Among the Stars

I’m shoulder to shoulder with murderers and pedophiles knee-deep in pig guts. I stuff another heaping handful of intestines into the sack tied to my waist wondering when they’ll open the doors so I can finally take a shit or if I’ll have to do that business right here and now. I notice Charlie collapse into the stinking pool of gore, exhaustion-induced unconsciousness. I wade over to his side as fast as I can before any Fabricants spot him. Pulling him out of the pool took nearly all my strength and I could feel my muscles tear and pain firing from every neuron. “Come on, buddy. On your feet.” I felt a stream of shit fall down my leg. Relief.

Charlie’s head surfaced, eyes still closed. I smacked him twice before he flinched and stared at me with wild eyes. “Put the puppies in the fire!” Charlie said.

He struggled to his feet while grabbing for my neck. I was too tired to defend myself and allowed his hands to close around my neck and shove me down. I was on my knees while Charlie strangled me and I could feel his nails digging deeper into my throat and wondered how bad the wounds would get infected.

“Charles, my lovely boy! Put those puppies in the goddamn fire before I tan your hide!” he said.

“Charlie,” I whispered.

Just as I feel myself slipping, his hands leave my neck and I fall face first into the pig guts. I look up, gag, see the back of someones jumpsuit and another man, presumably Charlie, thrashing wildly before him.

Don’t kill the poor bastard, I thought. Charlie had it worse than all of us in terms of sentencing. At least we got 3 meals and a bedroll while he was on the receiving end of countless torture devices and biological experiments conducted by Fabricants. It’s funny, though. They could be torturing any of us, and in a sense they do, but not the way they do Charlie. Whatever he did must’ve been real bad. Bad enough that they drill holes in his head every night and his screams fill the prison and they echo through your dreams and you wake up with this lingering sadness, this sense of disaster that you can’t quite understand until you see that look in Charlies eyes. That blank stare and crooked smile. The shaved off eyebrows, dimpled chin, hollow cheeks, long, thin black hair. I watch him at breakfast shovel gruel into his mouth with trembling lips but a steady hand. His actions are cold and calculated, an automation. I remember the look on his face when we were in processing and he asked me what I was in for.

“Child prostitution, first-degree murder, necrophilia, cannibalism, trespassing. You?”

He couldn’t even answer, he just stopped breathing and looked at me. I asked him if there was a problem and he just kept staring. I grabbed him by the shirt and shoved him up against the wall and told him I’d take pleasure in fucking him after I kill him that night. It wasn’t until later at dinner that he sat with me and apologized and asked if there was anything he could do to avoid becoming a dead man and naturally I made him my wife up until the Fabricants took him away. I guess I loved him, because when they took him I cried and I screamed and tried to kill myself by jumping off the second floor but got two broken legs and 5 months in solitary for that. When I was put back into general population I asked around for Charlie and was told to wait until nighttime and I’d hear him. I’ve listened to his screams for the past 6 years. When he was finally put back on work duty in the slaughterhouse I tried talking to him but he was already gone, mentally on another planet. It didn’t matter, I still tried talking to him everyday, and everyday he would have psychotic breaks and tried killing me more times than I can count. He successfully killed 14 other inmates but received no punishment because the Fabricants look at is as a natural way of cleaning up the prison population. And if I ever heard even the slightest plan of someone offing Charlie, I killed them. He needs me.

I told him this one day and for the briefest moment, I felt like he was back again. He looked at me strangely and said, “I ran a bookstore. That’s all I ever did”

I know I could get up and save Charlie, pull this mother fucker off him and save him from being murdered. But something kept me still, something convinced me it was his time to go and I watched him stop struggling and the man in the jumpsuit stand up and walk away like nothing ever happened. Charlie was gone,

I’ll miss him.

