The Delivery

Took me long enough, but I found it. 2238 Maple Street. Would have been a lot quicker if they had managed to cut down some of the shit trailing all over the face of the house, covering the address. Way too much trouble for a small pizza and bread sticks. Anyway, I better get a damned tip from this. Rain too. Fucking hate rain.

I step out from the driver seat, into the pounding rain and go around to my back door, open it and slide out the delivery bag. I hate my job sometimes, until I get those days where I get hundreds of dollars worth of tips. Anyway, time to get this delivered, boss is probably going to chew me out when I get back to the store.

I approach a rotted, dilapidated gate and ease it open and begin up the path towards the front door. Erie as shit, that's for sure. No lights either. They probably gave up and went to bed, if so, then I'm going to eat this fucking pizza for my troubles.

I give the front door a few quick knocks, after a moment, I delivered a few more. Nobody's home? Damn it. No tip, but a free pizza? I guess I've gotta count my blessings. I turn and begin down the path again and I hear a creak from behind me.

“Is that my pizza?” a woman called.

“Uh-- yeah. Sorry I'm so late, I got a bit turned around. Haven't been out this way haha,” I reply.

“I'm sorry sweetheart, meant to get these vines cut, as much as I love 'em. You can come in if you want while I get your money, don't want you getting sick.”

She was a small, not-so-intimidating old lady so I figured, what the hell? I make my way forward again and step into the house. Cliche moth balls smell and the sudden, subconscious requirement to take my shoes off at the door. The house was pitch black, strange for an old lady who seems like she could be blown over with the slightest strong gust of wind.

She's been gone for awhile now. Is she alright?

“I'm going to leave your pizza right here on your coffee table alright? I won't charge you.” I called out,

“Oh-- honey I've fallen and I can't get up-- could you help me?”

“Of course! Where are you?”

“Back bedroom just in front of the door!”

Shit. Just my luck. Could this night get any fucking worse? Might as well go help her.

I feel across the wall for a light switch and find one, flicking it up, I find that the power is out. Perfect!

“Alright, I'm on my way!”

“Please hurry, I've got to use the bathroom so bad.”

Fuck. Me.

She better not piss or-- shit all over me when I help her up. If she does, I'll quit right on the fucking spot. I didn't sign up to be a nurse aid.

I reach the end of the hall and turn into the left bedroom, my foot meeting the bottom of hers.

“Please-- help me up honey--”

“Yep--”

I bend down and wrap my arms around her frail frame. She starts groaning and it almost forces me to drop her due to paranoia, but she was already too high up for me to drop her like a sack of bricks.

“My potty is right behind me-- in front of the nightstand-- set me up there.”

I do as instructed and without warning, she begins to shit-- signaling the fact with a loud fart and a few plops of muddy shit. She couldn't have fucking waited?

“Have a nice night, ma'am. Your pizza's right out on the coffee table,”

“Hold on-- Emily wants to play with you.”

“Emily? I'm sorry ma'am I really have to get back to the restaurant,”

“Emily! Sweetie, he's right here!”

I'm not playing with your fucking cat or dog, lady. I'm not going to spare a single moment getting out of this God forsaken house.

“I'm sorry, ma'am--”
“She'll be here in just a minute. Emily! Where are you? There you are, sweetie.”

The old woman finished emptying her bowels and though it was really dark, I could make out her smiling to something behind me.

“I have to go.” I simply said.

I turn, ignoring anything else she has to say and begin out of the bedroom. Time to leave her to her dementia or whatever--

What the fuck!

The first thing I seen was two white balls staring intently at me, they hung higher than the door too. Her figure was slender and her arms and legs were impossibly stretched and sharpened. A quick flash of lightning revealed set of long, jagged, sharp teeth that seemed to be drooling and-- where her eyes should have been-- there were just two dark holes. But what produced the pale glow? How the Hell is this even possible?

I froze as she started easing her way towards me.

“He's a nice boy, Emily. Play good with him okay?”

The shadowy figure seemed to nod, and after a long moment, she lurched forward and wrapped her arms around me and carried me quickly to some unknown reach of the house.

I was slammed down onto a cold, flat surface and, before I knew it, I felt my stomach begin to sting as her face buried into my abdomen, gnawing on my rib cage and, shortly after, my insides.

