Stand And Deliver (650 hits)
Category: UberMadness! EntryRating: 2 on 3 reviews (Rate this item) (V)
Submitted by Brandon Fabish <brandino_the_great.at.yahoo.com> (View user info) at 2004-10-24 23:10:15 EDT
This post was an official UberMadness! entry. Click here to view the original matchup.
Stand and deliver me from evil temptations.
Stand and deliver me from corrupt power.
Stand and deliver me from my heart's broken desires.
At two in the morning I'd usually be asleep in my bed, without worries, without troubles. My dreams would bring me comfort and solace. But tonight I'm sitting in my recliner staring at a candle that's been lit for hours. Its flame jumps every which-way causing the shadows to dance from the floor to the ceiling to the wall.
After staring at the candle for over an hour I start to zone out. The flicker of the flame begins to hypnotize me to a state of falsehood and disbelief. For a second I think I see my friend Benny in a white lab-coat on the other side of the room, but after a couple of blinks he is replaced by bouncing shadows.
I open the in-table drawer and take out another candle in which to lull me to sleep. The other one is nearly melted down to the stain finish of the table; it's only protection is the melted wax that slid down the candle and blotted up around the bottom.
I place the new candle on the table and use the old one to light it. The wax dribbles off the top lip of the candle and I place my hand underneath to keep it from ruining the table. After the new one is lit I blow the old one out and wait for the wax to dry in my hand.
Once the wax is dry I place my hand over the flame and slowly let it melt the wax. As a child my friends and I used to place this game all the time. The idea is to see who can get all the wax to melt off of their hand in one try. If you succeed then you are the winner.
By now the wax has completely melted off my hand, and the heat of the fire is starting to burn my hand. If you listen closely, you can hear it start to sizzle.
If no one succeeds in melting the wax off then you see who can do it in the least amount of tries. If you play this game enough you start to build up a higher pain threshold. Eventually you start mentally conditioning yourself not to think about it, and it becomes a whole lot easier to win.
My palm is blackened from the smoke and the flesh is pulling away from itself and curing back towards my fingers. All the skin on my palm is nearly gone and the fire is starting to cauterize the moist, bloody flesh.
If you do this long enough then your skin will adjust and start to build a callus on your palm. If you keep picking at the callus or burning it off then it will never heal. Having a callus guarantees you another thirty seconds of time to melt the wax, but if you've got a callus then that probably means your way past that stage.
The pain is unbearable and I slam my hand onto the candle, spraying melted wax and blistered skin everywhere. The smell of scalded flesh seeps into my nose and I think I'm going to get sick.
I look up and wonder what time it is and if I'll wake up in time for work tomorrow.
Sit and deliver me from unbearable pain.
Sit and deliver me from undeniable misery.
Sit and deliver me from cold, tired nothingness.
I work for the United States Post Office. It's not really a job I enjoy, but I've certainly had worse ways of making money. At least working for the USPS allows me the chance to make a difference to others.
When I woke up this morning I wanted to gnash my teeth until every single one of them shattered like glass. I had this terrible pain in my gum right above my left canine tooth. It's not something that is painful every once in a while, but more like a throbbing pain. With each beat of my heart, the blood pulsates through my veins and right up to my mouth; the pain is excruciating.
I clench my teeth the entire way to work and walk with my head down, ignoring everyone else. I get to work and Marina says, hi. I look up at her through my eyebrows and force a smile. I look at the schedule and thank nobody that I'm not working the desk today, and that I'll be in the back sorting packages and mail for seven hours.
I start at Box # 04 and find the mail for Mr. Stephons and put it in his slot. I notice a postcard in the pile so I take it back out and read it. His daughter, Florace, won't shut up about how big the buildings are in New York and how everyone is always yelling and how the construction is so loud that it wakes her up every morning.
And how good the pizza is and how cloudy the city is even when it's sunny out and how the word fuck is used so often it's practically a greeting and how Middle Eastern taxi drivers are the best navigators. Then she asks if they developed On-Star.
I take out my pen and write P.S. under Florace's jerk-off signature. I hit the back of the pen against the wall to extend the ball-point tip and write, I met this cute Asian delivery girl named Kim and I think we're in love. Please don't tell mom.
