Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

I’m tired. It’s been nearly 7 years since I’ve slept. I’ve been kept awake by the laughter of hyenas. The screams of a lamb being trampled to death under the thundering hoofs of a spooked herd. In all this madness and idiocy there is no escape. My only recourse is to kill. I will kill every last person on this Earth. I will not stop there. I will snuff out any life that is fortunate enough to cross my path. I take pleasure in this. I know what I do is right. The God of this universe is undeserving of fatherhood. His guardianship a cosmic joke. His creation meaningless. What‘s the point? What do we work toward? We’re born, we fuck, we procreate, we die. Each iteration changing, mutating - the weak and ill-constituted who fail to fuck burned off like dead wood. Why do we struggle? What end is worth the torment of existence on this putrid plane of snakes and ladders? Is it mere entertainment? The Gods are bored. They play with their food. If that’s what they want - I’ll give them a fucking show.

I pull up to my parking spot. I hear the muffled mumbling of a nigger proudly proclaiming gay love for men named Benjamin in the distance. His poetry so profound and moving the good people have rewarded him with untold Earthly riches and their undying adoration. A fraternity party that’s overstayed its welcome. The last few less desirable suitors for the sorority sluts to choose from shuffle impotently in an attempt to imitate the nigger currently baring his barren soul over the speakers. Monkey see, monkey do. Monkey do, monkey fuck.
Walking into the building I nod to the lady at the front desk. She doesn’t notice me. She’s texting. Her comically long fingernails tapping away rhythmically in concert with the smacking of the chewing gum in her mouth. Dumb bitch. I’d only fuck her from behind, anyway.
“David!”
The head janitor, Nathan.
“I needed you here 10 minutes ago. Where the hell were you?”
“Traffic.”
“Traffic? That has to be the lamest excu- you know what? Forget it. A student got drunk and threw up in the library.”
“Fantastic.”
Worst part is the little shit won’t face any consequences. A stern talking to at worst, then a free ride from the security guard in a golf-cart back to the dormitory where he’ll be tucked into bed and given a little kiss on the forehead. Can’t discipline the kid or daddy will come down and threaten not to pay his tuition, and we can’t have the little prince feeling uncomfortable for even a second, now can we? There’s no money in that.

Every day I walk through these halls and look at murals of a childish utopia where everyone is holding hands under a rainbow. The dead see beauty in stagnation. They dream of a world where conflict is eradicated so the maggots can feed freely on the corpse of Gaia without competition. I often over-hear the chatter of these lifeless husks discussing the latest zombie shows they’re watching. People wonder what would happen if there was a zombie out-break.
They’ve been lobotomized by a system that coddles and provides so now they’re blind to the reality that they already are the walking dead looking for brains to eat. Oversocialized rats. If a sign of life dares let itself be seen - it’s feeding season and the worms start to squirm.
Just the other week I heard someone say: “Are we sure we want Harrison to come to our anarchist book club meeting? I heard he didn’t get his flu shot and I have a sensitive immune system.”
It was met with unanimous approval.

“So, you sleep well?”
Nathan always tries to make idle chit-chat with me.
“Yep.” I always respond curtly hoping that he gets the message and shuts his fucking hole.
He never does.
“That’s good... uhh, hey, so I saw a great movie last night. You watch any good movies?”
“Seen a few, sure.”
“Yeah, so me and the wife were on CinemaClicks and we saw this one called ‘Full Throttle’. You seen that one? It’s about a girl who races cars. Really good. Got a little over the pants action from the wife during the movie, too. Haha.”
“Nope, haven’t seen it.”
“Definitely should. So, uhh, you met anyone yet?”
“What, like a girlfriend?”
“Yeah, you’ve gotta get out there. You’re not a bad looking guy, you know? But, I don’t know - it’s like you’re not trying or something. You planning on getting married? Kids?”
Dragging a kid into this fucking mess is the last thing I want to do. Raising an insufferable little brat just so he can spit in my face and join a cult. Before he’s even taken his first steps he’ll be primed for slavery - his dick snipped, his arm pricked - thrown into a cart, strapped down by the intendant, the button pushed and he’s on his way down the tracks. There’ll be ups and downs, thrills and chills - if he’s lucky a loopdy-loop or two - then at the end he’ll be spit into the jaws of a demon beyond his comprehension. Just another piece of meat for the butchers.
No, I don’t want kids, Nathan. You piece of walking fucking garbage.
“Nope. Not right now.”
“That’s cool, man. They say it’s good to wait. Have to be ready, you know? Finances in order and all that, and they say we’re overpopulated, so maybe it’s a selfless act, you know?”
“Yeah, I’m a regular Superman.”
Nathan lets out a little giggle.
“Well, at least you’ve got that sense of humor of yours!”
Faggot.

We get to the scene of the crime. The library always reeks like a whore-house - unwashed cunts wafting their freshly-fucked-hole stench - raping the air of this church of knowledge - and now there’s the rancid acidic aroma of tequila shots regurgitated violently after a night of feckless debauchery. All these idiots do is drink, dance, yell then puke. They even party like lobotomites.
Dionysus wept.

