Burning While Standing

 Monday. I f****n' hate Mondays. It's that day when everyone is in a bad mood and hates the world and blames it on the day. And I f****n' hate excuses. Take some responsibility for your s****y attitude. Don't blame a day. Especially not every week. 

 I have the day off. And it couldn't have come at a better time. I really need to get away from everything. I need to be by myself for once. Not taking someone's order, or pretending their s****y kid with his s****y crying is f*****g cute. 

 I'm sorry. I'm not normally like this. I'm really not. It's just, like I said, I need a day off. 

 There's a car parked outside of my apartment. It's been there for days. Who does that? Who just parks their car somewhere for days and doesn't even go out to get something from it? I've never seen this car before. That's why it stands out the most, I guess. This bright orange Toyota. Just sitting there. Its windows fogged up at night and leaves adorning the hood in the afternoon. I pray someone moves it so I can begin to forget about it. 

 The neighbors next door are making more noise than usual. The girl is either getting fucked or choked. I can't tell. Either way, the muffled sound is disgusting. I hate people and how they can be so inconsiderate. As if their lives are more important as my silence. I punch the wall, ya know, to let them know enough is enough. I hear the guy yell something to me, but it's muffled. I punch the wall again and he yells. I yell back, "F**k you," and punch the wall one more time.

 My doorbell rings. Maybe if I just sit here, they'll go away. I hate visitors and, since no one I know knows I live here, accidental visitors are even less tolerated. They ring the bell again. And again. And again. Guess they aren't leaving. 

 I open the door and it's a pudgy guy I have never seen before but he has the look of hate in his eyes. 

 "Yes?" I say. 

 "You kept punching the wall." His eyes narrow and his hands are shaking. 

 "I did, yes," I say. I do my best to not imagine him having sex. 

 He smiles a s****y smile and then punches me in the mouth and walks off. I close the door and lock it. F**k him. I hate bleeding. I hate the sight of it, the taste of it, the feel of it in the back of my throat. F**k him. 

 I iron my button down shirt. I take a shower. I comb my hair back. I shave. I put my clothes and shoes on. I stand in front of my apartment door. I could go anywhere. I go nowhere. I just stare at the door and make sure my shirt doesn't get wrinkled.

 Peanut butter being spread across bread. I have to decide between adding honey or jam. I go for honey. I want the sensation of my mouth being completely dry. I pour a glass of water and dump it back out. I want the sensation of my mouth being completely dry. 

 I remove my clothing. Hang each article on its own hanger. Another outfit for another guy for another time. I stand in front of the bathroom mirror and finger the scars that life has given me over the years. I mess my hair up. I comb it back into place. I light a cigarette and watch myself inhale the whole thing. Throw the butt into the toilet. Turn the shower on, wait for the water to get hot, and stand underneath it. 

 My phone rings and I answer it. It's my mother. She wants to know if I want food. 

 "I just had a peanut butter and honey sandwich," I tell her. 

 "Well, that's not real food," she says. 

 "It is, Ma. It's real food." 

 She says she hasn't seen me in a long time. I tell her it's probably going to be a little bit longer and that it's going to be okay. I'll see her soon. She tells me we should make a plan. I tell her no. I hate plans. I tell her I'll do my best to see her when I get some free time, but not today. Today is no good. 

 Tuesday. I walk outside to smoke a cigarette and that goddamn Toyota is still there. Still just sitting in the same spot, no one ever touching it. Last night's dew still evaporating off the front windshield. Leaves slowly falling on top of it. Some make it to the hood; others fall to the pavement. Someone clearly has no plans for the week. Just staying in. I can respect that. I just want them to f****n' move the car. Even if it's just a spot over. I can't handle thinking about someone just sitting there, doing nothing, never once going outside. Even if it was just to grab a backup lighter or a text book. Just open the door and show the car you haven't forgotten about it. I haven't. 

 The neighbors. F*****g or choking? I want to do both as I listen to them through the thin wall. I let the scene play out this time. I don't interrupt. I just sit Indian-style and face the wall. Letting their muffled groaning invade my apartment. Letting them annoy me. I want to know what it feels like to reach my tolerance limit and then push it a little more. I tighten my hands into fists. Let them rest. And then tighten them some more. 

 Wednesday. No one ever talks about Wednesday. It's one of those days where nothing spectacular happens and nothing s****y happens either. Has anyone even died on a Wednesday? I don't think so. It would shatter the normalcy of the world if that has ever happened. The sun's out but it's deceptive because it's fifteen below outside. I watch as the neighbor kids run out their front door for the bus and then freeze for a moment as the cold weather seizes their muscles and then they keep running towards the bus stop. 

 I turn my whole apartment upside down. I can't find my hammer. I misplaced it. And what an unfortunate time to have it lost, too. When I finally have a reason to use it. The last place I look is under the bathroom sink, but there it is. I can't remember a reason for why it would be there but there has to be one. I pick it up. Fondle it for a moment. Grip it tight. Loosen my grip. Set it back down. 