Tomorrow I'll check the obituary for Mr. Stephons of 218 Dead Drive.
I place the postcard back into Box # 04 and look down at the box I'd been sitting on. On every side in big black stencil print it says, Fragile. I kick it around until I see which side is supposed to be up, then I flip it upside down and grab the box-cutters from the counter.
I slide them down the flaps and open the box. Inside is a porcelain doll dressed like a hillbilly farmer. The price tag reads a number with three digits and I wonder who would pay so much for such a useless item. Even if it is a collector's edition it wouldn't be worth anything until after the owner died.
I use the box-cutters to break the nose off, and reseal the box, pushing it up towards the front desk where Marina is smiling like a mental patient.
At lunch time I sit and think of a way to get out of work early. I'm already here so I can't go home sick, although I could use my pulsating gum as an excuse. I run my tongue over the area and it feels like there is a marble shoved in between the bone and my gum.
I start to wonder if there is an empty box somewhere so I can seal myself in it and have them mail me to my house. But Marina was working here when I did it last year so it probably wouldn't work out.
Too bad I forgot to bring some flour so I could say we've had another anthrax scare. If they find out it was me I'd be fired, though. I got lucky last time and authorities claimed it was just a false alarm.
It looks like my only hope is to get some work done and then I can leave an hour early or so. I got all the packages moved in and all the mail sorted so Marina let me off work. I looked up at the clock and saw that I could meet Benny in the parking lot by the time I got there.
Benny works as a janitor for Hinesburg Elementary School, keeping the family tradition alive. He claims that it's actually not a bad job, but the only side-affect is that he can't eat oatmeal any more. I suppose after scooping dried oats over a seven year olds nearly digested lunch three or four times a week would make oatmeal seem as appetizing as shit.
On my way over to the school parking lot I can't help thinking about the throbbing pain in my mouth. I try to mask it out but it's become almost intolerable. I clench and unclench my jaw in an attempt to distract me, but it's no use.
I see Benny unlocking his car and he notices me walking towards him and motions for me to get in. He asks if I want to go back to my place to grab a beer and I say sure. When we get there Benny tells me about how at work today an eight year old girl fell off the merry-go-round and broke her nose and dislocated her shoulder. I asked him what he did to clean up the blood and he told me he just covered it with oatmeal.
Oatmeal must be the world's cheapest cover-up. No expensive surgery or make-up or clothing. Just a simple sprinkle of oatmeal will do the trick.
Benny notices that I'm straining to keep my composure and asks me what's wrong. I tell him about how I woke up this morning with a throbbing pain in my mouth. He asks me if he can take a look and I pry my mouth open for him to take a gander inside. He turns on the kitchen light and peers inside.
Go see a doctor, he tells me. I ask him why and he tells me to take a look for myself, so I go into the bathroom and look in the mirror. Right above my tooth is a large red bump about the size of a peanut. I go to poke it with my finger and my knees buckle because of the pain. I go back to the kitchen and tell Benny I'm going to sleep it off and make an appointment tomorrow.
Benny tells me to meet him tomorrow after work and I tell him I will, then he leaves. I change clothes and flop onto my bed trying to ignore the thumping pain and go to sleep.
Kneel and deliver me from mind numbing pain.
Kneel and deliver me from an unworthy life.
Kneel and deliver me from Benny's friendship.
I wake up to a chair falling in the kitchen and the sound of dishes braking. I lay in bed staring up at the ceiling wondering who's in my apartment, if anyone, and if I should actually get up to do something about it. A close my eyes for a couple seconds and when I re-open them Benny's face is no more then four inches from mine.
Benny, what're you doing here? Benny smiles and says, I'm here for emergency surgery. I sit up in bed and look out the door into the living room and see a bunch of medical supplies lying on the floor. Before I can object Benny grabs me by the arm and drags me into the living room and places me in the recliner. He gets everything set up and takes a needle out and stabs me in the neck with it.
Uhh, Benny, what is this? Are you crazy? I ask. Benny tells me to just relax and that everything will be fine. Where he got all of these supplies I have no idea. He probably got them from his janitor's closet. I bet he's got everything in that closet.
