That being said, I will be out of the country for the next two weeks so I may not be able to update "Dirty Filthy Snuff". For that reason I will do my best to pack as much delicious material starting with another short story.
ILL OF THE DEAD
By Andrew Bruce
Dead? But I’m not dead. The squirming desperation of the need to live; the want for another fucking breath had long since passed for me. Unlike, well, the apron string I was wrenching around my mentor’s neck, Aaron, he kicked and slide in angles and directions with each spasm that had only been seen in the “Exorcist”. The violent silent battle for his existence he fought with me was only meeting with more restraining torque that my cherry red numb hands exerted. I wasn’t dead, but I was murdering my long time friend, Aaron, by strangulation because he deserved it. No, I wasn’t dead. Those I knew were, and he soon would be as I knew the blood vessels in his eyes were bursting presenting a pattern of a flawed and cracked cue ball. The coffee mug on the table knocked over and across the room splattering coffee all over as the transformation of the homes regression began. The pretty make over that Aaron’s wife had made had only seconds to remain beautiful. Then with his kicking, and fighting it was quickly falling into its formal glory. The “Donna Reed” motif would be a blood soaked “Carrie” in no time.
No, I wasn’t dead, and to be honest as disparagingly as myself loathing need was to leave my body behind, the slow yet pleasant destructive agony gave me time to remember. It gave me time to make peace and accept my eventual request for an audience with death. The eyes that watched; the voice that spoke, but the hand that never offered its guidance into the other world. And as much as I welcomed that attention, the longer I waited the more humorous it became. The more that life became a dark comedy of errors. I just couldn’t seem to die. I wasn’t afraid of death, I was afraid of what the death of others; the dead would do to me. My mom had taught me that.
I held on even tighter as my hands crossing over each other like I had been doing ever since that first droplet of blood. The fight still alive in him, I bashed his head against the table that was covered with a red table cloth. The spilled coffee left an almost black wetness on the linen. And as I wrenched and jerked Aaron around, he continued to kick using his chunky body to exert force. Pulling back, I glanced up at the framed painting that the couple had gotten from sears, and glared at what I saw. Along with my distorted reflection there was something else standing nearby; a loving yet dominating thing which watched over me reassuring me of what I already knew. I knew that death would not come for me. Not like it had for Audrey. See the one thing that I came to realize as I slowly burned myself down was the knowledge, the curiosity, or the understanding that death has been a hundred year old subject. I know I’m just a tweaker junkie who fuckin’ sticks dirty works in himself, but this much I do dig; the need to understand the things that go bump in the night is a natural part of the human condition. I guess that it offers comfort to our lives. It’s either that reassurance or the foreboding prediction of what was to come. Either way it gave humanity some kind of comprehension of what happens after death. Though that understanding isn’t the focus when faced with it, at least not the first time you’re faced with it. I know that he wasn’t particularly concerned. Not with the afterwards part. Not as I used the apron string of Aaron’s finance’s apron to squeeze the life outta the man. I held onto the red phlanell collar of his shirt as I again slammed his head against a hard surface. This time against the wall. It left a dent, some dust floated in the air. My grip loosened and he gasped and gargled in pleading desperation. He had turned his head and glared at me, or so it seemed. But for that moment as I stared back at Aaron it became clear that he wasn’t looking at me but rather through me at something that was more terrifying.
“Oh God!” he had cried out. ”You! Oh shit-Fuck! The baby! I’m sorry Aud …”
I didn’t let him finish. This time as I bashed his head into the wall for the second time it went through the dry wall sending up a larger plum of dust into the air, then with a gush of blood and a final quiver. Then he was still. My hands taunt I remained still too knowing those beautiful lips were raised in wonderful smile. I could feel it.
But before that moment I had to wait. The comprehension of those beliefs began to gradually allude to the other aspects of the elements that surrounded the demise of the flesh; death. So while at first life came across to me as this cynical Mel Brooks version of a living “Dante’s Inferno”; the hilarities of its ironies began to shine through the thunder cloud of distain that hung over me. In case you’re wondering why a junkie like me is referring to that classic, it’s simple; I ended up spending a lot of time at the library. The library is as Peter Griffith once said to his son, Chris, in an episode of family guy, “The library is a place where the homeless go to bath and make B.M.”. And that it is. When it’s cold, snowing, and there’s a winds chill factor of 13 below the library is a perfect place. Being a public building that anyone has access to made it the happening place for derelicts to spend the day out of the elements. Besides the shithole of a bathroom that was never cleaned allowing us junkies to shoot up and nod out on the piss soaked floor, there was nothing else to do but read. A needle in my arm, the tiles were stained and stank of stagnant bodily fluids. Its reflection of light gave a blackened siliuete of a face but I couldn’t tell whose it was. It seemed to stare as it’s unblinking unblinkingly glared through the pooled blood on the kitchen floor that transcended my memories. The feeling I had resemembled what had been described in those thousand and some odd books on those library shelves. Reading was the only other thing to do, hence the turning of many pages including the one I’ve been talking about. That’s where I first saw him. See, waiting for death to come, like mentioned had allowed me to begin to appreciate the goodness in the world. That’s where I was first reminded to respect both the gifts of the life, and the tragedies of death. To respect both the ying and the yang because by doing so my mother told me, it would be good luck and ensure no harm would be inflicted by the dead. It would help ensure safe passage in the afterlife. In that library was where I was first given that refresher on what my mom had taught me. The Superstitions like the belief in respect for the dead, black cats, crows and hats on beds; it was an encyclopedia of superstitions. In that library was where I had found her journal. I had loved her, still do. She was my lover, Audrey. She was my partner, and we ran together. We ran to escape; ran to escape. We ran to get away.