Chapter Text

I’m assigned to classroom 17b. It doubles as philosophy and gender studies. Class is done for the day so I have to go in and clean up after all the retarded children who think the floor is a trashcan and still haven’t learned to drink without spilling.
I open the door but pause in the doorway. The professor’s still at his desk, and he’s talking to an attractive young female student.
He glances over to investigate the noise then goes right back to chatting away with the girl once he sees it’s just the walking mop.
I go in and start cleaning.
“So - you see - monogamy is a man-made structure of power designed to enslave the female population. It’s a social construct created by men to formally bind women to the arbitrarily assigned duties of child-rearing and houskeeping. Even the very act of insemination is a power-play - when a woman falls pregnant she is chained to the man who has planted his seed in her for as long as she carries his off-spring and is dependent on him for protection. He has - in effect - poisoned her against her will and put her in a weakened state so as to make her his slave. The fetus acts as a hostile entity in the mother’s body - a parasite, if you will. The male will then blackmail the female by insisting that she stay and take care of the product of this insemination until it is ready to leave the nest - effectively imprisoning her and making her his slave. In our society the woman is expected to serve a minimum sentence of 18 years. The woman’s hopes, dreams and career thrown by the way-side by a society that demands she conform to her assigned gender-roles of babysitter and maid. Would anyone willingly subject themselves to an 18 year long prison sentence?”
“Oh my God, yeah! Why do women have to do all that?”
“Exactly. You are becoming aware of the illusory chains that bind women. This is the importance of philosophy and the study of these hidden power-structures behind socially constru-”
I knock a book off a table. They both look at me. The girl then looks to the professor for guidance on how to react. He rolls his eyes as if to say: “Can you believe this fucking idiot?”
She snickers in agreement.
“Anyway, read what I’ve assigned and the test will be next tuesday. Oh, and don’t hesitate to call if you need any help with the material.”
“Thanks, professor.” She giggles and leaves.
He stares at her ass as she walks out.
The professor leans back in his chair - exhales audibly - then puts his hands behind his head with a self-satisfied grin on his face. He begins to stare at me. I pretend not to notice and carry on with my work.
“Hey, janitor guy.”
I pause and look at him.
“You like your job?”
“It’s alright.”
“Me? I love my job. I’m the luckiest guy in the world. You know that?”
I continue to stare blankly.
He leans forward.
“You see that girl that was in here? Dozens more just like her every year. Man, I must have been a saint in another life because this shit is unbelievable. I have fucking tenure, too! Can’t even be fired. She’ll call me this weekend for a ‘study session’ and I’ll go over to her place and fuck her brains out. Get this, right? These girls are begging for it. They want to have the ‘college experience’ while they’re here. FOMO, man. Fear. Of. Missing. Out. Not one of them wants to graduate without having a story about how they fucked their professor - and - wouldn’t you know it - they’re in luck! Here I fucking am! They’re lining up around the block for my dick. Can’t be the only one in your friend-group who didn’t do the dirty with the old geezer in tweed.”
“Lucky you.”
“Yep. I’m one lucky guy.”
He stands up and begins to pack his things into his brief-case.
“I trust you’ll keep this little chat just between you and me. Right, bud?” He gives me a wink then heads for the door.
“Oh, and do turn off the lights when you’re done. We’re trying to reduce our carbon foot-print.”
I go back to cleaning.

Chapter Text

Angela Baker. Hot little English major slut. Swim in the lake of my cock, you whore. Cumquatic nymph - I’ll skull-fuck you ‘til you lose the words to beg for more. Perfect little freshman titties. Covered in cum. Slapped in the face with a big horse cock. Suck on it, you bitch. That’s right. God, you’re such a fucking whore. You love it. Deeper. Swallow it. All of it. Your boyfriend know about this? Tell him. Call him right now. Tell him I’m bigger. You dirty fucking bitch. Spit on it. You fucking love it, don’t you? You want me to cum in your eye? Your mouth? You don’t care, do you? I can cum wherever I want. You’re mine. You’re my little whore. Now suck it har-
‘Remember your mission, David.’
What the fuck. Who the fuck said that?
I look around. It’s just me in the janitor’s closet - dick in hand - about to cum.
“Who’s there? Is that a speaker? You put a camera in here? You fucking filming me?”
‘We’re always watching.’
“What? Where are you?”
‘Is this a productive use of your time?’
“My job is shit and I’m horny. Fuck off. Who the fuck are you?”
‘What matters is who you are. Who are you, David?’
“I’m no one. A ghost. Like you. What the fuck do you want from me?”
‘What do you want from yourself?’
“Right now I want to cum, alright? Maybe I want more. Maybe I want to fuck the slut I’m fantasizing about. Maybe I want to rip her stupid fucking throat out. It doesn’t matter.”
‘What’s stopping you from acting on your desires?’
“I... I don’t know. What the fuck does it matter, anyway?”
‘Do you not feel as though you were meant for more? Is it your destiny to be jerking off in closets?’
"Maybe."
‘Listen to your heart, David. Do what you must. You are meant for greater things.’
I always knew I was meant for more.
“...Okay, I’m listening.”
‘Overcome your obstacles. Remove all distractions. You know what you must do.’
“Angela. Yes. Yes, of course.”
I put my dick back in my pants.
Angela. Fine piece of ass. A real shame to kill true beauty, but, what must be done must be done. I wanted to save the beautiful ones for last. I can’t be deceived by appearances. Her beauty belies a rotten soul. Bitch must have fucked hundreds of guys. Probably sucks off her professors, too. Filthy cum dumpster. Every cunt in this school has probably sucked their way through their courses. No wonder these professors are such arrogant pricks. Unlimited access to fresh fruit makes a man soft. Gluttons in a sugar coma. The voice is right. She must be destroyed. How many more will be sucked into the abyss by her luscious lips? The vacuous vacuum mouth of a whore. I’ll shut that portal to hell for good.
I’ve got another hour before my shift ends. She’ll probably be back in her dorm by then. Shit. Does she have roommates? I can’t use my gun. Cops actually care about gunshots in this neighborhood. You see a turd in the toilet, no big deal. A turd in the sink? Then there’s a problem.
I look around the closet. Broom? No, too light. Would take too many blows. This needs to be quick. Wrench? Not bad, but maybe a bit small.
Riffling through the various tools and cleaning supplies - I see it: Crowbar.
I think this will do nicely.
I’ll hang around the dorms until midnight. Case the joint. Make sure everyone’s asleep. No witnesses. Then I’ll sneak in the window and bash the cunt’s head in.
Your pretty face is going to hell.

