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.