deadpie
December 10th, 2011, 02:17 AM
It's a good idea to read the first part of Last Step before reading this or else you'll be going "wtf" the entire time. You can do so here (http://laststep1.tumblr.com/) along with my other stuff (Music/Writings/Art) here (http://timwritesstuff.tumblr.com/post/11897658707/tims-shit). Just to warn you, that's over 70 pages of reading you'd have to do if you want to catch up, along with tons of grammar errors. Beware!
If you've read all of that already, you know by now Last Step isn't happy, quite violent and sick. The second part is just as fucked up. I'll hint out there's some "sex" in here, but I toned it down for VT, hopefully that's good enough.
I attempt to work on this story, even after my three month hiatus. It might take a while for another chapter to come up though.
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LAST STEP: PART TWO
CHAPTER SEVEN.
CODY WYKOFF
Last night was the first night I had slept in six days. The nightmare I had was vivid, surreal, and almost exactly the same of the previous one. In this dream I found myself in a bright room with two doors at opposite sides. The door on the left leads to a pile of dead bodies and people screaming in pain for miles and miles. I don't believe there's an ending to it, but I haven't gone far enough stepping on corpses to find out.
But the other door... the right path leads to a sight that's even worse. Once it's opened, I find myself opening a door in the middle of a wasteland of burnt homes and collapsing buildings. The sky is dark, but the clouds are moving quickly and sometimes even spinning like it's hinting a tornado. When I start walking through the town I typically find a few people screaming around, who are then shot and killed by masked men with army suits and gas masks. The moment they see me, I always hear one of them yell, “He's the one with the yellow eye! Fucking shoot him!”
And then they put a hole in each of my eye sockets and smash my skull into a pancake with the butts of their riffles.
My hair is getting long again and I need a haircut, but I'm too lazy to force myself to do things like this. It's been a week sense Xavier and his girlfriend went missing, which caused tension with the Black Blood gang. I'm starting to feel like they might of did what I've been planning to do for a while now – disappear. Hell, I get it though. Who would want to live their lives with the shadow of death haunting them every step they go?
I dig through my pockets looking for my keys, then open up my mothers apartment door. The place smells like nicotine and burnt popcorn, nothing more than that. Mom is where she typically is, sitting in her special chair in the living room facing the television with a bottle of vodka pressed up against her lips. She turns her head over to me and says, “I'm sorry I didn't clean your apartment yesterday. The fucking technician came out and it was driving me completely bonkers. At least the TV works now. I was thinking about the time your father took us out to eat on your fourth birthday this morning and almost wanted to split my wrists wide open. You think about him much lately?”
She's always talking about Dad in every damn conversation. It's either that or something about her wanting to kill herself. What she doesn't really get is that I have my own problems to face now, such as what my Dad put down on me to live with for my life or what Grandpa did that she pretends never happened. The family is slowly rotting and my mother will drink herself to death in that very chair one day. I'm constantly trying to figure out if I'll kill myself before her though; it's a tough basket of fuckery.
“No, I haven't thought about him lately”, I answer. “Well, I'm dropping High School and need you to sign this paper I have. There's really no point in going now because I'm already well educated and it's not like I have to worry about any future jobs. Get it? Because of the job I have? Why aren't you laughing?”
Mom looks straight into my eyes and finishes the bottle, placing it down on the carpet next to the pile of other empty bottles. She itches her forehead, lights a cigarette and starts crying to herself. I take it as the signal that I should leave, so I take the red paper out of my left pocket, give it to her and say, “Just have this signed by tomorrow so I can pick it up. You don't have to clean my place up anytime soon by the way. Just... I don't know. Don't hurt... Fuck, just take care of yourself.”
I leave her there to cry and piss herself to sleep next to the television like I typically do when I leave, then I run down the stairs of my apartment. Today's a musky day of fog and dead gray clouds, which is somewhat beautiful in its own way, but the weather has been like this for a day or two now. After I cross the street to get on the path to the downtown area I text Clayton, telling him that I'm on my way.
The cold weather is coming back and all I can see from here onwards is nothing but death. I see my Mom finally ending her life, Daniel hanging himself, Jonathan overdosing on too many things, Roland stabbed to death over a drug deal gone wrong, and so on. Of course I see myself dying several times on a daily basis. In my thoughts I've succeeded in suicide a billion times, but then I remind myself about how much I day dream.
Finally, I reach the stoplight that I typically go to. Clayton and his girlfriend Melisa are sitting next to each other on my bench, leaving a spot on the right for me. I hate siting on the right side of things though and he knows that. He's probably doing that on purpose.