Chapter Text

I’m waiting in my car smoking a cigarette, listening to Brainbombs to put myself in the mood. I can do this. I think I might actually miss seeing her porno-perfect plump and peachy tight fuckable ass around school. Hips swaying as she walks - accentuating her natural hourglass figure. Her long brunette hair lightly caressing her back as it goes back and forth and bobs with every step. The way she carries her books in front of her - pulling her petite frame forward - her rear sticking out acting as a counter-weight. An invitation to every man in gawking distance to part the folds of her cheeks and plunder what’s underneath.
Fucking bitch. She’s tempting me again. A distraction. A succubus. She exists to suck the seed from every man around her. Her rancid diseased cunt a black hole that feeds on light. All sluts are vampires. I’ve seen what they do to men: Hypnotize them with their beauty. Bring them back to their lair. Give them toe-curling head, hop on their cock and take them for the ride of their life, then - bang - poor fuck’s hit with a rape charge and left to pick up the pieces of his shattered world. The little whore’s story plastered all over social media. Everyone praises her bravery for speaking out. She’s called a ‘survivor’.
You won’t survive this one. Free ride’s over, bitch.

Midnight. I get out of my car and approach her window.
Naive little rich girl playing pretend scholar with daddy’s money. Of course you sleep with your window cracked open on a warm summer night - not a care in the world.
I peer in and look through the gap between the curtain and the sill. She’s asleep in her bed.
Moving slowly and carefully I walk to her roommate’s window. Approaching, I see that her light is off. Good. I peer in through the window and see her in bed. She looks to be asleep, too.
Perfect.
I make my way back to Angela’s window.

Now I lay me down to sleep, I pray the Lord my Soul to keep
If I should die before I wake, I pray the Lord my Soul to take.

I hope you said your prayers, bitch.

I put the crowbar in my left hand and grab the window tightly with my right.
Holy shit, my heart is racing. This is it. Okay, okay, shit. Keep calm. Stay focused. Slowly. Don’t make a sound.
I start pulling the window open, inching it slowly. Slowly... Slowly... No creaking. The whole time I’m staring at her limp sleeping body. Don’t wake up, whore.
Come on... Alright, that’s enough. I can get in. I put the crowbar back in my right hand. Slowly pushing the curtain aside with my left, I start to creep in through her window. Right leg over the sill. Step lightly. Don’t make a fucking sound. My foot slowly presses down on the carpet. Still staring unwaveringly at her pretty little face.
Angela, she even sleeps like an angel.
Shifting my weight to my right foot I pull my head and torso into her room. I slowly arc my left leg over the sill, carefully, so as not to hit the window. The most high-stakes game of operation I’ve ever played. I plant my left foot next to my right, both feet are now resting on the carpet. She’s still asleep.
‘Do it. Do it now.’
You fucking whore.
I take the crowbar in both hands. Raising it I take two quick steps toward her and bring it down on her temple.
There’s a crunchy squelching noise like a fucking watermelon being smashed followed by the most horrible gurgling and snoring.
What the fuck is that sound? Oh shit. Oh shit. She’s not dead.
She continues to gurgle and snore.
There’s blood dripping out of her ears, nose and mouth. Her eyes are half open and rolling into the back of her head as she convulses.
I’m frozen - staring at what’s just happened.
I must have hesitated mid-swing. She was supposed to die instantly. Shit. What the fuck do I do? Jesus Christ, that sound.
In a panic I drop the crowbar on the bed then grab her mouth and throat in an attempt to muffle the sounds.
“Shut the fuck up, alright? It’ll be over soon.”
I squeeze tighter on her throat. There’s blood pooling in the palm of my left hand as I try to clasp it tighter around her mouth. With each convulsion she violently spews blood out between the cracks of my fingers and around the sides of my hand.
For fuck’s sake, how long does it take to strangle someone? You’re half fucking dead already. What the fuck am I thinking?
I grab the crowbar with my right hand - still clasping her mouth with the left - and start swinging. I can’t stand to listen to that sound for another second.
In quick succession I deliver three quick blows. Blood sprays in my face and spews out of her mouth and around my hand. With each strike her face transforms, becoming more and more unrecognizable. With every hit there’s another squelch, and for the first two it’s accompanied by a muffled yelping, wheezing, blood-spraying cough. By the third strike she’s silent, and her head more resembles the breakfast of a butcher’s dog than a face. Her eyeball is popping out, frozen in the moment of terror she experienced before her light was snuffed for good.
I let go of what’s left of her mouth and take a step back. My arms idle stiffly by my sides, left hand soaked in - and dripping - blood. The scene in front of me like a Goya and Bacon collaboration.
Fu-cking Christ.
Alright, what’s done is done. I don’t have time for regrets now. Just get the fuck out of there.
As I turn my head toward the window I notice something. In the chaos her covers had been pulled down and a little pink nipple is peeking out over the blanket. Perky and stiff from exposure it points to me - alluringly - beckoning me to play.
Entranced - my feet start to move toward her body of their own volition. Heart pounding through my chest my hand slowly peels away the covers. Oh my God. Her body is even more beautiful naked. Her skin is flawless head to toe. My silky porcelain Goddess. My petite little princess. Every pore perfect. Every curve right where it belongs.
My hand runs down her inner thigh, the trail of blood it leaves snaps me out of my trance. My gaze is directed upward once more and I immediately recoil.
My first instinct is to look away, but I hold my gaze for a moment. Such beauty next to such grotesque ugliness.
Behold: A woman - the duality of her nature made visible in flesh.
I smile remembering why I came here.
This is my art. Where once there was beauty that obscured a monstrous and vile nature I have created a visage befitting this creature. The dissonance in her alluring image made harmonious. Her mask destroyed - the monster in front of me the true material representation of her rotten, whorish soul.
I hear a door opening and footsteps in the hall.
Fuck. The roommate.
I quickly move to the side of the door, holding my breath in anticipation.
“Oh, Angelaaaa. I heard a little bump in the night.”
My grip tightens on the crowbar, raised and ready to strike.
There’s a knock.
“Is Steve in there with you? Two’s company, but three’s a party!”
My knuckles turn white.
Another knock.
“Come on. I’m horny, too, you guys.”
The doorknob turns, she slowly opens the door and excitedly peeks her head in, expecting to see some live amateur action.
Guess again, bitch.
“AAAAA FUCKING WHORE!”
I slam the crowbar down on the stupid cunt’s smiling face, right above her eye socket. No hesitation this time. Her face immediately goes blank with shock. As the socket shatters it compresses - and her eyeball pops out like an empty balloon suddenly blown rigid. She immediately crumbles in the doorway. Writhing and twitching. Gasping and heaving. A crumpled unconscious mess only kept moving by her haywire malfunctioning nervous system.
“Fucking!”
I smash her face again.
“Bitch!”
Another swing.
“Cunt!”
Again and again until I lose count.
Only fools make mistakes twice.
Her face is a mess. Even worse than Angela’s. By the time I’m done it’s nothing but a flesh, blood and bone soup seeping its way into the carpet. A tangled mess of brain matter, skull fragments and dyed blonde hair with brunette roots fused to the floor.
Panting - I collect myself.
Okay, fuck. Cool it. That was loud. Now I really have to go.
I make my way back to the window. As I pass by Angela’s naked body I can’t resist and use the covers to quickly wipe off any blood staining her perfect body then pull out my phone to take a picture.
I walk briskly back to my car - looking over my shoulders to make sure no one sees me. I throw myself into the driver’s side - drop the crowbar on the passenger’s seat - then grab a towel and start the car.
Screeching around the corner I wipe my hands of the night.