The Thing in the Mist

    It stands at an unimpressive, seemingly 4-foot pose. Regardless of its size, whatever that thing in the mist is, it's truly terrifying.
    Its eyes burning like two pale stars. It has bits of something hanging off of it and it doesn't seem to have any arms.

    It's waiting for me to turn around, I know it. I attempt to do so, but it never came. I turn back around to see if it had even moved, it hadn't. Not even slightly, so, idiotically, I approach. As the mist parts and my eyes adjust, I see that it's just two little mice, eating seeds on a mossy branch.

Exhaustion

     My hands are raw and every muscle aches.
     How do they expect me to work like this? This is slave labor at best.
     I use to enjoy doing this, back when I was much younger and more angry.
     Oh well, it's the only skill I possess and it pays the bills and then some.
    
     I don't have a wife anymore, or any kids. Sometimes I wish I did, but I would end up coming home and unable to unwind, probably dead of a heart attack already because of her bitching all the time.
     I wish this was still fun for me, but now it's just-- exhausting.

"No! Please!" He screamed,
"Shhh..  I need some quiet time," I said, gagging his mouth.

     I turn around and face my table of tools. I think I'll go with the chainsaw this time. The vibrations and violent shaking of the bodies usually arouses me.
     He's my last client, then I can go home, hire a wore and deal with myself. Release a bit of this exhaustion.
   

Mirror

I unlocked the bottom lock on my front door and slam through it, I stomp in and stumble over my family’s shoes and fall face first onto the floor. Snow fell from my hair and my coat, I’m so repulsive not even snows wants to stay with me. I lay there in front of the open door, sobbing heavily into the ground. I cursed and I questioned, turning the brown carpet a darker and warmer stain from my tears.

“Why me? What the fuck did I ever do to deserve this? I fucking hate this shitty planet. I hate my shitty self.” I cry vibrating the white, blank walls of my home, “Fuck!” I run my knuckles straight into the ground, feeling the…. Glorious sting and ache; so I did it again, and again, and again. I felt my right hand, middle finger break or spring, I don’t care, all I know is that the pain was worse and I loved it!

I began bashing the side of my head against the carpet, harder and harder every time, hoping soon I will either be unconscious or brain damaged. As I continued, lifting my head and heavily bringing it down with a thud, I felt a zit burst on my forehead, that makes me stop and touch it, puss and blood raced down the side of my head, only from the zit though.

“Can’t even knock my own damn self out, pathetic.” I whisper only to be answered by the February winter winds whistling over my house.

I got up steadily and made my way to my bathroom, entered and closed the door, I put down the lid and sat myself upon it; I looked up and focused on a flower that had multiple, small brown droplets dripping from its two dimensional, white pedals, we never bothered to clean that up or even guess what that was. 

I raised up, still hearing my heart pound against my chest and my brain scrunch with near insanity.

“You greasy headed in-bred mother fucker, kill your self, nobody on this fucking planet cares about you!” I shout at my reflection in the badly fingerprinted mirror. I looked myself in my wet, red eyes and watched as the blood raced down the side of my head and around each field of red and white headed blemish. 

I put the back of my hand up to the puss and blood coated wound and felt its contents layer on to my skin. I observed myself again.

“have you ever had a girlfriend? I wouldn’t be surprised if you didn’t.” they’d say, 
“Haha, look Ned he pissed himself!” their minions would say,
“No you pricks kicked me in the ass, as I was taking a piss.” I’d reply
“Sure Higgins, sure.” they’d laugh again, I would reply with a fist to the asshole’s temple and he’d go down, then his dumb fucks would jump on me, punch me in the balls a couple of times, then move to my gut and finally to my face and when I wanted to take a breath they dip my head in an unlashed stall toilet, forcing me to drink the urine and shit and used toilet paper.

I would walk around school for the rest of the day, with a head and breath smelling like feces.

Valentine’s day was tomorrow, and God do I want to shoot each one of those ignorant couples without a care in the world.

“Hi Clary.” I’d say
“Uh- hey Higgins.” she’d say
“I was wondering, since you have been the nicest person to me, would you go to prom with me? I mean just as friends, I don’t want anything more I promise.” I’d say again and she would giggle and look to her girlfriends around her,
“With you Higgins? I’m sorry, but I’d rather eat my own barf then to go with you, look don’t talk to me, you broke that chance long ago with that horrible body odor of yours!” she’d giggle and wander off with her friends.

