Weeee! (When you're having fun, you refer to yourself and some other people.)
I'm going to be published in the next issue of the Giles Corey Press (yes, it's a Salem Witch Trials/The Crucible pun, funny huh?) which is the U of L independent, student-run literary magazine. Anyway, I've submitted to them before and not gotten accepted, but that was when I first got here and I was writing some mediocre weak-ass shit. So I'm really excited. (Also, I'm ready two really ghetto books at the same time for two different classes: Bomb the Suburbs by William Upski Wimsatt for my Pop Music class and The Coldest Winter Ever by Sister Souljah! for my African American novel class. Anyway, I think I'm picking up ghettoisms, like "weak-ass shit" for instance. Sorry for the inconvenience.)
Anyway, here's my award-winning piece, for those interested:
Richard leaned back in his chair, tilting his head to the side in order to hold his phone to his ear while casually playing around on the internet. It was a normal evening. He had gotten off work three hours earlier and had finished the required readings for his next day of classes. All that was left to finish out the day was his favorite part, his nightly call to Katy, his girlfriend, who was going to school two hours away.
Not long after Katy answered her phone, the couple had shared the more exciting details of their days and were engaged in the kind of small talk that only two young lovers can enjoy. Katy was playing a game on Yahoo and was attempting to explain the rules and details of it to Richard. Richard, on the other hand, was reading a humorous essay on McSweeneys.net, an online literary journal he frequently visited. He was trying to quote particularly funny passages to Katy. It was shaping up to be a pleasantly uneventful evening for the two of them.
Suddenly Katy said, “Honey, hang on a sec, someone’s knocking on my door.”
“Sure,” Richard answered. He hated people interrupting their conversations, but he had been trying not to make Katy feel guilty for having visitors. Richard was a very jealous guy, and he saw no problem with it, as long as he didn’t allow his jealousy to move into possessiveness. He and Katy had talked about it on several occasions, and they were finally reaching a happy medium in their relationship.
As he held the phone to his ear waiting for Katy to come back, Richard couldn’t help but hear what was going on in Katy’s room.
“Why are you rubbing my head?” He heard Katy ask the unknown (to Richard) visitor.
The visitor was too far away from the phone to be understood, but Richard could tell one thing from the muffled voice: the visitor was male.
“Shut up,” Katy said to the visitor. “You’re disgusting.”
Again, Richard couldn’t understand the visitor’s reply, but he was fairly confident that it was Jason. Katy had told him about this Jason guy who always hit on her. It was infuriating. Richard believed Katy when she told him that she had no feelings for and felt no attraction to Jason. Richard trusted Katy. Now, this Jason fucker, Richard didn’t trust so much. Really, guys in general, Richard didn’t trust. After all, he was one, and he had many friends who were also guys. He knew their tendencies. Usually they were self-interested, vile, jerks. And Jason was definitely no exception.
The conversation between Katy and Jason continued to go on, but Richard barely heard any more. He found himself slipping into the world of his imagination. Richard had found that having a girlfriend, especially one who lived far away, did not go very well with having a vivid imagination. Unfortunately for Richard, he had both.
At first, Richard found himself imagining that Katy really did like Jason. He started to think that, not only did she not mind his repeated sexual advances, rather, she actually enjoyed them. Ever since she’d started taking Paxil last year, Katy had been much less interested in sex. She blamed the new medication’s sexual side effects, and usually Richard believed her. Now was not one of those times, unfortunately. At this moment, Richard was pretty sure that Katy’s disinterest in sex with him had a lot more to do with Jason than with Paxil.
Luckily for Richard, his mind quickly wandered away from the idea of Jason and Katy as sexual partners-before an actual trashy-hotel-room-porno sex scene played out, thank God-and moved on to a much more pleasant area to explore: torturing and murdering Jason.
First, Richard imagined walking into Katy’s room right after Jason started to rub Katy’s head.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing, asshole?” He imagined yelling after bursting through the door-no, kicking down the door like cops do.
