Untitled, unfinished, unnatural (771 hits)
Category: Quotes & StoriesRating: 1.73 on 24 reviews (Rate this item) (V)
Submitted by |\/|¡§7€r þ€\/¡0µ§ (View user info) at 2005-08-12 18:16:22 EDT
Adhal had three different types of customers. The ones he saw most often were the Tricks, and he always treated them better than the rest. He would clean his instruments with alcohol for them, instead of just wiping them off with a rag or passing them through the flame of a Zippo. He wouldn't try to give them propane, allowing them to sedate themselves with needles or dust, whatever they had with them. Sometimes this made them talkative, and they would babble while he dug and scraped between their legs, knowing they would need more hits when the cramps got them later. But he would never poke them. These women were his life's blood, and he made sure their cunts stayed in working order. They were good repeat business.
The second type were Rats, people who lived in the spoiling, dark guts of the city, surviving from one day to the next as though even the effort it would take to die would be too great a burden for them. Lots of coons, lots of gooks, other illegals thrown into the mess, not a Great Melting Pot, but a Giant Vomit Bag. Whether they spoke English or not, they all knew about Adhal, and how he could keep another squaller from head-firsting it out the cooze and into the welfare office. He usually wouldn't poke them either, unless maybe it was some hot spic chick that came to him alone.
Then there were his favorites. The Princesses.
He had one on the table tonight, ass almost hanging off the edge, feet stuck through the leather loops attached to two of the corners. A few deep breaths of propane had been enough to knock her out; she probably didn't weigh more than ninety pounds. He could tell her black hair was a bad dye job, since her cunt hairs were right in his face, blonde and snarled, like the tassle on a rotten ear of corn. Her arms were criss-crossed with razor-and-ink tattoos of barbed wire, thorny rose stems, and BOBBY wrapped around her left wrist like a slave bracelet.
Bobby stood off in the corner of the room, a cigarette leaking smoke into his eyes while he tried to look uninterested. Adhal knew the kid was scared shitless inside. He'd seen hundreds of Bobbys before, guys who were more interested in becoming acid-head musicians than finishing high school, and wound up taking off with their underage girlfriends in tow. Then the guy would knock the Princess up, and Adhal would be the only thing standing between him and a statutory rape charge if she went running home to Daddy. Christ, these punks think they know it all, and then they act surprised when they get thrown fucking bareback.
But it was the Princesses that Adhal enjoyed working with the most. And this one was a sweet piece. Some of the Tricks and Rats were over fifty and looked about five thousand; this girl was fifteen at the most. All her equipment was practically still under warranty. So many of the Tricks looked like they kept a year's worth of used chewing gum stuffed between their legs, and the smell was like spoiled oysters.
"I'm not payin' you to look at her, Doc."
Adhal sneered up at Bobby. He held a curette out to him, handle first. "You want to try doing this yourself, smartass? You put the fucking thing in her. Maybe I ought to let you take it out." Bobby flinched, saying nothing with his mouth, delivering an empty threat with his eyes. Unimpressive. "Or maybe you're not the one who did this, huh? Maybe your little angel here was out getting back burns with someone else while you were playing with that shit band of yours."
There was a mellow gleam of impotent rage dancing in the back of Bobby's eyes, and Adhal watched in fascination as the muscles along his jaw tightened. If he pushed this punk any harder, he was going to start cracking his own teeth in half. Adhal wasn't scared. He knew that desperation chained Bobby's hands to his sides with links as thick as fear. "Get the hell out, kid. I've got work to do."
"I can handle it, man."
"Whatever." Adhal adjusted the light strapped across his forehead, swearing to himself. This wasn't going to work unless he got the worthless little shit out of the room. Bobby's view was partially blocked by the Princess' spread legs. Adhal took advantage of his position, picking up an Exacto knife with a chipped blade and quickly making two shallow cuts in her, just left of center. Blood squirted from the cuts, and he let it run across his rubber-gloved hands, warming his skin. Then he jabbed the knife in a little harder. The Princess twitched and moaned, the pain reaching her through sleep like red lightning through a cloud. Adhal swiped a hand across his bald scalp, as if he were wiping away sweat, leaving tiger stripes of blood on his psoriasis-infected skin.