I came back into this sickening reality and still felt my popped blemish, pulsate with anger and pain. I let out a cry and punch my reflection square in the nose, shattering the mirror and slicing open three of my four right hand knuckles. The blood dripped from my hand, but I didn’t squint, I laughed……. ‘that sting, it feels so good!’ I thought, out of good measure I bashed my head a single time against the wall, the spot went numb from the pulsating pain and I felt it grow just above my temple. I was light headed after that one and I stumbled over the sink.

I gathered myself and looked down at the fragments of glass lying spread out among the bathroom and the sink. I seen my reflection once more and I gritted my teeth and let out a sob that sounded almost like an insane laugh. 

I gently pick up a piece of glass and spin it around in my hand, it gleamed in the dying light bulb’s light. Its clean and straight lines were perfect.

The mirror, a thing to help ensure and improve a person’s beauty, will serve that purpose a final time before my mother scoops it all up and throws it away. I turned it so that I could see my fractured image reveal itself. My cheeks were raised into a grin and my eyes bulged with glee. I raise up the shard and I squeezed it tight feeling it open my palm’s surface.

I let the blood run down my arm and soak into my dark blue shirt and I drive the shard into the place my zit used to be, and I pull it down the left side of my face and guide it through my fresh welt. It stung beyond Hell, my body shuttered with pain as I went around my temple and just reaching my cheek, my horribly zited cheek. I screamed feeling my skin wrap tighter around the now slick glass and I felt my tears pour around and in the wounds stinging it further. I watched as the blood fell onto the dirty porcelain and over the faucet;  ‘I’ll be beautiful now.’ I think and laugh gently.

Before I could maneuver over my cheek bone, my brain pulsated again and my vision began to tunnel and then it all went black and I fell over and felt my head bounce off of the counter of the bathroom sink and the glass land on the tile with a ting.

What About Mrs. Carolina?

“So, what about Mrs. Carolina?” I asked,
“What about her?” Phil replied,
“Do we just leave her here?”
“Now why would we do that?”

Phil stood there with his arms crossed.

“I don't know, Phil.”
“Well, for fuck's sake, Pete,” he sighed as he lit a cigarette nervously, “We leave her here and then what?”
“Right. Right I get it,” I nodded, “It just seems kind of unnecessary, ya know?”
“Unnecessary? I think we're far off from the whole necessary and unnecessary thing ya think?”

Phil puffed out a breath of smoke into the stars, then stuck the cigarette back in his mouth and sucked in deeply.

“Yeah,” I said, “I guess so,”
“Besides,” he stated, “We can't just turn back now. It's way too late for that. If we do, this shit will be on our minds for the rest of our lives. We'll see Mrs. Carolina here every time we close our eyes if we don't take care of this,”
“Okay, Phil,” I said, “We'll do it.”
“Thatta' boy, Pete,” he gave me a quick pat on the shoulder and smiled, “come on. It'll be fun. Quit being so damn awkward all the time. Hell, I'll even let you have the head.”
“If you say so.”

He laughed and pat me on the shoulder again, then he took the cancer stick from his mouth and cast it onto the concrete and ground out the embers with the heel of his shoe. Then we went inside.
Mrs. Carolina knew how to decorate. Fine this, fine that-- her husband sure as shit didn't have a taste for fine things. Except, women. He knew how to pick 'em. Mrs. Carolina, with that golden hair of hers and those emerald eyes that just pierce you whenever she looks at you; and damn was she smart, I mean, she was a teacher after all. She was tough too, I like that in a woman, it gets me off when I know they can take control in an instant.
Mr. Carolina was out of town on business probably screwing an assistant in the room of some roach motel. Tonight was a perfect night for this. The kid gone. Just Mrs. Carolina.


Somewhere in the farther reaches of the house I could hear Mrs. Carolina's muffled voice speaking. Pete had her call her husband and check in. The call didn't last very long, Mr. Carolina made it brief, he probably was getting hard while a tan, young receptionist rubbed her soft hands all over him.
Pete and I turned into a hall lined with family photos and fill in photography of flowers or bees or anything nature like for that matter.

We came to a dark walnut door and Pete raised his hand in the cockiest damn way and gently knocked with that five cent grin of his. Without an answer he opened the door still holding that cheesy smirk on his face and we went in.