Before that asshole could even so much as say, “Uh,” imaginary Richard punched imaginary Jason in the face, enjoying the strange crunch noise, the splatter of blood, and even the sharp pain in his hand.
“You’re gonna die, motherfucker,” Richard said, smiling in that way that only the crazy, badass guys in movies can do.
After kicking imaginary Jason in the ribs and groin a few times, imaginary Richard pulled imaginary Katy’s TV off its stand and dropped it on imaginary Jason’s head. The combination of the TV tubes exploding and imaginary Jason’s skull cracking was almost like music. Finally, imaginary Richard calmed down in time for imaginary Katy to throw her arms around him, declaring, “My hero,” in a perfect damsel-in-distress voice.
Richard was just beginning his next imaginary confrontation with Jason-he was going to set fire to that unconscious motherfucker after kicking his ass in this one-when Katy picked up the phone.
“Okay, baby,” she said. “Sorry that took so long.”
“Was that Jason?” Richard asked.
“Yes, I could not get him to leave.”
“Next time that fucking son of a bitch comes in your room and bothers you, you tell him to get the fuck out. Don’t be so nice to him and maybe he’ll go away. And if he doesn’t then I’ll just kill that motherfucker.”
“Sweetheart, it’s okay. Calm down. He’s annoying, but it really isn’t that big of a deal.”
“But it is. It is that big of a deal, unless… Katy, you don’t like him, do you?”
“Of course not. You know I love you, Richie.”
“Promise?”
“Promise.”
“Well, if Jason doesn’t learn to leave you the fuck alone, he’s going to find himself breathing his last breaths in a pool of his own blood.”
“Aw, you’re so cute when you get violently jealous like this.”
“I’m not cute. I’m fucking pissed. I want to kill that scumbag, piece of shit, motherfucker. I want him dead.”
“You’re sweet.”
“I am not,” Richard said, trying to stay mad, but feeling himself beginning to smile.
“You are.”
“Okay, maybe I am, but I still want to kill that fucker.”
“Okay, sweetie. Oh, hey, wait a second. Someone’s at the door again.”
“If it’s that Jason bastard again, you tell him to leave you the fuck alone.”
“Okay, hang on.”
There was a light clattering sound as Katy set the phone down. Richard listened as Katy answered the door.
“Oh, hi Jason,” he heard her say.
After Jason spoke-shit, Richard thought, that fucker’s too far away from the phone to hear again-Richard heard Katy say, “Not right now, I’m really busy. Could you come back later?”
Come back later? Why the hell is she asking him to come back later? What the fuck is going on? Richard thought as he tightened his grip on the phone. At that moment, all he could do was grind his teeth and wonder what Katy meant by what she was saying to Jason. Richard felt the dull throb of blood rushing to his head and he was finding it increasingly difficult to think clearly.
Suddenly, Richard knew what he had to do. He would have to go to Katy and find out what was going on. Maybe he would catch her in the act of something terrible, or maybe there was a perfectly logical explanation. All he knew was that this situation would have to be worked out face to face. After slamming the phone onto its cradle and snatching his keys from his desk, Richard ran out of his room and outside, not noticing that he had removed his shoes earlier and was now running through the still-thriving puddles from the afternoon’s cold, autumn rain in his socks.
After nearly breaking off his key in the car door, Richard threw the door open and then jumped in, pulling the door shut behind him in one quick motion. Again, he had trouble with the key, only this time his shaking hands couldn’t seem to find the ignition. Finally, a random jab found its mark, and Richard turned the key hard, grinding the starter a little in the process. As the car grunted to life, Richard’s CD player came on as well and Tom Waits pointed out in that growling demonic troubadour voice that God was away on business. As Richard threw his car into reverse and roared out of his parking spot, he couldn’t help but agree. His car awkwardly jerked into a stop as Richard slammed the gearshift into drive. The tires squealed as the car, with Richard boiling inside, tore through the parking lot in the direction of the street.