“You two seem to be doing pretty good”, I say. “Hey Clayton, are you always going to be bringing her with every time we want to hang out now?”
“Sorry, I forgot. I took the second half of school off to hang out with you for the next possible five minutes until you walk away pissed off at me, so I'm sorry if it bothers you that I brought someone along.”
When Melisa was somehow found, the tabloids went batshit crazy over her, but she never answered where she was. Over a few phone conversations Clayton told me she was suffering from these strange memories of her falling into a pit of dead bodies and never finding escape. It reminds me of the dream I have, except the people in my dream had no skin. It was as if it's burnt to crisp. According to him she's doing better, but is still traumatized over her mothers death.
Her mother died that same day she went missing, only a few hours before Melisa tried to have sex with me on a hospital bed. It's true that her mother was shot repeatability, but the cause of death was of asphyxiation. Someone had put a pillow over her face, killed her, and got away with it. Police named her as the number one suspect due to her disappearance, but there's no evidence to claim it was her.
From the way I see it all I can tell is there's more to her than what Clayton probably thinks. She's cold blooded for sure. The worst part about all of this is she knows about what I do for a living and she's dating my best friend. If she tells him then everything will come tumbling down on me.
I say, “I gave my mom a paper allowing me to drop out of high school. Right now, it's probably the best thing for me to do. It's not like I could even pass any of my classes when I barely show up. Maybe I can try to work more on getting sober now.”
That's a big fat lie. The only reason I just said I'd work on getting sober is because now he wont think so negatively about my option to drop school. He replies to me, “I'm sort of bothered by that decision for you to quit school, but it's nice to know you're still willing to battle your addiction. That's why I keep talking to you and trying to help you. You're a brave guy and not many people can do what you do. Just don't fuck this up. If you can get sober while you're young you won't have to worry about turning out as someone like your mom, who has no chance of recovery at all.”
What he said about my mother somewhat bothers me, but it's true. She's at a point where she's too far down to get back up; beyond what can be considered rock bottom. I pull out my phone, which shows a text from Roland saying he's at my house and has my Oxy.
“Hey, I forgot about my job interview for the super market by my house and I need to get to it right now. Sorry that I have to go, but I really hope you two take care and all of that shit. Thanks for coming to talk to me though.”
“A job? You? Maybe I don't have to worry about you anymore.”
I stand up, smile at the two of them and start running back home. All these lies I tell him, they're going to come back at me sooner or later and it'll only destroy the two of us more. Roland is at my door when I reach my apartment and I greet him with a handshake telling him to come inside. I open the door for him, let him in and grab a pack of cigarettes off the kitchen counter.
ROLAND
Cody offers me a cigarette, but I refuse and hand him a small bag of Oxycontin. He takes it from me and says, “I'll get your money. You can go through my fridge and grab something to eat if you're hungry. I really don't care.”
He always treats me like his God; offering me food, money, support, and anything else that comes to his mind. I'm sure it's because I'm his dealer and drugs are the only way he'll get through the day, which means I'm helping him stay alive according to how he thinks. It's sad, because I'm the main reason he's overdosed many times before and he still treats his best friend Clayton like garbage while he gives more help than I ever could.
There's nothing really exciting in his fridge, so I just grab some poptarts out of a cupboard, shoving the wrapper in my pocket and bite down on both of them at the same time. When he comes back with the cash he hands it to me and I count the five twenty bucks, shove them in my pocket and he says, “I dropped out of school, so you can come over and we can chill anytime now.”
“Huh, that's not surprising. I've been thinking about dropping out too lately. Haven't been to school all week and just don't have the motivation to keep going. Actually, I have to head out right now anyways, but you take care. Be safe.”
I rush myself out of his apartment finishing my poptarts and don't even look back at him when I leave. After a minute of standing outside his apartment door I knock on the one on the opposite side, where his mom opens up and says, “I didn't know you were coming over today. You're looking pretty good right now. Did you talk to my son at all while you stopped by?”
“Yeah, but I'm more interested in you.”
She lets me in and I follow her to her bedroom, which is a chaotic mess of nothing but empty bottles of Vodka and empty packs of cigarettes. I pull off my pants and boxers, sit down on her bed, then she immediately gets down on her knees and goes to work.
“Good”, I moan. “You're a beautiful woman. Nobody is as loving and caring as you. Don't ever feel like you're a worthless human being because you're an amazing mother who loves her son and takes care of herself.”
