Another, abusive, hate filled love story

Sitting on the hill, starting at the masterpiece I have created I take another swig of the half empty bottle in my hand. The feel of cold steel in the other. Liquid slowly burning its way down the long and narrow tube of my throat. Destroy, look, swig, burn, repeat…..burn…..this is the story of my life…..”keep it simple,” “make money,” it’s all they know….. burn…..there is more to life than keeping it simple, you have to do and fight for what you believe in, or there is no reason to live…..you are your lost dreams …..BURN…..the end in near…..no matter how you look at it there is no final answer, the only thing certain in life is pain, and death…..in all of this remember that death is not the end…..there is so much more……death is not the end…..
The close minded fucks who run this world must die…..the select few we call the majority, the few majority who think they know it all, the ones who don’t understand life, well the reality of life anyways, must die…..

The promise land lies in ruins.

How did I let my boring, minimum wage, mid-western life come to this? Well that’s easy, you just have to go back to the beginning…..

Struggling through this narrow tube all I can think is, damn I wonder what she’ll look like this time……

No damn it you went to far…..

“Now you know you can tell my anything right?”
Nod.
“And no matter what you say it’s between you and me, right?”
Sure why not.
“OK then, why don’t we start by getting to know each other a little better? I’m doctor Wallace, but Bob, or Wallace work just fine.”
Faceless corpse.
Dr. Wallace…..what can I say about Dr. Wallace? Well all I know is that when I talk to him all my troubles seem lifted, I am no longer alone, I am no longer the only person who feels how I feel…..and that scares me to fucking death!
A middle aged man, with a face the same shape as the ripe apples you buy at the grocery store. There is a large scar on the left side of his face, stretching from the hairline to the bottom of his ear lobe.
Scar face ha-ha
And all I want is to ask him where he got that enormous mountain of tissue from. A bar fight maybe, or a disgruntled employee or ex-girlfriend. I don’t know, but it’s fun to think of the ways this scar could have come into existence.
Alone in this over lighted room, with a man I just met and here I am, laying on a couch, spilling my fucking guts out. Inch by inch they unravel and secret after secret are exposed.
Shit!
“So you feel the need to have a purpose, a cause, you feel the need to change things?”
Sure why not?…..

Still alone, still with a man I met 35 minutes ago, but now all I can think about are the countless ways I could put him out of his fucking misery. I could end all of his pains, all of his worries, gone in one swift blow or repetitive strikes to the skull. Counting the ways, one by one, I could save him.
Murder?
I thought of 139 different ways, all as creative as the next but I won’t put you through the pain of hearing them all.
Shotgun to the face.
Hell, most of them you couldn’t even imagine if you tried…..

Hop to my third visit with Dr. Wallace, and think of how you would answer, “so how was your weekend?”
Well to start things off, I torched the skin on the inside of my thigh. Oh, why, I don’t know to see what it feels like I guess? No that won’t work. The neighbor’s cat kept crawling in my car and taking a nice long piss. Oh roll up the windows, that’s a good idea. Or I could take a nine iron and beat it’s fucking brains in. Nope, no good either. HAHA, it’s harder than it sounds isn’t it.
“How was you weekend?” He asks again, hoping that I would breakdown and cry in his arms.
Knife to throat.
That’s what he wants isn’t it. To save me, he wants me to confide in him and allow him to manipulate me into what he sees fit as a human being.
Like that’ll happen.
Staring him in his beady little eyes, I say nothing. Bob gives me a shrug to signal that he’s waiting for some kind of reply, but it’s too late, I see what he wants. So without a word I start to untie my shoe laces.
“What are you doing? Feel free to take off you shoes if you’d like. But how was you weekend, talk to me damn it, ha-ha.”
Bob’s growing angrier and angrier every second, and I am having a ball watching his frustration manifest itself.
Both shoes are unlaced and I slip the left one off.
I think he gets it now or maybe he just wants to see what the fuck I am doing so he keeps quiet, and I remove the right one. There is dried up blood caked on the toes of my right sock and I see a look if shock in good ole Bob’s eyes as I take off the sock.
“What? What the hell happened, did something fall on your foot? I had that happen once, I know how you fell man, it really sucks.”
Poor naïve stupid little Bob he still doesn’t understand.
“No Bob, nothing fell on my foot, and it wasn’t an accident.”
“What, what happened?” God I love the look of surprise in the face of the un-suspecting.
“Me, I happened, I did it myself.”
“Why, why would you do that?”
“Why did Van Gogh cut off his own ear? Now I am not going to send my toe nails to a whore but I needed to live. So I went into my garage, and one by one, slowly pulled out all of my toenails.”
He still doesn’t know about the thigh or the cat, ha-ha, just think how he’ll react to that.
Suffocation.
“Oh my god. How could you do….uhhh,” have you ever seen someone’s face turn green? It’s one of the funniest things you’ll ever have the pleasure to witness, and to know you are the cause for this ha-ha, it’s fucking priceless man…. “I’ll be right back,” and with that Bob runs out of the office, faster than I could put my sock back on.
You’re suppose to be able to handle this sort of thing, you’re the doctor, right?…..

