was the owner. If I reaped anything from any and all this stress. Anything more than a paycheck. Life seems to be only ever about such worthless things. I wonder if I leave tomorrow night or the following morning. Something I should check, but I’m too lazy to get up off the floor. Either way, it is just one more shitty flight to an even shitter place. When you are young you want to travel, to see the world, but as you get older and then a little bit more that sense of adventure seems to slip right out of your mind. Now all I want is a chance to make up for all those lost years of traveling, of being apart. Those long night without me by her side.
It pains me to think about it. It pains me every time that I see her she has changed a little bit more. Her skin and her hair seem to change each and every time I return. I wonder when the changes will stop. Will they ever? I thought I could stop them, but it turns out no one can. Nothing stays perfect forever. The longer I am gone the farther we grow apart from each other. Disconnected I miss her and I miss her more whenever we are together. Where did those years before go? Did I not live them? Or have I been living in this traveling coma for so long that I simply don’t remember the past at all? One thing I do know, will always know is that she is still waiting for me. I made sure of that at least didn’t I? Back home she waits for my arrival and I’m sure my departure. To her, I’m sure she sees this time as never going or never there. To her, I’m sure that when this trip is over it will all be too late. That is what she said to me last. The words that haunt us. The words that changed everything. She doesn’t say much anymore. Lays in silence mostly. Silently waiting for my return.
Welcome back… this story seemed fitting for the occasion… this story is actually really old… I’m talking over ten years old… I’m not sure of the year I wrote it… but I remember the time period… and even though it is super sinister it was written from a place of love… odd I know until you remember it is me we are dealing with… then it makes sense…
It has been awhile since I have returned myself… hopefully all is well… the world has been changing for a while now… I wonder how much of it is really different by now?… stay healthy… stay safe… because there is always someone waiting for your return…
Memories are nothing more than random bits of information processed at varies speeds. This is how I remember my childhood. It comes back to me in pieces as my head slams back into the ground. Lift and repeat. Lather, rinse, and dry. Blood runs throughout your body providing oxygen and nutrients to every cell. When blood gets into your eyes it provides nothing at all. Nothing more than pain. How does someone end up reliving all their horrible childhood memories on the cold pavement? I’m not really all that sure anymore.
Where did I go wrong? Politian’s, health-conscious assholes, leftist fascists would say it was when I smoked my first cigarette. Signed a one-way ticket to hell by today’s standards. God would I kill for one right now. Just to feel the smoke hit the back of my throat and shoot down into my lungs would make all of this a little bit more bearable. I wonder what heroin would be like in this scenario. I wonder what food will taste like as my teeth fall to the ground. Will anything ever taste the same again or will it always taste like blood? I don’t think the iron, rust like taste will never leave my mouth. I always speak my mind maybe that’s how I ended up here. The more my head hits the ground the more I forget. In the end all we have is our memories. The good ones and the bad ones. Our memories are all we have. For some reason, the only memory that keeps popping up is the time I learned to tie my shoes. Maybe because when all is said and down here. I’ll never be able to do that again. Funny how after all of this something so significant won’t even matter. Too defiant anyways. Never really learned to tie my shoes. Found a way, but not the way I was taught. The memory still comes breaking through.
My stepmother left me in a chair all day with the same story that I could get up if I tied them the dumbass way she showed me. With the bunny ears or something. The instructions are still lost on me, but the torture is clear. “If you tie your shoes we can go to the beach.” I used to love the beach. I used to love a lot of things. Too bad we were in the middle of fuck all Indiana where there is no such thing. She paraded around in a bathing suit and beach bag as if we would leave as soon as I miracle my shoes laces together. What kind of sick fuck does that to a child? The company you keep I guess. Too defiant maybe that is how I ended up where I am. Too strong-willed and stubborn to tie my shoes. To listen to anyone else.
My head hurts so much that my face has gone numb. I’ve been trying to pick myself up, but my head feels as though it weighs too much. Leaning into the punches is not helping any. I say lean but it is more of a sway. Confused by what it is I am even doing. I’ve got nothing left. Everything I had was all used up before I even got here. A teacher once told me that you come into this world with nothing and you leave it with nothing. I can see her old wrinkled out face mouthing the words, but the world has gone silent. Gone away into the distance that is my existence. She was full of shit. You come into this world screaming and you leave it with pain. The constant that doesn’t let you forget. Can’t change much when your life flashes.
Can’t change much when you know you are going to die. Can’t take away the things that you have done. Can’t forget the time that you pissed on the street corner as the neighbor’s daughter watched. Can’t take back the punishment. The belt that struck over and over again. Not even the truth can set you free after it is all said and done. That she wanted you too. No, you are only left with the memories of a childhood you wish you could forget. Can’t change the time you climbed a tree you were told not to climb. Ended up in the hospital for not listening on that one. Should have stayed in the tree. Why didn’t I just stay in the tree? Can’t change the time you got a girl pregnant and waited in the abortion clinic waiting room. Scarred out of your mind, sad for the life you wasted, and too young to realize they are one in the same. No, none of that will ever change. Time can’t change after it is already past. Time can’t change after you’re dead. Your impressions, actions stay with those you’ve affected long after your gone. Actions speak louder than words yet the words of those around you in circle your every thought.
Don’t do this, do that, why do you got to be such a little shit, clean up your room already, have you been drinking, this is for your own good, tell me what happened, happy birthday, please take the dog out, win some and you lose some, thou shall not kill, I hate you, why couldn’t you have been better, clean your face, you disgust me, this is what you deserve, I love you. Some good and some bad they all flood in as if they should mean something, but they don’t. Is now really the time to reflect on all of this? Maybe I just wanted freedom. Maybe it was only love. Maybe it was both. I don’t know what anyone could ever want out of a world like this.
For some reason, they have stopped. Could be because I’ve stopped fighting? Maybe because they know it is already done? I can feel a smile come across my face as the hits start back up. Their anger in this world somehow more intense than my own. I want to laugh, but do I dare? I can still feel as though that all of this is some kind of prize at the end of a long game. The words aren’t clear in my head anymore. Here and gone. Trapped and freed. I feel cold yet warm. But all I really feel is pain.