From what you might ask?
The answer; everything!
Then and now; not much had changed, just the intensity. For some reason her passing had relieved some of the grief. It was her death by O.D. that had brought the loose of worry, and burden. Her dead weight was her pain and self destruction which had been taken away. I took advantage, well that is until everything went so numb I thought I was the walking dead. It was in that icy no feel where I begged for those arms to hold me only she wasn’t there. I’d be reaching out to something that wasn’t there. Audrey was dead. Those arms were last seen with a spike in them, and now they were gone. And the guilt would smash into me like a bulldozer. My inhumane craven lust for nothingness was starved into submission as I read those words in that diary. I had known about the sexual abuse; the whole be “daddy’s good little girl”. I knew about her alcoholic, submissive, and pharalogically zombified battered mother. But the hidden truth was much more heinous.
Audrey had been created out of what most believed was love; that’s not the case as she learned. That was something I learned when I read that diary. A baby? Audrey hadn’t told me anything about that. She hadn’t told that the baby was the result of that perverse act; her rape. Audrey violated done by her father.
“Screaming, begging” I read aloud.
I had not known, I couldn’t for a split second. Shocked, I read on. I chewed on the words of vulgarity and depravity, and with each word the distain tore me open a little more. I tore at Aaron’s throat with the ballpoint pen that had been knocked off the table. Thrusting it hard into the side of his neck, I heard it punctured his fleshed, and then the cartilage. I remembered as I did so I pulled up and while I could feel some of the tissue rip, it was only slightly. The tough cartilage resisted my forceful, refusing my access. So, I tried harder, remembering what he had done. Almost barking in rage, sweat dripping down my face; my hands became slippery with Aaron’s blood. I felt this gentle touch of a soft embraces. I felt those cradling arms pressing me up against a delicate bosom that blanketed me in love.
I had the sensation of what I believed was this faint heartbeat that pounded as a sweetly loving voice that whispered that I had done enough. Whispered in my ear that she loved me.
I heard those words and stopped. In the reflection of the glass of the picture frame I saw the dim half recognizable features of my face. My brown hair and the faint distinction of my eyes; they’re blue. Wiping my forehead, for the first time I saw her clearly as she wrapped her arms around me and kissed my on the neck.
“Now what?” I asked.
Now what?
Those words, that secret of the pregnancy as a result of incest increased both the shock and raged in me. A million things ran through my head. Why had Aaron sold her that much dope? Why hadn’t she told me? Why did he not care about the possibility that she might overdose? What the fuck had happened? What the fuck was going on? I didn’t know, and as I felt the sensation come over me. I reacted, turning my somehow sedated state into a confused, horrified frenzy.
“Oh shit!”
Head buried in the wide porcelain thrown that is the toilet, curses I exclaimed between gags and spews of vomit.
“Oh god” I gasped, wiping my mouth. “Oh my fuckin’ god!”
The spoon jig rated in my hand as the water soluble substance boiled. Its smell filled the stall. The cotton expanded, getting larger. It expanded just like the soft gelatin wafers of blood that were scattered all over the tiled kitchen floor. When the slaughter of Aaron and Kelley had finally ended I didn’t know how long I’d been there; it seemed like forever and a day.
“I hate you fuckin’ hate you!”
There was this sign that followed those very condemning words, “Don’t hate me Bret. I love you, but you me?”
She said those sweet words as I gazed into her beautiful eyes that just couldn’t be dead.
“Fuck you! Fuck you bitch!” I cursed as my fist hit the side of the stall.
Though I had shot up, and that orgasmic rush had exploded inside me; the flames of pleasure were extinguished. They were hijacked by the fire storm of rage. It consumed everything, and had scorched any numbness that I had hoped to achieve.
“Fucking bitch! I loved you!”
Punching even harder against the metal. It rattled and gave way. A dent was stuck in the metal, and as I softly regained the composure I had lost I began to sob. Tears came down the oily skin that was my face.
