“This week I decided to try once more with my blog.”
“Sheep! You are all fucking sheep! Breeding and eating and
eating and shitting! Fucking and working and living each and every
day lying to yourself about who you are and what you want
out of your pathetic, useless life! Convincing yourself that this is
right!”
“Is it? Is it right? To live this way? Is it fucking right? Do you
know who I am? Wake up!”
“This is not the way we are meant to live. This world is not for
me. Fuck your HBO and your McDonalds. Fuck your MTV, your
oil leaks, and your voting parties. Fuck your Top Ten lists and your
fucking rules. Fuck your reality TV, your Flicks on Demand, and
your Eco-friendly alternatives. We are not meant to live this way.”
“It will end. Someday. When it does, I will be there. I will be
there. You think I’m crazy?”
“I’m not crazy. You are.”
- Pages 27-28 “Princess Nonomi” by Micheal Grin
I tossed my book down on the surface of my desk and turned to him. His eyes flickered with candle light, the sweat on his brow like diamonds. His fear was intoxicating.
“Princess Nonomi describes the way I feel almost every minute of my life. The hatred and frustration she expresses during the moment suits emotions that bury deep inside of me, threatening to claw its way out. Like a cancer. My anger is a fucking cancer. And there is no cure.”
I took my time, my hand passing over the many tools at my disposal. I watched him, his frightful stare following my dancing fingers. I was judging. Hunting for the perfect reaction. When he gasped into the duct tape sealing his mouth shut, I smirked and stopped.
Nice choice. I picked up the cordless drill.
“2011 is done now. The new year is upon us. It's a time for new beginnings and regrets. A time for planning and hopeful wishing. A time to think to ourselves; what exactly do I want to accomplish next year? Me? I've got a shit ton of resolutions planned for the year 2012.”
“Things didn't necessarily bad for me though. I've published my first book. My short story “Peaches” was voted to be in the Deviant Nightmares Book Project anthology. Two fairly nice accomplishments, in a sense. However, the list stops there.”
Each step towards him was torture. Not my own. His. He squirmed against the rope, his boxers soaked in the front. Have some dignity, my good man. Have some fucking dignity.
I stood before him, a god, his jury and executioner. He tried to rock the chair. No luck. It was bolted to the floor. His flesh was pale as chalk and mine was on fire.
“I'm broke. I'm lost. I'm frustrated and I'm caged. This month, I'll be 31. Where the fuck did I go wrong? I thought things were just starting to change for the better. What the fuck happened here? Where am I headed? Is this even fucking worth it? What the fuck do I have to do to have some flicker of meaning in this pathetic excuse of an existence? I don't fit in the fucking world we inhabit. Not at all. I try, without a doubt, to blend with the rest of society. I just can't seem to do it. I just don't care enough. I hate every choice there is to make and love none of the alternatives. I'm on the dead-end road through life.”
A single squeeze of the trigger. A quick spin of the drill bit. It sent him screaming in agony. His head reared back, eyes shut tightly. He was unable to ignore the pain. The sharp tip caught the flesh of his collar. Pulling. Twisting. Tearing. It dug in briefly and then stopped.
With a jerk I pulled it out and proceed to do the same under his left shoulder.
“This blog, this joke of an attempt to promote myself; what the fuck is it for? Does the world even care what I think of it? No. The world doesn't want to know what is going through my mind. The earth is rotting away at the surface, infested with the disgusting bacteria called Man. No one cares about one person. No one wants to know.”
“How do I continue a blog or contribute to it regularly when I have nothing good to say? I fail to see the point so long as it's expected of me to provide an insight on our lives. So long as it's not a perspective seen through the eyes of a horror writer. Through the thoughts of a madman.”
Two holes pierced, I returned to the table, placing the bloody instrument down. He's gasping, head hanging. The gouges bled like tears of angels and I was only just getting started. With cold amusement I took hold of the next toy.
He raised his face to the scalpel in my hand.
“The last post I did, I started to explore the concept of an atheist death. Maybe provide an opinion. A point of view. Why did I stop? The answer is simple; We die and there is nothing we can do about it. Quit fucking worrying and pay your damn taxes.”
“I have no concept of god or society. I can offer nothing of importance other than the exploration of my fictional and diluted mind. The violence and sex that stirs a heat in my core. That's all I can give. A hateful rant against the planet we chose to destroy. A spiteful finger to the establishment of church and government.”
“The only thing I have to offer to anyone who reads this is my sincere thoughts of the world.”
Like the macabre ballet of agony, I spiralled the blade across him. Through tender flesh, leaving my touch tattooed in red ink. Suffer. Feel. He screamed and begged. Each syllable from him the song that carried me.
Die, friend. Die.
I want to watch you die.
“I’m not crazy. You are.”
Mere moments for me. Days to him. His skin hung in strips from his skull. His chest torn apart, muscles exposed to the damp air. Vomit on his lap. His penis a useless chunk on the concrete floor.
I returned to the table, hands sticky with cooling blood. Placing the blade back, I bent and picked up the canister of gasoline.
By this point, I doubted he even cared.
“That's why I never updated before. I had nothing nice to say. We all know the fucking advice; “If you've got nothing nice to say...” I looked into self promoting my book and any advice I found sings the same bullshit song and dance. Write a blog.”
“Well, this is my blog and all I want to do is piss on everyone out there. Self promotion? I'm no fucking salesman. If I was, I wouldn't be broke and unemployed.”
“Do I post this instead? Yes.”
Ritualistically, I showered him in petrol.
“I've decided to give this one more try. A final phoenix chance. Only this time, things will be different. I will share a point of view, provided only the way I can. Through my eyes. My ears. My thoughts. I'm not a monster. Far from it. I'm simply angry, lost and tired. But now I have an outlet, a tunnel to take me home. I'm inviting you all along.”
“I thought to myself; what if I take what I observe in a week, pick something to comment on, but add a Mr. Grin twist to it? What if I was saying it to someone else? Someone caught in my world?”
I leaned in close to him. The stench of fuel burned my nostrils and I smiled.
“Someone like you.”
“This is the third reincarnation to maintaining a blog. A rebirth to provide a dark look at things, at life through the philosophy of my psyche. If it offends, I don't care. If it entertains, all the better. I only wish to share what I learn each week about the world we live in.”
“That is my goal; to update weekly, bringing a new topic, a new observation as only I can explore it. They might be serious. They might be simple. Regardless, someone will suffer as I share. Someone will die.”
“Let's blog through sex and violence. Let's chat on my terms. Let's explore the mysteries of over priced coffee or the decline of religious power while I choke the life out of you.”
“Let's see if I make it work.”
“Until then, I'm not dead. I'm alive and enraged. Disgusted and tired. Sickened and far from hopeful.”
“Perhaps this will help keep idle hands from straying.”
I sat back in my chair, desk behind me. The glow of my laptop a sick ambiance in the room. He lifted his head, eyes swollen, and looked out at me. I doubt I was any more than a shadow to him, a silhouette against the light of heaven.
Taking one last drag of my cigarette, I flicked it. It streamed an amber fire, twirling like the devil's dance.
It ignited his final inferno.
“Fuck the world you know. Welcome to mine.”
Midnight, Sunday on the 1st day of January, 2012.
Comments about the new direction I'm taking? Questions? Feel free to speak your mind.
For more about the Deviant Nightmares Book Project, go to http://deviant-nightmares.deviantart.com/
Oh my god this was probably the most intense thing I have ever read.
ReplyDeleteI fucking LOVE it!