This is an excerpt, its not really been proof read so English teachers chill out.
Also how can I host rather than have to reprint it here? Its awkward reading that much text not in Times New Roman. And when I copy and pasted it didnt reproduce mt text verbatim.
***
I’m nervous. How did I get myself in this situation? Things are so fucked up now that this will hardly make a difference, that’s what I tell myself anyway. I convince myself of this just so I can go through with it.I shift my weight from foot to foot rhythmically, trying to stay warm. This moronic oscillation does nothing, it’s too cold.
I lurk in between the trees, just out of eyeshot of the main path. The amber streetlights cast a disquieting glow over everything, the glow stops at my feet and I feel like an outsider looking in; looking in on the snow globe that is the world, that is our town, our community. I am an outsider; we all are - all of us who are mixed up in this shit.
Its 8:45 and Rob starts work at 9pm, so he should be walking through here right about now. The thought of that makes me drop a huge adrenaline dump and I start to feel hungry, I feel empty. I fiddle with the empty wine bottle in my gloved hand, a fucking wine bottle, I don’t believe it. I look at the label; it declares that the contents were once ‘Pinot Noir’, what the fuck is that shit? The remnants left in the bottle show that it was red wine, fuck and there’s me thinking that ‘Noir’ meant Black.
“Cant I just use a knife?” I asked.
“No, knives can be traced, don’t be an idiot”. Fuck you, I’m not an idiot, I’d throw it in the river or something afterwards. A fucking wine bottle, he wouldn’t even let me buy a bottle and drink the contents. I have to stay sober he said, “If you drink you’ll fuck it up”, he said. Well tough, I’ve drank an eighth of Johnnie Walker. How could I not drink? I’m so God damn scared. I had to go fish an empty bottle out of somebody’s rubbish bin, cant get traced back to us that way, he said. It makes me feel so guilty at how planned it all is. I actually like Rob, so what he had everything. I wasn’t jealous about his straight A’s, I wasn’t jealous seeing him walking around college with Karen on his arm, Oh God Karen, what are you gonna do after all this? But it’s not about jealousy you told me; and you got so angry when I mentioned it that how could it be? You said it’s because he’s not one of us now, and she is. Well fuck it, I trusted him. He’s been good to us and I can’t believe it’s come to this.
My meandering thoughts come to an end as I see a figure approach, he can’t see me but I still feel my heart jump up into my throat. The thump, thump, thump that it makes causes me to swallow, hard. My eyes are watery and it blurs my vision, I wipe them with my sleeve.He’s walking fast, he must be late. Within seconds of first seeing him he’s past me, approach turned to retreat so fast. I have to make a move, no more time to steady myself.
I step out onto the path and move after him; at the speed he’s walking I almost have to skip to catch up with him. He hears my approach and spins around, I stop dead.
“Oh it’s you, Jesus Christ man you scared the shit out of me”, he rubs his face, “What are you doing out here?”
“I…uh”, I can’t think of anything to say so I just leave it at that.
“Are you okay? Man you look really ill, I mean…” He says. I’m close enough to him to see his brow furrow as he notices my hand languishing partly behind my back. “What you got there?” he adds. And before the words have even rolled from off his tongue I’m jumping, my arm already in motion, his pupils narrow and dilate as he sees it coming and he instinctively raises his arm, but it’s feeble and I just power though it, slamming the bottle into the side of his head. He crumples in a heap while I just stand, looking at what I’ve done – at the thing I’ve created. The fear and adrenaline now courses through my veins like battery acid. He rolls from his side onto his back, mumbling something that I can’t quite make out. I stand over him - looming - my figure blocks out the light, casting him into darkness. I raise the bottle and my figure forms a pugnacious silhouette, I’ve become a monster in the moment, and the monster hits him again, not knowing what else to do.
It starts to rain now, I don’t feel it so much but I see it filtering past the street lamps – each drop illuminated for a second, its one moment in the spotlight and then cast back into darkness.