“Hey! You all right in there?!” I heard a booming voice question.
I gasped “Yeah, just a sec.”
“Hello?” a voice called out as they shut the door behind them. It must have been a librarian.
I stammered out, “Ahh-hi? Just a sec …”
Stepping outside the library to get some air, I took a few steps before stopping. Standing there, nothing else existed, that is until I felt a gentle caress against my leg. Glancing down, what was rubbing up against my leg was greeting me with meows. The black cat continued to caressing me.
Standing up straight, I wiped my face with the back of my hand. I felt the tension rising as I realized that a split second decision had to be made. Twitching in indecisiveness, she came to me again.
“Baby” Audrey said, “She has to join Aaron-it’s the right thing to do.”
Her face was alive with shadows in that kitchen as she gave me this sexy, warm smile.
“She’s pregnant” one of us said. I wasn’t sure, but it echoed in my skull.
Hearing the clicking sound of high heel shoes, the carving knife was in hand as I hide myself against the wall next to the door frame waiting for Aaron’s wife, Kelley, to enter.
“Aaron honey, you in the kitchen?” she asked in a very curious tone.
In an instant I answered to my own shock with a “Yeah, come here.”
I waited for the new decor to sink in; it would only take a minute.
Kelley began to ask in utter terror “Wha-“but stopped midsentence. “Oh oh oh!”
Kelley didn’t even finish. The horror of the brutality and gore shattered her entire being (heart and soul) as she began to scream bloody murder. However, that verbal sound was also silenced. The steel blade that served as a muzzle caused artial spurts of blood as the attractive strawberry blonde woman in her business suit gargled on her own blood. Her eyes were as big as saucers while her windpipe made a wheezing sucking sound as it vacuumed up a bit of her own warm crimson life. Still I hadn’t made the full incision, and I put all my muscle available into my slice. It put up a fight as it slowly tore. That caused Kelley to make this grabbled choking plea. Finishing with the knife the blood spurts stained Kelley’s business suit. As I stared at Kelley, I could see that despite her fading fast Kelley was still fighting hard to somehow live. Her hands grasped onto her throat in this worthless attempt to stop from drip drying; to stop from bleeding to death. The blood squirted out between her fingers. I just glared feeling the eyes of the other watching. I stared at her terror filled eyes then turning around; I saw what had bewitched her. There behind me was Audrey in this ghastly transformation that would cause your to blood run liquid nitrogen cold. Audrey’s face had mutated from beauty into a demon. With pale skin, and these red eyes, a mouthful of fangs I flinched myself at the sight. Gritting her teeth in undying rage, she reached down and prided away Kelley’s hands allowing the blood to flow uninterrupted. I had seen that blood before. I had witnessed it spurt up into the chamber as I had pulled back on the plunger. It was the last time I would get high; I hated it. Wondering through the streets, fueled on a speedball filled hypodermic needle of heroin and coke, the lights of the city had this stimulating and hypnotic almost strobe like affect that stupefied me. And I roamed, staring at the flashing and blinking lights. However, soon it became like riding an amusement park ride for too long. I got nauseated and I had to get off. I searched for relief in vain knowing that most forms of relief would only bring more misery. And so, I leaned up against a building, and tried to catch my breath and slow my heart beat. A crow landed on a fence nearby and cawed. Looking over it was then that I saw her. It was then that I saw her; saw her familiar, beautiful face again. The crow had announced her presences, the presence of the dead. It was only for a split second in the blurred reflection in the window of a parked car. But it disappeared as a man walked in front of me, and when he did my eyes followed him. Watching, my eyes were glued to him as if someone had surgically implanted steel rods in my neck so I couldn’t turn away. And the further he walked the more obsessed I became. I followed the man as the feel of the gritty texture of the concrete seemed to seep through my shoes. The crow followed. I stalked that man uncontrollability with this horrifying need to know, and a whisper in my ear that told me I had to do it. To make things right I had to see into his soul.
“Do it babe” my bewitching said. And as I pursed him the man turned the corner from the main drag, and down a darker side street. The opportunity had arrived. The chance to do what the voice of Audrey had told me. But just as I had begun to gain on the man, he turned into the parking lot of what turned out to be a church. Following him, we came upon a small crowd that had formed outside what must have been the backdoor. The black bird landed in a tree nearby. Smoking, talking, laughing and hugging each other the clusterfuck at first was like garlic to a Hollywood Vampire. However, the voice told me otherwise; I refused.
“No”, I whispered.
But then I saw her again. She stood there, a black siluete in the orange sherbet street lamp watching.
“Bret”, she continued to whisper in my ear.
