This story is real. All persons are real.
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"My name is John," - said Cleve. I couldn't believe what was happening.
"Don't tell him your name, dumbass!" - I hissed, while Cleve was dousing a screaming clerk with acetone.
Cleve wasn't paying any attention. When he was done, he tossed the can to the floor, and got out his matchbook.
"...please! I have a girlfriend!" - the clerk was begging, his asian features twisted with fear. Despite his hideous features, I felt pity for little bastard.
"No. You don't." - smiled John, and tossed the burning matchstick on poor clerk's hunched figure.
The clerk lit up like Baghdad in April '03. I covered my ears and walked out the garage. The night was beautiful. Dark buildings, abandoned and boarded up almost a century ago, surrounded me - apartment buildings, garage complexes, shops, and department stores. Electrical company turned off electricity to this part of town a long time ago, when fossil fuel prices became so high the residents couldn't pick up the power bill. Somewhere, far away, the green glow of Center City was lighting the night sky.
John's Yugo 87 was parked nearby, the light of the flames dancing on its windshield. I reached in and pulled out a pack of Basic cigarettes. The clerk, covered completely in huge bright flame, was shrieking and thrashing on the chair I tied him up to. Cleve was leaning against the wall, his face wearing that blank expression.
I wiped the salty sweat off my forehead. I could feel the heat pounding my face all the way from here.
"Time to go, John!" - I said, and got in the car. With a brief hesitation, John followed me and fell on the front seat, patting his jacket for the car keys. We drove off. Looking in the back mirror, I could see human shadows crowding around the human torch - the locals were having a barbeque today. I opened the window and threw the lit cigarette out with disgust. I hate Asian weed. As we drove on the dark street, passing dead streetlights, stripped cars, and mounds of garbage, I dozed off and fell asleep...
The morning met me with a radio alarm clock going off.
"Good Morning America, it's 7am! News of the hour - there's been another bombing in Tehran, 25 American soldiers are believed dead, 7 missing..." The radio died as I pulled the plug, and collapsed back on the scattered bed. The world outside was filled with the usual morning noise - angry screaming, crying babies, roaring elevated train.
"Hey, honey," - purred John, shaking off his sleep.
"Hey, beautiful," - we kissed. I got off the bed and gave a big yawn, stretching myself. My hands smelled like acetone. I scratched my balls and marched off to the weed, kicking away piles of old cloth we had strewn across the floor to preserve the heat during the night.
Pouring the yellow, smelly water in an old filtration teapot, I powered up the electric stove, put the teapot on the red-hot plate, and reached out for a coffee can.
The can exploded, showering me with freeze-dried coffee powder and aluminum ribbons. The weed window shattered in pieces, heavy figure crashing through it in my weed. Bang! the metal front door flew off the handles, heavy figures storming in, grunting angrily, and waving around black assault rifles. "Cleve!.." - I screamed, trying to warn him, but a rifle butt struck me on my stomach with great force, sending me to the floor racked in pain. With a hiss, an aerosole spray of some horrible liquid went off in my face, and a second later, I was gasping for breath, blue with agony. Then, I blacked out.
"What am I charged with?.." - my face, bruised and bloodied, had swallowed to an enormous size, it seemed.
"You? Nothing, my boy. It's not you we had the warrant for. And that's the problem." - answered the trenchcoat, his gleamy eye-glasses staring right at me.
"Cleve... didn't do anything... we just had a few drinks... then we watched some "That 70's Show", and... he sucked me off... we went to sleep... you can check the goddamn camera tape..." - the talking came hard.
"The problem, my boy, is that this "Cleve" doesn't exist. He never did exist, did he?" - the trenchcoat seemed almost sympathetic.
"What the fuck are... you talking about?.." - I was too tired for these games.
"Am I not being clear? Your boyfriend never existed. You never had a boyfriend. You aren't even a homosexual, our scans are positive on that. We have found no signs of male DNA other than yours in your apartment. No sign of human PRESENCE anywhere in your apartment other than yours! No more lies, Rex!"
The fleeting sense of fear stirred deep in my brain, and disappeared. I was dumbstruck. I looked at the trenchcoat in disbelief.
He threw a paper envelope my way. With shaking fingers, I opened the damn thing. Inside, were photographs from the wall camera, installed in every federally subsidized apartment. Marked yesterday. Me, coming through the front door, taking off my jacked and hanging it on a chair. Me, reaching in a dirty fridge and pulling out a bottle of lard vodka. Me, sitting on a sofa, the empty vodka bottle lying on the floor. Me, with my pants down, sucking my own dick. For a second, I couldn't say anything. Then I screamed...
"...I love you, Cleve! I always loved you!" - I screamed, as the acetone flames burned through my cloth, peeling away my skin like it was paper, turning sensory nerves into thin grey ash. And right before my eyes had burst and bubbled out from my eye sockets, I could see him - leaning on the garage wall, his face wearing that blank expression... Then, I died.
And went to Hell.
Last day.
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POOPERSCOOPER
- Paparazzi
- Posts: 5035
- Joined: Sat Apr 05, 2003 1:50 am
- Location: California
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POOPERSCOOPER
- Paparazzi
- Posts: 5035
- Joined: Sat Apr 05, 2003 1:50 am
- Location: California
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Urizen
- Vault Hero
- Posts: 1034
- Joined: Mon Jun 20, 2005 10:55 pm
- Location: London. The pub, not the city
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Re: Last day.
My ex could actually do that...ApTyp wrote:Me, with my pants down, sucking my own dick.
Anyways, great story, ApTyp. Keep it coming!
