When You Gotta Go, You Gotta Go
Larry was pathetic but he only suspected it. Everybody around him knew it for certain. Even those who didn’t know him. Nobody knew him. He barely knew himself. His house was silent. Even when there was noise.
He took great care when making food. That didn’t make him a good cook because he wasn’t. He took little care when doing anything else. That didn’t make him anything. Because he wasn’t. It was a miracle he wasn’t bullied at school. Some people deserve it. Larry didn’t deserve anything.
He drank tea and nothing else. Three sugars. It was too much really, but his Mum had died long ago. There was a way to stir, he believed, but there wasn’t. The man was a prick. A fucking prick.
People don’t always get what they deserve. He went shopping and was asked to sign up to donate a weekly amount to a charity. He was too much of a pussy to say no and besides, the girl seemed as if he she liked him. The second his pen had completed the form she turned away, saying nothing, and he knew he had been foolish.
What, he thought as he walked back home, was he to do? He had fulfilled all of his ambitions the second he came out the womb. What, after that, is there to do but survive? He turned up for work, a fuck boring fuck job, and then left at the end of the day. I don’t know what he did. He didn’t too really.
He decided to walk through the cemetery on the way home. It was something to do. He read the headstones. The older ones were the best ones. They seemed more genuine. A new headstone was a tragedy. An old one was beautiful. But who am I kidding? The man was a cunt, he didn’t think this shit. I did. He walked through hardly even understanding what he was looking at. Mortality had never entered his head and it never would. He had had no luck. But he didn’t know it.
He felt something. Maybe it was that he needed a piss…it was. He walked through the arch of the church to go onto the back and away from any prying eyes. Not that anybody would look at him. He hitched his top up and undid his fly. His pathetic purple cock fell out in a dribble. He tensed his bladder and it was a full minute before anything came out. When it did he exhaled…
“What the FUCK are you doing you DIRTY bastard?” and he froze. It was almost as if the piss had too. an arc of ice. He finished quickly and he heard it again. It was a girl no doubt about it. He stuffed it back into his pants and turned around. There were two of them. About fifteen. Oh god, he thought. Oh god. One of them approached him, repeatedly asking him what the FUCK he thought he was doing.
“Havi…having a…urinating.”
“You fucking geek. Urinating?! Ur-in-ating!!!” she really was a mean little bitch. Larry tried to walk past her but she blocked his move everytime. He had no idea what to do. He could not look her in the eye. He stared blankly down and hoped she would go away.
She started pushing him. “Please don’t” Larry begged her. “It’s not fair.” He empowered her with his own words. She had learned he was pathetic and was going to enjoy it. Like a cat pawing at a dazed mouse. She continued to push him, getting more and more vicious. The girl in the background said nothing. She might have been drunk. Larry turned back to his girl. The one calling him a dirty bastard as she tried to grab his neck. He wasn’t the tallest of men and she wasn’t the shortest of girls but he had a foot on her. He could step out of reach easily but she always advanced just as easily. And so it continued. Who can tell how long this went on for? It never even happened.
Five minutes passed and Larry began to grow tired. Hot tears streamed and she fucking loved it. He felt so small so little so unable to do anything about this situation. He had only had a piss and here she was making his life a misery because of it. He turned the other way and tried to get away in that direction. She followed, hurling abuse the whole time: “You FUCKING DIRTY BASTARD doing it on a fucking church…you dirty bastard.”
“I don’t believe in God.”
“What. WHAT did you say?”
“I said I don’t believe in God.”
“Well neither do I…” (and here Larry actually believed that they had found some common ground) …but some people do and you’re PISSING on their church.” He began to redden. She was making him feel bad for emptying his bladder. He carried on walking away. she carried on walking towards him. He had no idea where the other girl had gone.
He managed to get out from behind the church and out of the cemetery onto the road. And still the girl followed. She must have been drunk he thought, for nobody could be this bothered about such a menial thing as pissing. And still the girl followed. And still he walked away. she was an Egyptian mummy and he a bumbling Costello.
People can go through their whole life not expressing any real kind of emotion. It might be because they never felt like expressing an emotion. Me, I reckon it is more that they are incapable. Practice makes perfect. Expressing oneself all the time allows you to hone that idea. Not doing doesn’t. It comes out confused. Larry was never really able to comprehend a situation, let alone command one. And it was the bane of his life and it would be forever. Until he died. And maybe even then…
And so it was as much a surprise to me as it might be to you, and definitely as much as it was to Larry, and probably the fifteen year old girl too, when Larry turned around and punched the girl so hard in the face that he broke her eyeball straight away. There was no blood, just a hollow sucking noise. And then he followed through before she had time to reel back. Into her cheek. She landed and the back of her head cracked the pavement and he bent down and he punched her again and again and he stood up and kicked her in her face and he wasn’t really thinking, he was holding her responsible for everything subverted in his life and he jumped onto her face with both feet and she wasn’t making any noise anymore and still he continued and then he sat on her chest and pounded at her face some more. You could no longer tell that her face was that of a girls. You could no longer tell her face was a face. He had ruined her like she had ruined him. He crushed her fingers under his foot before he walked off. both hands.
