10:15 on a Saturday Night (462 hits)
Category: NoneRating: 1.2 on 14 reviews (Rate this item) (V)
Submitted by ScarfaceMN (View user info) at 2006-09-26 12:37:13 EDT
"What the hell happened to you?" He asked.
I was sitting on the porch, cigarette dangling out of my mouth, trying to smoke. It was difficult smoking. The swelling in my face was bad, and it hurt to seal my lips around a cigarette. Don't even get me started on the attempting to eat.
"I don't remember."
"You look like someone beat you."
"Could be, could be. Hey, do you have any painkillers?"
He sat down next to me and pulled out a pill bottle.
"How many do you need? It's vike."
"I don't know. One? Two? I don't know."
I was out of it. I was remembering weird snatches of the previous night. I remember crawling on my hands and knees, blood in my eyes, bellowing like some wounded beast before I clambered back to my feet and pushed someone against the brick wall.
I don't know where the brick wall is. I don't know where that puddle of blood I left somewhere on a sidewalk in the city is.
He handed me two vicodin pills. I had been thirsty since I woke up in the ER some fifteen hours before, I always had a glass of water next to me. I had been sleeping off and on since getting discharged. Sleep for an hour or two, up for ten minutes, fall back to sleep. I popped the pills. The first painkillers I'd taken since the ER.
He was watching me. No, he was examining me. And somehow, I knew what he was thinking.
"No, it wasn't like One-Eye," I told him.
It wasn't. I was a bit mangled, a lot in pain, but my skull wasn't crushed, my eye was still there. I was lucky with that, the two inch gash started just below the left eye.
"Who did it?" He asked.
I thought about this. I tried to organize the detached images and memories I had from the night. I couldn't remember faces, and I doubt they had the courtesy to introduce themselves.
"I don't know."
We sat in silence, he lit up a smoke. I hit the play button on the CD player. Perhaps the music would stop the inquisition. Little things about the previous night were nagging at me.
"Where did it happen?" He asked after a few minutes of drumming his fingers to Cock Sparrer.
"I don't know. I don't remember. Near enough to County for me to have been taken there."
He glanced at me. Examining, like he could see if I was telling the truth on my mangled face.
"I don't remember much. The trauma, the sleep deprivation, the getting sedated in the ER. I don't remember much of anything."
"Were you carrying anything that night?" He asked.
"I don't do drugs, you know that."
"No, anything else."
I couldn't remember. Half of the time I'd leave the house on a Friday night with my box-cutter still in my pocket when I went out into the city. Sometimes I'd have the sense, or perhaps paranoia, to leave it at home in case I got hassled by cops.
I remembered the blood streaming into my eyes as I crawled on the ground, I remember slamming the guy against a wall. I don't know if the crack of his skull hitting the wall was filled in by my addled brain. I don't know what happened.
"They brought a guy in last night. About an hour after you. He was bloody, we thought he'd bleed out for sure."
I listened to the music, waiting for him to continue.
"Turned out that half of the blood wasn't his. They think he's going to have permanent nerve damage in his hands. The hands and arms were torn up."
I wracked my brain. No memories were surfacing.
"The worst though, was his face. It's bad. Sliced damn near to ribbons."
I could hear a voice in my head. It bellowed, high pitched and crazed "My Face! My fucking face!"
I lit another cigarette.
I could still hear that voice in my head, no visuals, just an insane damn near animal sounding voice screaming about their face.
"Whoever did that to you sure did a number on you. My time at the ER, I've seen a lot of mugging victims that look similar to you right how. You're going to have a nasty scar."
I already knew that. And I knew what that meant.
"Anyway, I think you dropped something," He said as he fished into his jacket pocket.
I watched, I had a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach.
"It was a guy you brought in? Cut up?" I asked.
"Yeah," He paused the digging in his pocket, "Why?"
"He didn't scream. That was me."
He looked at me, not able to make heads or tails of what I said. But at least I knew. That voice, that crazed animal screaming was my own. And I didn't need to see what he was about to hand me to know what I had done.
User Reviews
Submitted by foster (user info) at 2006-11-08 11:30:50 EST (#)
Ranking: -2
Terrible.
Submitted by fclo002 (user info) at 2006-11-02 13:17:53 EST (#)
Ranking: -2
You're a cool alter.
Submitted by Phallic_Cymbals (user info) at 2006-09-26 20:14:44 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
This reminds me of when i try to sleep with hookers.
Submitted by Snark (user info) at 2006-09-26 17:11:52 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by Antioxident (user info) at 2006-09-26 17:07:56 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
I really loved this post
Submitted by nya_nyo (user info) at 2006-09-26 15:50:30 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
me gusta
Submitted by TigerLilly (user info) at 2006-09-26 14:59:56 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by ScarfaceMN (user info) at 2006-09-26 14:51:34 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Submitted by icarus1987 (user info) at 2006-09-26 14:24:04 (#)
Ranking: 2
Without your AK it wouldn't be a party. If you mix the gas with a little styrofoam you make napalm.
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And as me dearest Da says, "Napalm: It sticks to kids."
Submitted by icarus1987 (user info) at 2006-09-26 14:24:04 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Without your AK it wouldn't be a party. If you mix the gas with a little styrofoam you make napalm.
Submitted by ScarfaceMN (user info) at 2006-09-26 14:22:34 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Submitted by icarus1987 (user info) at 2006-09-26 14:17:00 (#)
Ranking: 2
ScarFace, you crazy white bastard. You have to come to my house sometime so we can kill more rednecks.
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Only if I can bring a length of rope, the AK, a bottle of Jameson, a couple of rags from my garage, three bottles of Grainbelt and a 5 gallon gas can full o' the high octane good stuff.
Submitted by icarus1987 (user info) at 2006-09-26 14:17:00 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
ScarFace, you crazy white bastard. You have to come to my house sometime so we can kill more rednecks.
Submitted by ScarfaceMN (user info) at 2006-09-26 14:05:39 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Submitted by recall (user info) at 2006-09-26 13:59:07 (#)
Ranking: 2
what do you mean the screaming was you...are you saying the main character was the one who was cut up...or vice versa?
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The main character was cut, but also, apparently, for all we know, perpetrated some violence of their own against an assailant... or at least thinks they did. Who knows? "I don't remember."
Submitted by recall (user info) at 2006-09-26 13:59:07 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
what do you mean the screaming was you...are you saying the main character was the one who was cut up...or vice versa?
Submitted by Amontillado (user info) at 2006-09-26 13:08:35 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
good