I haven’t been on in a while since I’ve been here. It’s been one year ago that I shot myself. Some serious brain damage later and I don’t know how to feel about today.
At this point it’s generally safe to assume that I’m drunk at all times, sorry again for a shitty post that jumps too much between topics.
Well, I got the ball rolling with all of the legal crap as far as suing to get my knee fixed, since worker’s comp would rather fight with me for three years instead of doing their job. Earlier last week my other knee finally gave out from the overcompensation. My lawyer got me approved to go see a doctor on my former employer’s dime, but that doesn’t change the fact that I may never walk again without some form of assistance, and that’s assuming my surgeries go extraordinarily well.
I would crack some joke about family support, but that’s nonexistent in mine. I’m somehow lazy because I can’t walk, but my brother is still a fucking saint, even though he destroyed both of his marriages by cheating and giving a plethora of STDs to his wives, he was fired by our grandfather for being the worst worker he’d ever met, he was fired from his last real job for stealing from the company, and the thing that convinced his second ex wife that she had to leave him was that he apparently has a thing for child porn. But yeah, the whole family loves him and bows down before him, while constantly telling me how worthless and useless I am.
I can’t walk, I have PTSD and Depression, I was tortured and tormented by my dad for absolutely no reason all throughout my childhood. I’ve always put every effort into being as good of a person as I can possibly be, but I don’t even get the short end of the stick, because at least then I would be getting something, instead I just have any chance of happiness in my future ripped away whenever I find it. But that fucking piece of shit uses people and throws them away, he’s incapable of comprehending the concept of loyalty or honesty, that sociopath gets handed everything. It’s complete fucking bullshit.
I’m pretty sure that the only thing that actually works is downing a bottle or two of vodka. If it’s not obvious, I’m a bit drunk, but at least it makes me numb and actually gets me to forget all of the other shit that I don’t want to think about. Fuck it, I might as well look at getting my hands on more morphine when I can, that shit works way fucking better than alcohol. Plus, it’s usually cheaper for me to get numb from that instead of drinking, so it works better. Yay for self mediction.
It’s been a while, last time I said anything it was a shitty goodbye before I was going to take my life. I succeeded, I stayed dead for a couple of minutes, but unfortunately I got better. I just haven’t gotten around to getting on the site since then.
Well, this is it. The worst day of the year. I’m twenty three now and my only good brother and the best friend I’ll ever have are six feet under. Another year has passed and I’m still an ugly cripple that can’t even go into public because of how bad my PTSD is. I’ve downed two bottles of vodka and I’m still not drunk enough to get me through the rest of the day. Sorry this is such shit to anyone reading it, I suck a lot less at writing things when I’m sober.
Anyway, once again it’s my birthday and I’m completely alone.
I’m planning on leaving the 31st. The fact is that I don’t think I can even last that long. All I know is that I will not live to see another year without my friends and family that are already gone. This will probably be the last thing I write here. I’m just going to shoot myself in the head and I’ll finally be free from all of the bullshit.
It’s been months since I’ve had a drink and more than a year since I got off of morphine, but I need something now. Something stronger than the half bottle of whiskey I’ve got in the garage.
Say what you will, but self medication works better than anything else I’ve tried.
I haven’t talked to you for a bit, just making sure you’re okay.
Just a few hours ago, 153 innocent people were murdered. At leas one of them had now desire to die, but I’m assuming that was the case for most, if not all, of them. People wanting to live had their lives forcefully ripped from them, while I want to die but just don’t have the energy to try. I’d gladly trade places with any of them. This world is a cosmic, “Fuck you,” to everyone. Innocent people that want to live die every day, while those of us that want to die can easily end up surviving a suicide attempt or two. This is bullshit, there’s obviously a god, and (s)he just enjoys fucking with people.
I wrote this in high school, for an English class. Hopefully it gets some laughs out of you guys.
A long, long time ago in a galaxy far away, 1998 in Oskaloosa, Kansas, there lived a young Twinkie named Pedro. Pedro was a good Twinkie, he had a golden glow to his exterior and a white, creamy center. He spent most of his days watching the other Twinkie soldiers march into battle to defeat their arch nemesis, the evil Hoho horde. One day, everything changed, his father was killed by the Hoho horde, when his body was returned, his creamy center had been sucked dry. Pedro’s mother, Helen, was so upset and disturbed by the death of her husband that she drowned herself in the Great Northern Ocean of Milk. Enraged by the deaths of his parents, Pedro swore revenge on the Hoho people, he swore that he would join the RTAS, the Royal Twinkie Attack Squad and do everything in his power to defeat the evil cream-sucking Hohos and avenge his father.