Then, as the car left the parking lot, everything stopped. Or not really stopped, but slowed down, rather. Or maybe not really slowed down, but changed. Richard felt his forehead begin to furrow in confusion. Before he could look around and decide what had happened, Richard felt an instant of cold on the side of his head, a few inches above his left ear, then warmth slowly spreading down from there.
Noticing that his eyes were closed, Richard opened them and saw only a blur. I’ve gone blind, he thought. Then, he realized that the blur he was seeing was the Louisville street that he had pulled out onto a few minutes ago.
Has it really been a few minutes since I got into my car? He wondered. No, it couldn’t have been more than 15 seconds since I got in. What’s going on?
Just as it was occurring to Richard that the blur was going in a circle instead of flying by in a straight line, there was another impact and the spinning stopped.
The car stopped, at least. Richard, however, kept going. As he hit the windshield and continued his descent to the asphalt in a shower of glass shards, Richard’s mind began to race.
I’m having a wreck, someone hit my car, someone hit me, I should have worn my seatbelt, mom always said, this is what I get, maybe I’m dreaming, maybe I’m…
As he hit the pavement, pain exploded through his body and Richard felt himself thrown back into reality for a moment. Just as quickly, however, Richard could feel consciousness leaving him. It seemed to be slowly leaking out of his body in the same way that he knew his blood was doing.
It became clear to Richard that he was going to die. His ears were full of a sound like paper being torn and he knew his soul was pulling away from his body. Only having a few minutes left to live, he remembered that he had always promised himself that if he ever lived to a point were he could see the approach of his own death, he would make good use of his last moments, forgiving everyone with whom he had ever been angry. He knew that he should try to do just that, because if there was any sort of afterlife-and he wasn’t really sure whether Heaven, or whatever, was real or not-he would look pretty good when he came in. Instead, Richard found his mind wandering elsewhere.
With his last breaths, Richard thought, she’s fucking him. She’s fucking him right now while I’m dying. She’s lying in her bed while I’m lying out on the asphalt. She’s screaming with pleasure while I find myself unable to scream in agony. She’s fucking him right now, I’m sure of it. I can’t believe she’s fucking him as I die. How could she do this to me?
You can leave comments and let me know what you think, but really, I don't care what you think, because I'm getting published, wheter you like it or not. (Just kidding.)
Anyway, here's my award-winning piece, for those interested:
Richard leaned back in his chair, tilting his head to the side in order to hold his phone to his ear while casually playing around on the internet. It was a normal evening. He had gotten off work three hours earlier and had finished the required readings for his next day of classes. All that was left to finish out the day was his favorite part, his nightly call to Katy, his girlfriend, who was going to school two hours away.
Not long after Katy answered her phone, the couple had shared the more exciting details of their days and were engaged in the kind of small talk that only two young lovers can enjoy. Katy was playing a game on Yahoo and was attempting to explain the rules and details of it to Richard. Richard, on the other hand, was reading a humorous essay on McSweeneys.net, an online literary journal he frequently visited. He was trying to quote particularly funny passages to Katy. It was shaping up to be a pleasantly uneventful evening for the two of them.
Suddenly Katy said, “Honey, hang on a sec, someone’s knocking on my door.”
“Sure,” Richard answered. He hated people interrupting their conversations, but he had been trying not to make Katy feel guilty for having visitors. Richard was a very jealous guy, and he saw no problem with it, as long as he didn’t allow his jealousy to move into possessiveness. He and Katy had talked about it on several occasions, and they were finally reaching a happy medium in their relationship.
As he held the phone to his ear waiting for Katy to come back, Richard couldn’t help but hear what was going on in Katy’s room.
“Why are you rubbing my head?” He heard Katy ask the unknown (to Richard) visitor.
The visitor was too far away from the phone to be understood, but Richard could tell one thing from the muffled voice: the visitor was male.
“Shut up,” Katy said to the visitor. “You’re disgusting.”
