A dark alley can house a dozen low-life's; scheming and plotting villainous acts of disgrace and torture, a dark alley remains the only place such creatures can exist in decency among themselves.
Walking down a nearly abandoned street, night time air combing the concrete slabs along-side the road, I hear a cry; a shriek of terror. To my left, as I stared into the abyss of darkness, was an alley. For seconds I stood in frozen hesitation, letting he fear caress my body and unease my mind. No longer had I realized this, that I walked directly into hell.
Cautious looks to the left and right made progress slow, until I heard a second yell. Not far ahead was the female victim, and at that point I threw safety to the wind, and ran towards the scuffle.
At a speed I had not known I could run, I made it to the scene. Standing with a knife to the throat of an innocent women was Evil. He wore a black mask, other dark attire, and most heinous of all, a holstered gun.
"NOOOOOO!" Cried the woman in distress. "NOOO! NOOOOOOOOO!"
The villain spoke up: "I'm going to rape you, bitch!"
"No, no I don't think you will." Said I with the utmost of courage.
"And who are you?" Spoke he, turning his attention towards myself and slowly easing his way in my direction.
"Taylor Brown." I replied in confidence.
10 Minutes Later...
"NOOOOOOO! NOOO! NOOOOOOOO!" I cried as the criminal violently ripped off both his own and my pants.
"I'm going to rape you three times, right here!" He bellowed in a powerful tone.
"Three in a row!? That's unheard of!"
Wednesday, September 30, 2009
Wednesday, September 9, 2009
The Honch Patonch
The smell of sweat, trash, and my fellow workers fly in a flurry out of the opening door. I take a step inside, entering my work-place: Tenco. Another day, another dollar. As I position myself behind the slider table, a gentlemen walks in with a few bags.
"I've got a lot of cans for ya' this evenin'." He told me with a smile.
"Bring em' in." I replied with a grin. As he layed out the bags of cans in front of me, my eyes widened with amazement. This man had a lot of cans.
"I hope this ain't too much." He said, still maintaining that smile he'd had from the start.
"It's nothin'." I told him.
Minutes past; ten minutes, fifteen. Soon I was finished. As I threw away my final can, a second fellow walked in. Acknowledging the other man, I realized they were friends and stepped aside to converse in private. I began calculating the correct amount of money to give for the cans we'd just received.
I can't deny the eavesdropping that followed.
"Man, what is takin' so got-damn long?" The second man didn't seem very pleased. Perhaps he was waiting on the first man; or so it'd appear.
"It's just gonna' be a minute John." The first man told 'John' to calm down; he didn't
"Maybe it's because this place is a housing for retards who can't do a fuckin' thing right. Let alone in a timely fashion." I didn't like John.
"Will you shut up!? Go back out to the car and wait for Christ's sakes!" The first man had won.
Walking back over to me, after John exited, the first man apologized.
"I'm sorry about that. My friend can be... an asshole." He said.
"I understand." Taking a saddened look at the ground, then continued with my work.
I've always had a problem where, if I feel slightly uncomfortable, my eyes water up. It's not because I'm sad, or hurt; I just get watery eyes. My eyes began to fill with what the man could only assume were tears. Despite the water, my voice remained normal.
"Here's your money sir; have a great day." I spoke, trying to repress the 'tears.' In spite of my finest efforts, he saw them. He was sorry that anything had happened; he was a good man.
At 8pm I punched out. Throwing my work jacket over my shoulder, I began my slow walk home. Usually thirty minutes is all it took to get home; this time was no different. I stepped through the screen door and into my house. I looked around.
What did I have? I had stuff: walls, carpet, objects. My house was decent and I kept it in good shape. I liked my house.
Walking into the kitchen, I felt my stomach rumble. I'd remembered the hunger that'd pained me for part of my day. Time to alleviate that. Popping open my freezer door, I yanked a T.V dinner from the pile that called the freezer home.
I stuck it into the microwave and turned it on, then went to my room.
Today, like everyday, consisted of the same torture. Degradation, even in the workplace. There are the good people, and there are the bad people. I like to think that I'm a good person.
As I ate the microwave meal in my dining room, at my table, alone, I thought back on my life. My father, a cop, caught bad men. He brought them to justice while my mom took care of me at home. Her job was to watch over me; watch me because I have 'down syndrome.' Because I'm a 'retard.'
They loved me though. I love them too. Despite their deaths, they still live on. Left in my name was their house, which I sold and bought my own. My father left his cop uniform and gear. He left me his tazer, billy-club, flashlight; he left me his gun.
I strolled out to my front yard and aimed my fathers fire-arm to the clouds.
"I'm gonna kill yo ass." I said as I unloaded into the night's sky. Many seconds passed, and I began to see neighbors scramble to their windows. They glanced outside at me and wondered what in the world I had shot.