“what is it that you’re angry at.”
Like I’ll ever tell this little bitch, who claims to be a doctor what I am angry at. Him, you, myself, yeah that’s what he wants. Well then I’ll give it to him good.
“Well, I’m not sure, I think I am scared of society in general. I mean, people today cant even live their own lives, wit Hough someone telling them what to do or how to act.”
“What exactly do you mean, I live my life without people ordering me around.”
Stupid, stupid Bob, god I fell so sorry for you.
“Non, that’s not what I mean. what if there was no government, no police force, no television studio to tell people what to do, then what?”
“Well then you’d have anarchy.”
Car bomb.
What a dumb fucking answer. Well it isn’t like I expected him to get it in the first place. Fuck you, fuck Bob.
“Yes, Bob and with that would come a raise in the crime rate, a death toll higher than you could ever imagine.”
“Well, yea, there’d be no law.”
“but why do we even need laws? Aren’t we humans? Aren’t we the top species, we should be able to survive in a world where we’re not told what is right and wrong. Where we’re not told what to eat or how to sing or look. I bet everyone would starve to death without commercials every 15 minutes tell them what’s for dinner,” (beef, duh)……

My inner thigh is hot and growing hotter as the skin turns a dark brown then black color. God this must be what living feels like. The fat and skin start to bubble.
And that is what is known as a third degree burn.
Ok, enough.
I toss the lighter back into the drawer under the microwave.
All that screaming and the neighbors didn’t even come see what was wrong or call the cops. What a nice and considerate world we live in. come to think of it I don’t think I’ve ever seen my neighbors, friendly, huh? Well unless you consider that damn cat my neighbor but I don’t have to deal with that ever again, now do I?……

“Hey you, janitor,” a man in a suit and tie, the man you see every night on channel ten, the one your daughter is in love with, says.
“Me?”
“yeah you, I spilled some coffee in studio two,” and with that the man walks off.
What a fucking pig.
Studio two, that’s where one of those, never changing sitcoms, or soap opera, whatever is filmed. You know the one with the three kids, and two parents, and their happy little lives. Every week some problem arises and every week it is solved, and everyone is happy and loves everyone. Never-mind.
The one thing I’m sure of is, he won’t be walking on my anymore, I’m not his fucking slave…..

“Welcome back Bob. I hope your stomach is ok.”
Ha-ha, dumb bastard.
“Yeah, thanks, it’s just, well never-mind.”
“No, come on, you can tell me.”
Seems our roles have reversed.
“Well, when I saw your toes, it just well……” he seems hesitant to let me inside his head, smart man. “It looked like my cat.”
Stake through the heart.
What, what kind of fucked up cat was this?
“What, your cat looks like that, damn man, what kind of cat you got?” this is surprising even to me.
“No, Sunday, I opened my front door to get my paper, and there was this bag on my front porch.”……

Beep…..beep….beep.
Fucking alarm clock. It’s one of those sounds you’re trained to hare, so you can’t sleep through it.
Up, shit shower, shave, slave, same.
Another day in the fucked up life of me, another day to prepare for the end.
And after waking up at six A.M. and getting read to clean up other peoples shit, and stubbing my toe, and running out of milk, there it is. I’ve been smelling it for weeks and there it is. That damn grey and whit cat, with the tip of its tail chopped off, pissing in my car, my piece of shit car. That little fucker…..

