Strawberries ist Krieg part II

These are some other shorts of mine

Hooks;
Wretched are the woes of man, bedeviled is the qualm of humanity; existence is only but futile in the palms of man...

‘Eyes are used to see, ears are used to hear and the mouth is used to hold the tongue.’


Before I begin, this is a mere short story, rather of an entire climax. So before you read on further, I must suggest you kiss sanity goodnight and hope it returns as soon as possible.

As I lie on my bed, I began to look back on those who perished on front of my eyes, on one incident;
I used to work at the pig farm my dear uncle owned, there also worked the fat slob who invades the local bar every Friday night, groping his endomorphic, sweaty palms on the waitresses, tipping them ‘big’ to get some quick love, none of the tried methods came through. I would not want to describe the tyranny he caused those around him; it was genocide without corpses.

Then all those who were plagued by this man got their ejaculate revenge; he was doing his meat hooking duty; hooking up the multitudes of pig corpses ready for consumption and then hooking the hooks on the conveyor where they will be then delivered in the cute trucks with the pig on the side. It was duty as usual, in the context of almost every bustling tale, then, ah here comes the climax, you’ll have to start holding your breath from here till the end of this flashback because you don’t want to miss a word of it, and I will describe it in detail with the vast expanse of my vocabulary.

Ready?

Inhale; Exhale; Inhale; Hold.

So let me restart that sentence: it was duties as usual, hooking and hooking, not bothering to say good bye to the precious life stolen for dinner, he rummaged for another meat hook when the entire cupboard of hooks fell on him.

You might think this is very painful but very lenient for a man of this odium but please read on;
He found enough strength to push the cupboard off and reached for a hook- the one hooking his esophagus, so there he was pertinently removing the hook but dramatically got in deeper to the other end, he scurried for help but he couldn’t talk, yet alone shout and yet again, dramatically, he got hooked onto the conveyor, in his rapid attempt for survival.

This is where I go into detail, he grabbed onto anything strong, but the conveyor kept pulling but this then lead to his entire spinal cord being ripped from it place, so he kind of lost his head, and once again, there is more blood to beat any Hollywood gory flick, this is the kind of scene you would never see on reality TV.

It was the kind of scene that any gore freak would pay to watch over and over again as they grab for lumps and lumps of popcorn.

But I’m not just telling this story to amuse you, no, maybe partly because of that but not exactly- it was because this sickening wraith touched my sister.

I so wanted revenge, but sometimes you might just need to wait for retribution, it might just pay you a visit.

I stood laughing within above his grave, my jubilant heart bounced about in this victory.

Exhale.

_____________________________________________________________________________________

And another.

Scars; only the dead see the end of the war…

‘You are a scar, something to remind me the past is real; you are nothing but a memory, a defiled truth from harsh reality.’

I sat there like a holy man waiting for a sign from the Gods, a significance of divinity, a prayer answered, just for something I did not expect but expected, just for something to happen, for a miracle maybe?

I wanted devotion, a tale I can relate to as a turning point in life, some obscurity to lose myself, I look at the mirror and only see an eclipse of what I used to be, I look at my hand.

All I see are scars from the wars I have been in my life, nothing neither civil nor international, but mere personal issues.

Scars, it’s my little reminder of why the past has to exist.

I am just a single representation, sensibly a capriciously malevolent example of how twisted an individual can get.

At least, in my point of view, no it is a fact.

So this story is just what I want people to know, that life is over the top, and only the dead do see the end of the war, but the problem is which war?

Lighting another cigarette after another and so forth, just thinking.

It then occurred to me about a friend of mine:

She was 16 and I was 13, about that era, nu-metal bands came to light, bands which I won’t waste my time listing, bands I did not bother with getting lost into the lyrics with, music I could never find any peace in. But during that time, the neighborhood in which we lived in was relentlessly ravaged by drugs and also the intoxicated whores that infect drunken men in need of satisfaction with aids.
She had every reason to be who she was, her screwed up parents made her a junkie, and the ‘hope-dope’ was paid for by prostitution and all of which made her stay back a couple of years in school.

I was her only friend in class, never got any luck with her, just didn’t want to, but the rest of the guys in class were customers.

One day we were getting stoned on our friend Mary Jane, or ‘marijuana’ in mundane lingo and she told me that she was sick and tired of living.

I, being the good virgin friend said this to her, “So do you plan to kill yourself?”

“Yes, very much in fact.”

She stared at me with a kind of stoned gloom, but I knew she meant it.

I managed to get my hands on some anti-depressants and gave them to her, to cut the long story short-

she took the pills, but after she got drunk, this then lead to her hanging herself while taping a beer bottle up her clit.

Thinking back and looking at some of my friends, I am pretty much a sophisticated example of depravity, but a genuine example of what a twisted, contorted world this is.

Do be reminded that this flashback has not ended, there is more to this tale-

Parents oh, parents; it is never correct for a child to perish before an elder, nor is it correct for one to doubt their existence.

Her parents were not just weeping, but blaming each other for the cause of death, for months and months I observed and overheard countless arguments which lead to an upturned house, even in my current solace, I can still hear the screams, like a reflected memory. I remember glasses breaking and so many things being thrown around, it was nothing short of a nightmare.

It was all mentally mutilating and psychologically decapitating; pure torture.
Then on one occasion, I incidentally strolled past them as they argued, minding my own business, when the man took his gun out- Pointing it first to the now growing, anxious crowd as a sign of warning that mashed bits of burning brain will fly if anyone were to step closer then to his petrified wife.

“It has finally come to a point where you have totally split my mind, you’re just an obscenity to begin with and a curse to live with, and may your peace desert you in your death and never again find happiness!” the psychotic man screamed maniacally in an outburst of omnipotent rage, before he pulled the trigger, he broke into a bedeviled smile, as if possessed.

Bang.

The woman flew with her mangled bits of brain into the harangued audience as the man pulled the trigger upon himself to get away with murder the easiest way.

Bang.

As melodramatic as he fell, his point blank suicide split his face into something like how one would describe a pizza, there was enough blood to beat any Hollywood gore flick.

I stood there dazed, enthralled by the brain that landed on my forearm, my eyes danced in frantic anxiety around the room before passing out, this was definitely not the story you tell anyone to get a good first impression.

That was a demon of my bitter past, but one of many reasons why I chose to do this.

Once again I look at the mirror; and I still see in the reflection, the eclipse of the person I once was, only now, darker.

_____________________________________________________________________________________