Insomnia+No Cigarettes+Short Stories=This

[Nyarlathotep]

Wrote this a 6AM two days ago. I only plan on writing a bit more, most likely a dramatic scene in the diner. Enjoy.

 

"...When I gotta get my voice and my fist on the same page as my heart..."

 

I tore page after page from the book. Sentences, words, letters formed gibberish on the floor. I pulled out my lighter, a battered zippo, and set fire to the remaining binding. I tossed the desiccated husk of a novel across the room. It burned there, indignantly. I stared at it, watching it dissolve into ash, leaving a pitch black streak on the bad 70's paneling. It was 5:53 in the morning and I had had it up to here with William Gibson-esque prose. Cyberpunk was becoming more and more mainstreamed each year. Fuck it, I told myself, just start reading Space Opera again. I walked bleary-eyed into the kitchen. I downed a yogurt and went outside.

 

The sun was getting there, but the morning fog still hung like a moist blanket. I lit up a Lucky Strike and enjoyed the feeling of damp concrete on my bare feet. You never realize just how noisy it is at this time of day. Most people are sleeping or getting ready for work, so they never really stop to listen. It's like every bird within a mile radius feels it's necessary to tell the whole god-damned world that it's up. And I love it.

 

I walked down my road for a bit, staring at each of the bland suburban dwellings I passed. I had been living with my lover for almost a year now, here in this WASPy hell hole, and I could still not get used to the monotony of these homes. They all looked the fucking same. Boring. I grew up in NYC, so I was a little jaded when it came to my architectural surroundings. He couldnt ask me to live here for much longer.

 

We had been living in Bloomington, Indiana for over a year when Alex's parents died. I had just gotten used to the small-town-with-huge-radical-movement/music-scene when his parents up and died. We had moved out there on a whim, giving us “a new lease on life”. So there we were, living where no one knew us, fucking like rabbits and being as openly gay as humanly possible. Then we get that fateful call. Shit.

 

I'll spare you the embarrassing details, let's just say daddy was having his snake charmed by mommy on the way home from a swap meet, or whatever the hell it is people that age do, and plowed into an on-coming semi. You really don’t wanna know how the coroner determined what caused them to crash. We flew back to Westchester, lots of uncomfortable family encounters ensued, and we inherited their lovely little abode.

 

I saw some asshole with a Hummer back out of his driveway, nearly hitting his mail box. Hoped that he would back over one of his 40 kids some day. That or mother nature herself would materialize and consumes his flesh. I have this big hang up about polluting. You know, considering I live on this fucking planet after all. I continued down the road, stewing about yuppies and there chosen modes of transportation. A car pulled up along side me. It was Alex. He rolled down the passenger window and tossed me my sandals. He gave me a sheepish look. "You’re an ass. Get in the car. I wanna get coffee." I stamped out the roach I had been nursing and climbed in. He leaned over and we swapped saliva for a bit before making our way to the diner.

 

"Two things. One: next time warn me when you plan on trying to light the house on fire and two: dont you ever fucking burn a book again." I still had trouble reading him sometimes, wasnt sure if he was amused or pissed. He finally looked at me, after giving me time to let that sink in...I assume. I smiled stupidly. He just grunted and pulled into a parking space.

 

We had fought last night, whatever the topic was nothing more then a smoke screen for what was really causing tension. I couldnt tolerate living here any longer. It wasnt so much the white bred yuppie shmucks, nor the complete lack of culture in the area, but the house. His parents had not been happy when he came out. But they were even less happy when they met me. And now, living in their house, it felt like they were bearing down on us from beyond the grave. Their negative vibes were all over that raised ranch.

 

We hadnt had sex in something like 2 months, we fought much more often and he wouldnt stop talking about them. Being there was bringing back all that shame and guilt those fucks had brought down on him and it was destroying us. Him emotionally, me mentally.

Edited June 28, 2007 by Nyarlathotep

[Appy]

*steals all your cigarettes and feeds you coffee through an IV to keep you awake* Wanna read how this ends!

 

Good writing, interesting topic and well worked at. The only part which is slightly confusing starts with: We had been living in Bloomington,. The switches between the places you talk about aren't all that clear, switching from the hell hole to where they used to live back to the hell hole.... but that might well be me, not being fully awake yet.

 

Now write more *grins*

[Wyvern]

I agree with Appy that this piece is nicely written, Nyarlathotep, with a number of good details and well-phrased paragraphs. :-) I thought that the strong hateful tone of the piece was the major driving force behind it, as the consistant jaded outlook of the narrator made for a very interesting read. :-) The way that you started things off with the burning of the books was also a strong image and a very intriguing intro to the narrator's life. Like Appy, I'd be interested to see where the piece goes from here, particularly since I feel that the major conflict of the story is introduced at the end of this segment... I actually wonder if it might be possible to introduce or hint at that conflict a bit earlier in the piece, since it might add a bit more tension if we're aware of it earlier on.