“I opened the bag and…..and”
Bag over head.
“And what?”
“There he was. I couldn’t even recognize him. I didn’t know what it was until…… I found the collar.” and Bob breaks down, falling on the floor he weeps like a child……

Ha-ha, you fucking asshole, I got you now. Reaching into the open window I grab the little bitch, by the back of the neck. Knowing he is defeated there is no struggle.
Marching inside there is no sound from the helpless animal.
Dead man walking.
What to do, what to do?
Microwave.
So finding the nearest pillowcase I toss the thing inside.
Blender.
Now he gets it and decides it’s time to fight.
Too late little man.
I drag it into the garage and grab my nine-iron, my dad’s nine-iron, the only thing I have of his
Club to the bag…..

“He was the only thing I had left, after my wife left me, and took my kids. I mean, I have no family, I am alone.”
Can you be so dumb that you just forget to breathe? Or so stupid you let the patient take control?……

When Bob turns his head to look out the window I slip a few drops into Bob’s cup.
Sip, sip, gulp.
For the next few hours Bob will feel more alive than he ever has, through dying he will be reborn. I know this because I’ve done this. Bob knows this because he is experiencing it as I speak.
Faces cave in.
Bob will die, but hopefully it’s not enough to kill him just give him a little scare.
Walls turn to swirling pools all around.
Only after dying will he any use to me.
Chair sinks in.
Unable to speak.
Arms shake.
Age, fear, none of these can hinder him.
Windpipes break.
Smell of blood.
Can’t breathe.
One to many times before.
The sound of dripping from mouth, nose, and ears.
This is you brain on drugs.
White light (how cliché.)
“Open your eyes Bob.”
BLACK…..

“Look, Bob, I know you miss your cat, and you feel alone, so why don’t you come and hang out with me tonight. Maybe you can meet someone.”
These are the first words spoken in fucking hours. Damn shrink whining about his dead cat.
Sniff, sniff “Really? You’d want to hang out with me?” Now to me this sounds like a child, but you make your own decision.
“Of course I would…. Why….. Who wouldn’t? I mean….. man, you’re smart and funny, a guy would be lucky to have a friends like you.”
Reel him in.
“OK, sure, I’d like that.”
“Great, I’ll be back at six.”
Scissors between the eyes……

“Ummmm….. What are we doing here?”
“Look, I said you could hang out with me so don’t ask so many god damned questions!”
Keep him in check.
“Oh, sorry.”
We exit the, still urine smelling, vehicle, as a woman burst out of the doors of a large grey building, crying her eyes out.
“Gerald, oh why, Gerald why so young!” she screams.
So his name was Gerald.
Walking inside there is a mass of people hovering in the same general area.
“Did you know him?”
“Didn’t I tell you not to ask questions. Shut the fuck up.”
Casket on top.
“Sit here and don’t move, I’ll be back in a bit.”
If you’re ever wondering where to pick up women, well don’t wonder anymore.
I’ve done this millions of times and every time I have to add something into the mix to keep it exciting.
The first time was at my dad’s funeral: I was only 13 years old. A friend of mine had come and well lets just say she comforted me.
The more I did this the more dangerous these little stunts became. It started out I would take them home, then the car, then the bathroom, but even that wasn’t doing it for me anymore.
So now it’s this. Here I am, me and the daughter of Gerald, the ex-navy seal, whom I worked with for three years, in the roofing business, in the basement where they store the bodies. For all I know this could be where the corpses are cut open and cleaned out.
Scalpel to skull.
The harder I thrust the more she moans and the thought of getting caught only excites me now.
Louder, louder, get me caught baby, get me caught.
“Uh, why are you so quiet?” Debra asks.
“I just don’t like to talk, you know when I’m……”
“Ok, uh, it’s ok, uh, it’s great.”
Back and forth, front to back, every position imaginable and I’m done. We didn’t get caught and now all I want is to get the fuck out of here.
“Hey, babe, hold on a second, I’ll be right back.”
“Ok, but don’t be long,” she says in a tone that can only mean she wants more.
The room is so dark you cant even see what’s in front of you.
I travel up the stairs and into the room I left Bob.
“Where have you been?”
“Don’t ask questions. There is a girl waiting for you down stairs, just don’t talk, she doesn’t like it when you talk…..”

Twelve hours later Bob awakens. “Huh, what happened?”
“You passed out man, you ok?”
God, here it goes.”
“What, no man.”
And Bob goes into a long story of how he died, and I was at his funeral, and the white light.
And I have to act surprised.
Pillow over face.
“Wow, man that’s crazy, you were like born again.”
“Yeah, I’m not me anymore. It’s like I am a new person.” Blah, Blah, Blah
“Wow!” How exciting (sigh)…..