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Taint Love

Wakeup 5:06 in a pool of

my own vomit and piss

Roll over on my side

give the blonde corpse a kiss

Then I seduce her

Clit feels like a frozen pea between two ice packs and me

She’s not a ginger but her pussy’s red

fuck her ass, rotten and dead

Pull out and look at my dick

shriveled and stinking

I’m gonna be sick

Wrap my hands around her neck

pucker my lips and give her a peck

thanks for the sex

Sugar Boy Santi

     I hate the sun. It burns my skin and brings out the worst in me. My balls sweat, my ass sweats, my back, and my pits. They all sweat and they all stink. Makes me hate myself so much more. I’m a vile piece of shit.

     I spit on the sidewalk as I start walking down my block. 30 minutes ago I was in the field by Hastings park smoking with some random. We matched, but his shit was pure fire. I always smoke good shit, but whatever he smoked me put me on my ass, literally. I couldn’t get up. I finally did after realizing I had to be home soon to watch my baby brother while mom went to work. I hate her so much, but for some reason I still care. Some part of me still cares about some part of her. Truth is, she makes me sick with anger and sadness. One time when I was younger I came home late from a friends birthday and she punched me so hard in the stomach I was puking and pissing blood. That was just one of many beatings I got. Seriously, fuck her, but she’s family. You have to stick with family, right? I’m not so sure about that these days.

     I pulled the pack of Marb Reds out of my pocket and felt for the half smoked one I was saving. I stopped to light it, took in a deep drag, and blew the silver cloud of smoke skyward. “Fuck you,” I said to no one in particular.

     That’s when I heard barking.

     To my left was a dog with its head buried in my neighbors shitty vegetable garden. Who the fuck has a vegetable garden in their front yard right next to the fucking road? This old, senile bitch that lives here, that’s who. Anyways, I burned the rest of my cig and flicked it into her yard before walking over to the garden. “Sup, pooch,” I said. “Who do you belong to?” It stopped digging to look back at me with the dumbest look on its face. I hate dogs. Especially this dog which was in my neighborhood without a god damn collar. “Looks like you’re mine now.”

     The dog went back to digging. I jogged next door to my house, my sweaty thighs grinding against each other like two slabs of rotten meat, increasing the moisture and stink with every stride. My mom was already in the driveway loading up her car with her lunch, coffee, and a change of clothes. She works downtown at a pub called Harry’s.

     “What’re you running for?” she asked.

     “I didn’t want to be late.”

     “Get inside and make your brother some food. He hasn’t eaten all day. You might have to change him too, he smells like shit.”

     “Got it.”

     “Hey,” she said.

     “What?”

     “Where’s my hug?”

     Fuck. I hate being touched. I held my breath and wrapped an arm around her, making sure only half my body touched.

     “You better love your mother. I do everything for you.”

     “Okay.”

     “I’ll be home in the morning. Don’t go anywhere, you can’t leave your brother home by himself.”

     I went into the house and walked through the family room to get to my room where I had the dog collar I found at Hastings about a year ago. I walked back out into the family room and noticed my brother was laying on his stomach watching cartoons. His diaper was off and he had shit caked all over his ass and a puddle of piss next to his head. I pulled back the curtains to make sure mom was gone. She was.

     I went into the kitchen and opened a bag of fruit snacks and brought them to my brother. “I’ll change you when I get back, okay?”

     He sat up and stuffed a handful of the gummies into his mouth, drooling all over himself. I rubbed the top of his head and went out the back door.

     My backyard is weird. There’s a massive forest behind the house but there’s a chain link fence blocking it off. Of course I dug a hole underneath to slide in and out of, and I plan to cut a section of the fence out soon. We also have a shed that was here when we moved in. It was stocked with a lawn mower, weed whacker, machetes, tools, ropes, lights, boxes of Christmas decorations, cans of gasoline, broken toys, an air rifle, golf clubs, frisbees, a wheelbarrow, and a volleyball net. I grabbed some rope, the machete and the pickaxe.

