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GOTTA SNAP OUT OF IT

Started by Mesozoic Mister Nigel, November 18, 2011, 04:25:08 AM

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Mesozoic Mister Nigel

GOTTA SNAP OUT OF IT GOTTA SNAP OUT OF IT GOTTA SNAP OUT OF IT GOTTA SNAP OUT OF IT GOTTA SNAP OUT OF IT GOTTA SNAP OUT OF IT GOTTA SNAP OUT OF IT GOTTA SNAP OUT OF IT GOTTA SNAP OUT OF IT GOTTA SNAP OUT OF IT GOTTA SNAP OUT OF IT GOTTA SNAP OUT OF IT GOTTA SNAP OUT OF IT GOTTA SNAP OUT OF IT GOTTA SNAP OUT OF IT GOTTA SNAP OUT OF IT GOTTA SNAP OUT OF IT GOTTA SNAP OUT OF IT GOTTA SNAP OUT OF IT GOTTA SNAP OUT OF IT GOTTA SNAP OUT OF IT GOTTA SNAP OUT OF IT GOTTA SNAP OUT OF IT

I lay the razor down on the edge of the sink next to the hairbrush full of a matted tangle of red hair, and turned to the bathroom door which was, of course, not his bathroom door. He left eight months ago and everything still reminds me of him, every breath, every fallen leaf, every hipster asshole who hits on me at the bars I go to in an attempt to make myself forget, distract me, find a replacement that can never be found. It's been weeks since I last had a proper meal and my ribs and cheekbones stand out raw and sharp as knives. I know that there's a fierceness and a sadness about me now that draws only the crazy ones, only the ones who hope that somehow I am either strong enough to lead them or weak enough to be taken advantage of. I am the crazy mommy that the damaged little boys flock to, trying to repair their own old wounds. But I don't have any healing in me, and what once would have been maternal sympathy is now reduced to nothing more than tolerant contempt, except for when it's not tolerant and my revulsion slips through and scalds them.

I look like an easy mark, and I know it. Freckled and sullen-eyed, at five foot three I look more like a sulky girl than a forty-year-old mother, especially in the dim light of the bar. And so they approach me, drunk and hopeful, and try their smoothest moves to try to impress me while I barely conceal my scorn and eyeball them with a starvation they mistake for sexual. The returning philosophy student who tried to wow me with his scanty reading list... he was easy. He hardly put up a struggle. After I lured him on an impromptu midnight hike it was no effort at all to "trip" into the ravine and then knock his head on a rock and drown him in the stream when he came down to rescue me. I bled him out into the water with a single quick flick of my Benchmade pocketknife (buy local!), carved out a section of rump meat which went into the Ziploc bag I carried in my purse, and dragged his body up into the underbrush, where his bones would be scattered by coyotes and bears.

No doubt in a couple of weeks I'll start seeing his face on homemade "missing" posters around town. If, by then, I even remember it.
"I'm guessing it was January 2007, a meeting in Bethesda, we got a bag of bees and just started smashing them on the desk," Charles Wick said. "It was very complicated."


Luna

Death-dealing hormone freak of deliciousness
Pagan-Stomping Valkyrie of the Interbutts™
Rampaging Slayer of Shit-Fountain Habitues

"My father says that almost the whole world is asleep. Everybody you know, everybody you see, everybody you talk to. He says that only a few people are awake, and they live in a state of constant, total amazement."

Quote from: The Payne on November 16, 2011, 07:08:55 PM
If Luna was a furry, she'd sex humans and scream "BEASTIALITY!" at the top of her lungs at inopportune times.

Quote from: Nigel on March 24, 2011, 01:54:48 AM
I like the Luna one. She is a good one.

Quote
"Stop talking to yourself.  You don't like you any better than anyone else who knows you."

Pæs


ñͤͣ̄ͦ̌̑͗͊͛͂͗ ̸̨̨̣̺̼̣̜͙͈͕̮̊̈́̈͂͛̽͊ͭ̓͆ͅé ̰̓̓́ͯ́́͞

P E R   A S P E R A   A D   A S T R A

Mesozoic Mister Nigel

#4
I woke up sweating from the dream I'd been having... something about a cathedral, and loading his things into the truck the day he left. I tried one last time to reason with him, to convince him to stay, but I knew before I even began that it was too late. He didn't love me anymore, and I was starting to suspect that he never really had.

Shaken from the dream, I dressed and went downstairs to pour myself a cup of tea and prepare breakfast. The dream reminded me of the first time, after he left. I put the water on to boil and pulled ingredients out of the fridge. Meat, onions, miso paste, sriracha sauce. I was still so naïve then... I met the first one online. It makes me cringe to think about it, still.

I sliced the meat thinly and seasoned it with the miso paste and sriracha in the bottom of a bowl, and placed a teabag in my favorite mug, with Van Gogh's "The House at Arles" printed on it.  The first one had been older, 46, and I winced as I recalled his bragging about the two 19-year-old girls he was fucking, as if he thought that would impress me. I could picture them; fat, vapid suburbanites, faking their orgasms and high-fiving each other over doing something they thought was edgy with what in their world amounted to a sophisticated older man.

The whistle on my kettle screeched and I poured hot water into my bowl and mug, stirred the broth absently for a minute, then added sugar and milk to my tea and carried my breakfast to my desk to surf the internet while I ate.