These are the things she makes me say when we have sex. It's wrong, but I know it makes her feel better. When I was thirteen Cody introduced me to his mother and I quickly noticed her obvious alcoholism and depression. I came over to her place one day when I was fourteen, telling her I felt a strange need to help her and she responded by giving me a handjob. According to her, me having sex with her helps because it makes her feel less lonely.
I pull her head up and she strips naked for me. She lays on the bed and I get on top of her putting myself inside, making a rhythm when I fuck her. It's a fast fuck, mainly because I want to get it over with. The closer I've become friends with Cody and have watched him slowly deteriorate the worse I feel about what I'm doing. After I finish off inside her I pull out, throw back on my boxers and pants, then tell her, “I should get going. My brother is going to be home from school soon and I have to drop his friend off at the house.”
She covers herself up in her bedsheets and responds, “Well, I'm sorry for being such a hassle, but thanks for coming to visit. I love you, Roland. Thank you for making me feel beautiful again. Will you come back in a few days and stay a little longer so you can help me look like I used to years ago?”
“Yeah”, I shrug making my way to the door. “I'll be back and I'll make you feel even better.”
I leave her apartment and knock on the door that's to the right of Cody's place. Daniel opens up and greets with, “Fuck, I was afraid you weren't coming to pick me up. Thanks though, I appreciate it.”
DANIEL BASSANI
Roland leads me to his car and I stop at the car door, staring at it confused trying to figure out how it's supposed to be opened. There's a handle and I know that you're supposed to pull it or something to open the door, but it looks far more complicated and I'm scared that if I do this wrong the car will fall apart on me.
“Can you open the door for me”, I ask. “Uh, I don't know how to open it and I don't want to destroy your car or anything.”
He looks at me strangely, walks to my side and opens it up for me, then I sit in and shut the door. Seems like I was correct about how you're supposed to open the door. The car reminds me to put my seat belt on, so I do so and relax as the air condition blows in my face while Roland's driving.
After a few minutes of silence he asks me, “Is it true what your brother says about your condition?”
“What condition?”
The silence grows back. It's obvious he's too embarrassed by bringing up the question and trying to not offend me, but I know exactly what he's talking about. I'm not retarded, I'm just a little slower than most people and get confused randomly at times.
Fuck, I am retarded.
Roland parks the car in the garage of his house and lights up a cigarette, telling me, “I'm sorry if I offended you earlier. It was stupid of me to say that.”
“No, don't feel bad. Is Anton home from school yet?”
“Why don't you go check for yourself?”
I rush inside and run up the stairs of the house to his bedroom. He's sitting on his bed pulling notebooks and textbooks out of his bag and says to me, “Did my brother give you a hard time? He's been kind of a douche lately.”
“No”, I answer. “You said you wanted to show me something?”
“Yeah, I do. Do you remember that man that we saw at the hospital on the day Melisa went missing?”
“Of course.”
He puts his backpack on the floor along with his books, then walks over to his closet, pulling out a shoe box and handing it to me. I open it up, pull out a few photographs and a piece of paper with an address on it. He says, “This man has been around the house lately, just walking around our block and sometimes stare directly up at my window. I took a few photos of him, ran it threw some places and found out where he is. The strange thing is there wasn't a name under all of his information, but it seems like he's 38 and lives lives in a mansion.”
“Alright”, I mumble lying across the carpet. “So that's all?”
“Well, I haven't explained to you my idea. I'm going to break into his house and figure out who the hell he is. No, I don't have an idea when, but it's going to be soon.”
Roland comes inside the room and says, “Daniel, your brother is outside of the house right now. He wants you to get of my house or he says he'll kill my brother and I'd rather my brother not die today. Sorry, I tried to tell him off, but once he pulled out a knife on me I took that as a sign.”
Ten minutes into hanging out with Anton and I'm already having my brother screwing everything up. I stand up, tell Anton goodbye and rush downstairs and out of the house to see my brother with his car parked right in the front yard of the house. He yells out at me to hurry, so I rush inside the car, buckle up and tell him that I'm sorry.
“Why the fuck are you saying sorry”, he laughs out at me while backing into the street. “You're such a fucking pussy faggot. Sometimes I forget that we're even related. Did you actually learn anything from Dad? I love you man, you're my brother, but you really need to stop being such a fucking faggot. You're not dumb, so prove it to people and stop sucking that kid Anton's dick.”
“I'm not sucking his dick and I am dumb, Jon. When Roland came to pick me up I forgot how to open the fucking car door. Yeah, I'm fucking dumb as a rock and I'm getting fatter every month. I thought you were my brother, but until you found out I'm attracted to men you started treating me like complete shit. You wouldn't give a shit if I killed myself right now I bet. Living with you is like fucking suicide.”
