Possible Halloween Gift

[miss]

Though I find myself far too busy in Octobers, I have something to offer, besides my character's supposed silliness. But, there is a question of what is appropriate for the audience to read. My short story involves violence, horror, and horrible acts of violence, coupled with a heavy dose of swearing.

I would like to offer my story as a gift to the community, but I am unsure if it will be acceptable.

[Ferabird]

Hit us with your best shot!

[miss]

Very well then!~~~ I will keep my writer's comments to myself, for now, and simply deliver what is known as Eugene's Sleep Patterns and the SWAF Project.

I had watched the sun die down behind the blurred darkness of trees on a mountain until I fell asleep. Or, I tried to fall asleep, but all I could see was the grease in my hair, the foggy window in my kitchen with the shutter half way down and half way opened, and the extended counter-top beneath it. The window has never been cleaned. My bedroom, in this laughably small apartment, is connected to my kitchen, and not by a fuckin' doorway. I get to remember this every fuckin' time my head lays itself on the rigid and stale pillow I scavenged from the local dumpster. But it won't do me any good to keep thinking. Gotta go to bed, gotta wake up, gotta look for a job.

I don't know when I fell asleep, but I did, cause I woke up to somebody's fuckin' car alarm going off. I put a hand on my sagging futon's armrest and push myself up. The few blankets that I had slid off of my unbuttoned, long sleeved shirt and dulled jeans. It was a fuckin' pain in the ass to sleep while clothed, but if I didn't, I had nightmares. Bad ones. So bad, I actually left my apartment to pick up some meds for them. I hate medication. I hate that fuckin' car alarm too.

I looked at my clock on the coffee table and reached over to pick it up. 11:14. I put it back down and got out of bed to scratch my ass. I kept scratching while I walked over to the pale wall and door to my apartment, a whole foot away, and flicked the light switch. Nothing. I fuckin' forgot to pay the electric bill again. I run my hand over my unshaven face. No electricity...it's going to be a fuckin' cold shower in the morning. That fuckin' car alarm keeps blaring and I bet there's nobody anywhere fuckin' near it! I should go out there and sack it myself.

I crossed into the kitchen. I'm glad I sleep in my socks, cause linoleum is always cold. Mine is always dirty. I walk up to the window and placed my hands on the counter-top. Down below was that fuckin' car, parked on the opposite side of the road from my complex. The lights and the alarm were going nuts. I needed a drink. In the furthest cupboard to my right, I fetched a glass. I turned around to open my fridge and couldn't help but smile. In the darkness inside, I had a small bag of ice and a bottle of gin leaning against it. I grabbed the bottle with my free hand and stood up, shutting the fridge with my foot.

I walked back to the countertop and set the glass down, staring at the damned car. Its alarm was still going, so where the lights, but who the fuck cares, I have a half full glass of gin! I smugly sip at my drink till it's gone. Have to make it last. Wait, what the fuck is that? Something was scurrying across my countertop, towards me. I turned my glass over and held it up. "Aha, fuckin' gotcha!" I peered inside the upside down glass at the cockroach. "And where the fuck do you think you're goin', huh?" The roach's antennas touched the glass, probably looking for a way out. "There ain't no way out, bug. I don't even know how you got in, but there ain't no way out. Guess you'll have to live underneath my glass till I buy a hammer." Right after I said that, I could have sworn I heard a car crash. Maybe someone finally hit that damned car out of frustration, cause the alarm slowly died off.
I looked up from my glass and saw the car...but it was upside down. "What the fuck?" I squinted to try and see if I was just tricking myself, but there it was. Right in the middle of the road with it's lights going off, but not the alarm.

I woke up with a start. My hand was still on the glass with the roach underneath. I dragged my free hand down my face. Fuckin' nightmares. I'm so fuckin' tired that I fell asleep standing up! Who the fuck does that? The car that was going off was silent and sitting on the side of the road like any other car. I need my meds. I left the roach and the small "tink" sound it was making. Probably trying to ram itself to freedom. Stupid roach. I walked to the fridge and felt around the top of it for that damned bottle.

My hand found the bottle and I pressed on the cap and twisted. Some pills spilled onto my hand and I looked to the sink that was settled in the middle of the kitchen. Fuck city water. I walked back to the counter top and grabbed my bottle of gin and plopped the pills in my mouth. I washed them down with a swig or two. That feels much better. I fill the room with a belch and wipe whatevers left onto my sleeve.

