crimsonking19_ (crimsonking19_) wrote in alt_art,
crimsonking19_
crimsonking19_
alt_art

Hey I'm New Here

And I have a completed a short-story, grammar and spelling is over all solid but I have yet to completely edit it. Any feedback is appreciated.

Excerpt: "But let’s set some things clear first Jimmy:
This is not about regrets.
Or bad luck.
Or even fear.
This is about common fucking curtiousy.
The reason you took the time to write all those letters
to everyone isn’t because you care, and most of them
probably don’t much either, it’s just nice for closure.
Like
a bad movie. Even though you might sit through one, if you
don’t loose interest in the beginning you will finish it.
Not out of interest.
Just for closure.
A beginning, a middle, and an end.



Just breath.
It’s okay Jimmy you can write a little more sloppy
now,
I can read your handwriting fine and I know your right hand
is aching after all of this writing. But seriously Jimmy,
there will be no stopping until you’ve written this
letter.
You’ve broken away from everything but breaking away from
yourself is not an option, not till you’re doing this
psyichaly anyway.
This is probably very therapeutic for yourself Jimmy,
maybe if you’d thought of this sooner you’d be better
off.
But let’s set some things clear first Jimmy:
This is not about regrets.
Or bad luck.
Or even fear.
This is about common fucking curtiousy.
The reason you took the time to write all those letters
to everyone isn’t because you care, and most of them
probably don’t much either, it’s just nice for closure.
Like
a bad movie. Even though you might sit through one, if you
don’t loose interest in the beginning you will finish it.
Not out of interest.
Just for closure.
A beginning, a middle, and an end.
A story like the stories that you tried to write when
you were little. You would always take your shit-hole of a
dad’s expensive computer paper and your little set of
Crayola crayons. You’d draw these pictures that looked
like a Tim Burton movie on acid and you’d have little hard
to read writing underneath. You just never finished the
stories Jimmy. The end was what always ended up breaking
your stories.
I still don’t why you couldn’t finish these
childhood
stories man. They were so original, your dad didn’t give a
shit so you’d take them to that little latchkey
baby-sitting group of yours. LatchKEY may have felt like a
LatchLOCK when you were little but you can see now that you
had a little freedom there, from your life anyway. You’d
show the adults baby-sitting you your little stories and
they would translate your shitty little tales and then give
them back to you. You’d get a pat on the head, they’d
tell you that you were special. It made your day.
But now you’re realizing that none of the adults ever
realized that you didn’t have an end to your story. They
were so shitty they couldn’t even see the plot.
Jimmy this letter is your real story, starring you, and
written by yourself. This may be read after you’re dead
(what a great rhyme there Shakespeare) but it doesn’t
matter. Your life is a lot like one of your unfinished
stories Jimmy, strange, and (I hate to say it) pretty much
pointless. But the ending must happen. The story is pretty
much over now and this letter is really just going to be a
period at the end.
Just for the convenient closure.
I’m not sure how this inevitable ending happened
though.
Sure your life started out a little rough. You never had a
mommy and when your dad was ignoring you at home he shoved
you into a latchkey day carish thing despite the fact that
he could of hired a baby-sitter. If your dad ever pawns his
car and your/his three story-house he’ll have enough money
to feed Africa for a month.
Perhaps he was trying to help you by getting you to talk
to other children.
In fact he might’ve loved more then his money
sometimes.
And maybe he was trying to compensate for not knowing
how to be a father.
Maybe pigs can fly.
No regretting though.
Unfortunately you didn’t know how to talk to other
kids.
So you’d sit in the corner by the window watching
squirrels and birds shit on the colorful play structures of
your school. Sometimes you’d name them and put them into
one of your unfinished stories.
You were actually a pretty cute kid and you were
friendly, but you were just too damn awkward. You didn’t
get
people and they didn’t get you so you just stayed in your
own little world of uncompleted stories and loneliness.
A family of two.
The child in the corner.
Eventually when you were seven you had a routine: School
, unfinished story, and a pat on the head. You enjoyed the
bit of praise you got from your little baby-sitters a lot.
You had a routine. And then it was destroyed.
You were having an average day and you went to show one
your baby-sitters your unfinished stories. The guys breath
stank of black coffee. He flipped through the pages of your
story, he didn’t read them.
But he gave you a huge smile and told you to follow him.
When you asked where he said it was a surprise.
He sure as fuck wasn’t lying.
You were in an empty room with closed windows. He locked
the door, his smile never fading.