By now Benny has all the instruments set up and just like last night when I thought I saw him wearing a white lab-coat he's wearing one tonight. He inserts a needle into my arm and takes out two pints of blood then hooks up an IV transfusion.
He takes out another needle and tells me that there is Novocain inside of it and it will numb my mouth and then injects it right next to the swollen infection in my mouth. He's getting his utensils set up while waiting for my face to lose all feeling.
Benny asks how everything is coming along and I mumble something about snap-dragons and marigolds. I don't know what he injected into my neck but apparently it was more than just an average sedative. The ceiling is starting to shape shift and is morphing into different shades of gray.
There is a light set up right above me at just the right angle so I can't see hardly anything. I see that Benny picks up a scalpel and when he starts moving towards my mouth the light blinds me but I struggle to see what's going on.
He makes the first incision and I don't notice a thing until he grabs the suction tube and I see an ounce of blood slick back into the tube and line the clear plastic with a wall of red. I'm struggling to keep my composure, gripping my pant-legs with my hands and squeezing them as hard as I can.
Benny grabs what looks like a wrench and a drill press and continues his work. I don't remember Benny ever going to college but if he did he must've got his M.D. along with a Ph.D in mechanics.
He's methodically moving in and out of my mouth and every time he drills into my upper jaw I keep thinking my skull is going to split because of the pain.
Crouch and deliver me from this unwanted life.
Crouch and deliver me from waking up the tomorrow.
Crouch and deliver me from these insane shadow monsters.
My whole body convulses and I don't care what Benny is doing any longer. I'm looking all around the room and every object is flickering. I glance to my right and realize that Benny never lit a candle, and that something is seriously wrong.
I keep hearing the pitter-patter of rain and something that sounds like cars on a freeway. The flickering now seems like the passing of headlights or streetlights maybe. There is the rhythmic squeaking of windshield wipers.
Lie down and deliver me from life.
I close my eyes and take a deep breath. I can feel the sweat dripping down my face and my entire mouth feels hot, like it's on fire. I open my eyes and Benny's got a ball-peen hammer and a chisel in his hand.
My eyes are bulging and I'm gripping so hard at my pant-legs that my fingernails are cutting into the palms of my hands. I try to swallow and a big clot of blood slithers down my throat and I think I'm going to gargle it back up.
Lie down and deliver me from Benny.
Everything is flashing different colors now and I can hear Benny saying almost there, everything's going to be fine. I keep trying to talk to him but I can't get my mouth to form any words.
I feel like I'm floating now and everything starts to turn white. I can hear the whooshing of people moving and the whir of them talking. I look up and Benny's face is still hovering over me, outlined in white.
He looks like an angel.
I can hear the clinking and clattering of tools and utensils. Benny's face is replaced by a man with mask and a giant pair of rubber hands - one of them holding a small machete or something close to that. I've been picking at my callused hand ever since everything turned white.
Lie down and deliver me from reality.
By now I'm picking at muscle in my hand beneath a sheet of light blue that's covering my body. I hear another ounce and a half of blood get sucked back into a vacuum tube and when I look over and see all of the blood I pass out.
When I wake up I'm in a cold sweat and I can barely keep my eyes open. Benny rushes over and tells me that everything's alright. I ask him what he did and he told me that he came by to check up on me around eight and he could hear me screaming.
Then he kicked in the door and came and took me to the hospital. He says that during the entire drive there I was talking crazy and that I kept slipping in and out of consciousness. But now everything is all over and the surgery was a success.
He tells me that as one of my teeth was growing there was a calcium build-up on the root so it was only a matter of time before it became exposed, and when it did it became infected. So the doctors had to go in and remove the calcium build-up but since it was fused to my tooth they had to remove it all.
I felt the area with my tongue and I could feel the stitches where the doctor had made the incision.
Stand and deliver this pessimistic voice.
Stand and deliver an undying obsession.
Stand and deliver everything I've taking for granted.
User Reviews
Submitted by Lisa (user info) at 2005-03-06 12:27:58 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Deliver again.
Submitted by earth_collapse (user info) at 2005-02-07 03:52:33 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Very Nice.
Submitted by youarsoghey (user info) at 2005-01-16 11:39:09 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
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