“Hey Mrs. Carolina,” Phil said slyly,
“Hey boys,” she said licking those cherry red lips of hers as she dropped the right side of her dress and exposed her pink, perky nipples. She stood up and let the rest of her clothing fall to the ground. Phil stepped behind her and felt her up a little and she knelt down in front of me, carefully placed her bottom on Phil's crotch and started to undo the button on my jeans,

“You still want the head right, Pete?” he said as he quickly undid his pants and shoved himself inside of her,
“Yeah, I do, Phil.”

She took me in her mouth and started to moan around me.

Boom-Boom

Jesus Christ! I've fucking needed this for awhile. It's nice to have a human sucking me off instead of some Vietnamese jungle tick and does she know how to please an American.

“You so big, G.I,” she said, around my extension,

Shit! I'm going to blow before I even get a chance to feel this whore's tight little cunt. Been awhile since I could have a seventeen year old, considering, back in the states, it's illegal and frowned upon. But, fuck! She sucked like she was twenty-five.

It wasn't long until she climbed on top of me and gently rubbed herself onto the head of my tool.

“You want me, G.I?” she asked,

“Fuck yes! Let me fuck you!”

“Ask nice,” she smirked

“Please?” I said.

She leaned in and kissed me on the neck and bit my lip. She held my lip in her mouth as she situated herself over me and began to slide down.

Immediately, something didn't feel right and as soon as she lifted up I felt a tare on my cock. I screamed and she bit down even harder on my lip and ripped herself away and spit the flesh out somewhere in the darkness of the cabin.

Blood flowed everywhere. All over her and the bed and she proceeded to ride me like a wild horse.

I felt my penis begin to rip away from my pelvic bone and my throat becoming raw from the screaming I had been doing.

“Fucking American!” she continuously screamed

She finally lifted off of me and let the blood and contents pour out of her and onto the bamboo flooring. She could hardly stand but she still managed to laugh while I continued to scream. I felt my head beginning to spin not long after. I'm going to bleed out!

I couldn't feel the burning in my crotch anymore. I attempted to call her a fucking bitch, but only managed to stutter.

“F-F-” I tried

“Die American!”

She pulled from underneath the bed a small device, a detonator fuck! She smiled at me one last time, flicked up the casing and pressed the button underneath.

Writer's Block

It had been a long day at work, retail had consumed my life for the past three years, and I got home late. My fiance had long since gone to bed, so I figured I could knock some writing out before I went to bed. I went into the office and quietly closed the door and sat at my desk with overwhelming amounts of enthusiasm. I got about ten sentences into my book when a bad case of writer's block set in like rigor mortise. I sat there staring at the blinking cursor on my screen, trying to force my imagination to get up and drag itself to my fingertips, but it wasn't. So, I figured I would go check on my rat, she recently just gave birth and lost her leg so she was continuously squeaking, so I figured I would go check on her and play with her to pass the time. I played with her for a whole five minutes until she bit me hard on my finger, breaking skin, so I put her back in the cage and went to grab a band-aid, a cup of water, and check on my fiance who was still sound asleep.

I sat back down at my computer and started typing again. About twenty minutes into a nice steady session, I could hear my rat squeaking like crazy again, then eventually grew silent until the sound of dead gnawing bone started sounding out. My first idea was that my rat had been chewing on her missing leg, trying to get rid of the bone her own way, then I turned around and saw that she had-- died. She must have had an infection, I thought. Still, the bone cracking sound echoed from somewhere outside of my office. I stood up and opened the door and I saw, standing in the darkness at the kitchen sink, the shape of my fiance.

“The rat died, Katie,” I said plainly,

“I'll be in there in just a minute.” she replied, cold,

I went back into the office, sat at the chair and rolled it to our rat's cage and looked in. Her head had been twisted completely around and all seven of her babies had become pale and shriveled.

“What the fuck?” I muttered.

I was interrupted by the cracking of bones again and when I turned my head back at the doorway, a woman stood there towering over me and staring with her one and only, pale eye. The other seemed to have been gouged out and leaked blood profusely.

She was pale and clammy and twitched impossibly and rapidly. She was nude but was covered in what looked like bile that had dripped from her grinning, green mouth.

I stared at her a moment, until she lurched forward and wrapped a twitching hand around my throat, pulled me closer to her grinning face that wreaked of rot, and squeezed.

Next I heard was a crack, then I heard a collection of noises that sounded like sobbing and laughing at the same time. The thud as my vision hit the floor came shortly after.

My eyes went black momentarily and when I opened them again, I was just re-entering my apartment.

It had been a long day at work......