He parks the car at a gas station, turns to me with his finger in my face and rants, “You're a fucking idiot because you think I don't love you and also because of the bullshit you just said. How dare you stick that suicide shit in my face and think I wouldn't care. If you were dead I'd burn this whole world down in rage, because you're more important than anyone else to me. You get that? How many books do you read a week? Look at all the brilliant stuff you used to write. You're one of the smartest people I know, yet you--”
“Shut the fuck up! I don't need your fake advice, because it means exactly nothing to me. You fucking rape and kill innocent people just for the fun of it. You have no fucking authority to think just because Dad said it's ok then it's a good excuse to do so. I don't know... What the hell is that loud noise?”
This loud high pitched drilling noise is attacking my ears and my body is shaking uncontrollably. I scream out at Jonathan asking for help, trying to grab at his arms, but I don't see him in the car anymore. In fact, most of the car looks like it has been obliterated. My eyes roll black and everything goes black where a numbing feeling immediately takes over.
And the feeling of death comes to me under a dream of nothing in black sleep.
I wake up with my bedsheets covering me and my body is completely freezing. Jonathan is sitting on his bed staring at me with a cigarette hanging out his mouth. He asks, “How are you feeling?”
Every part of my body feels completely exhausted and withered. When I try to open my mouth to answer I realize I can't move my jaw. There's a certain type of trick I remember where you can take control of your body. All you have to do is literally think the idea of control as if you're trying to enter your own brain and reattach the parts that have gone haywire.
Slowly I begin to take control of my body, letting myself move my jaw muscles and say, “I think I'm dying.”
“No”, Jon shudders. “Don't say things like that. You passed out in the car on the way home and it might have been because of the shit you and me were saying. Just relax for now.”
He goes to the closet, grabs a coat and throws it on before giving me a long awkward stare. I shove my head into my pillow, rubbing my face on it and mumble, “Can you get me some bars?”
“Sure thing. I'm going out for a few hours though, but I'll bring some when I come back.”
My brother walks over to me, leans down to give me a kiss on my head and says, “I do love you, Daniel. I wish I could show that to you more right now.”
And with that, he left.
JONATHAN BASSANI
There's enough self hatred building up inside of me that I know can't be held for much longer and I need to fucking let go of it. I can't help but to be sicken by who my brother is, yet I want so badly to still be close to him. This intense rage and displeasure for humanity grows more on a daily basis to the point where I'd like to see every human being raped, tortured, and executed with a bullet straight through the skull.
I leave my apartment and head downtown looking for someone to stumble upon and kill in an alley. There's a middle aged short man in his business suit holding a briefcase in his right hand walking cautiously on the side walk. Every step closer to him boils my blood and I look around to make sure a car isn't coming by. Being that it's night time smart people wouldn't care to walk around like this dumb fuck business man. Even driving seems quite dangerous when you have paranoid dealers with one hand constantly messaging a gun.
Right when my feet align with his while he's walking I quickly put him in a choke hold, use his tie to strangle him, then quickly drag him in between two stores where shit smelling dumpsters sit and rot.
His face is purple and it looks like his eyes could just pop out any second, which gives me a complete hard on. Even with his his hands attempting to grip around my neck at the same time and his willing to throw around his feet to attempt to get out of the situation, I can tell he's weak. Finally his hands go limp down to the ground, but his feet are still wobbling. I let go, and start smashing his face in with my fist.
The weather is strangely calm, quiet, and dense. Every punch sounds like a piano being dropped from a building and every blood splatter that spits out of his mouth echoes like waves crashing down on homes. My knuckles are bleeding from knocking most of his teeth out, so I stick my hands in his mouth to get them wet, then wipe them off on my coat.
A car drives by with the fakest 'vrooooom' sound I've ever heard in my entire life. Sometimes killing people seems and feels too surreal and I start to wonder if I have actually killed the person or if this is a trick my mind is playing on me, but the fact that some people know what I'm capable of and have even seen me destroy people reminds me of what I am. Maybe the surreal experiences are from the PCP that I smoked a week ago. The thing is that the idea that people fear me and think I'm a monster makes me want to carry out my madness even more. Daniel is right; I kill and rape humans and enjoy every second of it.
The man stops wiggling his legs and seems quite dead, but it doesn't seem like it's enough. Even with his face completely destroyed I know that it won't be enough to make Nemeseia come after me. I want the fucker to come after me for the things I've done and I want to be the one that kills him, because in that moment I would know that I'd become one of the most evil humans in our existence.