But this isn’t about bad luck.
You weren’t scarred, you were just sort of confused.
When his pants were down you knew something odd was
happening. You didn’t know words like sex, rape, and
pedophile. You were frozen like a deer in headlights. The
man coming toward you was a truck with a smile filled with
yellow teeth and coffee stained breath that got unbearable
as he got closer to you. He grabbed your shoulders and told
you something about all of this being a secret game.
And then the P.A. system went on.
The man with the yellow teeth’s wife was on hold.
To your relief he put his pants on but then he came
toward you again. He gripped your shoulders so tightly that
your left one had a bruise. With his coffee infested breath
he threatened you not to tell about the secret little game.
His face right in yours, you turned your face to avoid his
breath. You wanted to rip your nose off and throw it away
forever.
Before he left he made you promise not tell anyone about
what had happened. The fucker was still squeezing your
shoulders. Now you were scarred. So you cleared your throat
and you promised him that you wouldn’t tell anyone.
And you meant it because you DIDN’T have anyone Jimmy.
After that he finally took his grip off your shoulders.
He gave you a slap on the ass and he went to kiss your lips
but you turned and he only got your cheek. Then he left,
your unfinished story still in his hand. It was the last
story you wrote, and that sick fuck was the last baby-sitter
you talked to, you didn’t like them anymore.
Man I hate to say it, but that was your first kiss.
When you got home that day you were flipping channels on
your dad’s TV. Those five-hundred channels were the
closest contact you had with the outside world when you were
a kid. There was porn on that TV that usually peaked your
curiosity as a kid but after that day you couldn’t bear
the thought of looking at that crap. The local news that
night was interesting however.
A man had run straight through a stop sign and collided
head-on with a drunk driver. The drunk driver went flying
through the windshield. The man in the car had his head
smashed into the bottom of the steering wheel, he was dead.
The man had been reaching down at something when he had
crashed.
The cops claim he was bent over and had a little girls
panties in one hand and a child-made story book in the
other. It was later discovered that the underwear belonged
to the same little girl that found a dead drunk driver on
top of her swingset a few minutes after the crash.
After that you started watching an episode of Rockos
Modern Life.
Looking back now Jimmy the whole crash seemed like one
of the universes many cosmic jokes.
By the time you finished elementary school you had no
real friends, straight B’s, and you could’ve been a
model
for Gap Kids but you declined because you were terrified at
the slightest chance that there might be some other sick
fuck taking pictures of you.
Middle school was odd for you Jimmy. You grew but you
never had acne. You didn’t need braces. Your dad’s
Hispanic
house-cleaner lady Maria Sanchez always bought you expensive
designer clothes that made you look like a hunky
fifteen-year-old when you were only an awkward
twelve-year-old child. You were just drifting through the
halls when you met Johnny Akerly, the closest thing you ever
had to a brother.
Johnny was failing math and you were failing at art.
That was one of the good things at middle school. All the
confused adolescents weren’t really in clicks and labeled
by their six classes. Everyone was ugly, awkward, and
discovering the whole sex thing. Johnny was no exception,
but you were. You were rich and good looking.
A minority among minorities.
Johnny was just as strange as you Jimmy. Johnny was also
poor and only had a mother and an older brother. You guys
became pretty fast friends even though you really didn’t
talk. You would just keep your dialogue short because you
just understood each other perfectly.
Two miserable friends.
By your second year of middle school you two would hang
out after school and walk around your little suburb, but
that got old fast so then Johnny and you made a new friend.
His name was alcohol.
Your dad was addicted to money but Johnny’s mom loved
tequila. One November night you told your dad you were
staying over at Johnny’s house, his mom was working late
at K-mart.
The only things I can remember for sure are that you and
Johnny had to hold each others shoulders to piss straight
into a toilet, you were sobbing about something for about an
hour, and you listened to Led Zepplin. You partied through
the night and even got into a fist fight for fun at one
point. Then eventually you passed out and went to
la-la-land.
Morning was not pleasant.
You woke up on a table with a pile of People magazines
underneath your head. When you moved it felt as though your
head and been bashed with a metal bat. Your feet were bare
and coated with a yellowish shade of vomit.
Your weekend had pretty much gone to the 7th level of
hell Jimmy. When you got home your dad was working as usual
so you slept until the evening. You woke up to the phone on
your dresser ringing away.
Johnny was on the other line talking as if he had won
the lottery saying that you like seriously had to get over
there man because he had something cool that you just had to
see.