The sweet, and yet, controlling vocals urged me on. And I hesitantly obeyed and followed the crowd through the two glass doors, and down a small flight of stairs. It was dark in that stairwell, and holding onto the metal railing my finger touched a dried slightly sticky lump. It was dried old chewing gum. I pulled my hand back in disgust.
“My name is Aaron and I’m an alcoholic and an addict …”
I glared across the room and saw what I had been told to follow. Now I understood what the reason was. Aaron was it. Aaron, now apparently sober, had been my girlfriend’s and my drug dealer. He had played a big part of our beginning. A really big part of the end. Both Audrey, my girlfriend, and I were customers of his. And his service was intimate to us; so intimate that it killed one of us. The one it slain was Audrey. Aaron caused it. Well, her father raping and impregnating her didn’t help either. Regardless, Aaron gave her the drugs. She turned bluer than fucking Elvis. Now here he was; alive and well. There was a craving, a slow rising violent building storm that pricked and poked. Standing there that need stabbed at me with each second. It was like stepping on little shards of glass as the tearing hunger ordered for action.
“There’s a chair over there” this middle aged man with a salt and pepper mustache whispered to me.
“Thanks” I answered before sitting down in the chair.
Aaron was still talking, going over words phrases. He pronounced sylibols that I would have normally understand, but at that moment she was greeting me standing behind the two men who were leading the meeting. Though the room was well lit in an irritating illumination that was reflected off of the floor. Audrey was still in some kind of shadow. As she stared, a slight smile eventually forcing its way through her glare. She showed the love I felt for her as well. But there was something that despite the smile, interrupting, was still present. It hung around long after the burning and stinging of a drink of grain alcohol even when followed up by a chaser.
“And that’s when I hit rock bottom.”
“Wha?” I focused on Aaron then.
Still chubby, but not over weight like before, he looked healthy. Not like the breathing bloated corpse of what seemed like so long ago. It was terrifying exhilarating to see him, and as I listened to him speak I became overwhelmed by two factors; guilt and something else. I wanted to leave, but I had to stay; at least to hear his story. I had to stay to understand him. I had to stay to understand what the fuck this 12 step meets was. What were these discussions about recovery?
12 step programs as I began to learn was a system of steps. These steps were like an instructional manual that is a process for changing one’s life. It was developed as a way to help addicts and alcoholics sober up. The people that meet together are a support group that helped you offering encouragement. I thought about it as stared at the paper I had written. It was a by-product of a step Aaron and I were working on. Stained, the ink smeared in the blood of Aaron. Its abstract bur had somehow made those deeds irrelevant. Only it was replaced with this. And Audrey was there to remind me. But why wasn’t she dead? I couldn’t understand it. I glanced around in confusion. The once beautiful decorated room was now in a shambles like the aftermath of a slasher’s toga party. Furniture askew, and framed photos had plummeted to the floor laid shattered, and broken like the bodies that were motionless there too. Well, were until I touched Aaron and a gurgled cough spat up blood in my face. I jumped in a panicked rage and seized on to his windpipe with rabid fervor. I squeezed and grunted in an effort to quell whatever breath was left in my victim’s body. Waiting for another cough, a gasp, a fight, and a struggle my cloths became splattered in the red warmth that was Aaron’s and Kelley’s life. I pounded on the body despite its complete and utter statuesic stillness.
Aaron’s body was literally covered in punctured wounds, and yet I had still continued in my assault on those destroyed lives in that destroyed house of what was once a shining example of second chances. Then she spoke to me.
“Thank you babe, thank you.”
I didn’t answer. I stared at what I had done, the faces, the expressions of the two I had brutalized. I had committed a double murder. And as I looked around the smell of blood permeated the air. I knew that she was standing next to me. But, I didn’t want to look up. I didn’t want to see how my demons had manifested. I didn’t want a wide angle view of the double homicide I’d committed. I didn’t want to actually recognize what I had made. That had become my baby. If I couldn’t see it then it wasn’t real. But like a noxious, cheap cologn, the irony metallic sent of blood was so intense that I could taste it. I picked up the knife on the floor before sliding down the wall. The metallic clink of the stainless steel blade on the floor was like the obnoxious beeping of an alarm clock. I remembered that face. At the end of that very first meeting, that first 12 step meeting I had tried to leave. I didn’t want to see Aaron’s face. Didn’t want to play nice, and didn’t want to make a scene.
“Bret?”
I kept walking.
“Wait! Bret” that familiar voice called out.
I felt someone grab my shoulder.
“Heeeyyyy, it’s Aaron youngin.”
Grimacing for a split second, I turned to that man.
“What’s up? Long time?”