I slam my foot down on his face a few more times, then flip out my dick and piss on his suit. After that I zip my pants back up and walk out from the alley, smiling and praying in my mind for Nemeseia's attempt to bring justice on me.
If you've read all of that already, you know by now Last Step isn't happy, quite violent and sick. The second part is just as fucked up. I'll hint out there's some "sex" in here, but I toned it down for VT, hopefully that's good enough.
I attempt to work on this story, even after my three month hiatus. It might take a while for another chapter to come up though.
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LAST STEP: PART TWO
CHAPTER SEVEN.
CODY WYKOFF
Last night was the first night I had slept in six days. The nightmare I had was vivid, surreal, and almost exactly the same of the previous one. In this dream I found myself in a bright room with two doors at opposite sides. The door on the left leads to a pile of dead bodies and people screaming in pain for miles and miles. I don't believe there's an ending to it, but I haven't gone far enough stepping on corpses to find out.
But the other door... the right path leads to a sight that's even worse. Once it's opened, I find myself opening a door in the middle of a wasteland of burnt homes and collapsing buildings. The sky is dark, but the clouds are moving quickly and sometimes even spinning like it's hinting a tornado. When I start walking through the town I typically find a few people screaming around, who are then shot and killed by masked men with army suits and gas masks. The moment they see me, I always hear one of them yell, “He's the one with the yellow eye! Fucking shoot him!”
And then they put a hole in each of my eye sockets and smash my skull into a pancake with the butts of their riffles.
My hair is getting long again and I need a haircut, but I'm too lazy to force myself to do things like this. It's been a week sense Xavier and his girlfriend went missing, which caused tension with the Black Blood gang. I'm starting to feel like they might of did what I've been planning to do for a while now – disappear. Hell, I get it though. Who would want to live their lives with the shadow of death haunting them every step they go?
I dig through my pockets looking for my keys, then open up my mothers apartment door. The place smells like nicotine and burnt popcorn, nothing more than that. Mom is where she typically is, sitting in her special chair in the living room facing the television with a bottle of vodka pressed up against her lips. She turns her head over to me and says, “I'm sorry I didn't clean your apartment yesterday. The fucking technician came out and it was driving me completely bonkers. At least the TV works now. I was thinking about the time your father took us out to eat on your fourth birthday this morning and almost wanted to split my wrists wide open. You think about him much lately?”
She's always talking about Dad in every damn conversation. It's either that or something about her wanting to kill herself. What she doesn't really get is that I have my own problems to face now, such as what my Dad put down on me to live with for my life or what Grandpa did that she pretends never happened. The family is slowly rotting and my mother will drink herself to death in that very chair one day. I'm constantly trying to figure out if I'll kill myself before her though; it's a tough basket of fuckery.
“No, I haven't thought about him lately”, I answer. “Well, I'm dropping High School and need you to sign this paper I have. There's really no point in going now because I'm already well educated and it's not like I have to worry about any future jobs. Get it? Because of the job I have? Why aren't you laughing?”
Mom looks straight into my eyes and finishes the bottle, placing it down on the carpet next to the pile of other empty bottles. She itches her forehead, lights a cigarette and starts crying to herself. I take it as the signal that I should leave, so I take the red paper out of my left pocket, give it to her and say, “Just have this signed by tomorrow so I can pick it up. You don't have to clean my place up anytime soon by the way. Just... I don't know. Don't hurt... Fuck, just take care of yourself.”
I leave her there to cry and piss herself to sleep next to the television like I typically do when I leave, then I run down the stairs of my apartment. Today's a musky day of fog and dead gray clouds, which is somewhat beautiful in its own way, but the weather has been like this for a day or two now. After I cross the street to get on the path to the downtown area I text Clayton, telling him that I'm on my way.
The cold weather is coming back and all I can see from here onwards is nothing but death. I see my Mom finally ending her life, Daniel hanging himself, Jonathan overdosing on too many things, Roland stabbed to death over a drug deal gone wrong, and so on. Of course I see myself dying several times on a daily basis. In my thoughts I've succeeded in suicide a billion times, but then I remind myself about how much I day dream.
Finally, I reach the stoplight that I typically go to. Clayton and his girlfriend Melisa are sitting next to each other on my bench, leaving a spot on the right for me. I hate siting on the right side of things though and he knows that. He's probably doing that on purpose.
“You two seem to be doing pretty good”, I say. “Hey Clayton, are you always going to be bringing her with every time we want to hang out now?”