Bobby retched, letting the cigarette fall from his mouth. He stumbled his way out the door, almost tripping on the doorframe. "Lemme know when it's done," he said, not looking back, slamming the door behind him.
Perfect.
Adhal put the knife down and quickly went to the door. He heard Bobby out in the hall, dry-heaving, maybe even puking. Quietly, he turned the deadbolt lock. He returned to the table, and began circling it, like a vulture looking for the best part of a corpse to start pecking at. The warehouse apartment was lit by a single dusty bulb hanging on a cord from the ceiling. Adhal walked slowly, fascinated by the way the light and shadows played tricks on his eyes. From some angles, she looked like a dead whore; from others, she appeared to be a perfect living statue, carved from flawless marble.
He spread her legs a little further apart, tightened the loops around her ankles. Sometimes they started to wake up in the middle of it, and he liked to make sure they stayed in place until he could give them more propane. He told them it was nitrous oxide, the same shit you get at the dentist. Propane was cheaper, though, and a lot easier to get a hold of. Inhaling it killed brain cells, he'd heard somewhere, but anyone he gave it to didn't have enough gray matter to worry about.
She was still bleeding, not quite so much now. Still enough. He let the fingers of his left hand trail in the blood, squeezing the young flesh to keep the flow going. With his right hand, he unzipped his pants, letting them fall to the floor like a second skin. He was already hard; the tip of his penis stuck out above the waistband of his underwear, seeming to sniff the air as it pulsed in time with his heartbeat. He yanked the underwear down, and let his left hand trace itself around his cock, covering it in a thin slime of blood, making it slippery, making it harder.
"Pleasure before business, Princess," he said, pushing into her.
Poking her.
* * *
"Hey, get up."
Bobby jumped at the sound of Adhal's voice, yanking him out of the safety of his vacant mind. Five feet away from him on the floor was a splash of vomit; it was the most colorful thing in sight. He pushed himself up off the floor, a skin of dust clinging to his jeans. "Is she okay?" Behind Adhal the door stood open. He saw Julie lying on the floor, still naked from the waist down, curled up into a tight ball. Like a fetus.
Adhal stood there, foldaway table in one hand, tattered leather bag of instruments in the other. "No, she's dead, asshole." He hawked snot over the edge of the stairs, waiting to hear it splat four stories below. "Of course she's okay. Got all of Junior right in here." He reached into his bag and pulled out a jar, one-third full of dark tissue and blood, with a few darker globs floating around in it. He waved it at Bobby. "Dad-dy!" he said, in a high, child's voice
"You are one sick fuck, man, anyone ever tell you that?" Bobby tried pushing past him, but Adhal blocked his leg with the table.
"You never want to tell a man that when he just did you a favor," Adhal said, leaning into Bobby, backing him up against the doorframe until his head connected with it. Adhal was close enough to kiss him, or bite his nose off. "Never. Next time you need the favor from him, he might just decide to take his little knife and cut open your nutsack. Or maybe slash your little girl's twat up so bad she'd never fuck anything with a dick bigger than a rat's. Got me?" Bobby nodded, swallowing so hard his Adam's apple seemed ready to leap out of his mouth. "Good." He looked towards the girl on the floor. "She'll be out for a couple more hours, then wake up with one hell of a headache. If she's into drugs, keep her off em' for three days. And don't fuck her for a week, either. Unless you really want to; a woman's got more than one hole in her to use."
Bobby looked as if he was getting ready to puke again. Adhal turned around and left him standing alone in the hallway, disappearing into the dark stairwell one creaking step at a time. The girl was two months along. Adhal charged ten dollars for each month. (His record payment was eighty-five dollars. That fetus had come out mostly in one piece and lived almost ten minutes before he placed it on the floor and crushed its head under his heel like a walnut.) With twenty dollars in his pocket and a jar full of dead human tissue in his bag, Adhal headed home.
