Month: March 2017

“So, tell me again, this time, so everyone can hear you,” the sloppily dresses man says as he caresses the three-day old hair fibers that grow on his pronounced chin.

She looks up at him and bites down into her lower lip, squinting her left eye as a sharp shot of pain strikes the back of her skull, telling her she’d bitten too hard, a light streak of blood flows from her lip and slowly runs down over her chin, she grips her face, as her cheeks go red as the older man rolls his eyes in their sockets, let’s out a sigh, and passes her a handkerchief.

“Quit stalling Wilma, tell them what you told me,” he says.

She scans the room, everyone stares at her, waiting for her words to confirm his story, to prove once and for all, he’s not as crazy as everyone thinks he is.

She swallows, a sharp, powerful taste of blood runs through her senses and she grips her hands together tightly, before looking back at him again.

“It was Tuesday, me a Bobby Joe were up at the water tower, fooling around, I know we’re not supposed to, I know Bobby Joe’s been going steady with Wendy Atkins for months, but, me and Bobby Joe have always been better at the fun stuff, than the dating stuff, it’s like…”

The older man clears his throat and leans in closer, “Wilma, honey, ain’t no one here give a good god damn fuck what you and Bobby FUCKING Joe are doing, tell them about Peters, tell them what you damn well saw girl!”

She tightens her hands together, twisting them into each other, smiling nervously, “O-Okay, sure, we saw him, Minister Peters, he didn’t see us though, he thought he was alone, and he starte…” she freezes in place, as she looks past all the eyes, staring at her in anticipation, feverishly awaiting her words, and into the dark, brooding eyes of Minister Peters, he smiles a sharp, toothy, grin, and slowly places a single finger to his lips and kisses it, as if to shush her, she feels the urine soak through her pants, and looks away, the older man looks behind him, through the crowd and then back at her.

“Come on girl, out with it, what did you see Peters do!”

“W-W-We,” she stops, bits down onto her lip again. “We SAW nothing okay, we just made out, end of story, I can’t lie for you, I WON’T!” She yells as she leaps up and runs out of the room.

He turns around to the crowd, and swallows, “SHE’S FUCKING LYING!” He yells as the crowd slowly filters out of the room, leaving him alone, he grips his forehead and hisses towards the ground in frustration.

“Don’t worry Randy, it was a nice effort,” a voice says, Randy’s eyes shoot open in panic, staring directly at Minister Peters.

The doctors said I was lucky, it could’ve been worse, the accident I’m talking about. I still don’t remember much off what happened, just pain, just a whole god damn lot of pain. 

In fact, my memory as a whole is pretty much a mess, I remember little bits of things from my childhood, a bit here, a bit there, but nothing solid, nothing more than who I am, where I grew up, the basics really, just the god damn basics, nothing about me as an adult, nothing about MY life.

Mum and Dad said the doctors who are looking after me, are in the top of their fields, and, once I’ve had enough time to rest and recover, everything else would eventually come back to me, eventually, and then, I’d be able to move onto the next step in my recovery.

It’s funny, I mean, not funny, but curiously unsettling. Haha, I know, big difference between the two, but, it’s hard to explain this feeling I have about everything that’s happened, so, it’s funny just sounds right, even though, I’d never be laughing about this.

But, I’m not in any pain, they said when the cars hit, I was pinned to the dashboard, my airbag, for some unknown reason failed to inflate and I suffered a fracture to the right side of my temple, the damage was, as the doctors themselves said, irreversible, and there was nothing that they could do, but they kept on saying, mentally I’m okay, intact, it’s just the physical damage that’s the problem.

It got me thinking, I mean, I’ve got a lot of time, nothing else pressing my button right now, but, if the damage was so bad, why am I not in pain? Why do I feel fine? In fact, why do I feel better than I ever have?

Questions, heaps of them, Mum and Dad help where they can, but, filling in the blanks, apparently needs to take time, I can’t be rushed they keep saying, and, soon it will all come back to me, then, we can start the healing process.

The healing process, the words they use are, are, well they’re unusual, odd even, I mean, I remember some of what the doctors were telling us, when Mum slipped into a coma just before she passed away and a lot of it sounds fam….

Oh shit, I remember Mum passing away, but, but she couldn’t’ve, I mean, what the fuck, if she’s dead, then, what am I, am I dead? Or is this all some bad dream?

Fickle things, we are, made up of easily damaged, irreplaceable parts, that our whole existence depends on, but we treat like absolute shite.

Case in question, this almost empty glass of bourbon, it’s been a welcome friend of mine for almost twenty-six years, the doctor told me last week, if I didn’t stop, if I continued to abuse my liver the way I was, I’d be dead within the year. Then, after saying that, the fucking prick expected me to pay him, which I did of course, because, society has made us this way, has created this system of services for a price, regardless of your satisfaction.

Anyway, obviously I didn’t listen to him, why should I?

Because he’s a doctor? Fuck that, three years ago the same jerk told me if I didn’t quit smoking three packs a day I’d be dead within six months, and guess what, I still fucking smoke, so, why should I care?

I know, you’re wondering, why the fuck is this guy telling me all this shit? Why does he think I’d care about the shit, a complete stranger does to himself?