“Sorry, I forgot. I took the second half of school off to hang out with you for the next possible five minutes until you walk away pissed off at me, so I'm sorry if it bothers you that I brought someone along.”
When Melisa was somehow found, the tabloids went batshit crazy over her, but she never answered where she was. Over a few phone conversations Clayton told me she was suffering from these strange memories of her falling into a pit of dead bodies and never finding escape. It reminds me of the dream I have, except the people in my dream had no skin. It was as if it's burnt to crisp. According to him she's doing better, but is still traumatized over her mothers death.
Her mother died that same day she went missing, only a few hours before Melisa tried to have sex with me on a hospital bed. It's true that her mother was shot repeatability, but the cause of death was of asphyxiation. Someone had put a pillow over her face, killed her, and got away with it. Police named her as the number one suspect due to her disappearance, but there's no evidence to claim it was her.
From the way I see it all I can tell is there's more to her than what Clayton probably thinks. She's cold blooded for sure. The worst part about all of this is she knows about what I do for a living and she's dating my best friend. If she tells him then everything will come tumbling down on me.
I say, “I gave my mom a paper allowing me to drop out of high school. Right now, it's probably the best thing for me to do. It's not like I could even pass any of my classes when I barely show up. Maybe I can try to work more on getting sober now.”
That's a big fat lie. The only reason I just said I'd work on getting sober is because now he wont think so negatively about my option to drop school. He replies to me, “I'm sort of bothered by that decision for you to quit school, but it's nice to know you're still willing to battle your addiction. That's why I keep talking to you and trying to help you. You're a brave guy and not many people can do what you do. Just don't fuck this up. If you can get sober while you're young you won't have to worry about turning out as someone like your mom, who has no chance of recovery at all.”
What he said about my mother somewhat bothers me, but it's true. She's at a point where she's too far down to get back up; beyond what can be considered rock bottom. I pull out my phone, which shows a text from Roland saying he's at my house and has my Oxy.
“Hey, I forgot about my job interview for the super market by my house and I need to get to it right now. Sorry that I have to go, but I really hope you two take care and all of that shit. Thanks for coming to talk to me though.”
“A job? You? Maybe I don't have to worry about you anymore.”
I stand up, smile at the two of them and start running back home. All these lies I tell him, they're going to come back at me sooner or later and it'll only destroy the two of us more. Roland is at my door when I reach my apartment and I greet him with a handshake telling him to come inside. I open the door for him, let him in and grab a pack of cigarettes off the kitchen counter.
ROLAND
Cody offers me a cigarette, but I refuse and hand him a small bag of Oxycontin. He takes it from me and says, “I'll get your money. You can go through my fridge and grab something to eat if you're hungry. I really don't care.”
He always treats me like his God; offering me food, money, support, and anything else that comes to his mind. I'm sure it's because I'm his dealer and drugs are the only way he'll get through the day, which means I'm helping him stay alive according to how he thinks. It's sad, because I'm the main reason he's overdosed many times before and he still treats his best friend Clayton like garbage while he gives more help than I ever could.
There's nothing really exciting in his fridge, so I just grab some poptarts out of a cupboard, shoving the wrapper in my pocket and bite down on both of them at the same time. When he comes back with the cash he hands it to me and I count the five twenty bucks, shove them in my pocket and he says, “I dropped out of school, so you can come over and we can chill anytime now.”
“Huh, that's not surprising. I've been thinking about dropping out too lately. Haven't been to school all week and just don't have the motivation to keep going. Actually, I have to head out right now anyways, but you take care. Be safe.”
I rush myself out of his apartment finishing my poptarts and don't even look back at him when I leave. After a minute of standing outside his apartment door I knock on the one on the opposite side, where his mom opens up and says, “I didn't know you were coming over today. You're looking pretty good right now. Did you talk to my son at all while you stopped by?”
“Yeah, but I'm more interested in you.”
She lets me in and I follow her to her bedroom, which is a chaotic mess of nothing but empty bottles of Vodka and empty packs of cigarettes. I pull off my pants and boxers, sit down on her bed, then she immediately gets down on her knees and goes to work.
“Good”, I moan. “You're a beautiful woman. Nobody is as loving and caring as you. Don't ever feel like you're a worthless human being because you're an amazing mother who loves her son and takes care of herself.”
These are the things she makes me say when we have sex. It's wrong, but I know it makes her feel better. When I was thirteen Cody introduced me to his mother and I quickly noticed her obvious alcoholism and depression. I came over to her place one day when I was fourteen, telling her I felt a strange need to help her and she responded by giving me a handjob. According to her, me having sex with her helps because it makes her feel less lonely.