Chapter Text

“Tangerine, tangerine! What is it that you need? Why, it’s tangerine! Any time of day - cold or heat - look in your refrigerator and grab some tangerine!”
“Mmm, refreshing!”
“That’s right! Quench your thirst and treat those parched lips - to some tangerine!”
“But, mister, is it environmentally friendly?”
“It sure is*, little girl, and might I mention how sorry I am about what my people did to your ancestors? Let’s hug it out.”
Audience: “Awwww.” *clap*
“Indeed! All of our products are also completely bigotry free*!”
*terms and conditions may apply
“So, head on down to your local supermarket and get so-”
I take another sip of rum and coke then hit skip.
“And now back to: Poetry for the blind.
Where, O where, art thou?
I cannot see, are you -”
Oh, fuck this. I close the tab and rub my face. I really don’t know what I expected.
I down the rest of my drink then grab the bottle to pour some more. The last little bit leaks out like a squirt of nervous piss. Great. I get up and go to the pantry.
Fuck, completely out.
With nothing better to do on a saturday night I put my shoes on, grab a coat, then head out to the store.
It’s just a few blocks away - but to get there I have to wade through waist deep muck. No one gives a shit about this neighborhood - the residents seem to care least of all. We’ve had so many government and community out-reach programs come through here. Millions of dollars pissed into this alleyway, but in the end it always trickles down the leg of a passed out addict and onto the pavement - to be ultimately washed down the gutter in the coming rain. The drug fiends are happy with the clean needles, though. Now they only get AIDS from sucking off the faggots who come through here looking to blow a quick pozzed load. Can’t do it in the fancy bath houses or there might be a lawsuit. The concern is never justice. Just one faggot fucking another faggot for a quick buck. As above, so below.
I make my way around the final corner from MLK to Mercer.
“Hey, maybe he’ll help.” I overhear a bum say in a hushed tone.
Here we go.
“Excuse me!” The bum walks over to me with his retarded looking female companion in tow. This bitch is completely out of her mind. Eyes rolling around looking at whatever apparitions are haunting her demented soul. Arms flailing aimlessly in the air by her sides. Muttering gibberish to herself and making baby noises like an infant learning to speak.
“Hey, are you going into the liquor store?”
“Yeah.”
“Could you get us-” He looks at his companion. “Julie! Stop.”
I don’t think there are any breaks on that train, buddy.
“Could you get us some wine? Just the cheapest stuff. Here, I’ve got a dollar.” He pulls a crumpled up note straight from his pocket and presents it to me. I guess he expects me to pay for the rest out of the kindness of my own heart.
I normally don’t give to the homeless. Most of them are liars. Say they want food, but really they’re looking to get loaded then pass out in a stairwell - inconveniencing the poor bastards who have the misfortune of having their building become a nest - but I actually respect this one’s honesty, and I’m feeling charitable. You know what?
“Yeah, alright. I can get you some wine.”
“Really? Oh, thank you. Here. Please, take the money.” I grab the crumpled up bill and stick it in my pocket.
“I’ll be back in a sec.”
“Hey, Julie. Julie! He said he’d get the wine.”
Poor fuck. Dealing with whatever the fuck that mess of a bitch is. Dude deserves to be numb for a while. I hope he’s at least getting some spaz puss for his trouble.
Cheapo winebag for tweedle-dee and tweedle-bum. Cheap bottle of rum for me.
The dirtbag behind the counter makes a comment about my refined taste. Yeah, you work at a booze pit in Satan’s asshole. I’m sure you’re living the high-life in your off hours.
I pay him in cold silence and leave.
“Here.”
The bum eyes the wine like an old timey cartoon prospector who’s just found a nugget of gold the size of his morning shit.
“Thank you!”
“Yeah, that’s alright. You two have a good night.”
I start walking home but the bum calls me back.
“Hey! You seem like a good dude. We’re going to a party. Want to come?”
Is this guy serious? What, like a bum party? Bums have parties?
“A party?”
“Yeah, just a few blocks from here. You got something better to do?”
He’s got me there. I don’t.
“Not really, no.”
“Then come with us. It’ll be fun. I promise.”
“Who’s going? What kind of party is this?”
“Just us and a few friends. There’s always a party going on over at the old Dirk street cannery on saturdays. You know the place?”
“Yeah, it shut down 5 years ago.”
“That’s the one. We’ve got a good setup in there. Prime real estate.”
My curiosity is getting the best of me. A bum party in an abandoned cannery? Fuck it.
“Alright. Lead the way.”
“Great. You won’t regret it.”