When the police battered his door down twenty minutes later he was sat in a chair in the corner, crying, with a cup of tea in his hand. Three sugars.
24th July 2006
He took great care when making food. That didn’t make him a good cook because he wasn’t. He took little care when doing anything else. That didn’t make him anything. Because he wasn’t. It was a miracle he wasn’t bullied at school. Some people deserve it. Larry didn’t deserve anything.
He drank tea and nothing else. Three sugars. It was too much really, but his Mum had died long ago. There was a way to stir, he believed, but there wasn’t. The man was a prick. A fucking prick.
People don’t always get what they deserve. He went shopping and was asked to sign up to donate a weekly amount to a charity. He was too much of a pussy to say no and besides, the girl seemed as if he she liked him. The second his pen had completed the form she turned away, saying nothing, and he knew he had been foolish.
What, he thought as he walked back home, was he to do? He had fulfilled all of his ambitions the second he came out the womb. What, after that, is there to do but survive? He turned up for work, a fuck boring fuck job, and then left at the end of the day. I don’t know what he did. He didn’t too really.
He decided to walk through the cemetery on the way home. It was something to do. He read the headstones. The older ones were the best ones. They seemed more genuine. A new headstone was a tragedy. An old one was beautiful. But who am I kidding? The man was a cunt, he didn’t think this shit. I did. He walked through hardly even understanding what he was looking at. Mortality had never entered his head and it never would. He had had no luck. But he didn’t know it.
He felt something. Maybe it was that he needed a piss…it was. He walked through the arch of the church to go onto the back and away from any prying eyes. Not that anybody would look at him. He hitched his top up and undid his fly. His pathetic purple cock fell out in a dribble. He tensed his bladder and it was a full minute before anything came out. When it did he exhaled…
“What the FUCK are you doing you DIRTY bastard?” and he froze. It was almost as if the piss had too. an arc of ice. He finished quickly and he heard it again. It was a girl no doubt about it. He stuffed it back into his pants and turned around. There were two of them. About fifteen. Oh god, he thought. Oh god. One of them approached him, repeatedly asking him what the FUCK he thought he was doing.
“Havi…having a…urinating.”
“You fucking geek. Urinating?! Ur-in-ating!!!” she really was a mean little bitch. Larry tried to walk past her but she blocked his move everytime. He had no idea what to do. He could not look her in the eye. He stared blankly down and hoped she would go away.
She started pushing him. “Please don’t” Larry begged her. “It’s not fair.” He empowered her with his own words. She had learned he was pathetic and was going to enjoy it. Like a cat pawing at a dazed mouse. She continued to push him, getting more and more vicious. The girl in the background said nothing. She might have been drunk. Larry turned back to his girl. The one calling him a dirty bastard as she tried to grab his neck. He wasn’t the tallest of men and she wasn’t the shortest of girls but he had a foot on her. He could step out of reach easily but she always advanced just as easily. And so it continued. Who can tell how long this went on for? It never even happened.
Five minutes passed and Larry began to grow tired. Hot tears streamed and she fucking loved it. He felt so small so little so unable to do anything about this situation. He had only had a piss and here she was making his life a misery because of it. He turned the other way and tried to get away in that direction. She followed, hurling abuse the whole time: “You FUCKING DIRTY BASTARD doing it on a fucking church…you dirty bastard.”
“I don’t believe in God.”
“What. WHAT did you say?”
“I said I don’t believe in God.”
“Well neither do I…” (and here Larry actually believed that they had found some common ground) …but some people do and you’re PISSING on their church.” He began to redden. She was making him feel bad for emptying his bladder. He carried on walking away. she carried on walking towards him. He had no idea where the other girl had gone.
He managed to get out from behind the church and out of the cemetery onto the road. And still the girl followed. She must have been drunk he thought, for nobody could be this bothered about such a menial thing as pissing. And still the girl followed. And still he walked away. she was an Egyptian mummy and he a bumbling Costello.
People can go through their whole life not expressing any real kind of emotion. It might be because they never felt like expressing an emotion. Me, I reckon it is more that they are incapable. Practice makes perfect. Expressing oneself all the time allows you to hone that idea. Not doing doesn’t. It comes out confused. Larry was never really able to comprehend a situation, let alone command one. And it was the bane of his life and it would be forever. Until he died. And maybe even then…
And so it was as much a surprise to me as it might be to you, and definitely as much as it was to Larry, and probably the fifteen year old girl too, when Larry turned around and punched the girl so hard in the face that he broke her eyeball straight away. There was no blood, just a hollow sucking noise. And then he followed through before she had time to reel back. Into her cheek. She landed and the back of her head cracked the pavement and he bent down and he punched her again and again and he stood up and kicked her in her face and he wasn’t really thinking, he was holding her responsible for everything subverted in his life and he jumped onto her face with both feet and she wasn’t making any noise anymore and still he continued and then he sat on her chest and pounded at her face some more. You could no longer tell that her face was that of a girls. You could no longer tell her face was a face. He had ruined her like she had ruined him. He crushed her fingers under his foot before he walked off. both hands.
When the police battered his door down twenty minutes later he was sat in a chair in the corner, crying, with a cup of tea in his hand. Three sugars.
24th July 2006