So you locked up and walked over to his house to find a
black van you’d never seen before along with older people
you’d never seen before either. Johnny was there to, he
was grinning when you arrived. Introductions were made and
you realized that you were in the presence of Johnny’s
older brother Rick along with Rick’s friends: Sam, Nick,
Alice and Courtney.
You were nervous at first and after the introductions
when you went into Johnny’s living room and everyone
started
talking you went into a corner with Johnny and kept your
mouth shut. Rick’s friends were all about sixteen except
for Courtney who was fifteen. You immediately had a crush on
Courtney, and it was cool because she “Liked you back”
for lack of something deep to say.
It was kind of cute, you two started playing that little
starring game that people who are terrified of flirting
(like you) play. You would smile as if you were indulged in
the conversation and shift your eyes toward hers. You’d
catch a glimpse of hers but they’d turn immediately. You
would stare for a few seconds and then loose your nerve and
look away as she looked back at you.
Ah the beauty of youth.
Eventually you looked at her to find that she was
looking at you and smiling. Courtney with her blond hair and
green eyes, to cute to be hot and to hot to be cute, she
almost made you shit your pants with that smile. You just
barely returned it in your excited panic and struggling for
something to say you looked at Johnny and asked him what he
had that he’d talked of so eagerly on the phone about.
Rick pulled out a plastic sandwich bag filled with weed.
You squinted at the sight of it. You were surprised to
actually see weed, it had only been something you’d heard
about, but there it was. Bit of a let down. It was just
green flowery looking stuff.
Rick put the bag down and then asked who planned on
driving. No one volunteered so he punched Sam’s shoulder
and told him that he was driving and that he would have to
smoke later. Sam muttered something that sounded like fuck
and took Rick’s keys.
Rick rolled a joint took a long drag and began passing
it. You were nervous, you had never even tried a plain
cigarette. When it came to you were embarrassed. You just
put it in your mouth and sucked a little. You took it out
and you were left with nothing except a strange smoky kind
of taste. You were thrilled that you hadn’t coughed and
looked dumb in front of Courtney.
You looked up and saw that Rick was giggling at you...
Nick explained you that hadn’t even exhaled. You had
no
idea what the fuck he was talking about. He explained that
after you sucked a little you had to breath in again while
the shit was still there in your mouth. You were blushing
and didn’t even bother to look at Courtney.
You sucked hard out of fear of looking like a douche
again. Then you breathed in and it felt as if someone
squeezing your lungs shut. You couldn’t exhale. You hacked
and coughed as you passed the joint. You looked like a
douche again.
Courtney coughed a little bit too but you could tell
she’d smoked before. You had actually smoked for her
Jimmy. You had no idea what you were doing, you just wanted
to seem normal in front of her, but damn about a half hour
later when you were driving in the backseat of Rick’s van
sitting next to Courtney you were higher then a 747.
You were in the back of the van by Courtney
contemplating the meaning of string in the midst of your
high while everyone else was enjoying the radio and the
road. Rick called the whole experience “Coastin’ n’
Smokin.”
After about an hour coastin’ when everyone was coming
down, you went bowling. You were happy, high, and horny so
as I recalled it was your worst game ever but your most
enjoyable too. Then the place started to close down. After
the game Rick got everyone in the bar with his connections
and you guys began to drink. The place was all to yourselves
and you were actually content Jimmy.
At about midnight you were back in the van and coasting
toward Johnny’s house. The music was up again but you were
drunk now, not high. You and Courtney were having a strange
intoxicated heart-to-heart about how badly parents, school,
and people in general suck.
Everything was so damn perfect. You were having one of
those beautiful life-moments where you could just sit down
and tell yourself that you were gonna be fine, and you could
believe yourself.
You didn’t know however, that Sam had had a bit of
beer
at the bowling bar. All that shit you’d always been told
about drinking and driving. Those tragic stories accidents
about innocent but stupid people getting mutilated or killed
because they’d just wanted a bit of fun:
Basically you became the “other guy” Jimmy.
Sam pressed the brake hard. There was a squealing. Then
you saw a face in front of the van. The face made eye
contact with you for a second before it smacked the
windshield and made a circle of cracked glass and blood.
Everyone got out of the car in silent panic except for
Alice who was screaming. Everyone gathered around the body
and starred. Your right arm was being squeezed suddenly.