Chapter Text

We arrive at the cannery. I don’t hear any music or people inside. The fuck is this guy playing at.
“Where’s the party?”
“It’s in there. Come on. You’ll see.”
I put my hand in my jacket pocket, ready to pull my gun if shit goes sideways. If this guy’s planning something he picked the wrong motherfucker to play with.
We go around to the side entrance. It’s kept open with a brick. Still no music or any sign of life.
The bum goes to the door and holds it open. Spazzy mcgee wanders in, still lost in her own retarded world.
I stand outside hesitantly and stare at him. He just looks at me, smiling, and tries to wave me in.
“Really. It’s in here. Come on.”
“...You go first. I’ll follow you.”
He laughs.
“Alright, man. You think I’m setting you up or something?”
He continues to chuckle then moves to the inside of the door, still holding it for me.
I look over my shoulder then follow him in.
“Paranoid. Paranoid.” He says, letting go of the door, shaking his head and smiling.
The entrance leads to a flight of stairs that go down to the basement. Schizzypuss has already made her way down.
We reach the bottom of the stairs and I look around. It’s a large, almost cavernous old storage room. Mostly empty apart from cardboard boxes in the corners, pillars, trash strewn about and a small squatter’s den. A couch, a browned piss-stained mattress, a few camping chairs and a couple of makeshift tents. This is it? A miniature fucking underground hobo camp?
Before I can get a word of complaint out a head jolts up from behind the couch.
“You’re back!”
It’s another bum.
“Yeah, and we brought booze - and a friend!”
The couch bum looks at me and waves.
I’m trying to contain my astonishment. This is the “party”? Some fucking smack-head on a couch in a basement? It’s better than getting robbed, but I still feel robbed.
I give him a terse smile and a half-nod then look at the snake-party salesman who dragged me here.
“This is the party?”
“Yeah. Get a load of this place. Great, isn’t it? No one bothers you down here. We’ve even got a couch. This place is the shit.” He looks back at couch-bum. “Is Nedge back yet?”
“Nah, he’ll be back soon, though.”
“Who’s Nedge?” I ask.
The bums smile at each other, then at me.
“He’s our ticket to wonderland, friend.”
“Nedge always provides. Don’t know how he does it. Stickiest fingers in the city. He’ll go uptown and come back with gold necklaces from jewelry shops. You know, the fancy ones with all the alarms. He’s got the magic touch - and he’s always got a hookup.”
I’m pretty sure I know what they’re talking about, but I ask anyway.
“Wonderland?”
“Preparation H!” They say in unison then laugh.
Of course.
The bum who brought me here sits on the couch next to the other bum and starts chugging wine. The retarded one sits next to a pillar and starts rocking back and forth, shaking her head while muttering. Not the most appealing scene I’ve ever seen, but, I truly don’t have anything better to do. I sit on one of the camping chairs.
The first bum wipes off the drips from his chin then speaks.
“So, uhh... Shit, I didn’t get your name.”
“Dave.”
“It’s a pleasure, Dave. I’m scott, this is Bono.” He points to bum #2
“Oh, and that over there’s Julie. She doesn’t talk much.”
“I see.”
The sound of a door opening upstairs causes the two bums to grin.
“That’s gotta be Nedgie with the stuff.”
“Oh, honey, I’m home!” Nedge calls out as he walks down the steps like the messiah returning to spread the good word.
“Who’s this?” He’s looking at me from the bottom of the stairs.
“His name’s Dave. He’s good people. Bought us some wine.” Scott holds up the bag.
“Well, any friend of Scott’s is a friend of mine.” Nedge saunters over to the mattress and takes a seat, then puts his hand in his jacket pocket and gives us a sly smile.
“Gentlemen: Tonight, we dine in heaven.” He pulls out a handful of brown balls wrapped in cling film.
“You partake, friend?” He asks me.
“Never done it, no.”
“Well, choice is yours. The offer’s on the table if you want it. We take care of our guests ‘round here - don’t we, lads?”
Bono slides out a small wooden box from underneath the couch and hands it to Nedge.
“Indeed we do!”
Nedge starts preparing his ingredients.
“You know, the founding fathers used opiates. Jefferson had poppy plants in his front garden. They were there for hundreds of years - until the DEA nazis came in and took ‘em. Erasure of history, I say. World gone mad.” He shakes his head and continues.
“People have these funny binary ideas floating around in their heads. Either you are, or you aren’t. Take a drug and you’re a druggie. A bum, a smack-head, a dope-fiend. Isn’t the way it used to be. Used to be you could buy cocaine and opium at your local pharmacy. Totally normal. Nowadays you’ll get locked up for half your life if the stormtroopers catch you with the stuff, but if your doctor decides your kid can’t sit still in class he hooks him up with some ammo. Straight up amphetamines. Little Billy’s a bit of a nervous fella? Give him some benzos. Those pills are even worse than this junk. At least with this you know you’re fucked up. Those xanax bars turn you into the perfect zombie. So numbed you don’t even feel the numbness, and they’re prescription, so you can tell yourself you’re not doing drugs - it’s medicine! This is the real medicine here, my friend. It’ll show you a world beyond this prison. Once you’ve been there you wake up from the ride and see the chains for what they are. You’re shown heaven - so you can know hell.”
“Our Nedgie fancies himself a bit of a philosopher.” Bono says, smiling.
I’m surprised. That even made a little bit of sense. We might even be kindred spirits.
I give him a wry smile.
“Are you not a prisoner of your own addiction?”
He laughs.
“Some may say so. Shit, even I may say so. Everyone’s a slave to somethin’. Pick your poison. Those people out there. The worker bees. Do they love their work? Or are they just slaves to the dollar? They indulge in their drugs of choice - TV, booze, jerking off - it’s all the same. Some are addicted to power. They’re the most dangerous of all. The politicians, bureaucrats and manager types. They live to make rules and further their careers. There’s no glory in leadership from the sidelines. Gotta make a name for yourself. Write up a bill. Pass some legislature. Restrict everyone’s freedom and get a promotion. They’re short-sighted, myopic. They don’t see the bigger picture. It’s all money and status - self-service under the guise of doing “what’s right” - “what’s good”. They’re just addicts. At least my addiction can only harm me. Their addiction compels them to shit all over everyone. Piss on every parade. All in the name of safety. If you want to be completely safe, just fucking kill yourself, I say. Can’t be harmed if you’re dead.”
I let out a laugh.
“You know what, Nedge - I like the way you think.”
“Ah, a thinker, are you? What do you do for a living? You don’t look like a denizen of dinge.”
“I’m a janitor at Oxbridge. The university.”
“A cleaner of messes! Well, you’re in the right place, bud. It’s all a fucking mess down here. Everyone wants to clean it up, but they just create a bigger mess. You get a mosquito bite - what do you do? You scratch it? Just gets bigger. But, oh man, is it itchy. So tempting to scratch that itch. To clean that mess. Everyone with their grand career plans to clean up the streets. None of it works. You know why? They don’t actually give a shit about the people here. You know how many have come and talked to old Nedgie? None. Nada. Zero. It’s a game to them. Our lives, our actions - we’re just pawns on the board of their big game of strategy. Just statistics to be fixed. It’s all about intent, my friend. You’re in it for the game, and you’ll get played by the streets. She’s a picky bitch. Doesn’t like to be fucked with. Doesn’t like brown nosed bureaucrats trying to stick it in her ass.”
He fills the first syringe with the brown liquid he’s just cooked up.
“So, you in?”
“I’ll let you guys go first.”
“Suit yourself. Scotty, you’re up.”
“Don’t mind if I do.” Scott wraps a surgical tube around his arm and Nedge hands him the needle.
“I’ll see you all on the other side.” He grins, then sticks the needle in his vein and pushes the plunger down.
“Bono, my boy.” Nedge fills another syringe and gives it to Bono.
Nedge looks at me inquisitively.
“You know - you don’t have to stick it in your arm. First time you should probably just snort it. Here.”
He pours out a little clump onto a small plate, then scrapes it into a line with a library card.
“A philosopher always tries everything once.” I say.
“From one philosopher to another - I concur.” He smiles and hands me the plate.