Broken Thoughts Vol 1: Between Me and You Now Available On Amazon
“So there I was just minding my own business and guess who comes stumbling out of The Room?” I ask my friend Sam. “Could be anyone in this town,” he jokes. “Fair enough, but why would I care if anyone just came out of a bar?” I ask. “Are you still obsessing over her? She didn’t want your ass in high school and she still doesn’t want you now,” he informs me while avoiding using her name. I pretend to not hear him, “Obsessed is a strong word I think. I hardly think that I am obsessed with her.” Sam takes a bite out of his sandwich his dirty hands gripping the plastic that surrounds it. “So, you are saying that if you did have a chance to talk to her you wouldn’t take it?” I ask him. “I didn’t say that, but then again when am I known for taking a chance?” Sam asks me before going back to his sandwich. “Well guess what I did?” I ask with pride and a smile across my face. He shrugs barely listening to me at this point. “We are going to go out later this week,” I inform him. He looks shocked as he continues to chew. Swallowing hard before he speaks, “You know about Becky right?” He gives me a look that only a best friend could understand. “Of course I know about Becky,” I assure him. He rolls his eyes, “Okay, because I don’t want to have to be the one that tells you I told you so. You’re an adult and you can make your own mistakes.” He pops the rest of the sandwich in his mouth. The plastic is now pressed right up to his face. “An adult? Right maybe when I get back from college. Maybe then I will be an adult,” I joke to him. He places the empty plastic into his lunch box. “Hurry up we need this grave dug up before we can go home,” he says to me. “What’s the rush? It’s not like we didn’t already do all the work up to this point,” I ask him. He ignores me and places my shovel next to me as he heads for his shovel. Four more hours until this work day is done anyway. Shit work but it is better than nothing I think to myself. In the fall I will be gone and I won’t have to do this shit anymore. Waited too long to move on I think to myself.
There is a lot of time to think with a job like this. A lot of time to go over everything, obsess about everything going on or not going on in your life. A whole lot of time to dream and that’s about it. Dig the hole, body goes in, dug another hole, and another body goes in. Pretty simple, nothing to it, and I hate every moment of it. Sam’s dad owns the business. Owns most or runs any of the business in this town that have to deal with death. Makes life for Sam easier and being my best friend it makes my life easier too. I should have started school last year, but that “easy” life rubbed off on me a little too hard. Sam doesn’t have dreams. Well not about taking over the family business and since I am like a brother to Sam I am the next best thing. Go to school get my degree and come back to take over. That’s the plan Sam should be on, but I am more than happy to take the ticket he didn’t want. Honest work for an honest living I suppose. “We could have done a better job,” He says to me as we move the last of the earth. “She was old Sam. Old people die all the time,” I assure him. “If you let them,” he says disappointed to me. “We tried something different and it didn’t work. Now who is obsessing?” I ask him. “It just didn’t feel the same without a purpose,” he says looking to the sky. “Well next time we will make it really count. There is always a learning curve with these type of things,” I say to him. “I suppose you are right about that. At least there’s no chance of anyone knowing,” he proclaims. “No one is going to see the connection, but you do have a point about purpose. We can do this. It isn’t hard, but without effort or purpose then what are we really doing?” I ask. “We are just doing it to do it at that point,” he says. “Exactly and that’s not what I want to do. Next time we make it count. No point of thinking about what can’t be undone,” I say. “We can only get better with practice. Want to go see if we can get a drink at The Room?” He asks. “Of course,” I smile. “Maybe I can get a jump on my date if she is there.” He rolls his eyes and we pack up our stuff.
The week goes as it will always go until the end of time except for today. Today is the day that I finally get my chance. I finally get my chance at the one that got away. Well that is to say that anything ever happened in the first place. She may have pretended I didn’t exist for most of my actually life. She may have spent all her time paying attention to all those other assholes in high school, but tonight she is paying attention to me. Need to treat her right. Treat her like a lady. Show her she is worth more than all the rumors that have been spread about her. She just needs to meet the right person. It is so easy in this small town to get swept up into the wrong crowd. “You got this. You are the one she needs,” I say into the bathroom mirror. We are meeting up at the town diner, maybe go out to the next town over to see a film, and then maybe a little time at make out lane. That’s the plan at least. Take it easy, nice and slow. Show her what she is worth. I head to the dinner in my father’s truck. A rust bucket of an embarrassment, but it runs. Shotguns proudly displayed in the back window as though any moment is a good moment to get a deer. I can’t wait to get out of this town, go to school, and make something of myself. Even if I am only escaping for a moment and not forever. Try not to sound so desperate. You sound like a desperate asshole. Confidence, focus, focus on the positive, and it will reflect. The thoughts of high school, the thoughts of childhood seep back in. All the times everyone took their turn tormenting me. I was always something. Too short, too fat, too smart, and they were always willing to make sure I remembered. Those days have come and gone I tell myself. I arrive at the diner and get us a booth. Becky shows up late to our date.