What they didn't know is that I shot at not an Earthly creature. I shot at God.
Sixty seconds must have gone by and then I heard a roar above me. Flying down was a heavenly body; God.
"Yo son, you did not jus' shoot no bullets at my heavens." He stated in a serious tone.
"Eat it, bitch." I retorted, following up with a launching of mouth juice into his nicely chiseled face.
Then he stopped. He just stood there, staring at me. For a second I thought he noticed the drool escaping from the right side of my mouth, which I quickly wiped up, but he hadn't.
"I... I'm sorry. I didn't realize." He stuttered.
"Realize what?" I asked quizzically.
"That you're retarded." He said and zipped back up to his wondrous abode laughing to his merry self. Soon I heard the entirety of heaven bellow loudly at God's 'hilarious' joke.
"God-dammit." I said.
"I've got a lot of cans for ya' this evenin'." He told me with a smile.
"Bring em' in." I replied with a grin. As he layed out the bags of cans in front of me, my eyes widened with amazement. This man had a lot of cans.
"I hope this ain't too much." He said, still maintaining that smile he'd had from the start.
"It's nothin'." I told him.
Minutes past; ten minutes, fifteen. Soon I was finished. As I threw away my final can, a second fellow walked in. Acknowledging the other man, I realized they were friends and stepped aside to converse in private. I began calculating the correct amount of money to give for the cans we'd just received.
I can't deny the eavesdropping that followed.
"Man, what is takin' so got-damn long?" The second man didn't seem very pleased. Perhaps he was waiting on the first man; or so it'd appear.
"It's just gonna' be a minute John." The first man told 'John' to calm down; he didn't
"Maybe it's because this place is a housing for retards who can't do a fuckin' thing right. Let alone in a timely fashion." I didn't like John.
"Will you shut up!? Go back out to the car and wait for Christ's sakes!" The first man had won.
Walking back over to me, after John exited, the first man apologized.
"I'm sorry about that. My friend can be... an asshole." He said.
"I understand." Taking a saddened look at the ground, then continued with my work.
I've always had a problem where, if I feel slightly uncomfortable, my eyes water up. It's not because I'm sad, or hurt; I just get watery eyes. My eyes began to fill with what the man could only assume were tears. Despite the water, my voice remained normal.
"Here's your money sir; have a great day." I spoke, trying to repress the 'tears.' In spite of my finest efforts, he saw them. He was sorry that anything had happened; he was a good man.
At 8pm I punched out. Throwing my work jacket over my shoulder, I began my slow walk home. Usually thirty minutes is all it took to get home; this time was no different. I stepped through the screen door and into my house. I looked around.
What did I have? I had stuff: walls, carpet, objects. My house was decent and I kept it in good shape. I liked my house.
Walking into the kitchen, I felt my stomach rumble. I'd remembered the hunger that'd pained me for part of my day. Time to alleviate that. Popping open my freezer door, I yanked a T.V dinner from the pile that called the freezer home.
I stuck it into the microwave and turned it on, then went to my room.
Today, like everyday, consisted of the same torture. Degradation, even in the workplace. There are the good people, and there are the bad people. I like to think that I'm a good person.
As I ate the microwave meal in my dining room, at my table, alone, I thought back on my life. My father, a cop, caught bad men. He brought them to justice while my mom took care of me at home. Her job was to watch over me; watch me because I have 'down syndrome.' Because I'm a 'retard.'
They loved me though. I love them too. Despite their deaths, they still live on. Left in my name was their house, which I sold and bought my own. My father left his cop uniform and gear. He left me his tazer, billy-club, flashlight; he left me his gun.
I strolled out to my front yard and aimed my fathers fire-arm to the clouds.
"I'm gonna kill yo ass." I said as I unloaded into the night's sky. Many seconds passed, and I began to see neighbors scramble to their windows. They glanced outside at me and wondered what in the world I had shot.
What they didn't know is that I shot at not an Earthly creature. I shot at God.
Sixty seconds must have gone by and then I heard a roar above me. Flying down was a heavenly body; God.
"Yo son, you did not jus' shoot no bullets at my heavens." He stated in a serious tone.
"Eat it, bitch." I retorted, following up with a launching of mouth juice into his nicely chiseled face.
Then he stopped. He just stood there, staring at me. For a second I thought he noticed the drool escaping from the right side of my mouth, which I quickly wiped up, but he hadn't.
"I... I'm sorry. I didn't realize." He stuttered.
"Realize what?" I asked quizzically.
"That you're retarded." He said and zipped back up to his wondrous abode laughing to his merry self. Soon I heard the entirety of heaven bellow loudly at God's 'hilarious' joke.
"God-dammit." I said.
