Copy Link
Add to Bookmark
Report
Fucked Up College Kids File 558
=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
= F.U.C.K. - Fucked Up College Kids - Born Jan. 24th, 1993 - F.U.C.K. =
=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
Deep Inside
-----------
I awoke from another nightmare. "My God, does it ever stop?" I asked myself
as I stood up and reached for a cigarette. She had invaded my dreams and
subconscious for four years now, and no matter what I did, what drugs I
took, she always came back.
I looked at the clock. 4:22. "God damn," I told myself, "four years since a
good nights sleep and I'm still alive. Barely." I was about to go insane
over all of this - first the stress of expulsion from school when I was a
teen, to the suffering and misery of not forgetting about a love that never
loved back. You'd think that it would pass, but hell. She was the perfect
girl, I always told everyone. I used to think we were made for each other.
I used to think there was a chance. I used to think I was human. I've
become a monster, I thought, deep inside I've become a monster. And there's
only one way to stop this--stop this for good.
I reached into the closet and pulled out an old attache case that my father
had given me. Inside, I saw my blue Smith & Wesson case. Fingers trembling,
cigarette in mouth, and sweat dripping down my face, I pulled out the case
and laid it on the bed open. I saw my silver, shining device of death. A
.357 snub-nose revolver that I had received as a teen from an ex-cop. What
a life I'd led. She must be still sleeping, I thought. She'd be at home,
alone, in bed. My thoughts ran away with me, I collapsed, and lay crooked
and bent on the bed like a child who'd been punished, crying and sobbing
her name. "WHY?!" I cried out. "WHY ME? WHY DID THIS HAVE TO FUCKING HAPPEN
TO ME? WHY CAN'T THIS ALL JUST STOP?! GOD, HELP ME SARAH! HELP ME!!!..."
I struggled to get my limp, broken soul erect again. Once more, I told
myself, once more I'd been damaged. I never escape it. She follows you,
tortures you, rapes your mind and corrupts your soul. Now. NOW.
I packed five brass-cased silver-tipped .38 shells into my .357, thinking a
different shell size might confuse the police. "They'd be looking for a
.38. The bore markings would be too close for them to think anything else."
I clothed myself, put my black bomber coat on, dropped my .357 into my
pocket, and walked out the door, heading for her flat. It took me 35
minutes to reach it, and I stood outside the door until about 6:00 looking
at the window, waiting for the lights to come on. Paranoid, heart pounding,
temperature rising. Pain returning to my limbs. That same teenage
nervousness of asking a girl out returned to me, as it always did when she
was in my vicinity. The lights flipped on. I walked slowly up the staircase
to her flat and knocked on the door. A pause. Another knock. By now my
entire body was limp and shaking, a cold sweat on my brow. My fingers
stroking the trigger and cylinder of my pistol like an act of foreplay. She
opened the door.
"What are you doing here? I thought I had made everything clear to you
years ago. I'm not interested in you or a relationship with you. It's
nothing personal, but you have to understand. I know you love me, but I'm
afraid I just cannot return that love. I'm sorry."
She started to close the door, and I stuck my foot in it to avoid another
night full of nightmares. "Sarah, I have to speak with you. Now. Just let
me in...I'll only be a couple minutes." The door re-opened. I walk inside.
"Let me go get dressed." She said as she walked towards her bedroom.
"Sarah, I can't wait anymore. I've been through too much torture. My mind
is destroyed. I have no life. I have no love. I have nothing."
I slowly pull out the revolver. Sarah, standing in her pajamas, starts to
run for the door. I grab her. I draw the pistol towards her, holding her
arm and counting to five in my head, and watch her. Watch the fear. Watch
the nightmare. It's your turn, Sarah, It's your turn. She closes her eyes.
She fears that she'll die. I pull the pistol from her head to mine, ease
the hammer back, and pull the trigger.
BLAM!
I awake from another nightmare. "My God, does it ever stop?"
Not when it's deep inside.
nate (ae)
nate@nets.com
nate@wiredsolutions.net
=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
= Questions, Comments, Bitches, Ideas, Rants, Death Threats, Submissions =
= Mail: jericho@dimensional.com (Mail is welcomed) =
=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
= To receive new issues through mail, mail majordomo@attrition.org with =
= "subscribe fuck". If you do not have FTP access and would like back =
= issues, send a list of any missing issues and they will be mailed. =
=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
= AnonFTP FTP.DIMENSIONAL.COM/users/jericho/FUCK =
= FTP.DTO.NET /pub/zines/fuck =
= FTP.ETEXT.ORG/pub/Zines/FUCK =
= WWW http://www.attrition.org/~fuck =
= http://aomt.netmegs.com/fuck =
=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
= (c) Copyright. All files copyright by the original author. =
=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