Necessity takes over and I feel like I’ve gone into cruise-control. I mount myself onto his writhing body and he offers almost no resistance, the pain and shock has lulled him to confusion. I straddle his stomach, pressing my groin and hips down into him, this causes all the air to be forced out of him and he lets go of it with a huge gasp. The implications of that breath seem so vast to me, the finality, the letting go; soul exits body, it doesn’t want to be a part of this - it can’t even bear to watch. I breathe his exhalation in deeply, I sit up and throw my head back, flexing my diaphragm, it makes me stronger, more determined – it sends me into furious delight. I slam the bottle over his head a few more times, trying to break it, but it doesn’t break. I notice a few dents have appeared in his forehead, ones I made, and they seem to have bruised immediately. I hit the bottle into the ground to break it, and on the third attempt it does – I admire the jagged crevices that the broken bottle now displays. Holding it up to my face I see a reflection, I see someone I don’t recognise. Tricks of the light show me a distorted face looking back, the face is an anathema to me, its horrific, all teeth and eyes, I disregard it – it’s just the light.
Turning back to Rob I see he’s still conscious; in fact he’s even squirming a little bit, feebly trying to get away. Damn you, you tough fucker. I never had you down to be this tough. I gaze at him respectfully for a few more seconds before pulling my arm back and slamming the bottle into his neck, one of the sharp points penetrate and blood bubbles out.
“Oww”, Rob manages to mutter as his eyes widen and roll back as his body figures out what just happened to it. I fall back onto my haunches in surprise. Oww? What the fuck does that mean? You say “Oww” when you stub your toe, or when you burn your hand picking up something hot. You don’t say “Oww” when someone slams a broken bottle into your fucking throat. That’s pretty far past fucking “Oww”, don’t you think. You cunt, you absolute cunt, why are you making me feel so guilty about this? Why are you making this so fucking hard?
I angrily pull the bottle from out of his neck and jab it randomly into his face a few times, opening up tiny little red mouths that start to cry little red tears.
I’m soaked now from the rain, I didn’t even notice. I look up to the sky, blinking the rain from out of my eyes. I look towards the light and the rain drops are falling so slowly now, as if each one has fallen asleep on their way down. Or maybe they’re just pretending to be asleep, not wanting to be a part of the horror with which they’re engulfing. My mouth hangs open spastically and I breathe deeply, each breath out is a gargled grunt, jarred and discordant – a cacophony of guilt. My face is slick with the rain, blood and my tears that have mixed together and I paw at it, wiping it from my eyes. I feel the liquid roll off my face like lemon drops. I laugh one solid encompassed laugh, I’m incredulous, and I feel my face creasing as I smile - everything around me is an amber haze.
I feel movement underneath me and I turn back to him, to my victim, to Rob, to the teenage hero, all the potential slowly seeping out of him. But its too late for him, it’s probably too late for all of us, but oh well. I shove the bottle back into the wound I created previously and it slides in with a welcoming squelch, as if it’s glad to be somewhere that it’s already been, like coming home after a winter away. I then try to cut his throat but the bottle isn’t really sharp enough so I have to hold his head in place and kind of saw and hack at his neck meat. His hands come up scratching at my face, his nails digging in. I ignore him and carry on with the task at hand. About half way along he begins to choke and gargle on his own blood, some of it bubbles out from the gash in his neck like hot lava and some splutters out of his mouth. It spits up and splatters over him, messing up his beautiful face. His pleading, confused eyes are slowly becoming glazed and he looks through them, darkly – for the last thing he will see is me, as we sit and stare, face to face. His mumbling, indecipherable words now blood-stained and at this rate he’ll probably have drowned on his own fucking blood by the time I finish cutting him. But I carry on anyway, I saw at him until my arm burns. Eventually I hit the jugular and the carotid artery, that’s it now, he’s fucked. As if he wasn’t before. Most people think that if the jugular is cut you can’t be saved, but that isn’t true, you can. It’s the carotid artery people get it confused with; if that gets severed – like Rob’s is – then you’re done.
Blood spurts up into my face and mouth, it’s just like the movies now, blood everywhere; his, mine. It’s spurting up onto my face then dripping down onto his, what a clusterfuck. I turn my face away and cover the wound with my hands, trying to deflect the flow, but it subsides on its own. He’s still moving, convulsing even – I lean down and hold him tight while the last traces of life ebb up and leave him. This is the closest I’ve ever felt to him. This is our greatest, most beautiful ever moment together.