On the front line of the war, Chuck was fighting for his life. No matter what he did, the Hohos kept coming. He must have defeated hundreds of them, but he was starting to get tired of roundhouse kicking the monsters. Chuck looked over to see Abdul, his brother, screaming obscenities as he ran towards the Hohos. Then it dawned on him, Abdul was going to blow himself up. Chuck started to scream the word “No!” as time slowed down and his voice got mysteriously deeper. BANG! Chuck was hit in the face with the creamy substance that gives life to the Snacktopian people. Now, Chuck realised, there was nothing else he could do and he chose to retreat.
Pedro arrived at the Great Twizzler tower, home of the Licorice Guard, to receive the briefing of his special mission. Pedro saw the red, twisted swords that his guide carried and thought about how much he wanted one. When he arrived in the briefing room, Pedro saw a RTAS soldier with a beard, a Cupcake with an ax taller than he was, a Slimjim with a longbow, and a Twinkie Cakemaster. The RTAS soldier introduced himself as Chuck, the cupcake as Jason, the Slimjim as Lloyd, and the Twinkie Cakemaster as Harry. “Our mission,” said Chuck, “is to destroy the evil Chocolate Chip of Power,” everyone in the room gasped, “It is said that the user is unstoppable and that he can rule the world with the power to summon the legendary chocolate golems. It is up to us to make sure that the Hohos do not succeed in getting it from us before we destroy it.” “How are we supposed to do that?” Pedro asked. “Simple,” Chuck said, “I’m Chuck Norris.”
The Fellowship of the Chip was riding on the largest Cake they had ever seen, it must have had three layers and it was way longer than the average 9×13 cakes that everyone sees. The cake was making good time, they had been riding since sunup and they could already see the base of the Tower of Tea, the home of the three evil British Teabag Witches. When they walked in, Pedro heard the three witches, “Choose a sacrifice, and we will choose your future.” They said it in a very ominous voice laced with a British accent. “What?” asked Pedro, it wasn’t his fault that his father accidentally dropped him on the chocolatewalk (you might compare it to a sidewalk) when he was little. “Feed us one of your friends and we will help you on your journey,” the accent was gone that time and the voice sounded more annoyed than ominous.
“Okay, eat Lloyd. He smells funny.”
“We don’t eat meat.”
“Fine, take the cupcake.”
“What kind is he?”
“Chocolate, I think.”
“Is that it?”
“Just take whoever you want, I barely know these guys.”
“That sure was nice of them to tell us how to destroy the chocolate chip wasn’t it?” Lloyd asked, “Say, have you seen any of the guys?” “No,” said Pedro, “we should keep moving.” They were walking now; the Teabags ate the cake too. “We just need to navigate the tunnels of Cocoa Puff Mountain, avoid the crazy bird, Climb Mount Saint Hershey’s and throw the Chocolate Chip of Power in the Boiling Lake of Chocolaty Goodness.” They made it to the base of Cocoa Puff Mountain and started going through the tunnels. Just as they came to the end of the tunnel, they heard a voice shouting “COOKOO FOR COCOA PUFFS!” over, and over, and over again. They ran to the end of the tunnel and pushed a giant chocolatey boulder into place in front of the passageway. Pedro gasped as he saw the outline a bird that was tweaking out and shouting “COOKOO FOR COCOA PUFFS!” right before they pushed the boulder in the way.
As they began their ascension of Mount Saint Hershey’s, they heard them, the sound of Hoho war drums. Pedro screamed and started running up the mountain and accidentally kicked a rock that flew down and hit Lloyd in the head, causing him to fall down the mountain to the feet of the Hohos. Pedro kept running as he heard the blood-curdling scream only a piece of greasy mystery meat could scream. When he reached the shore of the lake, Pedro considered the possibility of him using the Chocolate Chip of Power. He began imagining being immortal and having an army of immortals to obey his every whim. He began imagining all of the-
He stopped imagining when a Hoho arrow hit him in the back, causing him to stumble forward into the Boiling Lake of Chocolaty Goodness creating what no one had ever imagined before, a chocolate covered Twinkie. A giant human hand came out of the sky holding a giant fork. It stabbed into the chocolate and pulled Pedro out of the sight of the Hohos.
“Look what I did Ma,” a little human child was sitting on the kitchen counter next to the stove, surrounded by snacks. He was eating a chocolate covered Twinkie next to a box of Cocoa Puffs and there was a pot on the stove with boiling chocolate in it.