Aaron smiled. He looked healthy, but for the first time he looked old compared to the way that I had remembered. Even when starved he had always been chunky and hefty; he still somehow looked better. Healthier, and dare I say handsome. His wrinkles had done anything but decrease his looks. That shocked me and angered me all at the same time. The requiem was this joyous memory of despising, loving, kinship. He had smiled friendly as he helped to poison us; as Audrey turned bluer than his father’s idol Elvis. I smiled back, revealing nothing. Not how I felt, not the whisper in my ear I heard; I had nothing nice to say so I said nothing at all just like my mother had said. It was just the presence of a fallen angel from my past.
“This your first meeting?”
“Ah, no, nah” I answered smiling embarrassingly. “Well yeah-yeah”, I stammered smacking my gums in the process.
I was humiliated. Aaron grinned, and I could see that he could hardly contain himself. He reached out to shake my hand, but instead hugged me.
Aaron exclaimed “Welcome brother!”
He held on tightly to me, squeezing a bit of air out of my chest.
“Yeah” I gasped. “Thanks.”
Aaron smiled this optimistic, proud smile like one of a proud father. He took a sip of coffee from a Styrofoam cup. It looked like sludge; the coffee that is. I wasn’t sure which sickened me more, the coffee or Aarons smile.
Pulling out a business card and handing it to me, Aaron continued to grin. I couldn’t believe it, a fuckin’ business card from a hustler? Well, he had been a drug dealer to be more specific. But he was a clean and sober one. Either way I couldn’t believe it; he was still one of sorts. A legitimate one now of course. A hustler still sober or not.
“Call me. We can talk.”
Aaron smiled. I remembered that expression. I saw it somehow superimposed on the contorted expression that was carved on his face as he laid motionless in the blood stained room. That demented expression, no matter how horrific, still didn’t seem to fuck with me as much as that smile on his chubby face that night that I was reunited with Audrey’s Dr. Kovorician. When that paper had touched my palm all I wanted to do was vomit. I could feel it burning my throat. I held it down and yet I couldn’t seem to sever the tie. He was a friend, a con man, maybe even a monster. He had sold my girlfriend the heroin that she overdosed on. But, he hadn’t forced her. He had wanted to be friends, and despite my hate, I just couldn’t refuse. God; I needed the help, and Audrey’s ghost was demanding it. I held the paper in my hand and it burned like a hot coal. There was one of Aaron’s business cards that laid on the edge of the table and as I tried to grasp it the paper floated onto a puddle of blood. I stared at it, but didn’t bother to pick it up until it started to absorb the crimson liquid. Snatching it up, despite the blood it still felt like I was holding fire. I could feel the heat inside of me. It tingled at first, then like muscle rub it became both cold and yet hot; I could feel it. And there was something that was humorous so I laughed as I reminisced about that first phone call. I didn’t want to call him; I didn’t want to make friends with the man who had caused my girlfriend to turn blue.
“Babe call him please, just call him.”
I heard that plea, that sweet request of her soothing voice. It was so hypnotic to me that the demon that was hidden beneath was stirred. Yet, still I listened to her.
“Hi ah is Aaron-can I speak to Aaron please?”
There came a laugh, “Yeah this is Aaron. Your voice still sounds the same …”
He went on leading the conversation asking all kinds of questions. One of which was if I wanted to get coffee. I had to agree, my stomach began doing flip flops.
It was doing that, my stomach, as I looked over the scene filled with a mixture of emotions; pride, joy, and horror. The realization was all too terrible and accelerating. I had been having coffee with the enemy in his dining room, and then strangling him. Then the same to his wife. She had walked in and saw his blooded body; there wasn’t much choice in the matter. Yet, there was this sense of justice I felt behind the taking of her life. I believed, but more so she did. Audrey’s ghost, the one who had come to stay with me; she believed it justice. I didn’t know why she’d come to reside with me, at least I didn’t know then. Not as I glared over the mess; the bodies of Aaron and Kelley. Yet, I laughed at the joy of the taste I had in my mouth; the sweet flavor of vengeance that coated my tongue. The tears, the snot, my smile, the metal stench, and that gentle touch. She touched me while the blood’s iron smell filled my nostrils as it coquaulated into spongy wafers. It was sickening, and yet I somehow liked it. But what had I put in the black trash bag? Who had I dismembered? What evidence was I disposing of? What had happened? Where the hell was Kelley? I didn’t know? But there was the paper wet with blood. Looking closer, I remembered what that was, and what Aaron had done to bring that on.
The 12 steps are just that, 12 steps. Each one is part of a process that leads further into recovery. You have to admit your powerlessness; find a god of your understanding, and then be willing to turn your will over to that higher power. As they say “It’s a SPIRITUAL program”, and they weren’t fucking kidding.