 

Anyway, this is very nicely written.. just further proof that some of the best writing can occur in the most ungodly hours of the morning/night. ;-) I look forward to the mini-continuation you have planned.

 

Wyv~

 

P.S: perhaps you might consider moving this to the Scarlett Pen, since the content is pretty mature?

[AshtonBlades]

I like this story a lot so far. I hope you continue it.

[Nyarlathotep]

FINALLY FINISHED AFTER MANY MONTHS! NOW WITH NEW TITLE!! PLEASE ENJOY!!!

 

Insomniac’s wet dream or Disenfranchisement

 

I tore page after page from the book. Sentences, words, letters formed gibberish on the floor. I pulled out my lighter - a battered Zippo - and set fire to the remaining binding. I tossed the desiccated husk of a novel across the room. It burned there, indignantly. I stared at it, watching it dissolve into ash, leaving a pitch black streak on the bad 70's paneling. It was 5:53 in the morning and I had had it up to here with William Gibson-style prose. Cyberpunk was becoming more and more mainstreamed each year. Fuck it, I told myself, just start reading Space Operas again. I walked bleary-eyed into the kitchen, downed a yogurt and went outside.

 

The sun was getting there, but the morning fog still hung like a moist blanket. I lit up a Lucky Strike and enjoyed the feeling of damp concrete on my bare feet. You never realize just how noisy it is at this time of day. Most people are sleeping or getting ready for work, so they never really stop to listen. It's like every bird within a mile radius feels it's necessary to tell the whole god-damned world that it's up. And I relish it.

 

I walked down my road for a bit, staring at each of the bland suburban dwellings I passed. I had been living with my lover for almost a year now, here in this WASPy hell hole, and I could still not get used to the monotony of these homes. They all looked the fucking same. Boring. Being a New Yorker, I’m a little jaded. He couldnt ask me to live here for much longer.

 

We had been living in Bloomington, Indiana for over a year when Alex's parents kicked the bucket. I had just gotten used to the small-town-with-huge-radical-movement/music-scene when his parents up and died. We had moved out there on a whim, giving us “a new lease on life”. So there we were, living where no one knew us, fucking like rabbits and just being “frisky and free” as Alex so eloquently put it. Then we get that fateful call. Shit.

 

I'll spare you the embarrassing details, let's just say daddy was having his snake charmed by mommy on the way home from a swap meet, or whatever the hell it is people that age do, and plowed into an on-coming semi. You really don’t wanna know how the coroner determined what caused them to crash. We flew back to Westchester, NY, lots of uncomfortable family encounters ensued, and we inherited their lovely little abode.

 

I saw some asshole with a Hummer back out of his driveway, nearly hitting his mail box. I really hoped that he would back over one of his forty kids some day. That or Mother Nature herself would materialize and consume his flesh. I have this big hang up about polluting. You know, considering I live on this fucking planet after all. I continued down the road, stewing about yuppies and there chosen modes of transportation. A car pulled up along side me. It was Alex. He rolled down the passenger window and tossed me my sandals. He gave me a sheepish look. "You’re an ass. Get in the car. I wanna get coffee." I stamped out the roach I had been nursing and climbed in. He leaned over and we swapped saliva for a bit before making our way to the diner.

 

"Two things. One: next time warn me when you plan on trying to light the house on fire and two: dont you ever fucking burn a book again." I still had trouble reading him sometimes, wasnt sure if he was amused or pissed. He finally looked at me, after giving me time to let that sink in...I assume. I smiled stupidly. He just grunted and pulled into a parking space.

 

We had fought last night, whatever the topic was nothing more then a smoke screen for what was really causing tension. I couldnt tolerate living here any longer. It wasnt so much the white bred yuppie shmucks, nor the complete lack of culture in the area, but the house. His parents had not been happy when he came out. But they were even less happy when they met me. And now, living in their house, it felt like they were bearing down on us from beyond the grave. Their negative vibes were all over that raised ranch.

 

We hadnt had sex in something like 2 months, we fought much more often and he wouldnt stop talking about them. Being there was bringing back all that shame and guilt those fucks had brought down on him and it was destroying us. Him emotionally, me mentally.

We pulled into the parking lot and sat outside, sharing a stogie. I considered getting it over with then, but decided to wait until we sat down to piss him off.

 

I opened the door to the small eatery and was immediately hit with the standard diner smells; grease, sweat and old linoleum. A disinterested looking teenage waitress seated us in a booth and we ordered coffee. I sat there, trying my best to procrastinate, looking at Alex, then frowning at the redneck truckers at the counter, then staring out the window. Finally I just blurted it out. “I can’t live here anymore”.