 

 I get dressed. Button-down shirt, jeans, shoes. I comb my hair back. I brush my teeth and shave. I stand in front of my apartment door for a moment, just making sure my shirt doesn't get wrinkled. I walk out the door and lock it behind me. 

 I walk up to the orange Toyota and bash the front window out. It takes a couple hits, but I finally get most of it to litter the front seat and I scream. This feels good. I knock out the rest of the windows. I begin to walk away and then turn around and hit the body of the car just once. Just to see how it feels. And it feels f****n' great. 

 I walk to my neighbor's apartment. I rub my mouth. It's still a little tender and I've become addicted of sorts to touching the swelling of it. I knock on the door. I get nervous for a second and then it goes away. A passing stomach butterfly. No answer. I knock again and there's no answer. I try the door and it's unlocked. I walk inside. 

 

 The living room smells like an old library. Musty. It smells like no place I've ever lived before. There's very little furniture and a cat walking across the dinner table that's set up in the corner of the room. The outside sun peeking through barely cracked curtains. I can see the dust all around me. I check my shirt. It's a wrinkled. 

 I walk down the hall, straightening framed pictures as I pass them. I do not look at the people. I don't want to know them or feel any kind of sympathy for someone's past life. It doesn't interest me. 

 I open the bedroom door and he's on top of her. They're both naked. She notices me first and screams. He almost doesn't realize it's not because of him but he finally gets it when he follows her line of sight. 

 

 "You m**********r," he yells. He jumps up and his dick is red and it bothers me. His girlfriend covers up under the blankets and I catch a glimpse of her a*s. I'm aroused. It's not every day this kind of thing happens. He punches me in the mouth and I fall to the ground. He's on top of me now. I feel the urge to fight back but my body doesn't react. It just lays there, defenseless, taking every punch. 

 

 I'm lying there, staring at the ceiling as my vision blurs. I'm sure I look like a mess. I drag my tongue along the front of my mouth and I'm pretty sure a few teeth are missing. He stands up over me. He looks wild yet I'm not scared. I brought this on myself. 

 

 He moves to the side of me yet I can't follow him with my eyes. They have completely swollen up. I can hear his girlfriend say something but the pain is overpowering. The last thing I see is the hammer coming down on top of my head quickly and heavy. 

 The first hit shatters my nose. I hold up my hand to try to block it but that doesn't work. The second hit shatters my left cheekbone. I pass out. I wonder how the rest of that turned out. I wonder if I am the first person to ever die on a Wednesday.

Reviews

[Sorry Infamous]

It was like this person was living in Groundhog Day. That every Monday was always essentially the same, every conversation with his mother yielded the same results. Stuck in this rut. I expected it to loop. That is why the ending was so surprising to me. He did what he thought he had to. This mean pathetic person found his gruesome way out. Creative write.

[InsanityWriter]

Wow... This is so well written! I love the character's attitude. It reminds me of how a lot of people are just simple going though life and not doing much else. Great job. :)

[Brittany]

I really dig this piece . I find the monotony of the main character and lack of sympathy towards people more interesting with his growing anxiety over the unmoved truck. There's definately a nihilistic undertone, mixed in with weird compulsive behavior. I find it interesting that he hates Mondays just because they are generally hated in theory of- being a Monday. I love the bleak, desolate feel of this man's mind and the weird reflection of him and the truck. Did you mean to have the truck orange or was it the first color that popped into your head? I read somewhere that orange is supposed to symbolize "crazy" or "insanity". And I find the truck represents the man himself and subconciously he knows this. He's utterly unmoved, forgotten, and susceptible to violence.

[Miss Coral]

Interesting piece; the utter apathy of your character is interesting in itself, but you reflected it nicely with the sentence structure and length. Just make sure not to do it.
I really liked the repetition of days and the simple thoughts, the concepts floating about his mind that are repeated over and over again; very human, especially for a character like that.

[Rochelle Tyler]

I liked the suspense in this story from the bit about the hammer to the rest after that. As the reader I wasn't sure what was going to come after he bashed the car-was it going to be the pudgy f****r's? Was someone going to stop him or notice? And if it i was already supposed to know which neighbor the car belonged to then I apologize for my incompetence. Anyways, you kept my curiosity tuned in from this point on and especially once the violence kicked in at the end. The story read slow in the beginning through all the internal monologue about this dude's utterly ordinary life and in a split second through one action his entire life changed (or ended, we don't know) and so I don't know if it was intentional that the reading style followed this pattern also. But, either way, I liked the story being told around which weekday it was and all in all enjoyed this!

[Tim M]

This was great, I really enjoyed it. Goes back to what I was saying about first person/present tense working well when the pacing is done right and we get to discover the action with the narrator. My only critique: when he goes next door to the neighbor's place, throw a line in there actually saying he did. It read as if he just went from the car to knocking on a door, but its unclear which door. Otherwise, great piece man.

[jenniewren (J.W. Bouwma..]

goddamn this is ghoulish! i love it. it's so matter-of-factly presented that you can't quite believe or foresee the what happens next..

i love the wondering if anyone's died on a wednesday.. i love so much about this :)
maybe cut the first "i wanted the feeling of complete dryness" because it feels awkward and kills the impact

incredible love