Step four is making a written moral inventory. Step five you have to share that list with your sponsor. The sixth and the seventh step are all about asking “god” to your short comings. The eighth step you have to make a list of those you have wronged. The ninth step was sharing it with your sponsor, and then becoming willing to make those amends to those when we can and just as long as it didn’t cause them harm. I was finished with the first part of the ninth; that is before all of this happened. Before this mess. I remembered that first day that Aaron and I had coffee. We sat in this happy awkwardness trying to keep a friendship anew. Aaron was anxious, I could tell by his laughter and nervous smiles. It took forever, and as I looked at his chubby face I could feel my impatience rising. The longer the delay as he sipped his coffee out of that paper cup, the more I wanted to blind that man with that hot beverage. But I didn’t. I just smiled, and tried to make jokes. That is until he said it; until he spat out those words.
“I need to make amends …”
As those words were spoken by Aaron there was a crack. There was this eardrum rupturing sound that I winced at. I could hear the screams, her screams and her whispers all at the same time. The confusion was apocalyptic. It got louder and louder, I could hear her anger. Audrey’s outrage was so intense that I felt that at any minute I would rip out all of my own teeth to distract myself. But just when I thought I couldn’t take anymore, it stopped. Nothingness. It was like I had been struck deaf. That was fine, and I smiled. That is until the sounds came back. Not Audrey, but everyone else. The chatter, the talking, the laughter, and the bullshit pop music the coffee shop was using as background noise. He continued to explain, nervously trying to make better what to me and her was irreversible pain. There was this uneasy agreement that sat at the pit of my stomach, but she insisted that I accept, and so I did. I forgave him for Audrey’s, but only for that moment. Audrey made sure of that. I couldn’t sleep that night; I thought about those words of that admittance to his part in my girlfriend’s death. She kept whispering in my ear telling me how much of a scumbag he was. That he was a killer and fuckin’greedy.
“What do you want?” I asked.
She glared at me, I could see her, see her siluet and through her. There was absolutely no distinctive features at that moment, but I could sense those scowling eyes tearing me to ribbons with every second that I hadn’t answered my own question.
“Just be his friend”
“Cool” I answered back quickly.
I didn’t see her, as I let her Aaron back into my life. Talking, riding around bullshitting, and talking; and then there was the damaging process of the steps. While they wounded me, somehow they helped too. I fucking hated it.
I laughed; I laughed at the sight of the eighth step I had written. It was smeared with that metallic budding stench of horrific relapse. It was disappointing and yet good. Those words, both written and spoken. They had both been said in some way about the dead. Good or bad, Audrey had still been spoken of by two who could be seen as the traitors. Regardless of the context, it didn’t fucking matter because she was still angry and telling us both about it. She was telling me, I was the messenger. Aaron had gotten the message. I had seen his face, had heard him say her name, it hadn’t come to me at first. Not as I knelt there in the blood stained Martha Stuart dream home. I hadn’t even realized what had been said, or even the gesture that he had made with an out stretched hand. Aaron had said her name somehow as he choked and gagged for air. He called for Audrey, begging for her mercy.
There was warmth surrounding my knees that was slowly being absorbed into my core. At first it was pleasant, but then it became sticky. Its discomfort caused me to look, observing what I had become. The mess of a human being that I’d transformed intothe mess I had caused. Yet, somehow that sweet tasting iron stench was more exhilarating. I could almost see all its wonderful budding blossoms like that of a seductive field of poppies. Why were my legs so warm?
No, they were hot.
Why?
Sticky and wet, it startled me. I looked down to see that I was literally kneeling in the innards of Kelley. The hot blood had soaked my jeans a crimson blackness. I jumped in complete phantasms at what I had done.
“You did this fucked up thing” I heard whispered sweetly rage fully in my ear. “But you did it for me. Don’t stop, it’s almost finished.”
My disgust was washed away by pride and devotion. I beamed with joy at how I had honored my baby girl. So, through the tears I smiled and began to clean up the mess. He had brought this on himself, and as I thought about it I knew, really knew the truth. I had brought this on myself as well. Going into the bathroom to wash my hands I saw something in the trash. A small box that held some kind of over the counter medication, but as I looked I realized that it wasn’t a tube of antibiotic ointment, or yeast infection cream. No, it was that test that delivered either good or bad news, depending on how you looked at it. Picking up the cardboard box and reading the print, I saw the actual test that lay under nieth. I handled it carefully in my hand, the stick that would be pissed on to get the result. I stared at the outcome of it, and I knew what it meant even though I didn’t quite understand fully my part. The result was a yes to being with child. Audrey had been pregnant, Kelley must have been too. She was wasn’t she? But what did that mean. I asked myself that question as I went back into the kitchen, and came upon Aaron lying there. He was in a crumbled mess. His hand was still out stretched as if he was still reaching in pleading despair for salvation. And as I glared at it Aaron had seemed to have attempted to claw away as he had cried out Audrey’s name. He had also wailed out in horror “the baby!” Kelley was pregnant, several months. That’s what he had been calling out, right?