Dud
Jounral Entry #1: Stationed
Life in a rotten apartment complex is painful. The next-door neighbor is an AIDS victim with serious dysentary. It's only a matter of time before she keels over. Her room smells of ass, and the dead rodents in the hallway do nothing to alleviate such a stench.
I'm stationed in hell. My lieutenant insisted I take this job, because I'm good at what I do; I don't like what I do. This fuckin' horrid city is a festering pool of waste. Only the sick of sick live in such twisted conditions. Yet I don't fear death. At this time, I'd welcome it.
I study behaviors, narcotics. I research murders, solve them and get the fuck out. My assignment revolves around 3 murders. All of the same variables. Three men. All raped to death by what appears other men. All three proposed assaulters have one thing in common: Dud. Rumors have circulated on its meaning; I accept none until evidence is given.
Journal Entry #2: Meet & Greet
I've been informed of a concert going on next to the cemetary three blocks from here. My informant says I could find a lead; said he'd meet me there.
Not a washing machine in sight, nor a dryer. I packed well, but apparently not well enough. Dirty clothes litter my room; dirty clothes comsume my wardrobe.
Making my way downtown, walking fast, faces past and I'm dumbfound. Rockers and drug-addicts litter the scene. Tombstones bashed in recreation, hilarity ensues from the on-lookers. Decaying piles of fecal matter cover the side-walks; everyone oblivious or unphased at the sight.
I was told to meet 'Roy' at the bar. Said I'd recognize him. As I make my way through the ocean of fans, the band takes center-stage. They've begun to play. Barely able to decifer the words, I zone-out and proceed with my quest.
At the bar, I take a seat. Druggies swarm aimlessly in the crowd. One takes a seat next to me. He's confused. Acid. He speaks to me of snakes and cartoons; I humor him. Soon, he ventures off, hopefully to lay the final nail on his own coffin. Dead in the gutters that are these streets.
"You are the guy?" I heard a voice from behind me. Perhaps too close, but I've no worry of that. I turn. A man faces me, eccentric to say the least; the usual informant-type.
"You have the lead?" I asked, demanding an answer and a final way out of this noise-ridden hell-hole.
"Not on me, man. You want it, you gotta' come with me." He appears to be on something, but I'm not worried. Stable, that's all I care about.
He leads me to a desolate alley-way. A large gate opens up into what he called: "the courtyard."
"I live up there." He pointed. I care very little.
"Lead." I told him.
Following this druggy, we passed by a couple. They were fucking on the stairs; scum. I want nothing more than to put a bullet into the skulls of these worthless shits.
"This is my door." He's getting off-track. Stating 'door' instead of apartment, or room... As long as he holds his shit together, we'll manage.
We enter. He leads me to his room, and I take a seat.
"You're after Dud?" He asked.
"Sure, whatever. Is that the lead?" Remembering back to the case-files, Dud was mentioned. I took a note of it. Rumor states it's a drug. I go on evidence...
"More than a lead. Did you hear the singer at the concert?" Remebering back, I could barely comprehend the words being sang. She didn't seem to speak clear english. I took no note, but told him I had to eliminate further questioning. "You have to put this on."
He handed me what looked like a dunce hat. On it read: 'I am a douchebag."
"Close your eyes." He spoke clearly, softly, and smoothly. I did as guided. "One hit is all it takes."
My world came crashing down as I took the first hit. "Dud," he said. At that moment I realized what Dud was. It wasn't a drug... It was a language. Dud is the metamorphasis of normality and decency to the scum of rotten society. It is the opposite of larvae to butterfly; it is everything that is wrong with this world.
As I left 'Roy's' apartment, I began to see things differently. The people on the stairway fucking were not scum, they were like me. They were doing what they wanted; had to do. They had to fuck for the sake of Dud. They had to perform sexual acts in public, all for Dud.
As I strolled out of the alley and back near the concert, I witnessed an audience of grateful and wondrous human beings. The original mind-set I had once possessed, evolved and grew. These people were just, people. They were not different, they just accepted the unacceptable. Shit in the street was no more bothersome than a clean house.
On the short walk from the cemetary back to home, I saw my 'vacation' in a new light. It hadn't been an awful trip, my stay in this town. It was an eye-opener. I could be different; was different.
Journal Entry #3: Ehcuod
I documented our conversation. One-sided as it is, I penciled it down:
"Dud, be calm." I pulled his pants down. "This is starting to give me a bit of a Dud, Dud."
He didn't seem pleased. Rather fearful of the moments to come, he tried wiggling. I am stronger than his futile attempts.
"Afterwards you may want to thank me, no need dud. You're welcs in advance." I told him. "So much I want to lick your dick all time." I began to slobber and drizzle my saliva all over his large man chub. Minutes later he spurted his gooey load all over my face.
"That's GENIUS!" I exclaimed.