“Sorry, I almost forgot we were doing this,” she smiles at me. “Yeah, me too,” I try to joke with confidence. She lights up a cigarette. “So just dinner and then what are you going to do?” She asks. I swallow all my insecurities the best I can, “Well I was thinking we could drive over to Selma and see a movie. Just the two of us?” I ask or try to say. Confidence I remind myself. “Yeah that wasn’t part of the deal,” she says to me. “Well no, but I was thinking,” I start. “You seem to be doing a lot of that, but that wasn’t the deal. You said “I can take you home if you go out to dinner with me”. So here I am. We can eat and then we go our separate ways,” she reminds me. “I remember what I said, but I was thinking. I thought why not make a night of it. We never got to talk much in high school,” I start to over explain. “Did you think this was a date?” She asks me. “Well kind of. I mean not a date, date, but maybe it could have been. I mean I’ve never really asked someone out before,” I mumble into nothing. She puts out her cigarette in the ashtray, “Yeah, it shows. Look I’m not trying to come off as a bitch, but we made a deal for a ride home. I was desperate so I said okay. I don’t even know you and honestly right now I’m not in a place in my life where I want to get to know anyone. So, I am fine with eating and going our separate ways. But beyond that I am going to have to say no,” she lays out. “Well I thought maybe we would talk and then maybe then,” I begin yet again. “I don’t think you are quite getting this. You seem like a nice guy. A little odd, but for the most part you seem to be nice. I’m sure you are. A little advice though. When you make a deal for someone to buy you dinner for a ride home. When you do that it’s not the best idea to see if then they want to go out on a date. If you wanted to go out on a date than you should have just asked me out on a date,” she says. “I mean I would have. I should have, but things were a bit off and weird that night. I was going to pay for the food. I didn’t actually expect you to have to pay for your food,” I say disjointed. “Maybe it is my fault. Look if I had known this was supposed to be a date I would have declined. I was desperate and I needed a ride home. You presented the deal and I was fine with it. Dinner for a ride. That was it. Maybe this was a mistake. No, this was. Look I’m sorry,” she gets up and grabs her purse. “Sam it was really kind of you to give me a ride home the other night, but that is all that it was,” she walks away and the bell on the diner door rings. It rings as though it is the only sound in all of the world. “My names not Sam,” I mumble to myself.
Naturally I call Sam from the diner and naturally I go over to his place and explain everything. Naturally he wants to say I told you so and like a good friend he doesn’t. “So, are you done obsessing over her now?” He asks me. “I wasn’t obsessing over her,” I tell him. “You can lie to yourself man, but you can’t lie to me. You’ve never been able too. I knew something was weird the other day. I was just hoping I was wrong,” he says disappointed. “Whatever it went as well as I could have hoped,” I try to play off. “Don’t do that,” Sam tells me. “Do what?” I ask. “Try to play it off. It was shitty. She is a shitty person. She always has been and will always be. Granted you did maybe mix up your intentions. But even a blind man could see you were asking her out on a date,” he reassures me. “Thank you, that’s all I wanted was some validation. I tried Sam. Told myself to be confident, to act confident, and I crumbled like I always do,” I tell him. “She really thought you were me?” he asks. “Honestly that was the worst part. I thought getting turned down made me feel like shit, but when she called me you it was like a knife to the heart,” I confess. “Well you are still breathing so, I hardly think it was anything like a knife to the heart. If there is one thing either of us know it is what that is truly like,” Sam jokes. “Very funny,” I say back to him unimpressed. “Looks lets go get a drink or two and forget about this whole shitty night,” Sam suggests. “I guess that’s about all there is ever to do around here,” I say frustrated. “Oh, cheer up we could always go to the movies in Selma,” he antagonizes.
We head over to The Room to do the only thing there is to do in this town, forget. The Room is packed with people as it always is. Sam and I walk to the bar to order our drinks, and I see her at the other end. Surrounded by men. “Don’t even look at her,” he says to me. She picks up her shot off the bar as the men around her watch. They all cheer as she finishes it off before taking a drink from their own drinks. “Maybe this wasn’t the best idea I’ve ever had,” Sam says. “No, its fine,” I say as the bartender hands us our drinks. “Another, another,” the other side of the bar chants and the bartender walks away from us. Sam and I take our drinks to a table at the far end of The Room. We don’t say much as we sip our drinks. He sits there drinking while I sit there staring at the scene across from us. People walk by and maybe Sam speaks to me, but all I notices in a room full of people is her. Her taking drink after drink. She deserves someone better. Someone like me. Not those assholes she surrounds herself with. Not the ones that will only use her and throw her way. She deserves someone who will worship her like I do. We get more drinks and I watch some more. “What do you want to do?” Sam asks me and my eyes never leave her. “I want to destroy each and every one of them,” I say without thinking. “I’m sure you do and I can’t say that I don’t want to help you, but we both know that will solve nothing,” he says to me. “Sure, it would. Take away the distractions and there will be nothing left,” I say in a low tone. “You need to get your shit together man. We aren’t going to fuck up a good thing because you can’t keep your head straight. Surely not going to do it for her,” Sam says. “Then what do you suggest all mighty one? What is it that we should do?” I ask. “We take out the problem,” he says as if that is the only answer. “Is that not what I suggested?” I ask turning my attention to him and away from her. “No, you suggested adding to the problem. You are planning to make this worse. When you should be planning to make this better. Have faith in me and we can make this all better,” he says to me. I sit in silence as I stare into his eyes. Looking away only to notice her preparing to leave. I watch as she stumbles out of the bar with two men closely on her heels.
Sam watches as intently as I do until the three have left The Room. “I don’t know about you, but I notice a pattern,” Sam says to me. “That I will never be good enough for her?” I ask. “If anything you are too good for her, but no. What I have noticed from all the times we have been watching her leave is that if you get enough drinks in her she will leave with anyone,” he says slyly. I look into his eyes. “Notice how disappointed the others are.” I look over to the men she left behind. “The one on the left doesn’t seem too happy. I imagine he looks a lot like you did when she turned you down,” he says. “So?” I ask. “My guess would be that he was the plans she had for later. She was who he was meeting after dinner with you,” he expresses. “I could see that I guess,” I take another drink. “So one could infer that she doesn’t always leave with the one that she came with,” Sam points out. “If this is some sort of pep talk about how she is a whore I don’t need that right now,” I tell him. “I imagine that you don’t. If you could move past your own obsession then maybe you could see what I am trying to tell you is all that you need to know to get what you want. What we both want,” he says. “What is it that we could both want out of her?” I ask. “I know that you are hurt or broken or whatever, but now is not the time to play stupid,” Sam finishes off his drink. “Well it is a little late to do anything about it now. She already left with those other two guys. I’m sure she is panties down and knee deep in cock right now. Are you suggesting we take them all out or something else?” I ask. “Neither, all I am suggesting is that if we want to get even. That would be our in.,” he says. “Wait until she is completely drunk?” I ask. “Precisely,” he raises his empty glass in the air and the server signals that she will bring another. “Swoop in and take what it is that we deserve,” Sam says to me. “We?” I ask. “She isn’t on the list,” I say to him. “No, she isn’t is she. But maybe she will fulfill our purpose none the less. Question is how do we get away with it?” He asks me. “I’m sure you will come up with something,” I say to him.