I pull her head up and she strips naked for me. She lays on the bed and I get on top of her putting myself inside, making a rhythm when I fuck her. It's a fast fuck, mainly because I want to get it over with. The closer I've become friends with Cody and have watched him slowly deteriorate the worse I feel about what I'm doing. After I finish off inside her I pull out, throw back on my boxers and pants, then tell her, “I should get going. My brother is going to be home from school soon and I have to drop his friend off at the house.”
She covers herself up in her bedsheets and responds, “Well, I'm sorry for being such a hassle, but thanks for coming to visit. I love you, Roland. Thank you for making me feel beautiful again. Will you come back in a few days and stay a little longer so you can help me look like I used to years ago?”
“Yeah”, I shrug making my way to the door. “I'll be back and I'll make you feel even better.”
I leave her apartment and knock on the door that's to the right of Cody's place. Daniel opens up and greets with, “Fuck, I was afraid you weren't coming to pick me up. Thanks though, I appreciate it.”
DANIEL BASSANI
Roland leads me to his car and I stop at the car door, staring at it confused trying to figure out how it's supposed to be opened. There's a handle and I know that you're supposed to pull it or something to open the door, but it looks far more complicated and I'm scared that if I do this wrong the car will fall apart on me.
“Can you open the door for me”, I ask. “Uh, I don't know how to open it and I don't want to destroy your car or anything.”
He looks at me strangely, walks to my side and opens it up for me, then I sit in and shut the door. Seems like I was correct about how you're supposed to open the door. The car reminds me to put my seat belt on, so I do so and relax as the air condition blows in my face while Roland's driving.
After a few minutes of silence he asks me, “Is it true what your brother says about your condition?”
“What condition?”
The silence grows back. It's obvious he's too embarrassed by bringing up the question and trying to not offend me, but I know exactly what he's talking about. I'm not retarded, I'm just a little slower than most people and get confused randomly at times.
Fuck, I am retarded.
Roland parks the car in the garage of his house and lights up a cigarette, telling me, “I'm sorry if I offended you earlier. It was stupid of me to say that.”
“No, don't feel bad. Is Anton home from school yet?”
“Why don't you go check for yourself?”
I rush inside and run up the stairs of the house to his bedroom. He's sitting on his bed pulling notebooks and textbooks out of his bag and says to me, “Did my brother give you a hard time? He's been kind of a douche lately.”
“No”, I answer. “You said you wanted to show me something?”
“Yeah, I do. Do you remember that man that we saw at the hospital on the day Melisa went missing?”
“Of course.”
He puts his backpack on the floor along with his books, then walks over to his closet, pulling out a shoe box and handing it to me. I open it up, pull out a few photographs and a piece of paper with an address on it. He says, “This man has been around the house lately, just walking around our block and sometimes stare directly up at my window. I took a few photos of him, ran it threw some places and found out where he is. The strange thing is there wasn't a name under all of his information, but it seems like he's 38 and lives lives in a mansion.”
“Alright”, I mumble lying across the carpet. “So that's all?”
“Well, I haven't explained to you my idea. I'm going to break into his house and figure out who the hell he is. No, I don't have an idea when, but it's going to be soon.”
Roland comes inside the room and says, “Daniel, your brother is outside of the house right now. He wants you to get of my house or he says he'll kill my brother and I'd rather my brother not die today. Sorry, I tried to tell him off, but once he pulled out a knife on me I took that as a sign.”
Ten minutes into hanging out with Anton and I'm already having my brother screwing everything up. I stand up, tell Anton goodbye and rush downstairs and out of the house to see my brother with his car parked right in the front yard of the house. He yells out at me to hurry, so I rush inside the car, buckle up and tell him that I'm sorry.
“Why the fuck are you saying sorry”, he laughs out at me while backing into the street. “You're such a fucking pussy faggot. Sometimes I forget that we're even related. Did you actually learn anything from Dad? I love you man, you're my brother, but you really need to stop being such a fucking faggot. You're not dumb, so prove it to people and stop sucking that kid Anton's dick.”
“I'm not sucking his dick and I am dumb, Jon. When Roland came to pick me up I forgot how to open the fucking car door. Yeah, I'm fucking dumb as a rock and I'm getting fatter every month. I thought you were my brother, but until you found out I'm attracted to men you started treating me like complete shit. You wouldn't give a shit if I killed myself right now I bet. Living with you is like fucking suicide.”