Chapter Text

Another drink, please, mater.
But I haven’t got a clue.
Have they been here - watching you?
Searching eyes, surely surmise.
Clatter of drinks, cheers to the Sphinx.
It all vanishes all the same.
Deep in a glass, her holy ass.
Butterscotch filth, drowned in a ditch.
Was that you who was calling me?
Really, now, that drink, good sir.
Oh, please - miss - just one kiss.
Leopard print spiral, outbound apparel.
Dig a hole and see where it goes.
Clutch on her purse, she’s surely seen worse.
Bald headed ass in the square.
Doorways adjacent, piss on the pavement.
An itch in the dick you’ll quickly evict.
Porcelain person, don’t you stare.

I feel a warmth emanating from my cock. It washes over my entire body. No, it goes further. It’s reverberating my soul. The mattress caressing my back - I’m wrapped in a cozy comforter, being fed straight from mother’s tit. She’ll never be cross with me again.
I look up and it’s fine. In heaven everything is fine.
Is that you up there?
A strange, featureless human face watches from a stain on the pillar.
Its gaze meets mine. It stretches and coils its way out from the stain. A long, green cylindrical snake. Completely smooth.
Its face rests above mine.
‘Hello, David.’
‘Hello.’
‘You’ve made some new friends.’
‘Guess so.’
‘What do you know about them?’
‘I don’t know. They seem nice enough. Bums, but they were kind to me.’
‘What do they know about you?’
‘Not much, really. I don’t know.’
‘How long can a tiger hide its claws?’
‘Fuck. I don’t know. Look, I don’t plan on hurting them. They were nice. They understand.’
‘What makes you think I was talking about you?’
‘I... Killed those people. My mission. I know. You want me to finish it, right? Blow their fucking bum brains out all over the wall?’
‘Your mission is in your hands. I am just the messenger. You will do what you must.’
‘Well, I don’t want to kill them.’
‘Very well. What about her?’
‘Her? Who? The crazy bitch? What about her?’
It slowly retracts back into the pillar and vanishes.