I thought I saw something near the parked car. Looked like kids, no, snot nosed brats with baggy pants and hoodies. Hard to tell what they looked like in the unlit street, but if anyone is going to rob that car, it'll be me, not them. They have their fuckin' parents paying for them, but not me. I have nothing. No, I have shit. A shitty apartment, in a shitty neighborhood, with shitty luck in finding a fuckin' job in this shitty city. I set my bottle of gin on the countertop and went to search for my shoes and hat underneath the futon. Maybe one of the kids will have their parent's credit card or some shit worth taking.

I found my shoes. They were dull and had holes in the sides, but they were my shoes. My hat was further away and I hit my knuckles against the metal frame. "Ow, fuck..." I shook my hand to get rid of the pain. A light came on. "Where the fuck...oh...there you are." My hat was off to the left side instead of the right. I dragged it on the carpet and scooted my ass from underneath the futon and stood up. I fitted my hat on my head and turned to look down the hallway. There was only one door down that stretch, and its light was on. The fuckin' bathroom.

My apartment was dark. The kitchen wasn't lit up, even with the light switch up. I dropped my shoes on the coffee table and stalked my own bathroom. I always left my bathroom door open because who was going to use it besides me? My shirt slid against the wall and I looked inside. I only found the small, square light, the filth covered mirror to my left, and the towel rack to my right. The toilet seat was down and the ripped shower curtain covered the tub. The fuckin' tub is the only place to hide. I moved off of the wall and into the bathroom, striding forth to grab the curtain and yank it back. Nothing. Nothing but half empty shampoo bottles and the left over dirt caked into the tub.
I fuckin' let out my breath. I didn't even know that I was holding it in. A grown man scared of his own bathroom. Fuckin' pitiful. I smirked to myself. "Oh well, back to work." I turned to leave my bathroom and the door slammed in my face. "Ah, shit!" I jostled the door handle and tried using both of my hands and my foot. "Fuckin' open you piece of--" I am not the only one making noises. I whipped my head around to see a long haired woman holding a noose that was wrapped around the shower curtain rod. She was humming and standing on the tub ledge closest to me. I could have sworn she mouthed something. Something like dinner's ready...Eugene and then she put her head through the noose and jumped towards me. The back of her legs slammed against the tub as her hands grabbed the rope around her neck. She shook violently, hell, she thrashed about, swung back and forth, tried to cough, tried to scratch herself free from the rope, and stared at me. I couldn't fuckin' move. I couldn't...not until she stopped moving and rocked in place, her foot or finger twitching. I reached over with my left hand and flicked the light switch. The lady's figure still swung. Then the shower rod fuckin' broke and the body was half in and half out of the tub with the curtain covering what fell in the tub.

I jolted awake and hit my head on the metal bars beneath the futon. "Ow, dammit!" I gritted my teeth together and looked to my right. No, my left. My bathroom was to the left. Fuck, I'm losing my mind. At least the light wasn't on. I scrambled from underneath the futon and kicked at the coffee table for more space. I stood up and grimaced. That fuckin' hurt. I pressed my hand to the back of my head and turned to look out the kitchen window. I walked over to the counter top and saw the roach under the glass. Then I looked up at my faint reflection. "What the fuck are you doing?!" I tore at my hair and felt the grease slide between my fingers. I won't miss the few locks of hair anyway. I tried to relax my breathing, staring at the bug, or the counter-top, or my reflection. "Things are only going to get better, huh? Bullshit! What does that fucktard know of nightmares anyway?" I fuckin' hate doctors.
I relaxed and stood up, wiping the hair off of my hands and onto the linolium. I stared at my reflection. My nose was bent out of shape. I was missing a patch from my right eyebrow. My teeth haven't seen a brush in years. Toothpaste didn't taste as good as gin. "Fuck." It feels good to swear. Damn good. That's where a man's power comes from, his fuckin' mouth. "Fuck! Fuck minimum wage and fuck the high horses and their high riders. They throw their shit at me because of my father's name, his fuckin' name! Then they turn around and wonder why the fuck he killed himself. The very next day, their having sex and taking shits on my father's grave. Then they wonder why I fuckin' hate them." My reflection put its hands on its hips. "You're not making any sense. Maybe you should lie down and take a nap. A long nap. Just lie down. Lie down you worthless mutt. You are weak. Everything you think and do, makes you weaker." I clenched my fist and my face burned up. "Go ahead, get mad. Nobody gives a shit, Eugene." I broke my window with a punch, the glass falling on the brick ledge and handicapped parking spot below. My knuckles were all cut to hell, but I didn't care. It didn't fucking matter. Damn, that was going to be an expensive fine. When I went to pull my arm back, the glass regenerated, all except the spot my wrist occupied. "Fuckin' christ! Dammit! Fuck, ah, shit!" The broken glass was slowly pushing into my wrist. I could feel my blood run down my arm. I closed my eyes and held my breath with clenched teeth. Then it stopped. I breathed and looked at my wrist. I'm surprised I'm still alive, but I won't be if I don't get out--I yelled and tried to stop my arm from being dragged past the small hole that held my wrist. The glass sliced through my skin, my tendons, muscles, and nerves. I wish I could have passed out, but the pulling finally stopped at my elbow. I just laid there and watched my blood make its way over the counter-top and onto the floor. "Nobody gives a shit, Eugene."

