G~

a serial killer is on the hunt, for anotherchild

G slowly got out of the old paint van that had almost as many miles on it as he had. G's real name was Gerald, but every since he was old enough to remember, he had just been called G. That fitted him fine. He hated the name Gerald and the stupid last name his b*****d of a father had as well. He had never known him and was glad. Gerald Jesus Lopez. Yes, he was also half f*****g Mexican and he hated that too. He couldn't stand the bean eating b******s.

His w***e of a crackhead mother "thinks" this was his father. Just a guess like throwing a dart at a dartboard and picking out a father. B***h! He hated them both. As a matter of fact, he hated everything and everybody and did his best to stay away from people. Unfortunately, with his painting business he had no choice but to be nice to these wealthy people who treated him like s**t. Walking around in white coveralls covered with a hundred different colors of paint was embarrassment enough without their pitiful eyes looking down on him like he was nothing.

He unlocked the door of his s****y apartment and went for a beer. D****t to hell, he just remembered he had drank them all last night. He looked under the kitchen sink, found an old bottle of cheap Night Train wine and downed it in one swallow. While this helped his hangover headache from the night before, he world have to buy another case of cheap beer. S**t, he only had 15 bucks, which was a twelve-pack at most. D****t, he hated his life!

He started for the bathroom to take a shower and remembered it didn't work. The f*****g landlord wouldn't fix anything in these run-down apartments in the cheapest and most dangerous part of the city. You couldn't swing a dead cat without someone begging for money or a crackwhore trying to trade a blowjob for five dollars to get another hit that would just make her have to suck another one to get another hit. F*****g addicts, more people he hated.

He decided to take a sink bath, better than nothing was his thinking. He stripped in front of the kitchen cabinets, grabbed an old dish rag and washed his a*s the best he could in cold water. No hot water either and he was damn tired of this s**t. He put his head under the spigot and wet and washed it with Dial soap, as usual. Why spend money on shampoo when this worked just as well. He also did what little dishes he used with the same soap. Who had f*****g money for expensive shampoo and dish washing liquid. That was for wealthy people, not a poor-a*s b*****d like him.

He walked the few feet to his bedroom, opened his dresser drawer and took out a pair underwear, his last clean pair. He always wore a pair three or four days before they started to smell too raucous and the customers complained. These rich snobs couldn't have no s**t smell in their precious homes. He opened the closet door and grabbed a pair of pants. The 10-year old girl laying there bound and gagged stared at him frightened, begging with those beautiful blue eyes to let here go. For the first time today he smiled. This young thing was his and he had been fantasizing all day about what he was going to do with her. She was going nowhere, not tonight anyway.

Author's Note

I have written a lot of profanity into this story. It is the only way to tell his story, and make it authentic. I tried taking some it out, just for this piece, but it doesn't work. This is a character that goes on after this, and connects with others who I promise are no where near as vile as G~

Reviews

[An owl on the moon]

This is a gritty, honest story. There is that sense of a life that is filled with pain.. looking for purpose. Going nowhere.. the ache just settling in. Powerful.