Head Rush
I sent her roses by the dozens and poems by the thousands. Yet still she doesn’t acknowledge my existence. I know she knows who I am. But I don’t think she realizes what a swell guy can be; that I can treat her better than any of the other more attractive men can; those filthy swine that are only after one thing. Well, tonight I’ll show her Max Quinton isn’t just some crazy man. I’ll show her what those men really want from her. Then maybe she’ll see why I am the best of them all.
Despite even my blasted dislocated eyeball.
It dangles there on its stalk now, the heavy wetness of my eyeball resting on my cheek. I hate it when it does this. And oh how it hurts when I’ve got to shove it back into its socket. I do so now, as I sit in my car across the street from her apartment. I do it in one quick gesture so it won’t hurt as bad. The eyeball goes in with an audible wet popping sound. I roll my eyes, adjusting it better in the socket and then I get out of the car. I’ve got a job to do tonight.
I look up and spot her current lover and her in the single window of her apartment. They appear to be dancing. Well, they won’t be for long. I climb the short thatch of stairs to the apartment building’s front doors. I enter.
Her apartment is on the second floor, third door on the right. Number 10C. I stop here, staring at the closed door and praying I don’t find them doing anything nasty when I come in. That just might drive me over the edge.
I take out the straight razor I bought at the old drug store south of town, from my jacket pocket. I open it. The blade gleams in the soft light of the corridor. I take a deep breath, turn to the door mark 10C and kick it open.
Rushing in and find them on the floor, her hair in disarray and his jeans unbuttoned. I scream and rush at them, swinging the straight razor in long quick slashes. The girl I love scrambles off the man, the sickening swine and runs to her bedroom and closes the door. The man, the swine, only has time to sit up before I slit his forehead in two. He screams in pain as blood flows out of the gash and into his eyes. The lower part of the gash flaps down to his eyebrows.
Oh, but what’s this? He’s getting up now. His screams are gone. Now I see rage in his bloody eyes. This doesn’t frighten me a bit. I sucker punch him with my free hand directly in the nose. Blood splatters everywhere. I giggle as he crumbles to the floor. Now I must show my love what a swine he really is.
I grab onto the collar of his shirt and drag him to the closed door. I can hear her sobbing. I knock on the door.
“Leave me alone! I called the cops on you! They’re-“
“Open the door my love.” I say. “This swine has something to tell you.”
Said swine is moaning and moving. She doesn’t open the door so I kick it in. She’s standing near her tiny closet, weeping like a lost child.
I set the swine on the bed and slap him to wake him up. He screams and I slap him again. He calms down enough for me to speak.
“Now,” I say. “Tell her why you’re here tonight.”
He glances at the woman and then back at me.
“I don’t-“ I slap him again.
“You do know. Why are you here tonight? What did you plan to do?”
“Nothing! I-“
This time I run the razor down his cheek. He shrieks and yells.
“To screw her! Just to screw her and leave!”
“That’s what I thought.” I say and turn to her.
“See? He only wants you for one thing.”
She looks at the man on the bed, then at me. Her crying has tapered off a little. I nod, turn to the swine and slit his throat.
That done I turn to her. She’s screaming now. But that’s okay. I saw in her eyes how diluted she really is. My love is a slut. She knew why the swine was here.
I advance toward her, straight razor lifting. I think I’ll cut off her face. My eyeball has popped out again, but I ignore it, for now.
The End
I sent her roses by the dozens and poems by the thousands. Yet still she doesn’t acknowledge my existence. I know she knows who I am. But I don’t think she realizes what a swell guy can be; that I can treat her better than any of the other more attractive men can; those filthy swine that are only after one thing. Well, tonight I’ll show her Max Quinton isn’t just some crazy man. I’ll show her what those men really want from her. Then maybe she’ll see why I am the best of them all.
Despite even my blasted dislocated eyeball.
It dangles there on its stalk now, the heavy wetness of my eyeball resting on my cheek. I hate it when it does this. And oh how it hurts when I’ve got to shove it back into its socket. I do so now, as I sit in my car across the street from her apartment. I do it in one quick gesture so it won’t hurt as bad. The eyeball goes in with an audible wet popping sound. I roll my eyes, adjusting it better in the socket and then I get out of the car. I’ve got a job to do tonight.
I look up and spot her current lover and her in the single window of her apartment. They appear to be dancing. Well, they won’t be for long. I climb the short thatch of stairs to the apartment building’s front doors. I enter.
Her apartment is on the second floor, third door on the right. Number 10C. I stop here, staring at the closed door and praying I don’t find them doing anything nasty when I come in. That just might drive me over the edge.
I take out the straight razor I bought at the old drug store south of town, from my jacket pocket. I open it. The blade gleams in the soft light of the corridor. I take a deep breath, turn to the door mark 10C and kick it open.