As I felt the blood begin to dry, cementing itself to my body, I adjusted myself. I felt that excruciating ripping pain of my hair being torn out. Looking down, I saw the truth. It was like one of those abstract pictures that had hidden images in it. But you have to stare at it for awhile to see it. That was exactly what happened in that cologne of flesh, skin, tissue, and blood. Was that reasoning for bloodletting?
“Oh shit?” I blurted out as I sprang up, and almost toppled over and up against the wall where Aaron’s head had gone through.
I glared down at it that time seeing her reproductive organs on the floor. I gagged, coughed, and almost vomited, but then I held it. I felt her touch and I knew; understood my purpose. I swallowed back my cowardness, and continued my work. I almost began to rant, and curse the girl I loved but as several f-bombs came out I stopped. I stopped remembering the two things that my mother had told me: first not to speak ill of the dead, and the second thing being that if you didn’t have anything nice to say then don’t say anything at all.
So, I didn’t; I just listened.
“It’s almost done” she kept saying. “And everything will be alright.”
And it was, it was fine. I stood up holding the trash bag only to have it ripped open, and the contents fall on the floor. The thing I had sliced out of her literal landed at me feet. Seeing that life I had cut out of Kelley for some reason struck a nerve, and as I saw that something snapped.
“No, no, no!” I cried out. “Oh shit!”
Audrey snarled “Shut the fuck up! You did this to them, and you did this to me.” Audrey scolded, “You’re the cause of all of this!”
I could hear her voice cut through me like a knife.
“What do you want?!” I screamed. “What do you want?”
Absorbed by the volume of my voice, I had lost awareness of my equilibrium. I begged and pleaded to know, I got no answer and as I opened my eyes I realized that I had been rolling around on the floor. Then looking up I saw her; Audrey standing over me. Her Canines gleamed in the fluorescent light of the kitchen. Her rage began to tear away at my soul the same way painted dogs devoured their prey alive. She saw my fear.
“This is your fault” her phantom said several times.
I began to cry, closing my eyes so that I couldn’t see her. Covering my face with my hands, I could felt the tears run down my face as I waited for something; anything. But nothing. Instead I felt the gentle loving touch of a moist, tender kiss on both my eyes.
“But it was done out of love for me” she whispered.
I felt a wet hot caress against my cheek, and then nothing.
Nothing.
I stood up, and looked at the still bodies that on the floor. Their eyes stared ahead; they had begun to cloud as time progressed. Kelley laid facing up, despite all the color being drained from it. While the blood had been moped up the bodies stayed where they were. Audrey had wanted it that way. The morning sun was trying to seep its way under the curtains. The new curtains that Kelley had brought up to redecorate their home. The curtains that now had her blood on them. As I closed the back door, and began to walk through the backyard, I stopped and turned around. I looked, starring for any sign. But nothing. I saw nothing. Could it be true that it was finished? Audrey was no longer there. Her ghost no longer had anything to say; no orders, no pain, no interference. Nothing.
I was free. So I walked into the woods behind their home. As I walked the crunching sound of leaves and twigs filled my ears, but for some reason I didn’t notice the beauty of the early sun light shining through the trees mesmerized me. I continued to walk. It was such an amazing morning, and I was free. It was beautiful. The sounds and sights of the woods as I walked. The crunching of the leaves and twigs under foot, the crinkling of the plastic as I moved were like hypnotic white tones.
I smiled at the nothingness that had consumed my mind. Though I could hear it, it didn’t seem to register. No, I hadn’t registered anything; nothing as I looked up into the tree tops. There were two small birds that perched on the branches. They were radiant. It was so clear out with the bright orange ball that was slowly ascending into a glowing sky of dark blue. The birds still stayed on their branches; I was freed.
Free!
Then a very distinct color came into view. Darker than the others, it flashed in my mind as well as the physical world. That color was black; it came riding on wings. It cried out telling me that she wasn’t too far behind. The crow, that black on wings, cried louder, and as she did I knew. I was terrified, and stopping I felt paralyzed as I waited for that indication that I wasn’t alone. It didn’t come; there was nothing but the raven. She cried out again.
“Bret” echoed in my ear. I heard the footsteps. The russling of the underbrush; the steps came closer. As it did I turned and slowly glared up at an approaching figure. There before me was Audrey, beautiful as the first day I had laid eyes on her. She smiled at me lovingly. While shocked, it was quickly bulldozed over by the expression on her face. And despite my realization of my bondage, I still was elated to see her there. She still loved me despite the fact that she was continuing to haunt me. I may not have been free, but I wasn’t alone. There was still her love, that ghost was alive; warm unlike her corpse.
“Audrey” I responded, extending my arms to embrass her. But there was another voice I heard, and it took my breath away.
“Hey youngin’” There was this cynical smile of affection on his face.
“Oh shit!” I gasped.