***
Also how can I host rather than have to reprint it here? Its awkward reading that much text not in Times New Roman. And when I copy and pasted it didnt reproduce mt text verbatim.
***
I’m nervous. How did I get myself in this situation? Things are so fucked up now that this will hardly make a difference, that’s what I tell myself anyway. I convince myself of this just so I can go through with it.I shift my weight from foot to foot rhythmically, trying to stay warm. This moronic oscillation does nothing, it’s too cold.
I lurk in between the trees, just out of eyeshot of the main path. The amber streetlights cast a disquieting glow over everything, the glow stops at my feet and I feel like an outsider looking in; looking in on the snow globe that is the world, that is our town, our community. I am an outsider; we all are - all of us who are mixed up in this shit.
Its 8:45 and Rob starts work at 9pm, so he should be walking through here right about now. The thought of that makes me drop a huge adrenaline dump and I start to feel hungry, I feel empty. I fiddle with the empty wine bottle in my gloved hand, a fucking wine bottle, I don’t believe it. I look at the label; it declares that the contents were once ‘Pinot Noir’, what the fuck is that shit? The remnants left in the bottle show that it was red wine, fuck and there’s me thinking that ‘Noir’ meant Black.
“Cant I just use a knife?” I asked.
“No, knives can be traced, don’t be an idiot”. Fuck you, I’m not an idiot, I’d throw it in the river or something afterwards. A fucking wine bottle, he wouldn’t even let me buy a bottle and drink the contents. I have to stay sober he said, “If you drink you’ll fuck it up”, he said. Well tough, I’ve drank an eighth of Johnnie Walker. How could I not drink? I’m so God damn scared. I had to go fish an empty bottle out of somebody’s rubbish bin, cant get traced back to us that way, he said. It makes me feel so guilty at how planned it all is. I actually like Rob, so what he had everything. I wasn’t jealous about his straight A’s, I wasn’t jealous seeing him walking around college with Karen on his arm, Oh God Karen, what are you gonna do after all this? But it’s not about jealousy you told me; and you got so angry when I mentioned it that how could it be? You said it’s because he’s not one of us now, and she is. Well fuck it, I trusted him. He’s been good to us and I can’t believe it’s come to this.
My meandering thoughts come to an end as I see a figure approach, he can’t see me but I still feel my heart jump up into my throat. The thump, thump, thump that it makes causes me to swallow, hard. My eyes are watery and it blurs my vision, I wipe them with my sleeve.He’s walking fast, he must be late. Within seconds of first seeing him he’s past me, approach turned to retreat so fast. I have to make a move, no more time to steady myself.
I step out onto the path and move after him; at the speed he’s walking I almost have to skip to catch up with him. He hears my approach and spins around, I stop dead.
“Oh it’s you, Jesus Christ man you scared the shit out of me”, he rubs his face, “What are you doing out here?”
“I…uh”, I can’t think of anything to say so I just leave it at that.
“Are you okay? Man you look really ill, I mean…” He says. I’m close enough to him to see his brow furrow as he notices my hand languishing partly behind my back. “What you got there?” he adds. And before the words have even rolled from off his tongue I’m jumping, my arm already in motion, his pupils narrow and dilate as he sees it coming and he instinctively raises his arm, but it’s feeble and I just power though it, slamming the bottle into the side of his head. He crumples in a heap while I just stand, looking at what I’ve done – at the thing I’ve created. The fear and adrenaline now courses through my veins like battery acid. He rolls from his side onto his back, mumbling something that I can’t quite make out. I stand over him - looming - my figure blocks out the light, casting him into darkness. I raise the bottle and my figure forms a pugnacious silhouette, I’ve become a monster in the moment, and the monster hits him again, not knowing what else to do.
It starts to rain now, I don’t feel it so much but I see it filtering past the street lamps – each drop illuminated for a second, its one moment in the spotlight and then cast back into darkness.