Again, Richard couldn’t understand the visitor’s reply, but he was fairly confident that it was Jason. Katy had told him about this Jason guy who always hit on her. It was infuriating. Richard believed Katy when she told him that she had no feelings for and felt no attraction to Jason. Richard trusted Katy. Now, this Jason fucker, Richard didn’t trust so much. Really, guys in general, Richard didn’t trust. After all, he was one, and he had many friends who were also guys. He knew their tendencies. Usually they were self-interested, vile, jerks. And Jason was definitely no exception.
The conversation between Katy and Jason continued to go on, but Richard barely heard any more. He found himself slipping into the world of his imagination. Richard had found that having a girlfriend, especially one who lived far away, did not go very well with having a vivid imagination. Unfortunately for Richard, he had both.
At first, Richard found himself imagining that Katy really did like Jason. He started to think that, not only did she not mind his repeated sexual advances, rather, she actually enjoyed them. Ever since she’d started taking Paxil last year, Katy had been much less interested in sex. She blamed the new medication’s sexual side effects, and usually Richard believed her. Now was not one of those times, unfortunately. At this moment, Richard was pretty sure that Katy’s disinterest in sex with him had a lot more to do with Jason than with Paxil.
Luckily for Richard, his mind quickly wandered away from the idea of Jason and Katy as sexual partners-before an actual trashy-hotel-room-porno sex scene played out, thank God-and moved on to a much more pleasant area to explore: torturing and murdering Jason.
First, Richard imagined walking into Katy’s room right after Jason started to rub Katy’s head.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing, asshole?” He imagined yelling after bursting through the door-no, kicking down the door like cops do.
Before that asshole could even so much as say, “Uh,” imaginary Richard punched imaginary Jason in the face, enjoying the strange crunch noise, the splatter of blood, and even the sharp pain in his hand.
“You’re gonna die, motherfucker,” Richard said, smiling in that way that only the crazy, badass guys in movies can do.
After kicking imaginary Jason in the ribs and groin a few times, imaginary Richard pulled imaginary Katy’s TV off its stand and dropped it on imaginary Jason’s head. The combination of the TV tubes exploding and imaginary Jason’s skull cracking was almost like music. Finally, imaginary Richard calmed down in time for imaginary Katy to throw her arms around him, declaring, “My hero,” in a perfect damsel-in-distress voice.
Richard was just beginning his next imaginary confrontation with Jason-he was going to set fire to that unconscious motherfucker after kicking his ass in this one-when Katy picked up the phone.
“Okay, baby,” she said. “Sorry that took so long.”
“Was that Jason?” Richard asked.
“Yes, I could not get him to leave.”
“Next time that fucking son of a bitch comes in your room and bothers you, you tell him to get the fuck out. Don’t be so nice to him and maybe he’ll go away. And if he doesn’t then I’ll just kill that motherfucker.”
“Sweetheart, it’s okay. Calm down. He’s annoying, but it really isn’t that big of a deal.”
“But it is. It is that big of a deal, unless… Katy, you don’t like him, do you?”
“Of course not. You know I love you, Richie.”
“Promise?”
“Promise.”
“Well, if Jason doesn’t learn to leave you the fuck alone, he’s going to find himself breathing his last breaths in a pool of his own blood.”
“Aw, you’re so cute when you get violently jealous like this.”
“I’m not cute. I’m fucking pissed. I want to kill that scumbag, piece of shit, motherfucker. I want him dead.”
“You’re sweet.”
“I am not,” Richard said, trying to stay mad, but feeling himself beginning to smile.
“You are.”
“Okay, maybe I am, but I still want to kill that fucker.”
“Okay, sweetie. Oh, hey, wait a second. Someone’s at the door again.”
“If it’s that Jason bastard again, you tell him to leave you the fuck alone.”
“Okay, hang on.”
There was a light clattering sound as Katy set the phone down. Richard listened as Katy answered the door.
“Oh, hi Jason,” he heard her say.