Let me tell you, so you can get a complete understanding of what we’re doing here, you and I, because, you’ve asked yourself all these questions about why I’m telling you this, but, none about where you are, and why the surroundings are so, unfamiliar.

Haha, I can tell from the look on your face you’ve also noticed how you can’t feel anything from the neck down, don’t try and say anything, it’s not going to do you any good, he made sure you can’t speak.

See, the doc, he wasn’t pulling a fast one, old bastard’s always on the money, it’s why I go to him, then, and after we’re all paid up, he finds and donor who fits my requirements, then, well, then we end up here.

Irreplaceable, I used that word before, didn’t I?

It’s what they want you to think, but, like anything in this world, if you have money, there is a way around it all.

Anyway, he’ll be back soon, so, before it’s too late, I just want to say, thank you, I mean, it’s the polite thing to do, when someone’s sacrificing themselves so you, can live life, the way you want to live it.

“They say, when you know what you’ve got, you should hold on as tight as you can, and never let it go. Sage advice for the trouble soul, or just an excuse cooked up by sick perverts who need an outlet for their desperation, their depravities, their, hopelessness,” he says as he nervously picks up a glass in front of him and takes a large mouthful, rolling his tongue over his lips, trying to wet them, he screws his face up in pain, as the water seeps into the cracks. He looks back up, at the camera, and takes a deep breath.

“That’s what I told myself, that’s what I used to get me through all the shit, but, fuck, look where it got me,” he says, as he peers over his shoulder, quickly glancing around the room. The red, less vibrant as it once was, now darker, uglier, he swallows, and turns back to the camera once more, his eye twitches, his lip trembles. “None of them understood what was right, they, they wanted,” he stops and looks at the table, clearing his throat. “SHE wanted to take them away from me, SHE said I was sick, I needed help and until I got it, until I showed HER my family came first, SHE was takin’ the kids and leaving, going up to JASON’S, the sleaze bag from work, holiday house up in the woods. FUCKING bitch, just like the rest, just like Mum said she was, but I couldn’t see because I was thinking with my cock, and not my head,” he says looking up again and takes another mouthful from the glass, slamming it back down into the table.

“But, now, no one can have them, no one, can take them, we’re going to be happy again, just like we’re supposed to,” he says, as he smiles and pulls a revolver from the table and smacks it against the side of his head, pulling the trigger as he does.

It stings, like a fucking bitch, I want to rip my eyes from my head, but, that’d just be letting her win, she’d already taken so much.

“Does it sting?” She asks, like why the fuck would she ask? I’m on the ground, clawing at my face screaming in pain, of course it fucking hurts, Although, if she really wants an answer, she’ll be waiting a while, I’m no where near finished screaming.

She laughs, “It didn’t have to be this way Jerry, we could’ve been happy, you and I. I had everything planned, the whole nine yards, kids, a house in the Hamptons, Christmas with the whole family around the table, old age, a shared plot, but, you fucked it all up, you and your dick, bet he’s not feeling happy now,” she says, fucking bitch, I tighten my grip, pain shoots through my body, I feel the sticky, congealed blood between my fingers, as well as my junk, or lack there of, bitch cut it right off, sliced him right off, that was after she’d emptied an entire can of pepper spray in my face.

I didn’t even have time to explain myself, she didn’t want to know, her mind was made up and I was going to pay. I guess this is what I deserve, she’s right, me and my old mate made a few mistakes, went a few places, down south, we shouldn’t’ve even gone, but, you know what, even though all this pain, I sorta still think, in the long run, it might’ve been the best decision I’d ever done, because, well, obviously, this bitch is fucking crazy.

I just hope they can stitch him back on.

Perhaps, a word used to possibly answer a question, without actually providing one, I know, in my time, I’ve used it to avoid honestly answering questions I feel incapable of answering at the time, be it for personal or more complex reasons.

Why am I telling YOU all this? Well, doesn’t it make sense? Doesn’t it open your eyes wide with understanding?

No you say. Well, this is truly interesting indeed.

I know it may be hard for you, considering this being the first, true moment we, you and I, have, in our somewhat twisted, visceral, ebbing,  flowing, this way, that way dance, actually laid eyes on each other, but, we have concocted conversations with each other, to the point where we both feel neither you, nor I, are strangers to each other. So, we should be able to do away with such disillusions, and let our coverings fall to the ground, exposing our nakedness to each other in ways others would scream in horror at.

Yes, I’m talking about stripping away the skin, the flesh, the bone, everything, and becoming one with each other in perpetual ecstasy, forever.

What? You don’t share these feelings, you think I am sick, and need to be punished. Well, then, I have a secret for you.

Come closer.

Closer, right up to the screen.

Good, now that I’ve got your undivided attention, answer this question for me.

Can you feel it?

Sorry, you don’t understand?

Let me make it clearer then, I’m talking about that tingling on the back of your neck, that aching, just behind your left ear, reach up, feel it.

Do you feel the warmth?

Do you feel the opening?

Grab it, pull the flesh away, become one with me.

Still no?

Then, if I were you.

I wouldn’t turn around.