* * *
The subway train shuddered and shook underground like a living thing in pain, hypnotizing the passengers with its rhythm, shattering their focus on the world and trapping them in their own minds. The lights flickered, the wheels screeched along the rails, nobody noticed. Adhal sat near the doors, taking up an entire double seat by himself. He was only a little over five feet tall, and well over two hundred fifty pounds; his size, along with the unpleasant smell of his sweat, ensured that even though the car was full, no one would try to sit with him. He idly read the advertisements and the graffiti. A cigarette ad invited him to TASTE THE ADVENTURE, while someone had scratched KANDACE GIVES GREAT HEAD on the seat in front of him with a knife. He tried to remember if he'd worked on a KANDACE recently and couldn't. Their names weren't important enough to him to make the effort. Even his own name was a fuzzy blur in the back of his head. He hadn't always been "Adhal." He knew that once he'd been a med student, but too many self-prescriptions took him out of the profession. It didn't matter; the knowledge was still there, or enough of it for him to live on.
The shaking slowed, slowed, stopped. Doors opened, vomiting people on the platform. They broke around Adhal like a wave, each person trying to get past his slow-moving bulk without actually touching him. He slid out with them, bumping a few with the folding table. The surface of it was spotless. He scrubbed and bleached it well after each job. He received enough business by word of mouth that he didn't need to carry a blood-stained billboard around with him. Behind him, another mass of faceless flesh was devoured by the machine, dragged away under the city. The flood of bodies surged up the stairs, and he allowed himself to be carried along with it until he was poured out into the dark street. He began to walk back to his place. It would have been wrong to call it his home. "Home" was a permanent thing, a small hole dug out of an insane world where a person could drop out of it all and catch his breath for a moment before leaping back into whirlwind reality again. He had no permanent place. He might spend a month in one place, perhaps two. Then, guided by some instinct he'd never considered, he would move on to another. It didn't matter to him; his customers could always find him, desperation leading them like an angry, red star.
Adhal looked at the night sky. No stars were visible, as if they saw what their light revealed below and turned away. It was hot and muggy. Thick clouds rolled slowly over each other, empty promises of rain that refused to fall. Mindless of the heat, he pulled the heavy folds of his coat closer around him. He passed several alleys: one sheltered a drunk pissing against the wall; the next echoed with sharp teenage laughter and the hiss of spray cans. The third one was perfect: dark, deserted, and there was a dull green trash dumpster standing solidly among the shadows. He stepped behind it, removed his coat, and pulled the bloody apron over his head. He removed the thin leather gloves he'd been wearing to cover the bloody rubber gloves still on his hands. He was always careful to never leave fingerprints. From his bag, he removed the jar (it once held dill pickles). He held it up to his face. This close, he could see something that might have been human once staring back at him with an eye that was nothing more than a dark bluish blotch in a mangled lump of red. Shake it up, see if it snows inside. The glass was thick with red now, and he dropped it in the dumpster with the apron and gloves. Ten minutes after he left, a rat crawled across the jar, sniffed at it, licked at a smear of blood on the outside. It couldn't find a way to get inside, and it slunk away.
Adhal stopped at a shabby convenience store down the block from his place. The twenty dollars from Bobby and the Princess got him a five-pack of cigars, a pint of nameless whiskey, and three magazines: BUSTY BABES, HOT SLIPPERY SLITS, and UNDER 18, with three dollars and seventeen cents in change. Before he went to sleep that night, he smoked three of the cigars, drank most of the whiskey, and masturbated on two of the magazines.
User Reviews
Submitted by sideshow (user info) at 2005-08-19 18:09:24 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Piece of shit. sorry. I meant to give you a +2
Submitted by sideshow (user info) at 2005-08-19 18:08:48 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Great work. I found it to be a very realistic and detailed story. Keep on writing stuff like this, and you'll keep getting +2's!
Submitted by UrbaneMischief (user info) at 2005-08-16 08:46:16 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
what? no Urbane Stalking post?
*sigh*
Submitted by Berty (user info) at 2005-08-15 09:41:12 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
It's new authors of this calibre coming into the Ubersite community that make this site and the free nature of it awesome.
Fucking brilliant bit of writing, I loved it.