“You’re all I have, you know that right?”
“Come on man, don’t say that. But I will be there if you need me.” God I hate this part. Now I am his friend, but soon I will be God.
“Yeah, I know, thanks.” Bob, Bob, Bob you’re such a simple creature.
“But if I ever need anything you’ll be there for me, right?”
Of course he will.
“Of course I will.”
Knife in back.
“Well, I need a favor tonight.”
“Shoot”
Ha-ha Bob why is this so easy?
“Tonight around, ummm….. Tenish, when I get off work, I need you to give me a ride home.”
“Yeah, sure man, no problem. Where do you live?”
Right next to you, yeah like I can say that.
“Right down the road from the studio……”

As Bob heads down the stairs, to an unsuspecting girl, I take a seat in the chair. This has the possibility to turn out really fucking funny.
The next thing I know, Debra comes over and sits in my lap, her dead dad no more than 50 feet away.
“That was great, thanks,” she whispers.
Heart attack.
I get a little kiss, and then the girl of the day walks off, right out of my life.
And to think I half expected Bob to come following, but like I said this has the possibility to be really fucking funny……

I look at the clock and it’s nine fifty eight. Bob walks up and we are alone in front of the mainstream television station I work at, sorry I’m not telling you which one, just read a news paper, this is bound to be all over the place……

Sitting in the chair I start at the crying people for about 15 minutes before Bob is back. His hair messed up and sweaty.
“Man that was great. But you were right she doesn’t like to talk.”
Or move for that matter. Bob you’re one sick fucker.
“Come on, lets get the fuck outta here.”
“But what about the girl?”
“Don’t worry she’ll be just fine like she is.”
That’s dirty, even for me……

“Hey you think you could help me with something before we go?”
“Yeah man, of course.”
“Ok, well I need some help carrying a box, come on it’s in a closet inside……”

Now the only question I have is, did Bob know the girl in the basement was dead or has it just been so long he couldn’t tell the difference?……

“Yeah, that one back there.”
Bye Bob.
And the next thing he knows Bob’s flesh is burning……

But I’m not that cold blooded. I wouldn’t just set a man on fire, geez, what do you think I am, a “murderer?” No I like to think of myself as a Liberator of souls.
Before he can pick up the box I draw my weapon, the sudden feeling of power rushing through my veins.
No I’m not going to shoot hi, so just shut the fuck up and keep reading.
The feeling of the gun in new and fresh to Bob’s skull.
Once again all is black.
As Bob lies on the floor, his head busted open and bleeding, I dispense the gasoline I stored in the closet all around studio two.
Oh sweet, sweet revenge.
And after I drag Bob’s limp body in I throw the match.
In a sudden burst all is ignited, including good ole Bob, and the last thing I see of him is that gigantic scar……

“Hey.”
“Yeah?”
“I’ve been wondering how you umm……”
Loss of words.
“How I got the scar?”
I nod stupidly……

Walking out I hear the scream of what seems like millions of police cars, so I head for the back door and make my way up the hill behind the studio……

“I was about twenty eight, it was the same year my wife left me, around Christmas.”
Oh this is going to be good.
“It was the worst time in my life,” tears swell around his eyes.
“I ummmm…..sorry its hard to tell. I took my gun out of the closet and pointed it at my head,” tears fall. “But you know me man, I pulled away at the last second. My wife came to get the rest of her stuff and found me on the floor, about an hour later.”
Holy shit.
“And still, to this day, that was the worst decision I’ve ever made. You know, pulling away.”
This is bad, I feel sorry for him.
No.
Its time to end this…..

Well Bob your dream has come true. And this time you can’t pull away.
Sitting on the hill out of my pocket comes the cheapest bottle of vodka I could find. And my masterpiece is complete.
And now, once again, I am alone, left with the evils of this world.
There is no more for me to do
I am useless.
And Bob’s dream becomes mine.
Through my whole life I have fought the system, leaving death and destruction where ever I go.
All that I love is gone, and now I must be dead, I already am for all I know. This could be death, who knows, we may be dead our entire lives.
Well let’s find out.
And I won’t pull away.
Well there it is, my story, your life on drugs.
Bullet to the brain……