All I Want

11-7-11

“So, what do you want?” He asks me.

What do I want? I laugh a cold, raspy laugh. My cigarette pack is nearly empty. A single one remains. I bite down on the death stick and set the tip ablaze. Looking up at him from my hollowed life, I begin to ask myself: What do I want?

Memories; If only they could go away.

The memories of those sleepless nights in that cold place come to mind. Filth and disease littered the hallways of our apartment. The darkest nights were the warmest for the soul. I crouch in fetal position as I listen through paper thin walls to my mother being beaten. My fathers hand is strong, his breath fiery with whiskey. My ear presses against the wall to the point of pain. My mothers head is thrown against the wall. A blood stain marks the spot. My father rips his belt out and ties her throat. Her hands are weak from defending herself. He frantically unzips his pants and hits her across the face. She is screaming into the wall; into my ear. The sound of my mothers screams slowly fade as she looses oxygen. All to be heard is the grunting of a monster, and the thuds of a lifeless body. My mother is raped in the other room, as my eyes fade to grey where I crouch. I know that I’m next. I escape through the window and into the alley. The rats bite at me in the dumpster.

I reenter the prison hours later. It is dark outside. It is dead inside. A bloody mother of mine lays unconscious against the stained wall. The tool chest in underneath the sink. The hammer feels heavy in my hand. I walk into the beast’s lair. His mouth is ajar and slobbering. The handle is wood; a very sturdy base. I approach the beast, being careful not to make a sound. His forehead is shiny with sweat. The tip of the hammer is heavy and jagged. It twists in my hand. The sharp side is stained with rust. The beast roars in its sleep. I lift the hammer above my head and bring the force of justice down. A loud pop is heard as the monsters eye explodes. Its body jerks once, and is still. My shadow is cast against the moonlight wall. Up and down, up and down. Blood stains the walls of the bedroom. My arms become tired. I look at my masterpiece. A pulp remains of its face, nothing more. My chest heaves up and down. Blood dots tattoo my face and arms. The beast roars no more.

A life on the streets. A refugee child living like the rats. Darkness fell on the city, as it did my soul. Nowhere to go. I made my way through city streets and back alleys for years. As the nights passed, darkness poured over me and consumed my abysmal existence. I clawed through faces for scraps out of dumpsters. Little children ran screaming from me in the daylight. My own vicious appetite for human flesh manifested itself through the helpless women walking alone at night. With no one to see except the rats, I would satisfy my craving for human flesh in the pit of night. Victims in back alleys, left to wake alone with swollen faces and bloody clothes.

I take a long drag of my cigarette.

Cops chased me through cities and streets. Through houses I rummaged, grabbing anything I could. A life of killing and rape had caught up with me. My heart no longer bled. A sickness coursed through me. A sickness brought on by that fateful night. My mother passed out against the wall; her heart still beating. A young boy finished the job his father had started, but not before replaying the act. The thrusting and grunting, the choking and bleeding. Grey overtook the boy’s eyes. A beast was born that fateful night. The night the moon shone red.

Cops cornered me in an alley. The rats crowded around my feet, waiting to feast on my flesh. Waiting to return the favor. Nowhere to run. I reached in my jacket, and a cop fired upon me. My back hit the wall as blood gushed from my stomach. My chest heaved up and down in a desperate attempt to receive oxygen. My lungs were leaking. Blood freckled my face. I pulled my hand from my jacket and slit my own throat with sharp glass. A cop screamed in terror.

What do I want? For the memories to go away. For the darkest of nights to leave me alone; their filth and rape reminding me of who I am. For the coldness on my soul to recede back into its cave of misery.

I take one last long drag on my cigarette.

“I said, what do you want?” the boy asks.

I snap back. “Oh, sorry. I get lost in my mind sometimes.” I squint and fix my glasses. “I guess ill have two number threes, and a side of fries.” I say, fiddling with my gameboy.

“And to drink?” he asks.

“Umm, I guess mountain dew. Perfect gamer fuel.” I laugh awkwardly.

“Ok. That’ll be $11.24.” he says. “Oh, and there’s no smoking in here.”

Author's Note

Another installment of my 'short story a week' challenge.

Reviews

[Tyler Sampson]

Dude, that was hysterical. LOL

Spelling errors and such, but no biggie