Submitted by Circe (user info) at 2005-08-14 14:49:52 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Well, check out the niftyness on you, huh?
I liked.
Submitted by LadyPlural (user info) at 2005-08-14 14:22:33 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Disturbing but well-written.
Submitted by munkeypants (user info) at 2005-08-13 21:23:44 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Submitted by Jack_McCallum (user info) at 2005-08-12 19:13:50 (#)
Ranking: 2
It may be disgusting, but it is also some good writing.
Submitted by ih8u2man (user info) at 2005-08-12 19:59:34 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Just one more time.
I had to.
Submitted by ih8u2man (user info) at 2005-08-12 19:59:19 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Oh yeah man. Fucking classic.
You rock at this.
Submitted by Whiplash (user info) at 2005-08-12 19:52:47 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Submitted by electrictoothsyndrome (user info) at 2005-08-12 19:28:15 (#)
Ranking: 2
This was a disturbing trip into a bleak and dingy world somewhere between Purgatory and Hell.
_______________________________________________________________________________________________
I'm a-gonna agree. I'd like to add that this guy's talented. Very few people can make me stick my finger down my throat to get the horrible feeling out of my stomach like you did.
Submitted by electrictoothsyndrome (user info) at 2005-08-12 19:30:50 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
I see. You already foresaw and answered all my questions.
Good job.
The descriptions on the subway and the crowd were particularly well done.
This is the kind of writing I like, put don't have time to produce myself.
Submitted by electrictoothsyndrome (user info) at 2005-08-12 19:28:15 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
This was a disturbing trip into a bleak and dingy world somewhere between Purgatory and Hell.
Brilliant writing.
What did you write this for? Yourself? Uber? Assignment of some kind?
What were you on?
Submitted by MisterDevious (user info) at 2005-08-12 19:27:09 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
...little fuzzy on the "whoever" wrote it responses. *I* wrote it, fer crap's sake! Admittedly it was a while ago, around 1997 when I was heavily into splatterpunk and vampires. Another story I had written and actually FINISHED got me a gig as a freelance writer for White Wolf Games (they ended up never using me, of course): this bit was meant to be set in their "Wraith: The Oblivion" game world. If you thought this was bad, the planned ending would have driven you out of your minds. Perhaps I'll finish it in another 8 years. Thanks for the ++++!
Off to bed, and godd only knows what I'll be dreaming of,
MrDVS
Submitted by bob (user info) at 2005-08-12 19:24:15 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
good writing.
quick google search came up clean.
Submitted by icarus1987 (user info) at 2005-08-12 19:16:11 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
... which is the only reason I dignified it with a rating... most of the stuff intended for shock value is so poorly written and juvenile it doesn't even deserve to be considered. Whoever wrote this has potential.
Submitted by Jack_McCallum (user info) at 2005-08-12 19:13:50 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
What is this 'dirty for dirty's sake' shit?
This isn't the usual uber fuck vignette.
It may be disgusting, but it is also some good writing.
Submitted by icarus1987 (user info) at 2005-08-12 19:07:24 EDT (#)
Ranking: -1
Look, *if* you actually wrote this, you have talent. A talented writer pumping out shock-value crap like this is as sorry as a kendo master beating up grade schoolers. Get your mind out of your crotch and try again.
Submitted by Jack_McCallum (user info) at 2005-08-12 18:57:19 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Fucking jagoff.
Submitted by Jack_McCallum (user info) at 2005-08-12 18:56:48 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
oh
Submitted by Jack_McCallum (user info) at 2005-08-12 18:56:43 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
fucking
Submitted by Jack_McCallum (user info) at 2005-08-12 18:56:37 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
cunt!
Submitted by testify (user info) at 2005-08-12 18:51:07 EDT (#)
Ranking: -2
Dirty for the sake of dirty just doesn't cut it. Or maybe it would, if it were 250 words or less.
Submitted by JonnyX (user info) at 2005-08-12 18:34:54 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
devious, indeed.
Submitted by Jack_McCallum (user info) at 2005-08-12 18:29:42 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
God FUCKING D A M N !!!
Why weren't you in Ubermadness?
I've written a few things like this but I figured they were too gross to post.