     I threw them over the fence. I then ran back to my neighbors garden. My taint burned. It’s full of hair and salty sweat grinding into my flesh. Whatever, I just got a new dog to play with. Of course it was still there digging for who-the-fuck-knows-what. I slapped the collar on it without a problem and walked it back to my place. The hardest part of this whole thing was getting the damn dog under the fence. So, yeah, I threw it over too.

     It whimpered as it hit the ground. It’s game on now. I’m practically alone back here. One neighbor is a reclusive old hag and the other neighbor just moved out. I pressed my knee into the dogs side to gain leverage while I tied its arms and legs together. It cried and barked, but never tried to bite. I’m willing to bet he was used as a watchdog and the owners realized he’s as useless as a broken smoke detector.

     I tied another end of the rope over a branch and levied the pooch so it was hanging upside down at eye level. Now it was trying to bite me. “It’s about time,” I said reaching into my pocket for the Marbs. I popped another 100 between my lips, sparked it, and sucked in for a few seconds before blowing out a mushroom cloud of cancer into the dogs face. I laughed, he whimpered. I pulled my fist over my head and brought it down on the dogs cheek. I heard my knuckle pop. The pooch yelped. I cut my finger on its teeth, wiped the blood on my shirt, and brought down three more punches on his face. He was sneezing and I noticed a little blood coming from its nose. I took a few more drags and stared at him with a deep loathing. I looked over at my tools. I didn’t want to kill him too fast so I grabbed the machete.

     I slapped it in the face with the blade. “Hey, buddy. What’s your name, huh? I’m sick of callin’ you pooch. What should I call you? How about Zeus? I like that one.” I hacked into Zeus’s side. The skin burst open and a gush of hot blood painted my face.

    “Fuck!” I said. It was in my god damn eyes and up my nose. I could hear the dog crying and barking and making other noises I didn’t even think dogs could make. Low whines mixed with high-pitched wails. I rubbed most of the blood out of my eyes with my shirt just enough to see again. Holy shit, did I hit a fucking artery? Zeus was swinging back and forth in pain, trying desperately to escape. It looked so ridiculous I laughed. There was a hole in his side the size of a coffee mug oozing blood like a leaky gutter. I swung the machete into its side again, hitting bone with a wet thwack causing me to nearly drop the machete. I starting cackling and realized I was burned all over my lips from the now extinguished cigarette. The dog was thrashing side to side so hard the wounds were tearing open even further, rivers of blood falling freely down its fur. I looked up at the sky and took in a few deep breaths. I was winded. The dog let out some low howls, I continued staring up at the sky. I could faintly hear my baby brother crying.

     I tossed the machete down and went for the pickaxe. I’m not much of a baseball player, but I know how to hold a bat. I held that pickaxe with perfect form like I was at the world series, bases loaded, all eyes on me. “Knock it outta the park, DiMaggio.” I swung with all my strength. The tip met ribs, broke ribs, and stuck into the tree, pinning the dog against it. What a site. It looked too perfect, like a photograph. I laughed, the pooch was silent, but shaking uncontrollably. I knew I did well, I knew it. Too bad nobody was around to see my work. They would be witnesses to a game-winning hit. I went back for the machete and executed the dog Los Zetas style. I sawed into its throat like I was cutting down a tree. Sweat poured down my face coating my cracked lips with salty blood. I was shaking almost as badly as the dog, my machete digging deeper into its throat. Beautiful crimson waves crashed over my hands. The blood smelled so metallic. I started sawing into the bone but couldn’t get it through the vertebrae. They make it look so easy in the videos. I was getting exhausted. I stopped sawing and started hacking. Each hit caused a small burst of blood to rocket towards me and explode all over my body. I started hacking harder and faster, the sensual feeling of being showered in blood driving every muscle in my body to keep going until the deed was done. I finally made it through the bone, threw down the machete, and used my hands to twist off the head.

     I held it up to the sun and smiled. The blood dripped down my arm and pooled in my armpit. I didn’t even want to shower.