I'd told him that my fantasy involved meeting in a city park in a rich neighborhood, and so we agreed on one up in the chi-chi areas in the West Hills, conveniently near the reservoir. I parked my car and walked into the darkened park, conspiciously free of the drug dealers and prostitutes I am accustomed to seeing in my own neighborhood park. It didn't take me long to find him; pudgy and pale, glistening in the moonlight with nervous, eager sweat. "Let's walk", I said, and he took my hand in his soft, moist paw. I recoiled inwardly, but suppressed the urge to pull away and instead smiled a smile which it seemed must have been more of a grimace. He seemed not to notice.

We made small talk. I am exceptionally good at making small talk, and he was eager to tell me about his repulsive sexual exploits with the two teenagers, as well as with housewives, who I immediately pictured as pathetic, desperate creatures with below-average IQ.  There was a moment when we paused in our walking, and he must have imagined that there was some magic, some chemistry under the moonlight, because he took me by the shoulders and went in for a kiss. I let him make the barest of contact before pulling away. "Let's go up to the reservoir", I said.

Like an eager puppy, he followed my car out of the neighborhood and up to the dark circle of road beside one of the city's prettiest historic reservoirs, known simply as "Reservoir 3". I parked and got out of my car, standing beside it in the shadow of the trees. The circle had once been known as "Blowjob Park", because for years it was where the closeted married men had come to give and get head from other men, but the police had cracked down on it a year or two back, and Blowjob Park had to move out to Kelley Point, where you can go on any given weekday and see well-dressed men in business attire loitering around the woods trying to look casual.

I watched him park his silver SUV and open the door, temporarily blinded to everything outside of the circle of light cast by the bulb in his car. He stepped out and closed the door, and, orienting himself, started walking toward me. "What do you want to do now?" he said, his voice both oily and nervous. I smiled in the dark.

The thud of my claw-hammer impacting his left temple was the next sound, and then the surprised, gurgling sigh as he sank to the ground. I stood over him and gave him a couple more good swings, until the top of his head was soft and collapsed. There was so much blood... oh, the mistakes I made! All this blood on me, on my hammer, in the ditch on the side of the road. I hadn't really thought ahead. I pulled open his shirt and, careful not to nick the intestines, cut a side out of his fatty white belly. That's how I learned something the hard way... once you've opened the guts, you can't really move a man's body without making a huge mess. He was so heavy; I would never take a fat one again unless I was near the river.

The reservoir is located not too far from a freeway that is heavily traveled by semi trucks, especially late at night when that is just about all that's on the road. They tend to travel in clusters, a fact I learned during a time when I was traveling a northern stretch of I-5 frequently and often drove late into the night.

It took some effort and left entrails stranded through the bushes, but I managed to undress him and get his stinking, gutted body to the edge of the embankment over the freeway, and simply waited for a break in between the clusters of semis before letting him tumble down onto the tarmac. The oncoming truckers, half-asleep, most likely never noticed the bump under their wheels, and by morning there would just be another unidentifiable pulp on the roadway.

I washed myself as well as I could in a spigot near the reservoir and drove home, shivering and exhausted.

Embarrassed by the memory of my clumsiness, I sipped at my soup. It was OK but the meat had been in my fridge for a few days, and was starting to take on a rancid hint. Probably time to get more.
"I'm guessing it was January 2007, a meeting in Bethesda, we got a bag of bees and just started smashing them on the desk," Charles Wick said. "It was very complicated."


The Good Reverend Roger

" It's just that Depeche Mode were a bunch of optimistic loveburgers."
- TGRR, shaming himself forever, 7/8/2017

"Billy, when I say that ethics is our number one priority and safety is also our number one priority, you should take that to mean exactly what I said. Also quality. That's our number one priority as well. Don't look at me that way, you're in the corporate world now and this is how it works."
- TGRR, raising the bar at work.


LMNO

I'm really loving these stories.

Jenne

Nicely done, Nigel.  Chilling and twisty.

Mesozoic Mister Nigel

"I'm guessing it was January 2007, a meeting in Bethesda, we got a bag of bees and just started smashing them on the desk," Charles Wick said. "It was very complicated."


Freeky

I feel like I ought to be curled up on the couch reading these, all snuggled up in a fluffy robe and eating chips, or popcorn! 

:mittens:

Luna

Death-dealing hormone freak of deliciousness
Pagan-Stomping Valkyrie of the Interbutts™
Rampaging Slayer of Shit-Fountain Habitues

"My father says that almost the whole world is asleep. Everybody you know, everybody you see, everybody you talk to. He says that only a few people are awake, and they live in a state of constant, total amazement."

Quote from: The Payne on November 16, 2011, 07:08:55 PM
If Luna was a furry, she'd sex humans and scream "BEASTIALITY!" at the top of her lungs at inopportune times.

Quote from: Nigel on March 24, 2011, 01:54:48 AM
I like the Luna one. She is a good one.

Quote
"Stop talking to yourself.  You don't like you any better than anyone else who knows you."

Mesozoic Mister Nigel

"I'm guessing it was January 2007, a meeting in Bethesda, we got a bag of bees and just started smashing them on the desk," Charles Wick said. "It was very complicated."


Hoser McRhizzy

It feels unreal because it's trickling up.