Courtney was hugging your arm and weeping into your
shoulder. She was whispering hysterically. You hugged her
and told her to slow down. She just talked faster. You
ignored Rick and his friends swearing and arguing about
whether or not to get the cops and you tried to desperately
hear what Courtney was raving about.
And finally you did. She was weeping at the fact that
she’d seen this kind of thing before. Except last time
she’d been a child.
Last time she had seen a dead body dangling from her
swingset.
Courtney’s smile, the pedophile’s smile, smokin’
‘n
costin’, and now a dead body flooded you head.
Were you really living a life or were you were just the
butt of a joke between god and the universe?
I’m still not sure Jimmy.
The guy ended up just being some black homeless guy. You
ended up back in Rick’s car heading toward Johnny’s
house. The ride back was so quite and awkward that had there
not been a decomposing dead guy left for somebody else to
deal with it would’ve been funny.
After what felt like a century the van was in Johnny’s
driveway. The guys along Alice went in and you started
following them but Courtney grabbed your arm. She had to get
home and she wanted you to walk her. Her eyes were dried up
and she seemed to have control over herself, or at least as
much as a teenage girl can.
You kindly explained to her that you had to go do
something, you were busy. Then she pouted, you ended up
walking with her Jimmy. Out of all the times to get the
opportunity to walk a pretty girl home underneath the
moonlight sky: All your memories and issues each had a peice
of your mind and they were pulling in entirely diffrent
directions.
There was a dense silence that followed. When out of no
where she asked if she could see your hand. When you asked
why she told you that she was going to read your fortune.
She playfully grabbed your wrist and you jerked it away with
a yelp of pain.
Courtney stopped walking and asked what was wrong with
your wrist.
You kindly explained that your dog had gotten too
playful. She knew that was bullshit. And she knew you knew
that that’s what she was thnking at that moment Jimmy.
The rest of the walk was followed with that awkward
silence again. Her house was on the corner of a street. She
lived in a little brick house with a huge pine tree in the
front. Her parents were asleep she invited you in and you
said you had to get going.
But you didn’t want to leave, you wanted to stay there
until the sun came up and poor of all your thoughts and pain
out.
She said that she just wanted to talk to you. You told
her that was cool, but it would have to wait. Then she
grabbed your sore wrist again and she said that if you
didn’t talk to her she would report your sliced up wrist
to
your school counsler. You pulled your wrist away and asked
her why she was fucking with you. Your voice was trembling
slightly and you couldn’t make eye contact with her.
She grabbed your hand softly and led you to a little two
person swing on her front porch. After swinging for a few
minutes you asked her what she wanted. She told you that she
just liked you and that she wanted to help you. She asked if
that was really so terrible.
You told her yes, but you meant no. And you told her
everything
You told her that you didn’t know how to talk to
people
and how everytime you tried to make a joke people just sort
of smiled and nodded because your humor was strange. You
told her how you had never cried in your life, not even as a
child, not one tear. You explained to her that the reason
there were faded slice marks on your wrist was because you
were so fucking lonely that pain was the only feeling you
really had and when you sliced yourself you felt human.
Even if it was pain it was feeling.
You told her that when you were a kid all you did was
watch TV when you weren’t in school. You started telling
her
how you talked to adults but you stopped when a man with you
yellow teeth almost raped you.
She told you that that the man with the yellow teeth’s
name was Mike Bryant. She told you that when she was a kid
Bryant got in a crash outside of her house with a drunk
driver.
She told you about finding the deadbody on her swingset.
You had a bit of deja vu.
Bryant had been reaching for her panties and your story
book when he dropped them in his car.
You two crazy love birds were connected by the same
child-molester.
How romantic.
You told her that Bryant had given you your first kiss,
but she said that that wasn’t true. That a kiss had to
mean
something.
And then beneath the night sky you had your first
(second) kiss.
It was such a Kodak moment.
After that she grabbed you and took you to her room and
you lost your virginity Jimmy. The sex was awkward and
crappy teenage sex of course. You were pretty embaressed
when you found out she was giggling at you and not what you
were doing. You found sex to be pretty overrated.
But you did, of course, end up telling Johnny about how
you banged Courtney so great that she said you were like a
vegetable because you did her body good.
Boys will be boys eh Jimmy?
Both of you were smoking and lying side by side because
that’s how they did it after doing it in the movies.
Things started going sour.
The more you talked to her the dumber and shallower she
got. By the time you were done talking to her you realized
you had lost your virginity to a horny moron.
You asked if her that was her first time and she laughed
so hard that she got a little hot ash from her cigarette
onto her bed sheets. When she finished her satanic giggling
you asked her if it had meant anything to her.