Standing beside him was Kelley. She was walking, in the same clothing as in their home; blood soaked, gore, and all. It was the same with Aaron. Seeing them both accompanying Audrey I shivered feeling my teeth chatter. Almost dropping the black trash bag, I felt her hand grab mine and help me keep a hold onto the bag.
“You did good. I love you.”
I stopped shaking still stupidified by what was presented before me. The crow cawed again; Audrey came even closer. And as I regained my composure, Audrey led the way deeper into the woods. The ghost of my dead girlfriend was leading the way deeper into an unknown future. Maybe further into the abyss is the best way to describe that empty feeling in my gut that slowly traveled up my insides into my chest, and then finally my head. My equilibrium had been thrown off, and I stumbled before steadying myself on a tree.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
Audrey answered “I still need you baby boy. You love me?”
I responded without question “Yes”.
I took Audrey’s hand, and held it as we continued to walk. Death, I wasn’t afraid of death, no I had been dying for a long time. No, death didn’t scare me, it was her. Disrespecting her memory, speaking ill of her I had angered Audrey, and she would stay until she was satisfied. That would probably be when I was dead. It was a curse, and yet I was bewitched by her still. I was eager for her company, and so I followed. As we walked the crow flew ahead, crawing as it did.
And now it's time for the "Ya Know What Really Chaffs My Nuts?".
Do you know what really chaffs my nuts? Family reunions. Yes, those occasions of award dysfunction where you have to somehow bond with those worst of people; the one's who bore, and those who share their blood. It's those horrific experiences that can be so confusingly dysfunction, that the only way you can ever be sure as to who you are related to is to ask "Can we fuck?". If yes then it is safe to say that if by some way you are it's so distant that it just doesn't matter. If yes then you best not bump uglys with each other. These are the occations that for some genetic reasons still unknown everyone at the reunion pretends to actually care about that brother, sister, aunt, uncle, or cousin who in reality they believe are embarassments. These are the times where your uncle fucks your mom, and all the while you get to listen to the elders scoldingly tell you stories about how they didn't have all those fancy zippy do-da shoes like we have today that are supposed to do everything for you from enable you to dunk a basketball to completing your calculous homework to pleasuring your little girlfriend in ways unimaginable. No, they had one pair of shoes that the whole damn neighborhood had to share, as they trampled up a mountain in 16 feet of snow to get to school. And oh yeah, did they for get to mention that it was 20 miles there and back? Well it fucking was, "Damn whippersnappers". Yup those are those magical times where alcoholism and addiction bring out truths that can do nothing more than bond, or if nothing else learn why murder suicide can such a wonderful idea. Some relatives get drunk and next thing you know everyone know that impotence runs in your family, or that the woman who you thought was your mother actually isn't. Your mother is actually the lunch lady with bronchitis at your high school who smoked cigarettes out of a hole in her throat. Basically it the love hate phoniness that families bring to your life. And that my friends is What Really Chaffs My Nuts.
Do you know what really chaffs my nuts? Family reunions. Yes, those occasions of award dysfunction where you have to somehow bond with those worst of people; the one's who bore, and those who share their blood. It's those horrific experiences that can be so confusingly dysfunction, that the only way you can ever be sure as to who you are related to is to ask "Can we fuck?". If yes then it is safe to say that if by some way you are it's so distant that it just doesn't matter. If yes then you best not bump uglys with each other. These are the occations that for some genetic reasons still unknown everyone at the reunion pretends to actually care about that brother, sister, aunt, uncle, or cousin who in reality they believe are embarassments. These are the times where your uncle fucks your mom, and all the while you get to listen to the elders scoldingly tell you stories about how they didn't have all those fancy zippy do-da shoes like we have today that are supposed to do everything for you from enable you to dunk a basketball to completing your calculous homework to pleasuring your little girlfriend in ways unimaginable. No, they had one pair of shoes that the whole damn neighborhood had to share, as they trampled up a mountain in 16 feet of snow to get to school. And oh yeah, did they for get to mention that it was 20 miles there and back? Well it fucking was, "Damn whippersnappers". Yup those are those magical times where alcoholism and addiction bring out truths that can do nothing more than bond, or if nothing else learn why murder suicide can such a wonderful idea. Some relatives get drunk and next thing you know everyone know that impotence runs in your family, or that the woman who you thought was your mother actually isn't. Your mother is actually the lunch lady with bronchitis at your high school who smoked cigarettes out of a hole in her throat. Basically it the love hate phoniness that families bring to your life. And that my friends is What Really Chaffs My Nuts.
And now it's time for another version of "Questions That Make You Huuummmm!"
This question is: If there were only three people left on earth who would you rather have sex with; a very pregnant, hermaphrodite hybrid version of Gina Gershon, or Rush Limbaugh with massive, yet perky DD's?
Think about and get back to me.