These things take time. Revenge, takes time. Too soon and it becomes too obvious. Too long and it all sinks into oblivion. The right balance Sam would say. A mixture of time and effort. Others were caught because they didn’t think it through. Spent too little time forming a plan. They were sloppy. Checks and balances. We keep each other in line and we never lose sight of the purpose. They want us to be nothing so we became nothing. Background noise for their lives. It is what we do in the shadows that proves who we really are. The plan was simple. Less complicated then the last. “Just like Mike we make it look like something else. Stage it to be something else. Who doesn’t hate themselves? Who doesn’t have thoughts of taking all the pain away?” It all seems so simple even if it is not. Nothing can be overlooked. Anticipate that everything and anything will be. Checks and balances. Use what we have. Bring only what was needed. The plan was easy enough, but nothing ever goes as planned.
“You seem like you could use some help,” I say to her as she stumbles out of the bathroom. “Don’t you always seem to show up when I need someone the most,” she slurs as she stops to talk to me. “You are looking like you had one too many,” I say to her. She puts her arms around my shoulders more for stability than anything else. “You may be right about that. Might be making some stupid decisions once again. You ever make any stupid decisions Sam?” She asks me through blurry eyes. “I can think of one or two I might have made in my life,” I tell her. She stares into my eyes trying to figure out who I am. “Let me take you home. It is the least I can do,” I say to her. No deals this time. A simple suggesting this time around. “I think maybe I’d like that,” she says confused. Looking around The Room everyone is too caught up in their own lives to notice just like we had hoped. No one notices Becky and I as we make our way out of the bar. I guide her to the truck as she goes on about how wonderful I am. I try to keep my composure as I get her in the truck. My hand brushes against her breasts as I put the seat belt on her. “You think you want to try something?” She asked threw slurred words before giving me a kiss on the lips. It should have been everything I imagined it to be. The stale taste of old alcohol left on my lips. If I had known it would have been this easy could all of this had been avoided?
Closing the door of the truck I take one last look around. No one insight. No one to notice that she left with me. I hop into the driver’s side and turn the engine. “So where do you live again?” I ask knowing that it doesn’t matter. Her hand falls into my lap as I make the turn out of the parking lot. “Is that really where you want to take me?” She asks as she rubs the inside of my leg. I can’t help but get excited. Finally finding her way to my excitement, “Guess it’s not.” She rubs her hand over my jeans getting me even more excited. “Didn’t think it would be,” she slurs. I drive on out of town. I look at the clock and realize I am ahead of schedule. “There may be some time to work something out,” I say to her. “Oh, there is always time to work something out”, she jokes. I keep her talking to keep her awake. Before turning off into an unmarked road not far from the state park. “You got a secret spot I don’t know about?” She jokes. “I might know a secret or too,” I tell her. “I like a good secret,” she says before taking her hand off of me. Driving slowly through the woods I try to not get more excited as she undoes her seat belt. She starts to take off her clothes starting with her shirt, “Hurry up and take me to this secret spot because I want to fuck you already.” She slips off her bra exposing her breast and I try not to wreck the truck. Working her way out of her jeans I slow the truck down to a stop in front of the planned spot. “Well if you want any part of this you better come and get it,” she shouts before jumping out of the truck in her underwear. I turn the truck off as she stands nearly naked in the truck head lights. Stands there wanting me. Wanting something even if she doesn’t know who it is from I remind myself.
I grab a few things from behind the truck seats and get out to join her. She runs up to me as her breasts jiggle with each step. She slams them into me as she runs into me. She giggles as she wraps her arms around me and gives me a kiss. We kiss as I lead her backwards away from the truck. I drop what is in my hands hard onto the grass and take her into my arms. She works her hands down to the opening of my pants. “You know what I was thinking?” She asks between kisses. “What?” I ask between the same. “Why aren’t you fucking me yet,” she says as she frees my cock. She falls towards the ground taking me with her. We make out some more in the grass as I take her panties off. She lays beneath me with her legs spread. I look down at all of her bathed in the headlights of the truck. This is all I ever wanted I think to myself. “I don’t have a condom,” I say to her. She works the rest of my pants down off my waist, “Just stick it in already Sam.” I want to say my name is not Sam. Let her know, but then I remember Sam will be here any minute. Sam would not approve of this. This wasn’t part of the plan. I shove myself deep inside her. Over and over, and with each thrust she cries out. She demands more and more. I grip her ass with both hands and give her one last final thrust before I finish. I can feel everything leave my body, my mind until the only thing left is the thought. This is love. She opens her eyes. “Is that all you got? I thought you said you were going to fuck me? What was that like two second?” she rants. My penis slides out of her as she continues to complaint. Reality comes flooding back in with each one of her insults. “See this is why no one bothered with your loser ass in high school,” she spews out. My anger builds, my frustration comes flooding back in. I want to scream as I put my hand around her throat. “Oh, so you do got more left in you?” She questions through gritted teeth. “Give it to me then you pussy. Is that what you need? For me to insult your bitch ass,” she berates me. I reach for one of the things I brought. I reach for a part of the plan. Anticipate that you will always forget something. I shove the barrel of the shot gun deep inside of her. “That does seemed to be exactly what you need you,” I squeeze her throat stopping her from saying anything else. I reach around for the trigger of the shotgun. All I can feel is what is left of the barrel sticking out of her. I release my hand from her throat and slide my body back away from her. “That’s what I’m fucking talking about. Now fuck me with that rock hard cock,” she shouts. I pull the trigger and watch everything unfold in slow motion. I watch as her face turns and her words cease to exist. I watch as her inside get pushed out from within. I smell nothing but burning flesh and shit, and my dick becomes harder than it could ever get.