Life in a rotten apartment complex is painful. The next-door neighbor is an AIDS victim with serious dysentary. It's only a matter of time before she keels over. Her room smells of ass, and the dead rodents in the hallway do nothing to alleviate such a stench.
I'm stationed in hell. My lieutenant insisted I take this job, because I'm good at what I do; I don't like what I do. This fuckin' horrid city is a festering pool of waste. Only the sick of sick live in such twisted conditions. Yet I don't fear death. At this time, I'd welcome it.
I study behaviors, narcotics. I research murders, solve them and get the fuck out. My assignment revolves around 3 murders. All of the same variables. Three men. All raped to death by what appears other men. All three proposed assaulters have one thing in common: Dud. Rumors have circulated on its meaning; I accept none until evidence is given.
Journal Entry #2: Meet & Greet
I've been informed of a concert going on next to the cemetary three blocks from here. My informant says I could find a lead; said he'd meet me there.
Not a washing machine in sight, nor a dryer. I packed well, but apparently not well enough. Dirty clothes litter my room; dirty clothes comsume my wardrobe.
Making my way downtown, walking fast, faces past and I'm dumbfound. Rockers and drug-addicts litter the scene. Tombstones bashed in recreation, hilarity ensues from the on-lookers. Decaying piles of fecal matter cover the side-walks; everyone oblivious or unphased at the sight.
I was told to meet 'Roy' at the bar. Said I'd recognize him. As I make my way through the ocean of fans, the band takes center-stage. They've begun to play. Barely able to decifer the words, I zone-out and proceed with my quest.
At the bar, I take a seat. Druggies swarm aimlessly in the crowd. One takes a seat next to me. He's confused. Acid. He speaks to me of snakes and cartoons; I humor him. Soon, he ventures off, hopefully to lay the final nail on his own coffin. Dead in the gutters that are these streets.
"You are the guy?" I heard a voice from behind me. Perhaps too close, but I've no worry of that. I turn. A man faces me, eccentric to say the least; the usual informant-type.
"You have the lead?" I asked, demanding an answer and a final way out of this noise-ridden hell-hole.
"Not on me, man. You want it, you gotta' come with me." He appears to be on something, but I'm not worried. Stable, that's all I care about.
He leads me to a desolate alley-way. A large gate opens up into what he called: "the courtyard."
"I live up there." He pointed. I care very little.
"Lead." I told him.
Following this druggy, we passed by a couple. They were fucking on the stairs; scum. I want nothing more than to put a bullet into the skulls of these worthless shits.
"This is my door." He's getting off-track. Stating 'door' instead of apartment, or room... As long as he holds his shit together, we'll manage.
We enter. He leads me to his room, and I take a seat.
"You're after Dud?" He asked.
"Sure, whatever. Is that the lead?" Remembering back to the case-files, Dud was mentioned. I took a note of it. Rumor states it's a drug. I go on evidence...
"More than a lead. Did you hear the singer at the concert?" Remebering back, I could barely comprehend the words being sang. She didn't seem to speak clear english. I took no note, but told him I had to eliminate further questioning. "You have to put this on."
He handed me what looked like a dunce hat. On it read: 'I am a douchebag."
"Close your eyes." He spoke clearly, softly, and smoothly. I did as guided. "One hit is all it takes."
My world came crashing down as I took the first hit. "Dud," he said. At that moment I realized what Dud was. It wasn't a drug... It was a language. Dud is the metamorphasis of normality and decency to the scum of rotten society. It is the opposite of larvae to butterfly; it is everything that is wrong with this world.
As I left 'Roy's' apartment, I began to see things differently. The people on the stairway fucking were not scum, they were like me. They were doing what they wanted; had to do. They had to fuck for the sake of Dud. They had to perform sexual acts in public, all for Dud.
As I strolled out of the alley and back near the concert, I witnessed an audience of grateful and wondrous human beings. The original mind-set I had once possessed, evolved and grew. These people were just, people. They were not different, they just accepted the unacceptable. Shit in the street was no more bothersome than a clean house.
On the short walk from the cemetary back to home, I saw my 'vacation' in a new light. It hadn't been an awful trip, my stay in this town. It was an eye-opener. I could be different; was different.
Journal Entry #3: Ehcuod
I documented our conversation. One-sided as it is, I penciled it down:
"Dud, be calm." I pulled his pants down. "This is starting to give me a bit of a Dud, Dud."
He didn't seem pleased. Rather fearful of the moments to come, he tried wiggling. I am stronger than his futile attempts.
"Afterwards you may want to thank me, no need dud. You're welcs in advance." I told him. "So much I want to lick your dick all time." I began to slobber and drizzle my saliva all over his large man chub. Minutes later he spurted his gooey load all over my face.
"That's GENIUS!" I exclaimed.
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