I wake up with my face plastered on the cold glass of the window, my drool coating my cheek. I pulled myself from the window and wiped my cheek on my sleeve. The brats in the road lit cigarettes and were having a fuckin' good time. Well that was going to end. They want to fuck their lives over? Fine. They want to do it in front of me? No, fuck them! I storm towards the coffee table and plop my ass down. I snatch my shoes on and tie them up real good. Nice and tight. I can feel the shoelaces digging into my feet. "Fuckin' kids. They want to take the drugs and other shit that adults take? Well, I hope they fuckin' like the consequences." I'll fuckin' kill them. Their parents will cry, or they're likely too drugged and fucked up to give a shit what their kids do. I settle my hat down tight and walk over to the futon's armrest. I pull the armrest's side and open it, reaching in to pull out my revolver. I let the armrest slam back down and check the bullets. All six were there.

I circled the futon to the right and unlocked my apartment's door. Outside and dead ahead, there was another door, like mine. My neighbors were drug smoking addicts. I smelled the shit every time I walked by. The stairs were closer to their door than mine, too. I grabbed the railing with one hand and held onto my revolver with the other. The stairs were plain and had darkened spots that looked like mildew. Used cigarettes are scattered in the corners of each stair. I descend the first seven steps and turn the corner to go down another seven steps. The second story on this side of the complex sheltered a small family and someone I've never met. The father of the family keeps his cigarettes stuffed into the corner of his doorbell's casing. I pluck it and start to stuff my revolver into my pant's pocket. The railing and the night air was cold, but fuck it, I don't care anymore. I descended another seven stairs, and then another. The first floor. I stop to catch my breath and hang onto the railing for a while longer. Then I push off and round the corner of the complex.

The brats are standing around in the driveway to the complex. They turned their hoody wearing faces towards me when I approach them. I hold out my cigarettes. "Anyone got a light?" One of the brats, probably fourteen or fifteen, walks up to me. He's about as tall as my chest. "Yeah, here." He hands me his lighter and I take it from him. "Thanks." I pocket the lighter in my left pocket and he gets all pissy. "Hey! That's mine you asshole!" I pull out my revolver and point it between his eyes. "Yeah? For fuck's sake, settle down. Have a drink. On me, motherfucker." I pull the trigger and sent one fine bullet through the kid's skull. I love the recoil. Seeing the kid lurch backwards and hearing the thump his body made on the cement, forced glee into my face. Not into my snarl, but it was there somewhere. One kid ran off as soon as I fired, and the other two stared at me like I was a fuckin', no, the fuckin' monster. I pointed and squeezed the trigger at one, then the other. Shot them both in the chest. Watched them bleed out. "Having fun yet, huh? Huh?!"

I took the lighter out of my pocket and lit the cheap cigarette. They say kids are our future. Teachers, preachers, and even the forty-year old guy working at down town Starbucks. Well fuck that future. I puff out smoke and look down, giving a kick to the first kid's head. "Too bad all your neighbors are chicken shits. They could have helped. They might have taken away your lighter and sent you to bed." I take out my cigrrette and dash the ashes over the kid's body. I place it back inside my mouth. It was then that I thought I saw one of the kid's leg twitch. Just an after effect, that's all it is. But I was less and less convinced when he started flopping around like a fish. I backed up and pointed my revolver at him. "Fuckin' kid! Stay, the fuck, dead!" The other two were doing the same thing. I nearly shit in my pants when the first kid floated, fuckin' floated, into the air. A good four feet off of the ground. The other kids flew towards them and fuckin' crashed, melted, molded, shaped, I don't fuckin' know! The kid that was left in the mess had two and a half heads, the forehead of one sticking out of the freak's chest. The other two were side-by-side, between its shoulders. A mess of arms and legs that were bent and broken in the freak's abdomin and back, tried to move, grasping or kicking the air. I brought my revolver up and fired another round into the freak's stomach, but it only gave a howl into the night air. Even the third head howled inside of its chest. A fuckin' murmur...I need to wake the fuck up.