“What the fuck have you done?” Sam shouts at me with a noose in his hands. I let go of the trigger and rise to my feet. My shirt is covered in blood and my pants around my ankles. “Put that fucking thing away,” Sam shouts at me. Confused I realize he is talking about my dick. “This was not part of the plan,” he continues to shout while I pull my pants up. I needed more time I think as my penis pushes against my pants. “You stupid, obsessed dumb fuck. You had to fuck her didn’t you? You had to go and fuck this up? The plan was to hang her and watch her die. Make it look like she couldn’t take anymore,” Sam raves. “Doesn’t look like she can take much more than what I gave her,” I try to joke. “Shut the fuck up,” Sam says in a slow manner, “Shut the fuck up.” He begins to pace throwing his hand around. “Let me think. Just let me think,” he says over and over. I stand there silently looking over her body. Looking at what it was that I had just done. “Did you cum in her?” he asks. “Did you?” he asks in rapid succession. I reach down and pull the shot gun out. Bits of flesh still left on the barrel, “I don’t think it matters anymore.” Sam lets out a noise best described as a huff, “Doesn’t matter? Doesn’t matter? DNA asshole have you heard of it? When they find her naked body what do you think they are going to look for first?” Sam rants with his whole body. “Good luck finding it,” I declare pointing the shotgun at her destroyed corpse. “You know for the smart one. You are pretty fucking stupid,” Sam shouts at me. “It’s destroyed. Whatever I put inside her is long gone now,” I declare. Sam makes a face, “Or maybe it is splashed all against her chest and face, and any other place that shotgun sent the rest of her.” He shakes his head. “We don’t know anything. They have to look for her first and find her. Animals I don’t know, but anything left could be long gone before it even matters,” I try to reason. The stress building up in his face Sam rubs his face hard as he tries to calm down, “We clean up as much as we can without making it look like we cleaned anything up and we will be fine. We bleach the shot gun and burn your clothes. We should be fine. But if you ever.” He pauses dramatically, “If you ever go against the plan again I will kill you.” The real Sam comes out and we get to work. Checks and balances don’t always work, but they are there for a reason I suppose.
If you didn’t read Let The Good Times Roll… It can be found in Broken Thoughts Vol. 1 Between Me and You… Priced to sale at only $4… But that’s not all to find in this Volume… With a blend of poetry… thoughts… and stories… it is very much something different… something to read while you wait for Volume 2 to release…
“I tried to quit smoking recently and it didn’t go well. Go
well is a bit of an understatement really. In the aftermath though I realized a
few things about myself. Turns out I wasn’t addicted to smoking or some oral
fixation, which sounds like I will suck on anything pointed at my face by the
way. No, the reason I can’t stop inhaling dried leaves laced with additives and
chemicals is because I am addicted to a much darker thought. I am addicted to
the thought of death. Even if it is a slow drawn out death. One filled with
hacking and an overall weathering of my body as I watch myself slowly extinguish
like the very thing I love. I am fixated on the thought of death to just stop
myself from killing myself. Does that make sense? In some ways we are self-destructive.
That isn’t a new idea in this world.
Some of us shoot shit into our veins. Others barrel down the road in hopes that
a child doesn’t pop up in a school zone. I put something to my lips and take a
deep breath. We as humans are addicted to destroying ourselves. On purpose or
by circumstance we can’t give it up. I can’t think of one thing that I do that
isn’t killing me in some way. Which may be a good reason to give up one that I
know will, but why? What’s really in it for me? Life always ends in the same
whether we want it to or not. Right or wrong all we have in life is faith that
we are doing what is best for ourselves even if it is not. Our judgements and
our thoughts are ours, but sometimes there is no need to express every last
one. The mind is a terrible thing to waste and sometimes hearing a piece of it
can be too much to handle. Opinions maybe like assholes and everyone’s got one,
but it doesn’t mean we want to hear them,” I spill out. “Yes, these are all valuable
points Layne, but what were you thinking about at the time?” The lady with the
clip board asks me. “I prefer Ambrose,” I inform her. “My apologies Ambrose,
but please answer the question,” she says in a way that lets me know that she
doesn’t care. This is another job. Another moron she has to deal with. “Those
were my exact thoughts give or take a few on the spot additions. I tend to
fixate on an idea and kind of “black out” or chew on that idea for a while.
Well until something else pisses me off or annoys me. Then I switch to that
one,” I ramble on. She give me a look that I have seen before. Everyone gives
me that look whenever I try to explain myself. Same look just before they roll their eyes.
“Those were your exact thoughts when you were,” she pauses
to flip through some papers on her clipboard. “Ah yes, here we are,” she
finally says before turning the clipboard towards me. She shows me a picture of
the aftermath of my actions. I try to not look at the picture, but when it is
basically shoved in your face it is hard to look away. “Those were your
thoughts when you did this?” She asks again. I fidget against the restraints
they have me in, “I mean give or take. Yeah that is what I was thinking about.”
She turn the clipboard back to herself and flips back to where she left off. “How does it make you feel doing what you did
to that innocent lady?” she asks me. “Well it doesn’t make me feel good, but let’s
not throw around the word innocent so loosely. I mean if you would have heard
what she had to say and the way she was saying it. My actions might almost seem
justified. I mean in the right circle,” I try to joke. “Justified? This isn’t a
joke Mr. Ambrose. I’d hardly call decapitating a defenseless woman in front of
her children justified because she was simply informing you about the harm you
were doing to yourself,” she says all butt hurt. “Words, words, words it is all
about how you say them. That’s the thing about perception. I’ll tell you one
thing. Those children learned a valuable lesson that day,” I say in a less
playful tone. “What possible lesson could those poor children have learned from
you that day?” She asks with fire burning in her eyes. “Besides the obvious? Those
kids learned that sticks and stone will hurt them, but words will surely kill
me,” I let off a dark sinister laugh.