Was this tale made up by a small child or are all snacks truly alive? If so, are we murderers for eating the greatest of snack foods? All I know is that I really want a chocolate covered Twinkie right about now.
It’s been a while since I’ve been on. I didn’t blow my brain out as soon as I was planning. Which turns out to be one of the worst mistakes of my life. I met a girl, and as hard as I tried to not let my guard down, she got past it and actually tricked me into trusting her. Then, after a few dates and saying that she wanted us to be a couple, she basically said, “Nevermind,” on the day of what would have been our fourth date. I fucking hate life, there’s no fucking justification for all of this bullshit.
Well, I managed to survive another birthday. I had this song stuck in my head all day, enjoy. (or don’t, up to you)
I’m okay with that. If I can make peace with that, why the hell can’t any of my family members stop bugging me about being single? I know I haven’t dated anyone since 2012, but judging how things went then, being alone isn’t so bad. It’s not that I haven’t gotten over the last girl I dated, I just don’t feel the need to have all of the drama I had last time. I’m going to die in a month, so why the fuck does it matter?
The only reason I’m ranting about this is that I am currently visiting some family and my dad couldn’t make it one meal without bringing up my marathon of being alone. No dad, I’m not going to take your advice, I’m not paying a hooker or taking emotional advantage of fat chicks.
I’m pretty sure my mental health would be much better if my family members would learn to leave me the hell alone.
He would’ve been 25 today, but instead we decorated my brother’s grave with a plastic light-up sword.
I was just going over some old stories I wrote (or wrote most of, at least) and I can’t figure out what changed. I used to be able to sit down and write a story that, I was told, was well written and intriguing. I don’t know what changed, but I can’t even sit down to write the final three chapters of a book I know the ending to. Well, it’s technically a graphic novel, one of two that I almost finished, and only because they were my only fantasy stories and sometimes painting the world works better than trying to describe it with words. And instead, here I am, whining on the internet because I can’t bring myself to write another chapter on anything of mine that I want to finish (4 crime novels, 2 fantasy graphic novels, a western, and a war novel). I know the stories for all of them, and I can put the words together just fine, but I can’t bring myself to actually type or write them, for some reason I just can’t.
The worst thing about it is that writing used to be one of the only things that helped me survive, and now there’s nothing that helps me anymore.
At least that way my death could be a little more interesting than, “He got back from visiting family all Summer and promptly shot himself in the head.”
All I’ve got to do is make it ’til the end of August, then I’ll be back in CA with my crossbow and I can just hike into the woods and be done.
I’m pretty sure I listen to it at least 5 times a day. A while ago I could say whatever I wanted to say, now I can’t find the words for anything. This song though, the lyrics describe my current state better than I can. And now I’m going to stop typing before this turns into a rant.
And I can’t make myself study for any of them, I just don’t have the energy. It takes every bit of strength I have just to climb out of bed in the morning. This is bullshit, I’m thinking this summer will be my last. I’m gonna go visit some family on the other side of the country, come back to CA to pick up my crossbow and hike far enough into the woods that the smell of my rotting corpse won’t bother anyone, then I’ll put a bolt through my skull. May seem excessive, but I’ve survived ODing twice and an attempted hanging, so this is my best bet. At least if the attempt fails, I’ll be seriously damaged enough that I won’t make it the night without help, and I’ll be far enough away from people that I won’t have any.
Seriously, I wrote this as a kid, don’t judge it too harshly, hopefully it’ll distract you guys from your worries for a bit.
You know how it is, when there’s someone who wants to be your friend but you don’t want to be theirs, and you can’t ever tell them you don’t like them because it would hurt their feelings. So every time you see them you say hi and talk but you never really hang out with them one on one. They might suggest it, but you always have some excuse, you hang out with them in a group if at all.
Michael was like that to me, and Andrew was our group. Andrew is my cousin and Michael was his friend who always seemed to think I was just as close to him as I was to Andrew. I liked hanging out with Andrew, but Michael was just a friend of a friend to me. Michael was extremely pale, with blue eyes and blond hair. He was small and skinny; he looked really young for his age.
Andrew looked more like me, brown eyes, dark hair, normal skinned and average sized. Our moms were sisters and our step-dads had been best friends, so we’d grown up together and hung out a lot, even though I was younger and a little shorter. Andrew and Michael met when they were twelve years old through sports; they were in soccer, baseball, and basketball together and liked to play frisbee in the park. Michael looked out of place around Andrew because he was so small.