She gave you a weird look and asked what you meant. You
asked her if the two of you making love had meant anything.
She gave you an even more puzzled look and said that it was
just fucking. She got offended and said that it didn’t
mean much to her because you sucked in bed but that you
should’ve been greatful. Then she rolled over and was
snorring five minutes later.
You sat in her bed and you began to think. That’s when
you realized that the whole “making love” thing was a
big joke Jimmy. There was nothing but mindless fucking. The
only diffrence between teenagers fucking and animals was
that teenagers could use cellphones and do drugs also.
After another one of your lovely sessions of thinking,
you opened the drawer that she had got the rubber you used
from. The drawer was packed full of them. Some were used.
You had lost your virginity to a dumb blond that was getting
around like record player.
You were so pissed that you got your used rubber and
went to rub your pre abortions and miscarriges onto the
black shirt she’d been wearing.
There was all ready a stain on the sleeve.
In disgust you gathered your clothes and your dignity
you walked home alone in the dark. Each corner of the dark
streets seemed to be conceling a certain victim of a car
crash you’d tried to forget a few hours ago. You could
just imagine him jumping out a bush, his face mostly gone,
attacking you.
That walk home almost drove you mad Jimmy.
When you were finnaly home you opened your drawer. You
got out your black box. You opened it up and unsheathed a
switchblade you bought at a pawnshop. The knife had seemed
bad ass and cool at the time. But when you were looking at
then it looked like similar to food, that’s the best way I
can describe it.
You needed it. You just needed to feel something, even
if it was just more pain.
You turned off the lights, lit a candle, and took off
your shirt.
Your mind was beaten to a bloody pulp by old memmories
as you sawed back and forth into your arm. The pain was like
a never ending bee sting. When you were done there was deep
“X” engraved into your left arm.
Blood started to slowly creep out of it. As it bled you
held it closely to your face and started to cry like some
kind of child. The tears mixed into the blood and started
running down your arm.
Afterwords you looked at the mirror with the blood and
tears still running down your arm like a waterfall. You
looked into yourself and you found nothing. Just some fucked
up and unlucky guy. Once you looked past the pain there was
just a hole of nothing.
And then you decided that you were going to kill
yourself that morning.
Which is in about five minutes. Maybe you’ll staple
this
letter to your back.
So you decided to go on one more walk, your last walk.
You dressed and went back into the cold. The X on your
arm was being stung even more by the evening wind.
Everything was dark and nobody was out except you until you
saw someone walking toward you in the distance.
As you got closer you saw that he was walking a small
dog. When you finnaly walked up to him you said, “Hey.”
“Hi,” the guy with the dog said.
Then you noticed that the dog was walking with a giant
hump in his back.
You asked, “What’s wrong with your dog dude?”
“Oh it’s back is sort fucked up,” he said,
“It’s
a common dachshund problem. He’s gonna be put to sleep
tommorow.”
“Well why are you walking him if he’s fucked up,
isn’t that just gonna hurt him more?”
“Yeah a little bit.”
“Umm, that’s sort of sick dude.”
“No it isn’t, he’ll feel pain no matter what. Even
if
he does feel more he’s a dog, he’s like supposed to
walk.”
“Why?”
“Because that’s what dogs do and just because he’s
fucked up doesn’t mean he should stop walking.”
“Wow that’s kind of like a beautiful metaphor of my
life.”
“I wouldn’t analyze these things to closely, I just
walk him because that’s what he should do.”
“Well what am I supposed to walk for?”
“To find some sort of meaningful path and stay on it?
I
don’t know...”
“Well how do you find one?”
“You don’t. I think it probably ends up finding you
when you stop being such a whiney asshole.”
“Huh. Well what’s your metahporical path in life?”
“I’ll get back to you on that.”
“Really?”
“No. I’m pretty sure you never actually see it.”
“Oh.”
And then he walked away with his crippled dachshund
whining beside him.
Then you walked home and started writing.
The sun is rising.
Maybe when you look in the mirror and all you see is a
whole bunch of shit you can try fixing it somehow.
That emptiness might just be something to fill instead
of complaining and cuting yourself over.
Maybe life is like a pond. Just because you’ve had all
these boulders of shit falling in and creating ripples
doesn’t mean you should stop trying. Maybe, just maybe, if
you take a second you’ll find that things can get better
if you hold on.
Maybe I’ll give this living thing another chance.


(thanks for reading)
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