After Jason spoke-shit, Richard thought, that fucker’s too far away from the phone to hear again-Richard heard Katy say, “Not right now, I’m really busy. Could you come back later?”
Come back later? Why the hell is she asking him to come back later? What the fuck is going on? Richard thought as he tightened his grip on the phone. At that moment, all he could do was grind his teeth and wonder what Katy meant by what she was saying to Jason. Richard felt the dull throb of blood rushing to his head and he was finding it increasingly difficult to think clearly.
Suddenly, Richard knew what he had to do. He would have to go to Katy and find out what was going on. Maybe he would catch her in the act of something terrible, or maybe there was a perfectly logical explanation. All he knew was that this situation would have to be worked out face to face. After slamming the phone onto its cradle and snatching his keys from his desk, Richard ran out of his room and outside, not noticing that he had removed his shoes earlier and was now running through the still-thriving puddles from the afternoon’s cold, autumn rain in his socks.
After nearly breaking off his key in the car door, Richard threw the door open and then jumped in, pulling the door shut behind him in one quick motion. Again, he had trouble with the key, only this time his shaking hands couldn’t seem to find the ignition. Finally, a random jab found its mark, and Richard turned the key hard, grinding the starter a little in the process. As the car grunted to life, Richard’s CD player came on as well and Tom Waits pointed out in that growling demonic troubadour voice that God was away on business. As Richard threw his car into reverse and roared out of his parking spot, he couldn’t help but agree. His car awkwardly jerked into a stop as Richard slammed the gearshift into drive. The tires squealed as the car, with Richard boiling inside, tore through the parking lot in the direction of the street.
Then, as the car left the parking lot, everything stopped. Or not really stopped, but slowed down, rather. Or maybe not really slowed down, but changed. Richard felt his forehead begin to furrow in confusion. Before he could look around and decide what had happened, Richard felt an instant of cold on the side of his head, a few inches above his left ear, then warmth slowly spreading down from there.
Noticing that his eyes were closed, Richard opened them and saw only a blur. I’ve gone blind, he thought. Then, he realized that the blur he was seeing was the Louisville street that he had pulled out onto a few minutes ago.
Has it really been a few minutes since I got into my car? He wondered. No, it couldn’t have been more than 15 seconds since I got in. What’s going on?
Just as it was occurring to Richard that the blur was going in a circle instead of flying by in a straight line, there was another impact and the spinning stopped.
The car stopped, at least. Richard, however, kept going. As he hit the windshield and continued his descent to the asphalt in a shower of glass shards, Richard’s mind began to race.
I’m having a wreck, someone hit my car, someone hit me, I should have worn my seatbelt, mom always said, this is what I get, maybe I’m dreaming, maybe I’m…
As he hit the pavement, pain exploded through his body and Richard felt himself thrown back into reality for a moment. Just as quickly, however, Richard could feel consciousness leaving him. It seemed to be slowly leaking out of his body in the same way that he knew his blood was doing.
It became clear to Richard that he was going to die. His ears were full of a sound like paper being torn and he knew his soul was pulling away from his body. Only having a few minutes left to live, he remembered that he had always promised himself that if he ever lived to a point were he could see the approach of his own death, he would make good use of his last moments, forgiving everyone with whom he had ever been angry. He knew that he should try to do just that, because if there was any sort of afterlife-and he wasn’t really sure whether Heaven, or whatever, was real or not-he would look pretty good when he came in. Instead, Richard found his mind wandering elsewhere.
With his last breaths, Richard thought, she’s fucking him. She’s fucking him right now while I’m dying. She’s lying in her bed while I’m lying out on the asphalt. She’s screaming with pleasure while I find myself unable to scream in agony. She’s fucking him right now, I’m sure of it. I can’t believe she’s fucking him as I die. How could she do this to me?
You can leave comments and let me know what you think, but really, I don't care what you think, because I'm getting published, wheter you like it or not. (Just kidding.)