He parks the car at a gas station, turns to me with his finger in my face and rants, “You're a fucking idiot because you think I don't love you and also because of the bullshit you just said. How dare you stick that suicide shit in my face and think I wouldn't care. If you were dead I'd burn this whole world down in rage, because you're more important than anyone else to me. You get that? How many books do you read a week? Look at all the brilliant stuff you used to write. You're one of the smartest people I know, yet you--”
“Shut the fuck up! I don't need your fake advice, because it means exactly nothing to me. You fucking rape and kill innocent people just for the fun of it. You have no fucking authority to think just because Dad said it's ok then it's a good excuse to do so. I don't know... What the hell is that loud noise?”
This loud high pitched drilling noise is attacking my ears and my body is shaking uncontrollably. I scream out at Jonathan asking for help, trying to grab at his arms, but I don't see him in the car anymore. In fact, most of the car looks like it has been obliterated. My eyes roll black and everything goes black where a numbing feeling immediately takes over.
And the feeling of death comes to me under a dream of nothing in black sleep.
I wake up with my bedsheets covering me and my body is completely freezing. Jonathan is sitting on his bed staring at me with a cigarette hanging out his mouth. He asks, “How are you feeling?”
Every part of my body feels completely exhausted and withered. When I try to open my mouth to answer I realize I can't move my jaw. There's a certain type of trick I remember where you can take control of your body. All you have to do is literally think the idea of control as if you're trying to enter your own brain and reattach the parts that have gone haywire.
Slowly I begin to take control of my body, letting myself move my jaw muscles and say, “I think I'm dying.”
“No”, Jon shudders. “Don't say things like that. You passed out in the car on the way home and it might have been because of the shit you and me were saying. Just relax for now.”
He goes to the closet, grabs a coat and throws it on before giving me a long awkward stare. I shove my head into my pillow, rubbing my face on it and mumble, “Can you get me some bars?”
“Sure thing. I'm going out for a few hours though, but I'll bring some when I come back.”
My brother walks over to me, leans down to give me a kiss on my head and says, “I do love you, Daniel. I wish I could show that to you more right now.”
And with that, he left.
JONATHAN BASSANI
There's enough self hatred building up inside of me that I know can't be held for much longer and I need to fucking let go of it. I can't help but to be sicken by who my brother is, yet I want so badly to still be close to him. This intense rage and displeasure for humanity grows more on a daily basis to the point where I'd like to see every human being raped, tortured, and executed with a bullet straight through the skull.
I leave my apartment and head downtown looking for someone to stumble upon and kill in an alley. There's a middle aged short man in his business suit holding a briefcase in his right hand walking cautiously on the side walk. Every step closer to him boils my blood and I look around to make sure a car isn't coming by. Being that it's night time smart people wouldn't care to walk around like this dumb fuck business man. Even driving seems quite dangerous when you have paranoid dealers with one hand constantly messaging a gun.
Right when my feet align with his while he's walking I quickly put him in a choke hold, use his tie to strangle him, then quickly drag him in between two stores where shit smelling dumpsters sit and rot.
His face is purple and it looks like his eyes could just pop out any second, which gives me a complete hard on. Even with his his hands attempting to grip around my neck at the same time and his willing to throw around his feet to attempt to get out of the situation, I can tell he's weak. Finally his hands go limp down to the ground, but his feet are still wobbling. I let go, and start smashing his face in with my fist.
The weather is strangely calm, quiet, and dense. Every punch sounds like a piano being dropped from a building and every blood splatter that spits out of his mouth echoes like waves crashing down on homes. My knuckles are bleeding from knocking most of his teeth out, so I stick my hands in his mouth to get them wet, then wipe them off on my coat.
A car drives by with the fakest 'vrooooom' sound I've ever heard in my entire life. Sometimes killing people seems and feels too surreal and I start to wonder if I have actually killed the person or if this is a trick my mind is playing on me, but the fact that some people know what I'm capable of and have even seen me destroy people reminds me of what I am. Maybe the surreal experiences are from the PCP that I smoked a week ago. The thing is that the idea that people fear me and think I'm a monster makes me want to carry out my madness even more. Daniel is right; I kill and rape humans and enjoy every second of it.
The man stops wiggling his legs and seems quite dead, but it doesn't seem like it's enough. Even with his face completely destroyed I know that it won't be enough to make Nemeseia come after me. I want the fucker to come after me for the things I've done and I want to be the one that kills him, because in that moment I would know that I'd become one of the most evil humans in our existence.
I slam my foot down on his face a few more times, then flip out my dick and piss on his suit. After that I zip my pants back up and walk out from the alley, smiling and praying in my mind for Nemeseia's attempt to bring justice on me.