Because he and Andrew were great friends, and Andrew and I were great friends, Michael thought he and I were buddies too. But his “What’s up, buddy?” irritated me because he was annoying, told the same jokes all the time, and had a loud, dumb laugh. But since he was always over at Andrew’s and I definitely didn’t hate him enough to stop hanging out with my cousin, we ended up hanging out a lot. He was okay most of the time but while we had fun playing frisbee or hanging out around the park he always did something that made me mad, ruffle my hair like I was a little kid or tease me. I think Andrew kind of knew how I felt because he told me, “Don’t let Michael bother you, he treats everyone like a little brother, it just keeps him from feeling so small. He’s a good guy to have around, you know he’s always got my back and I have his.” I didn’t care what Andrew said, I hated Michael more than anything, but I guess I was getting used to having him around too.
Andrew cried a lot at his funeral. I cried a little too. I couldn’t believe he was dead, couldn’t believe something this horrible had happened. However I felt about him, Michael had never ever deserved this. The whole next year was different, because Andrew’s family moved away to a different neighborhood and Andrew and I didn’t share a single class anymore. Hanging out with him wasn’t the same. I couldn’t talk about it to anyone but the therapist I went to all year long and I struggled with intense feelings of guilt for not liking Michael, for actually hating him when all he wanted was to be friends. It took a long time for the feeling of remorse and horror to fade, every time I happened to pass his house or went to the park to play frisbee I felt it. “I’m sorry, Michael. I’m really sorry.” I’d whisper over and over, hoping his ghost, or angel or whatever it was would hear me. I knew he couldn’t hear me, that I was really saying it to myself, but it made me feel better to apologize.
But, sometimes, bigger troubles come to fill the place of the ones you thought were the worst. Every other Sunday I had to go live with my mom and my step-dad for a week. He was ok, at first, but he was always bugging me to go out and play more, said I played too many video games, didn’t hang out with friends enough, didn’t do this or that. Gradually I realized he just didn’t want me around him. When I went back to school if I was home I had to be either studying or doing yard work otherwise he’d start yelling at me again. It got so bad I started asking my dad if I could just stay with him for an extra week instead of going back to my mom’s house.
“Just talk to your mom, John. Tell her how you feel, she’ll understand.” He said. “Maybe you guys can find a balance, because you should be helping out with yardwork and doing your homework anyway. That’s not a bad thing.”
So I told my mom how I felt, that Brad wouldnt leave me alone and he always treated me like crap. She didn’t really help. I don’t know if she talked to him or not, but things seemed to get a lot worse after that. If he ever had anything to say to me it was to insult me or to tell me to go outside. I always knew he didn’t like me, but now I was beginning to think he actually hated me. Sometimes I’d catch him staring with burning anger in his eyes, and I’d take whatever I was doing and go up to my room to get away from it. I complained to my dad again and he said he’d talk to mom about it. But then he was called away on a business trip that week, and at the same time mom was gone for a business trip of her own. I was left alone with Brad.
The first night he was gone all night long. I am not even kidding, I played video games late on a school night and fell asleep on the couch, only to hear him come in at five in the morning. I have no idea where he was all night but he was drunk when he came back. I had to call Andrew’s mom to bring me to school. When she got there, she asked why couldn’t Brad do it and I told her, and she got this worried, depressed look on her face. I hate seeing that look, it makes me feel like adults aren’t really in control. “I’ll have to tell Alice. You should come stay with us until she gets back.” She told me. “I’ll get your stuff after school.” I almost liked that less. However bad Brad was, Andrew’s step-dad was ten times worse. He threatened Andrew a couple times and started a huge family scene when we found out Andrew’s sister was pregnant. He almost threw her out of the house but Andrew’s mom called his real dad and they dealt with it. Lynn ended up moving out soon after anyway, but neither she nor Andrew like being around while their step-dad was there.
Anyway it was arranged that I spent the night at Andrew’s for the next few nights. It was cool hanging out with him again, though it was still different and we got in trouble the very first day. We’d been outside shooting bb guns at cans set up in the trees in Andrew’s backyard, came in hungry and thirsty and bugged his mom for something to eat. When she said that there was nothing to eat, Andrew mumbled “Come on, mom, there’s no way you could’ve eaten all our food.”
My aunt’s voice rose. “Andrew Christian Pierce! Don’t you dare tell me that. You get what you need when you need it and a lot more besides! Now go put those damn guns away!” It was the first time I had heard my aunt cuss.