 

At first he looked confused, but it didn’t take long at all for him to realize exactly what I meant. Maybe he had been trying not to think about last night, or every other night for the last few weeks. I don’t know, wont ever. “Listen, we’re not having this discussion now”. “Oh your right, let’s just keep putting it off until we’ve broken up, I guess would be easier.” It was a reflex, whenever I was in an uncomfortable situation I’d slip right into the hands of sarcasm.

 

“Fuck…fine, so what? What do you want to do? You can move out at any time, you know? I don’t get what your goddamn problem is. That fucking house has been in my family for 3 generations. I cant just give up the only thing my parents willed to me, can I?” Oh now he was playing that card…the bastard.

 

“The only reason those pieces of shit dumped that thing on you is because no one else in your deadbeat family could pay the inheritance tax! Besides, when did you start caring about all that family generational bullshit? Those fucks practically disowned your ass when you came charging out of the closet. The only thing that kept you human in their eyes was that you were still going to go to school for law.”

 

People were starting to stare. We were getting loud….ok, really loud. It wasn’t within either of our capabilities to keep our voices down.

Just as Alex was about to retort, our waitress came back with our coffee. We quieted down for a moment, just long enough to mumble thank you and take a few sips. As he stirred in more sugar, he looked me dead in the eye. He sighed.

 

“Look, I know you hated them for what they did to me. Fine. Fair enough. But what does any of that have to do with the house?

“It’s poisoning you. It’s like all their prejudice and shit is corrupting you. When was the last time we fucked, eh?” That was a low blow and I knew it, but I wanted to make sure I had his undivided attention. A hurt look appeared on his face and was quickly replaced with smugness.

 

“Well maybe if you’d come the fuck down occasionally. Your all wound up; all you do is bitch and moan all day. You just tear around the house, yelling about this that and the other thing. When the fuck am I supposed to make love to you during all that whining?” I laughed, loudly. What a joke.

 

“Yeah, that’s it. That’s why we’re not doing it. Give me a break. You’re just subconsciously ashamed. You still cant get over how much your parents disapproved of us and now your letting; I cant believe I’m fucking saying this; this house come between. It’s some kind of screwed up way of honoring your parents or some shit.”

 

“Listen you stupid faggot…” he said through clenched teeth. Now he had done it. Even before the T sound had left his lips he was already formulating an apology. I could see it. But he knew it would be in vain. He had crossed an unforgivable line in my eyes.

 

I am by no means a “PC” individual. I make crude sexual references in public places, am a huge fan of schdenfraud, curse like a sailor, and am generally just tactless. But like everyone, I have my hang ups; my buttons. And a big one is the word faggot. I have no interest in liberating the word or discussing the semantics behind it. I don’t care what its original uses were. I spent most of high school being called that shit, it always causing an immediate fight or flight response, but these days it just makes me pissed beyond recognition. He tried to look down, but my eyes caught his and dragged them up.

 

My mouth hung ever so slightly agape as I struggled to think of something to say, but that time had passed. My heart was in my ears and my words were stuck in my throat. My instincts took over and I grabbed my still mostly full coffee mug. I uttered something similar to a half finished “fuck” and tossed the piping hot liquid into Alex’s face, then shatter the cheap ceramic mug on the table. He screamed and grabbed his face in pain. From here my memories become a photo album, quick glimpses. You know when you get really upset, into a fight or whatever gets the adrenaline pumping in a negative way, you often have trouble remembering exactly how the incident went down? Everything’s all hazy, right? For me, it’s even worse.

 

The next thing I know I’m a few hundred feet down the road, walking away from the dinner and “our” house on the sidewalk along the towns main thoroughfare. I’m holding my sandals in my left hand and the handle to the coffee mug in my right. It’s about 7:30 now and the sun is well above the horizon.

 

I looked down and my right hand which has a small cut in it. I tossed the handle into an open field to my right, then stopping for a moment, do the same to my sandals. I pull out my third-to-last cigarette and light it. Most of the moisture on the concrete sidewalk had evaporated, but a few patches still remained. As I walked, my mind still blank, trying to ignore what had just transpired, I began to step purposely on those damp patches. Hopping from spot to spot, avoiding the warm sun bleached spaces inbetween. The cool feeling calmed me slightly for some reason. I probably looked ridiculous doing it.

 

I heard a truck slow down behind me. It pulled up along side me and an oversized hoodie wearing 17 year old stuck his head out the passenger side window and yelled “FAGGOT!” They peeled out and took off down the road. I had nothing left in me at that moment. I mumbled “fucking doucbags” and kept walking, taking deep drags.

Edited December 28, 2007 by Nyarlathotep