Horrified the doctor gets up from her chair. “You are sick Layne Ambrose,” the doctor tries to say over all of my laughing. “You haven’t been paying attention,” I say in a low tone between all the laughing. She stares at me. Puzzled as I leap at her from across the coffee table. Dislocating my thumb before I leaped at her I knock her to the floor. I sit on top of her as she tries to fight me off. She isn’t strong enough to get me off of her. I pop my arm thumb back into socket and grab the pen the lays next to us. “Help,” she screams. “Help me,” she struggles to say as I put my hand on her throat. “Someone,” she fights to say as I stab the pen into her neck over and over again. She slowly stops fighting me, but I can see the life still left in her eyes. I release my hand from her throat as more blood rushes from her wound. A large hole in the side of her neck. “You think I am sick?” I ask her. “You think? Maybe the next one will be smart enough to keep their opinions to themselves,” I get up off of her and head back towards my chair. “I think we are going to need some help in here,” I shout as loud as I can. “This one seems to be leaking.”
So if you remember
last year I tried to do this whole insane asylum story arc?… When There Is No More Room…. This story was actually an out take of that
story… well it was supposed to be the catalyst to the doctor character getting
the big job… very early on idea… because eventually I decided to make that
whole story pretty much take place in the past… so me being a live in the 50’s
is a bit of stretch… so why am I in the story?… that seems weird… and it is…
but it also isn’t… even before No More
So.. so.. long ago… in
another galaxy… I had this other idea
for a novel… I still might do it… but even after all these years I still haven’t
come up with a way to not make me seem like a self-centered asshole… which I am
but it doesn’t have to be so obvious… the idea any way was to create a vast
network of short stories that all involved me in some way… so this one… another
that takes place in outer space… where one of the characters drops a line like…
“Have you heard about what’s going on down there? Have you heard about Layne Ambrose?”… all
different genres… all different stories… all involving me…
Yeah… let that soak in… it is a dumb ass idea… but early on… it seemed like the coolest idea ever… whenever you start something new… ideas seem easy to come by… not good ideas… or even great ones… those take years… and that is what I learned in all the years that I have been writing… this was a one off story I wanted to share… give you a taste of what could have been… and will most likely never be… you didn’t ask for it… but you are more than welcome….
There is a line we do not cross Hop over it once and it’s all your fault Step over it again and find out what’s wrong Thin lines grow between hearts and breaks Thin lines grow between us Keeping us apart yet very much the same There are lines we do not cross Reach over them once and it’s all your fault Fall over it again and find out what’s wrong Thin lines grow between souls and life Thin lines grow within us Keeping us together yet very much the same
“What do you got there Sylvia?” An orderly asks. Her young frame hunched over an open notebook. She pretends to not hear the question. “Hey Sylvia,” he calls out once again. As the youngest patient in the asylum he isn’t used to her teenage attitude in this dark dingy place overcrowded with pain, neglect, and isolation. “Nothing, just something I have been working on to pass the time,” she answers. “Did you not hear me the first time?” He ask. “I heard you,” she says into her notebook. “Okay, well maybe sometime you could show me what you have been working on,” he smiles. She looks up at him, “Yeah maybe.” She buries her head back into her notebook. The orderly shakes his head and walks over to the other side of the room to talk to the other patients in the recreation room. “So what are you working on Harold?” She hears him ask the only other patient not drugged out of their mind. She picks up her pen.
I’m so depressed here. I wish I never “volunteered” to be admitted. Should have just run away again or finished what I started. I’ve been rubbing the scars again. No one would listen to me outside of this walls or inside them. I should have known he would have sent me to a place that wouldn’t listen. This place is like school. “Sylvia stop your lying.” Maybe I’m not lying. Maybe you aren’t listening. The deep jagged cuts down my arm don’t help me to forget. The pain is long gone from the last time, but somehow still linger in my mind. Thought maybe if I wasn’t pretty anymore. Wasn’t perfect then maybe. It doesn’t matter what I thought. How many times am I going to tell myself the same thing? How many times am I going to justify trying to kill myself? No one cares why it happened as long as it isn’t happening. I’m safer here than at home. That’s what is important. As long as I keep my volunteer status he can’t hurt me. As long as I am here I am safe. The reason doesn’t matter anymore. No one is going to stop him, but at least I did.
The orderly makes his way back over to her. His footsteps echo within the room. She closes up her notebook, “Yes Charles?” He checks his watch, “I’ve been reminded to remind you that your next appointment is in a five minutes.” She rolls her eyes, “Funny how that seems to be the case every week.” He smiles and pretends that her attitude isn’t bothering him. A talent he learned from his two girls at home. “It is quite odd. Might have to do something about that,” he jokes. “Them doing anything here would be a first,” she says as she gets up from her chair and walks away.
The door to the doctor’s office is open slightly as she knocks on the door. “Come in. How are we doing today Sylvia?” The doctor asks as he looks at a chart that isn’t even hers. “Fine, I guess. Same as always,” she mocks. “You know you can leave whenever you want? Maybe go back home and spend some time with your family. Wouldn’t that be nice?” He asks without looking at her once. “I’m sure they miss me immensely. At least that is what they would want you to believe, but I’m certain I am just fine right here,” she looks down at her scars once again. “Yeah, I’m sure you’re right. I’ll make a call to your parents and tell them you are ready to go home,” he says. “I didn’t say that at all,” she says. “I just want to tell you Sarah we made some real progress in the time that you have been here,” the doctor rattles off. “My name is Sylvia,” she says in anger. “Yes, I am aware and I don’t want you to worry. I’m going to write you a script for some mood suppressors. You don’t have to take them, but if you feel all the anxiety coming back on I want you to feel safe,” the doctor says. “I feel safe here. I want to stay here,” She tries to reason. “Change is good for you. You have been here too long. It’s time for you to go home. I know your father misses you every much. I have been keeping him updated and he seems as optimistic as I am about your recovery,” he looks up from his chart. “So go ahead and get your things ready for tomorrow. That seems like a perfect place to end today,” he gives off a weak smile. Sylvia begins to cry. The tears falling from her eyes to her arms and running along her scars, “I don’t want to go.” The nurse comes in and places a hand on her shoulder. “Nurse remind me that I need to call her parents in a bit and if you could have Charles bring in the next patient that would be wonderful,” the doctor asks. “Yes, sir. Come on Sylvia let’s get you back to your room,” the nurse says to her. “But I don’t want to go,” she begins to sob. “I know dear. I know,” the nurse says as she rubs her shoulder. The doctor goes back to his file as the nurse escorts Sylvia from the room.