I sit up. Fuck, how long was I out? Oh, shit. Did I piss myself?
Scott and Bono are out cold on the couch. Can’t see Nedge anywhere. Julie’s still in her corner, babbling, and rocking back and forth with her hands on her hears.
I hear some rustling in the tent behind me.
“That’s a good girl. Just like me and daddy taught you.”
I get up and walk over to the tent.
“What the fuck is this?”
I’ve found Nedge. He’s with a girl. No older than 12. He’s holding her hand on his half limp heroin dick, making her stroke it. Her eyes are open, but there’s nobody home.
“Oh, hey, man. If you want in we can double team her. She loves a spit roast, don’t you, darling?” He pushes her matted, dirty blonde hair behind her ear. “First one’s always on the house.”
“Who is she?”
“Scott and Julie’s girl. How do you think he pays me for all the smack I give him? I’m not running a fucking charity. Look, if you’re not going to join in - fuck off and do another line or something, alright?”
I pull out my gun.
“No, wai-”
I shoot him in the head.
I go over to the couch. I shoot Scott in the head. Then Bono.
I aim at Julie. I lower the gun. She’s already in hell.
I go back to the tent.
The girl continues to stroke Nedge robotically - coldly staring into the distance.
Even with brains all over her face she’s still in a daze.
I fire one last bullet and leave.

Chapter Text

“Forgive me, father, for I have sinned.”
“Tell me what’s troubling you, my child.”
“I am an angry man. I am sick. My head may be sick, but my stomach is sicker. It aches, father. I feel it. I feel it every day. Every day I go to work I want to puke. Every time I go outside it gurgles and tumbles - it’s taut and knotted - I can hardly even breathe. My only place of sanctuary is my mind, father, and even there I feel the metastisizing sickness that plagues the world slowly creeping in. It encroaches on my home, father. The one place I can truly call my own is being taken from me. It never ends. It never fucking ends.”
“I hear you, my child. Satan takes many forms, and his influence is known to even the purest among us. You are not evil for recognizing this corrupting power.”
“I fear he may have taken me, father. I fear his influence is too strong. Is it wrong to kill evil? Must we always turn the other cheek? If we are to fight monsters - must we become a monster? If we become a monster - has The Devil won?”
“You present a difficult question. If we are to let evil roam free we run the risk of it corrupting many souls. If we sacrifice our own soul to destroy this evil only one soul must be corrupted. Perhaps it is a noble sacrifice, perhaps not. Or maybe God has intended for us to fight fire - not with fire - but with water. To fight darkness we must be beacons of light, my child. Only the day can destroy the night.”
“Are you saying I should do nothing? Just let the demons run amok?”
“Maybe. Maybe it’s not our place to decide the fate of this world. The Lord works in mysterious ways. He tests our faith. The influence of evil and the temptations that we face are our crosses to bear as the descendents of Adam and Eve. We are flawed, fallen creatures trying to make our way back to the heavenly garden from whence we came. We can help our fellow man carry his burden and try to correct his course - but - ultimately - his decisions are his and his alone. When you take those choices away you also take away his path to redemption. If we are to destroy the emissaries of evil we destroy their chance at salvation. In your attempt to do good you doom a soul to eternal damnation that could have been saved. Hate the sin, but take pity on the sinner.”
A moment of silence lingers.
“Tell me, child - are you a praying man?”
“No. I used to be. I haven’t prayed in a long time. I no longer feel as though He can hear me. I’m no longer sure if anyone ever heard me at all. What kind of God puts a man through such torment, father? What kind of a father does that to his children? My faith in his wisdom is all but gone. My faith that He truly is God and not just an imposter has all but faded. I’ve been praying to something else, father. I’m not sure if I follow Satan now or if I’ve found the true God, but at least I know this One hears me. At least this One has the courtesy to speak to me.”
“You have been in communion with a spirit?”
“Yes.”
“What has it told you?”
“What I already knew - that the world is wicked and must be destroyed. That evil must be punished.”
“I fear you have allowed a dark entity into your heart, my child. The dark ones are adept at indentifying our weaknesses. They prey upon our fears, our hopes, our dreams - our anger. You must not allow them to take root. Your eternal soul and one chance at salvation depends on it. You can be redeemed, my child. Our God is a good and forgiving God. He accepts all his children - if they accept him.”
“It’s too late for me. You don’t know what I’ve done.”
“It’s never too late. We all make mistakes. We’ve all done things that we regret.”
“Have you ever done anything that you regret, father?”
“...Of course. We all have, my child. There is nothing you can do that our good Lord won’t forgive. He understands that we are flawed. What have you done that is so unforgivable?”
I let out a heavy sigh.
Then I begin to laugh.
“What’s so funny, my child?”
“Nothing. Nothing. It’s just - well - I know what you’ve done, father.”
The priest is silent.
“I know why you’re so desperate for forgiveness, father. Why you delude yourself into believing these fairy-tales of a God who loves you no matter what. What was their name?”
The priest remains silent for a few moments then responds.
“Why is it that you came here?”
“I don’t know. Why do any of us do the things that we do? Curious, isn’t it? Why we do what we do. Do any of us really know ourselves at all? Are we just little puppets being pulled around on strings? Twisted marionettes acting out the play of an even more twisted puppeteer? If we have the courage to recognize that we are made of wood - are we then ready to pull back the curtain and see who is really pulling the strings? I think I see your strings, father. Do you see mine?”
“I think you should leave.”
“No. No, I don’t think I should.”
“...If you don’t leave I’ll have to call the police.”
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”
“Is that a threat? You dare enter this holy place and threaten a man of God?”
“Man of God? Is that what you think you are? Don’t make me laugh. Tell me their name, father.”
“What name?”
“The name, father. Don’t play dumb. You know exactly what I’m talking about. How many people have sat in this box and confessed their sins to you? You can’t even say a name? You can call the police if you’d like. I’m sure they’d love to hear all about what you did.”
The priest sighs.
“Timothy... Timothy Granger. Are you happy?”
“No. I don’t think I can ever be happy. Little Timmy can’t ever be happy again, either, but - here you are - selling snake-oil to desperate and scared people in the hopes that maybe one day you’ll convince yourself of your own bullshit. You want God’s forgiveness? No, you want to forgive yourself. The poor little priest who forgives others - he just wants to forgive himself. Poetic, isn’t it? I think I just might cry. Tell me what you did, father. Confess.”
“Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be th-”
I slam my fist on the divider.
“Confess!”
There’s a moment of silence, then the priest begins to sob.
“I had too much to drink. I was driving home when... He just ran out in front of my car. He came out of nowhere - I didn’t see him. Why was he out so late? Why weren’t his parents watching him? He should have looked before he ran out onto the road... I still remember seeing his limp, mangled body behind my car. His red coat was pulled up over his face in the accident - as if God was showing him one last bit of mercy - shielding his eyes so he wouldn’t have to watch as the life left his little body. Oh God, what have I done.”
“Then what did you do?”
“I-I... I got in my car and drove away. I just left him there. He looked like he was already dead. There was nothing I could do. I don’t want to go to prison. I’m not a criminal. I wouldn’t survive in there. Those people in there, they’re - they’re monsters. I wouldn’t last five minutes. How do you know about this? I never told anyone.”
“You just told me. People love to spill their secrets. Get things off their chest. You should know - you’ve made a living out of exploiting this desire. You know what else I’ve learned about this world, father? None of us are innocent. We all have skeletons in our closets. Everyone wears a mask. You wear the robe of a priest to hide your guilt. Others wear suits, uniforms, makeup - they’re all the same. Just liars in cloaks that conceal their naked truth. An entire species of liars and hypocrites.”
“Are you innocent, then? Who are you to judge?”
“No, I guess I’m not. But - I already told you, father - I’m sick.”
“I can help you. That’s what I’m here for. That’s what I do. I help people. We’re both sick. We can help each other. We don’t have to tell anyone about this, okay? Just tell me what I can do for you.”
“That’s what it always comes back to, doesn’t it?”
“What?”
“Self-interest. That’s what it’s all about, isn’t it? Everyone’s just in it for themselves, but we pretend we aren’t. So, what is it that you’re willing to do for me, father? What are you willing to do to save your pathetic little life? Would you get on your knees and suck my cock? What if I told you to take a wooden crucifix and shove it up your ass until you can’t see Jesus anymore? Would you do that?”
The priest just sobs quietly to himself.
I open my door, then open his.
“Answer me!”
He puts his arms up then retreats into the back corner of the booth.
“Wh-what are you doing? Get away from me.”
I pull out my gun and point it at him.
“Oh, God.” He whimpers.
“Answer the fucking question.”
“Wh-what?”
“If I told you to suck my fucking cock right now - would you do it?”
“Is that what you want me to do?”
“That’s not an answer.”
He just stares at me with a look of shock and confusion - mouth agape - his head stiffly shaking side to side with terror.
I move toward him.
“No, no. Plea-”
I kick him in the gut. He folds over and crumples into a ball on the ground - winded and gasping for air.
“Please.” He gasps. “Please don’t kill me.”
“Answer the question.”
He sobs into the floor.
I kick him in the ribs.
“Answer. The question.”
He weighs his options in tears, then moans as his spirit breaks.
“Yes... Yes. I’ll do it.”
“You’ll do what!?”
I kick him in the ribs again.
“I’ll suck your cock!”
“Oh, father. That’s a sin - don’t you know? What about your eternal soul? Or do you think daddy will forgive this one, too?”
He continues to leak fluids onto the ground and wail in his own mess.
I crush his skull between my boot and the floor.