Necessity takes over and I feel like I’ve gone into cruise-control. I mount myself onto his writhing body and he offers almost no resistance, the pain and shock has lulled him to confusion. I straddle his stomach, pressing my groin and hips down into him, this causes all the air to be forced out of him and he lets go of it with a huge gasp. The implications of that breath seem so vast to me, the finality, the letting go; soul exits body, it doesn’t want to be a part of this - it can’t even bear to watch. I breathe his exhalation in deeply, I sit up and throw my head back, flexing my diaphragm, it makes me stronger, more determined – it sends me into furious delight. I slam the bottle over his head a few more times, trying to break it, but it doesn’t break. I notice a few dents have appeared in his forehead, ones I made, and they seem to have bruised immediately. I hit the bottle into the ground to break it, and on the third attempt it does – I admire the jagged crevices that the broken bottle now displays. Holding it up to my face I see a reflection, I see someone I don’t recognise. Tricks of the light show me a distorted face looking back, the face is an anathema to me, its horrific, all teeth and eyes, I disregard it – it’s just the light.
Turning back to Rob I see he’s still conscious; in fact he’s even squirming a little bit, feebly trying to get away. Damn you, you tough fucker. I never had you down to be this tough. I gaze at him respectfully for a few more seconds before pulling my arm back and slamming the bottle into his neck, one of the sharp points penetrate and blood bubbles out.
“Oww”, Rob manages to mutter as his eyes widen and roll back as his body figures out what just happened to it. I fall back onto my haunches in surprise. Oww? What the fuck does that mean? You say “Oww” when you stub your toe, or when you burn your hand picking up something hot. You don’t say “Oww” when someone slams a broken bottle into your fucking throat. That’s pretty far past fucking “Oww”, don’t you think. You cunt, you absolute cunt, why are you making me feel so guilty about this? Why are you making this so fucking hard?
I angrily pull the bottle from out of his neck and jab it randomly into his face a few times, opening up tiny little red mouths that start to cry little red tears.
I’m soaked now from the rain, I didn’t even notice. I look up to the sky, blinking the rain from out of my eyes. I look towards the light and the rain drops are falling so slowly now, as if each one has fallen asleep on their way down. Or maybe they’re just pretending to be asleep, not wanting to be a part of the horror with which they’re engulfing. My mouth hangs open spastically and I breathe deeply, each breath out is a gargled grunt, jarred and discordant – a cacophony of guilt. My face is slick with the rain, blood and my tears that have mixed together and I paw at it, wiping it from my eyes. I feel the liquid roll off my face like lemon drops. I laugh one solid encompassed laugh, I’m incredulous, and I feel my face creasing as I smile - everything around me is an amber haze.
I feel movement underneath me and I turn back to him, to my victim, to Rob, to the teenage hero, all the potential slowly seeping out of him. But its too late for him, it’s probably too late for all of us, but oh well. I shove the bottle back into the wound I created previously and it slides in with a welcoming squelch, as if it’s glad to be somewhere that it’s already been, like coming home after a winter away. I then try to cut his throat but the bottle isn’t really sharp enough so I have to hold his head in place and kind of saw and hack at his neck meat. His hands come up scratching at my face, his nails digging in. I ignore him and carry on with the task at hand. About half way along he begins to choke and gargle on his own blood, some of it bubbles out from the gash in his neck like hot lava and some splutters out of his mouth. It spits up and splatters over him, messing up his beautiful face. His pleading, confused eyes are slowly becoming glazed and he looks through them, darkly – for the last thing he will see is me, as we sit and stare, face to face. His mumbling, indecipherable words now blood-stained and at this rate he’ll probably have drowned on his own fucking blood by the time I finish cutting him. But I carry on anyway, I saw at him until my arm burns. Eventually I hit the jugular and the carotid artery, that’s it now, he’s fucked. As if he wasn’t before. Most people think that if the jugular is cut you can’t be saved, but that isn’t true, you can. It’s the carotid artery people get it confused with; if that gets severed – like Rob’s is – then you’re done.
Blood spurts up into my face and mouth, it’s just like the movies now, blood everywhere; his, mine. It’s spurting up onto my face then dripping down onto his, what a clusterfuck. I turn my face away and cover the wound with my hands, trying to deflect the flow, but it subsides on its own. He’s still moving, convulsing even – I lean down and hold him tight while the last traces of life ebb up and leave him. This is the closest I’ve ever felt to him. This is our greatest, most beautiful ever moment together.
***
)