“There she is,” Charles calls out as he walks by her open door. “Glad to see you writing again,” he says to her. She doesn’t respond to him as she sits still at her desk. Memories flooding her mind. “Wanted to check in on you. Heard you were pretty upset earlier,” he says to more silence. “Also heard you were going home tomorrow too. That is good news,” he tries to sound excited. “Mind If I take a look at what you are writing? I understand if you don’t feel like talking,” Charles suggest. “Very much so. It is private,” she snaps at him. “I see you are excited about leaving tomorrow,” he snaps back. “Maybe even sooner,” she says under her breath. “What?” Charles asks concerned. “I said I want you to leave. Did you not hear me the first time,” Sylvia screams at him with tears in her eyes. “I just want you to know that I am here if you need to talk,” Charles says in a caring voice before walking out of the room. Sylvia quickly gets up from her chair and slams the door behind him. Only doors don’t slam here. She pushes all her weight against the door to try and get it to close faster. Tears streaming down her face as she struggles. Despite living in the same room for the past six months her room is nearly bare. A bed, a dresser, and a desk. “Her desk,” she thinks to herself. Her father’s money was at least good for something in this place. A private room and her own desk, but they wouldn’t let her have her pens. Not after what happened. They gave her special hospital pens, but only after she had developed trust. She couldn’t do much of anything with those useless things any way. She calms down enough to return to her desk and flips open the note book to where she left off.
There is a silence It is a constant There is a sadness It is a constant There are so many things And they are all constant I can taste the blood on the page I can feel the sweat on the page I can see the tears on the page As each drop becomes the page Why doesn’t anyone understand
Sylvia tosses the note book as hard as she can. It bursts open as it smashes against the wall. Papers, words, time falls to the floor. She begins to sob at the thought of the words, “I know your father misses you very much.” Visions of the past fill her mind. Remembering the pain. Remembering the fear of it all. Remembering that no one would listen. No one cared. “How could you ever say a thing like that about your father,” her mother’s words echo in her mind. Only to be replaced by the memory of his touch and his words. “You are so beautiful. My perfect little angel,” his words like poison slipping into her mind. You are confused at first. Why now? Why this? So you fight it the best you can, but the fight becomes useless. The whole thing becomes normal. A daily routine that you can’t wash away from your mind. The thought becomes clear. If I’m no longer perfect then it will stop. The memory of the pain from before washes over her once again. Make myself imperfect. Make it go away. The blood drips on the floor. It stains the carpet, but they clean it and they move on. It never stops the abuse. The monster doesn’t care if you are perfect. The monster doesn’t care at all. Deeper you dig. Deeper you find yourself in pain. Deeper until you think that it is over. Until you find yourself here and know that it is. Sylvia reaches under her desk to grab the item hidden beneath. When she got here she was hopeful that it would never have to be used again, but deep down she knew someday she would need a way out. She holds the jagged piece of mental in her hands. “We don’t even know what she cut herself on,” he mother told the hospital. Squeezing all her anger and the pain into it. “Here we go again,” she thinks. “A conclusion I can no longer hide away from.” She holds the broken piece of metal in her hand. She gently places it on her desk and opens her last remaining note book.
“When we bleed it is only to cleanse our souls. It’s like letting the air out of the tires every now and then. Sometimes it hurts more than others, but the hurt never compares to the pain. The hurt feels good in a way. The pain doesn’t. I wish someone would have listened to me. Anyone at this point. I wish I could explain the pain that I am in, but for some reason, I can’t. It could be the lack of blood still left within me or my ever lack of words associated with the pain. Pain is nothing like the hurt. The hurt comes and goes, but the pain. The pain is always there. Every once in a while I found myself here in this place. This dark hole surround by all the pain I don’t understand. This place of self-loathing and hate. I control my own destiny, right? Or have I just misheard some well-placed advice? Maybe I don’t control anything since no matter my choices I always end up here. I always end up with this pain. No one cares, but everyone’s still listening. I know it is not my fault and maybe it still is. Should have never. Should have done things differently. This has to be for the best. Nothing else left to do. Except release myself from this burden. Release me from this hole. I tried. I really did. Maybe not enough or in the way I should have….”
This is a work of fiction, but sadly the concept behind it is not. This story is lived day in and day out by an unknown amount of children. Many of whom do not reach out. It is not normal and it is not okay. If you or someone you know is being abused. Please reach out for help and never stop reaching out for help. Help is always there even when it feels like the whole world won’t listen to you. Click the links below to find help or to find out how you can help those in need.You are not powerless and you are loved.
I debated on how graphic I wanted to get with this story… from the suicide to the abuse… I debated for a long time… this story kind of took a life of it’s own… I started the story with the idea to write a back story to a previous character… Sylvia from Purgatory… seemed pretty simple… I liked the character a lot from that story… I liked her attitude… I liked who she could have been… seeing how everyone in that story is dead already when we meet them… I wanted to do a sequel…
The original idea for Sylvia was to write out a “love story” where she explains what her scars are from to the main character of Purgatory… (Fun fact… I only kept writing that story because of her… Sylvia to me was the thread that held that early story together for me…) but I don’t do love stories very well… and I wasn’t sure how she had gotten her scars… In the original story she never says… she hides them when ever she can… spark… “why?”… and the more I thought about it… the more it became the story above… Of course when I came up for air I found myself someplace very far from a “love story”…
The first couple of drafts had way more detail… way more things that didn’t need to be said… and I’m not afraid to say certain things… I’ve got stories toprove it… but this one seemed different… though this didn’t happen to me personally… it felt personal… which made this one that much harder to write… as an observer it is always easier to write something when you are not attached to the subject… I of course didn’t want anything to ever happen to Sylvia… I don’t want anything to happen to anyone… and sadly these things do… So I didn’t want to just file it away and pretend like these things don’t happen… That these things could never happen…
Sometimes the hardest things to say are the ones that need to be said the most…
“We’ve all gathered her once again. What is the purpose?