Chapter Text

“You alright, Dave?”
“Yeah, fine.”
Nathan and I are on our lunch break eating sandwiches on a bench in the courtyard.
“You just seem a little quiet and... distant. A little more than usual, at least.”
“I’m fine. Just haven’t been sleeping well.”
“Alright, man. Just checking in.”
We continue to sit in silence for a while and eat our lunch. Nathan breaks the silence.
“Is it the murders? Horrible what happened to those poor girls. My wife’s into all that true-crime stuff - keeps asking me for more details - as if I’d know - haha! Thinks of herself as a detective on the case. She says that the person who did it must be a serial killer like... what’s his name? The guy who kept people in his basement then ate them or something? Sick stuff. Anyway, it seems like that’s all anyone can talk about right now and people are paranoid - probably should be - to be honest. Is that what’s bothering you, man?”
“Sure, it’s fucked up and all, but I just... haven’t been sleeping well... loud neighbors.”
“That’s cool. We don’t have to talk about it.”
We return to eating in silence. Nathan soon starts fidgeting, tapping his toes and squirming in his seat like a fourth-grader desperate for a piss.
He relieves himself.
“I heard the guy who did it was a professor who was having an affair with both girls and they had a fight so he killed them so they wouldn’t tell his wife! Crazy, right? Who do you think did it? Oh, and I also heard someone else say that the guy who did it was a drifter who’s been roaming around the country killing college students - and he collects the hair of all his victims!”
He looks to me excitedly.
“Shut the fuck up, Nathan.”
I get up, throw away my trash and head back inside.
“What? Sorry. Jeeze.”