Rushing in and find them on the floor, her hair in disarray and his jeans unbuttoned. I scream and rush at them, swinging the straight razor in long quick slashes. The girl I love scrambles off the man, the sickening swine and runs to her bedroom and closes the door. The man, the swine, only has time to sit up before I slit his forehead in two. He screams in pain as blood flows out of the gash and into his eyes. The lower part of the gash flaps down to his eyebrows.
Oh, but what’s this? He’s getting up now. His screams are gone. Now I see rage in his bloody eyes. This doesn’t frighten me a bit. I sucker punch him with my free hand directly in the nose. Blood splatters everywhere. I giggle as he crumbles to the floor. Now I must show my love what a swine he really is.
I grab onto the collar of his shirt and drag him to the closed door. I can hear her sobbing. I knock on the door.
“Leave me alone! I called the cops on you! They’re-“
“Open the door my love.” I say. “This swine has something to tell you.”
Said swine is moaning and moving. She doesn’t open the door so I kick it in. She’s standing near her tiny closet, weeping like a lost child.
I set the swine on the bed and slap him to wake him up. He screams and I slap him again. He calms down enough for me to speak.
“Now,” I say. “Tell her why you’re here tonight.”
He glances at the woman and then back at me.
“I don’t-“ I slap him again.
“You do know. Why are you here tonight? What did you plan to do?”
“Nothing! I-“
This time I run the razor down his cheek. He shrieks and yells.
“To screw her! Just to screw her and leave!”
“That’s what I thought.” I say and turn to her.
“See? He only wants you for one thing.”
She looks at the man on the bed, then at me. Her crying has tapered off a little. I nod, turn to the swine and slit his throat.
That done I turn to her. She’s screaming now. But that’s okay. I saw in her eyes how diluted she really is. My love is a slut. She knew why the swine was here.
I advance toward her, straight razor lifting. I think I’ll cut off her face. My eyeball has popped out again, but I ignore it, for now.
The End
This was my take on Stewart Sternberg's assignment. And I might add I had a lot of fun with it.
9 comments:
Wow, very intense. I was almost considering food while I read this, but I'm glad I didn't. The eyeball thing was really creepy. I could see the man just standing there with his eyeball hanging. Yuck.
Your writing brings it to life.
I like that you have the narrator come right out and state his deformity. The violence, in and of itself, lends to the male narrative (not to say that women can't be just as violent). Well done.
nice man but i really don't think you write enough drug stories. you should come up with a criteria for a drug story then we can both write and see how it works out. let me know
Good gosh, man! The movement is precise and had me reading like a mad woman. Vulgar, horrific, frightening.....very, very good!!!!
I can see that you had a lot of fun with this ... such blatant, unashamed violence - very base!
The clinical way that the acts of violence are described communicate so well how cruel and derranged the narrator's affliction - very creepy and very well done - definitely worth remembering for future writing.
As for the eye ... that was just great use of sensationalism!
Holy smokes! What a ride!
I don't know if that dislocated eyeball is a real condition, but MAN is that a great concept - especially for this character. Those last two sentences really packed a punch. What a horrific image!
I loved it.
Ah..new arrivals! Everyone is very much welcome here.
Thanks to all! And thanks for stopping by!! I want to thnak Stewart most of all for this assignment. I'd been meaning to write a pyscho story for a while now and then vula! he came up with this assignment I could not resist. Christina, as always, thanks for your support. jr's thumbprints, nice to see you finally visit. And thanks for the good words. Josh...I'll get back to you on that proposition. Thanks Buddy.
Susan, again as always, thanks for your encouragement. Donkeyblog..violence and creepiness are what I write. And thanks.
Gugon, I have no idea about the dislocated eyeball either. But I thought it made a great deformity. Thanks again, agian and again to all!
This kind of story is what we in the business call "splatterpunk". At least it could be with about another couple hundred words and a bit more gore.
This is definitely a splatter piece.
One of the things that you will probably find yourself working on in the coming months is working in nuance of character through the folds here. For instance, finding a way to work in back story.
The main problem is the limitation of seven hundred words. It doesn't allow you to open up the story and forces restrictions on you.
Let me ask a question, you have a voyeuristic character with a detachable eye. You have a chance there to develop this as a motif. Much like Poe did in "THE TELLTALE HEART". Or you have a character who is not quite whole..the violence might be better served tied somehow into that motif to bring the story more tightly together.
I'm going to rework the piece and develop it further. I wrote this to be (like) slatterpunk, yet give the reader more of a story than gore. If maybe I hadn't rushed through the thing, and hadn't waited until the last minute to do so, maybe I would have made something of that eye. In fact I think I most definatly would have. I'll work on it more and throw in something about just why he has a dilocated eye. I was thinking birth defect. Anyway. Thanks Stewart for the helpful words.
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