What is the point of all of this my people?” The man asks the small coven before
him. “To praise him,” they chant back. “To love him. To Honor him,” They continue.
“Because?” The man asks enthusiastically. “Jesus is lord,” They answer. The
woman at the man’s feet whimpers as she struggles with her restraints. Gagged
she can’t say a thing, but she tries none the less. “That is right my children.
That is so very right. We don’t do this for ourselves, but for him. We don’t
hurt people we free them in the name of our lord. That is why we are here this
evening,” the man kneels down towards the woman. Rubbing the back of his
fingers across her face, “This woman, if you could call her that, needs our
help this evening my children.” She flails her head as she tries to scream, “Hush
my child. We are only trying to save you, help you. We mean you no harm.” The
man stands back up and takes his place behind the podium. The air around him
thick with silent anticipation. “See my children? See why we must help her? She
doesn’t even know that she is lost. She doesn’t even know the devil has taken a
hold of her,” He presents to them. “Free her. Give her back to Jesus,” they all
responded back. “Oh, we shall. Strip her,” he orders to the two men beside the
stage. The two men do as they are told ripping the woman’s clothes off of her.
Her mesh shirt shredded instantly. She kicks and screams as her pale skin is
exposed to the crowd. “Stand her up for my children to see,” the man orders. “Look
my children. Look what the devil as done to this poor woman,” he walks from
behind the podium and stands next to her. “These marks of sin all throughout
her body. Tattoos not only where we can freely see, but even where only her
husband could,” he runs his finger down her pelvis following the outline of the
tattoos as he speaks. “And these,” he shouts to dramatic effect as he flicks
her nipple rings. She struggles against the two men. “What on God’s green earth
could these be used for if not for sin. What is the purposes of such atrocities?
Don’t even get me started on her horns,” he chuckles to himself. “Set her free.
Give her back to Jesus,” the angry crowd shouts unprovoked. “Oh, we shall my
children, we shall. Kneel before Christ,” he shouts at her. The two men kick
her legs out from under her and help her to her knees. Naked kneels before him
as he steps up to her with a cup in his hands. He pulls out her gag with his
free hand releasing a siren of screams into the room. “Hush now child,” he says
loud enough for everyone to hear. Moving closer to her face he speaks in
whispers, “You had to know the day would come where you’d have to face your
sins. Some one of your nature couldn’t be so naive. Here are your choices young
lady. You drink this here cup of the lord.” Her face tenses up, “I’m not
drinking shit.” He lets off a small amused smile, “I think you will because if
you don’t you are going to know pain beyond anything even you could know. Drink
the cup and accept Jesus into your body. You do that and we will let you go.
Simple really. If you don’t. Well we will have to find another way to let Jesus
in and the demons out.” Tears fall from her face, “I ain’t drinking shit.” He
shakes his head, “Please, we don’t want to hurt you. We just want to save you.
Save your soul from damnation. Drink the blood of Christ accept him into your
heart and you are free do go.” He holds the cup within inches of her lips. “Okay,
I’ll drink it,” she agrees. “She says she will accept Christ,” he shouts for
all to hear. She continues to cry as the room cheers. He hold the cup up to her
lips and she slowly drinks it, Take all of Jesus Christ into you.” She nods as
she drinks from the cup. Drinks every last drop. “Let her go,” he orders to the
two men. Scarred and panic she rises naked to her feet. She tries to cover what
she can of herself as she runs down the aisle. “Let Christ consume your evil my
child. Let the lord set you free,” he shouts from behind her. A smile stretched
across his face. The sedative takes effect before she even makes it to the
doors of the church. “How could I be so,” she falls to the floor. “Bring her to
me my children. We have much to do before it is too late,” he orders.
“Is she ready?” The reverend asks. “She has been drained of all her blood,” one of his followers answers. “Good, take her down and lets proceed to the chosen sight,” the reverend orders. “What of the others?” The follower asks. “In time my child. In time they will all receive their penance,” he answers. Bodies of men and women hang from meat hooks bound by the wrist. The truck bed shifts a bit. “Will someone tell the driver to be a little more careful? We have precious cargo with us. Can’t afford to get caught now. Not this soon. So much work left to do,” The reverend says with a smile. The follower disappears to the front of the trailer to talk to the driver. The reverend touches her face with the back of his hand, “Could have truly been so much more in this world.” A female follower standing next to him speaks up, “She will be more than she could have ever been in this life time. Praise him.” He turns to her, “How right you are my child. How right you are.” He takes the followers face into his hands, “Praise him. Praise him we shall.” The refrigerated truck drives for a few more hours until it reaches a stretch of road in some unknown town. “We have arrived my children,” He announces. The followers that he has brought come from under their warm blankets. Steam releasing from their bodies as they rush to get the others awake and ready. “The sun will be up soon and we have even less time than that. Put the gloves on and take her to the tree. No one without gloves is allowed to touch anything,” the reverend commands. Slipping on his own gloves he takes three large industrial size nails and the hammer from the end of the truck. They slip out of the truck and rapid fashion. Silent as the night as they carry her dead corpse with them. Sitting her down in the grass they untie her hands and place her in a cross formation. They stand waiting around the body in a circle as the reverend makes his way to them. He places the nails next to her body before taking one. Placing it in the palm of her cold dead hand he hammers it in. “For the Lord,” he says before taking another nail. Palm to ankles he hammers the nails into the body. “For the Lord. Praise him,” his followers chant. They all go silent as he hammers in the final nail firmly through her ankles. Pinned against the grass they all stare at her lifeless corpse. “The sinner and the whore has been redeemed for your blessing. We give you back your lost child. We give, we do all that you have asked of us. For we are the children of the one true God. We are the warriors upon which you seek. Praise the Lord. Honor the Lord. Children of Christ. Amen.” The followers raise their arms to the sky as it begins to rise. The shadows of evil slowly receding at the dawn of day. “Praise him. Praise the Lord,” the followers say in unison one last time. Into the early light they disappear back to the truck. They leave no traces of ever being there and the insects begin to feed. Because even in the south the dead don’t rest in peace.