“What’s all this noise?” I cringed inwardly when Andrew’s step-dad came in. He wasn’t too big, only an inch taller than my aunt, but he was bigger than us and angry looking and constantly verbally or emotionally abusive towards the family. I was scared of him. He looked at us, pointed his finger at Andrew. “You! Get your ass out of the kitchen right now before I throw it out. What’s that skinny kid doing here?” He growled at my aunt as he looked at me. She brushed her hair out of her face. “He’s staying with us for a few days, James.”
“Not without my permission he’s not! You’re letting another whiny little brat stay here? You can’t even keep control of your own kids!” He yelled at her, his face flushing. My aunt gritted her teeth and Andrew and I escaped from the kitchen as their shouting match started. It didn’t get any better the next few days. Finally, the day before mom was supposed to come back, things came to a climax. I’d been feeling weird all day, it’d been an unusually warm afternoon and the air-conditioning wasn’t working in my last class so the teacher opened the window. I was lucky, my seat was next to it and I felt the breeze first. Warm sweat ran down my neck as I listened to the cicadas drone on and on in the August heat and began to get this sick feeling.
“Mom, where are you going?” Andrew called to her as she went to the car. She didn’t answer, just got into the car and drove away. We went inside and saw Andrew’s step-dad watching TV and drinking beer.
“Your mom’s gone for awhile.” He grunted. “You better not give me any trouble.” As we walked past him he swiveled in the overstuffed chair to look at us. “Hey.” He threw a frisbee at Andrew. “Go play outside for awhile.” Andrew looked down at it and I knew he was thinking about Michael. “I SAID GO!” James roared. We stayed out there all afternoon, tossing the frisbee back and forth.
“Yeah. Every time I go by that park.”
“Me too.” He tossed the frisbee half-heartedly and it landed a few feet from me. I didn’t even pick it up. Andrew walked over and got it, then he threw it high and far into the trees behind his house. “Let’s do something else.” We picked up his baseball mitts that were lying around his yard and began to play catch. “I hate it when mom’s not here.” He said. “Especially once James started hitting me when she’s gone.” I remembered him showing me the bruises and making me promise not to tell anyone, because James said if he told he’d hurt the family. “He really scares me.”
“Me too.” I picked up the baseball bat and he pitched. I swung, connected and it also went into the trees. We stood staring after it for a moment. A wind blew around the yard, ruffling Andrew’s dark hair and making goosebumps rise on my arm. Then it was gone, replaced by the warm, sticky heat and an unsettling quiet. The sun had begun to set, the cicadas had gone quiet and dark clouds were rolling in. I shivered. “Let’s go inside.” I said, the uneasiness from earlier today stirring inside my stomach.
Andrew turned his head to watch as the sun, a blazing, orange globe entangled in the trees, sank a little further. The sun turned him into a black silhouette. “This can’t last much longer.” He said quietly. “Something is going to happen.” We went back into the house, leaving all his baseball stuff out in the yard.
The TV was still going and Andrew’s step-dad was still in front of it, the only difference is that he now had a cigaret in his mouth. Andrew grabbed some food from the shelf while I drank from the sink. It was piled full of dirty dishes and I had to move some of them aside to reach the faucet. We had poptarts and milk for dinner and were talking about our history teacher, apparently the school had given us the same teachers but at different times, when James came into the kitchen.
“Where’s my frishbee?” He slurred. We looked at him, didn’t say anything. We watched, waited to see what he would do. He came closer and grabbed Andrew, “Where’sh my frishbee?” He yelled again.
“W-we left it outside somewhere” Andrew said. His eyes were wide and I knew he was scared of his step-dad. I sat with my half-eaten poptart in my hand, being very quiet. James backhanded his stepson and turned his bloodshot eyes to me.
“Go get it, John.” I slid off my chair and pulled open the glass door. Outside the sun had sunk farther behind the trees and the sky was rapidly darkening. The clouds had not moved, they just sat above the house in an ominous mass, waiting. It felt like something else was waiting out there too. I could see the bright orange edge of the frisbee at the edge of the bank where the yard slipped away into trees and a little stream, and the dread I’d felt all day culminated in my chest. I turned back to see James right behind me.
“I-I don’t want to go out there.” I mumbled.
“Whatsa mattr? You a coward like Andrew here? You afraid of the dark?” He sneered, the beer on his breath wafting down to me.