I take the ciggarret from my mouth and grunt as I plunged it into the palm of my right hand. Well, it burned, it sizzled, but the freak was still there! Ah shit. I turned back towards the stairs and could hear the freak trying to move it's distorted body. I ran. I fuckin' ran for my life like a little bitch. Up the first flight of stairs. "Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!" I run around the bend and up the next set of stairs and bend over on the second floor. "Fuck, I need to stop smoking." I take the cigarrette out of my mouth and flick it at the family's door. It was theirs anyway. I looked back and saw the freak dragging itself up the stairs and around the bend. "Ah, fuck!" I run up the next flight of stairs and burst into my apartment. My hands were shaking, but somehow, I got the fuckin' door shut and locked. I turned around and saw someone, or...something looking back at me. It was a female outline with long, fucked up arms, with a bald head and a broken jaw that slanted off to the side. The skin had been burnt, leaving a smell of over-cooked meat and not a whole lot to call beautiful . That wasn't what caught my attention though. I could see a writhing something past her exposed ribcage. I didn't think, I just aimed for her head and fuckin' shot the faceless bitch. The bullet lands with a thud on my filthy carpet and the burnt lady thing fell onto my kitchen floor. I walked up to it slowly, with my gun in my hands, and pointed the revolver at whatever was inside the lady.
It was a baby. Not a fullly developed baby. I watched it move for a while and had the idea of pulling out my lighter to see what exactly was going on here. The flame flickered into existence and I held the lighter over the body. I felt sick. I've seen a lot of shit go down, but never, have I seen a baby eat its own mother. It stopped stuffing its cheeks with burnt innards and turned its eyeless face at me. I lowered my revolver's barrel near its mouth and it tried to reach for it. I pulled the trigger and another bullet landed on the carpet, not far from the last one. I sat my ass down on the carpet. I looked at the mother and child and then at my gun and yelled my fury at nothing. I smacked the revolver against my head, but all I felt was pain. "Fuckin'..dammit, wake the fuck up!" More pain, and a bit of blood trickled down the side of my face. I nearly wept. "Fuck this shit...too much. It's too much." My worst nightmare yet. I could feel another thing just behind me. They wouldn't leave me alone.

I slowly turned to face it, or...me. He had the same greasy hair, unshaven face, unbuttoned shirt, and dull jeans. He had my fuckin' face. I rubbed the back of my hand just underneath the eye that had been gathering the most tears and spat. "Even I want a piece of myself, huh?" I shook my head and pressed the barrel of my revolver against the temple of my head. The other me didn't move. "That's too, fuckin', bad." My finger squeezed the last bullet that I will ever fire. The bullet hit my head and stopped. It kept rotating though and I could smell my flesh and hair burning. I brought my hands up to my face and screamed at them, the bullet slowly digging into my skull. A dark miasma erupted from the hole the bullet was digging and--

I found myself sitting on the steps of my parent's house. I was small and holding my father's beer with both hands, my bony knees shaking. The summer sun didn't help me, cause I wasn't cold. I was scared. My father, a man that reeked of sweat and wore an unbuttoned, long sleeved shirt and ripped jeans, opened the screen door and let it slam shut behind him. He sat besides me and rested his hands on his knees. He looked at me after a while and said, "Nobody gives a shit, Eugene. That's what my father told me. The nightmares aren't going to leave you alone and nobody is going to help." The beer can was cold and I just stared at my father as he looked at me with a snarl on his face. "Don't have kids, you'll fuck their lives over. Don't work your ass off just to be somebody's bitch when you die, and for god's sake don't be such a pussy!" He grabbed the beer out of my hand and turned to spit on the step. "Shitstains and nightmares latch onto fear."

I felt my head collided with the filthy carpet and the other me got on his hands and knees to stare into my eyes. He must have died in his sleep. Jesus, how does a man that offs three kids sleep? I don't know. He's lucky he's dead, cause I would have shot him for the hell-of-it. I can't stand dirtbags who murder children. Oh well, better go get the bag. Yeah, yeah.