I was afraid of this dark. Normally nighttime didn’t scare me, but today something didn’t feel right. “Can’t I get it tomorrow?” I whined. He grabbed me and put his burning cigarette against my skin. I screamed and writhed and he snarled into my face. “I said go get it.” He dropped me, and with the little round circle burning with pain just beneath my left eye I ran out the kitchen door into the overshadowed backyard, sniffling. Halfway towards the trees my bare feet seemed to slow of their own accord. I could see the bright piece of color at the edge of the embankment was just a piece of plastic, meaning the frisbee was even farther into the woods, and I had to go find it in the dark. The creeping fear took over me again.
I looked back, and couldn’t see Andrew or his step-dad in the kitchen. Everything was getting dark. I could just barely see the baseball mitt on the ground where Andrew dropped it, but I didn’t see the bat anymore. I started moving towards the woods, my fear gripping me so tight I almost couldn’t breath. I stepped on twigs and rocks but my feet didn’t feel anything. It was so warm out, and way too still. I entered the trees and breathed a sigh of relief to see the frisbee sitting on a branch at the other side of the stream.
The stream itself was shallow but the bank was steep, and I had a little trouble getting down it in the dark. I dropped down into the streambed and walked across the stream, up to my knees in the warm water and my ankles in squishy, soft mud. On the other side I climbed up and had to pull myself up the gnarly roots to reach the little branch where the frisbee was waiting. I could barely see the frisbee as I reached for it, so eager to get it so I could get back inside. Chills ran down my spine at the silence behind me and I couldn’t help looking over my shoulder. The loud, dumb laugh came out of nowhere. I jumped and screamed, my fingers jabbing against the frisbee and causing it to slide down between the roots and the dirt bank. It landed on a face. Dead blue eyes staring into mine and I screamed loud as a boy rose from where he’d been squatting underneath the roots of the tree. He had a baseball bat in his hands. I lost my grip and fell backwards, landing with a splash in warm water as he stood over me.
“What’s up buddy?”
My heart was pounding hard in my chest and my ears were ringing. I stared slack jawed up at a figure in the night, then I turned and clawed my way back up the embankment and sprinted hard across the yard, not stopping until I was through the sliding glass doors and in the kitchen. I stood there, trembling and shaking, the table between me and the door and James and Andrew in front of me. I started to cry. James knocked me to the ground when he saw that I didn’t have his frisbee but I didn’t feel it. I couldn’t explain what I had seen and the terror was too fresh and real to make room for anything else. They both stared at me, they didn’t see the figure moving across the backyard towards them.
As the frisbee dropped onto the kitchen floor. I realized with another painful jolt that the door rebounded just enough when I slammed it in my rush to get inside, for someone to push the frisbee through. Michael was standing right outside the glass, staring in at us. His fingers followed the frisbee through the crack and the door slowly began to slide open. The light from the living room illuminated his pale body, his features, grinning and lifeless. One side of his body was spattered with blood and twisted, the other side streaked with red-brown dirt. He came in as we stared at him and looked down at me on the floor, over at Andrew who sat at the table, whos face was bloody from James. He looked at each of us in turn, and we stared back, no one knowing what to do. All of a sudden Michael was standing in front of me, and he put his finger on the burn mark on my face.
“Is he hurting you guys?” He looked at James. “Are you hurting my friends?”
James stumbled backwards and Michael stepped forward, a baseball bat hanging from his hand. Andrew and I could do nothing as he followed James to his room. There was a drunken scream and crack, followed by more screams, then Michael came back out. “Don’t go in there.” He looked at me and I sucked in my breath, nauseated and horrified. “What are you doing here on a school night?”
“It’s because of your step-dad, right?” I was too terrified to nod. Michael’s skin was translucent in its whiteness and blue veins stood out in the dark kitchen. His unnaturally pale hand reached for me, I closed my eyes tight and felt a hand ruffle my hair and heard the phone dialing. “Don’t worry,” Michael told me, “Everything is gonna be fine.”
We heard the door open and turned to see my step-dad walking into the house, drunk. He stopped in the doorway, eyes wide and staring. Michael sat between Andrew and I, we started playing video games with Michael when he asked if we wanted to, both of us to terrified to do anything other than what he asked. I saw Brad’s eyes travel down Michael and up again. In the bright living room light the slpattered blood showed luminescent, clear against his face and body. That, combined with the morgue-pale skin and the broken body, seemed to scare Brad more than anything.
“Meet my friend Michael.” I said.
Specifically the ones that say, “I understand.”
No you don’t, shut the fuck up.