No Fucks Given (Episode One: Hell On Earth)

EPISODE ONE: HELL ON EARTH

"Our crisis is no longer material; it's existential, it's spiritual. We have so much fucking stuff and so many opportunities that we don't even know what to give a fuck about anymore."

― Mark Manson,

Episode One: HELL ON EARTH

Chapter One

It didn't take much time to wrap Karen's intestines around the bars like tying a knot to dock a boat. It brought sheer joy to decorate the baby's cradle with the remains of this latest victim—a happy family. It's been a portrait within his imagination for many years, and the time has come when he finally struck gold. An artist always waits for the best time to pop off. No masterpieces made are rushed; that's how mistakes happen.

What took most of his time was gathering fragments of her skull to make his makeshift heirloom. She'd be the last piece to his fine collection of others they've never known about. By they, I'm referring to his mother and father. Karen never bothered to check the bowling ball bag in Pat's closet. Not even his dad had the audacity to walk in abruptly. For all they knew, he wanted his privacy, which was normal for people his age. The birds and bees would be a later conversation, but for now, his not having any friends kind of came in handy; pun intended.

Before moving back in at twenty-three, he had already asked to tear the carpet out. After a few semesters at Harvard, he was sent back home for vacation. Karen was proud of her oldest; he was the only one in the family who would be a college graduate, but she didn't know there was more to him than a socially awkward boy with amazing intelligence.

Even in his abode, blood stains were inevitable when you're not in the best shape financially.

The infant was resting comfortably; unbothered by the cold crimson that dripped onto her fragile head; Pat could hear the drops of blood smack her face. The splat! Echoed through the silence like a ghostly wind that was never meant to be natural; nothing that happened tonight was natural.

Within his pocket were the eyeballs he scooped out of Karen's severed head with a spoon. Once he took them out, he wrapped the optic nerves around the musical cot and watched as the mechanical merry-go-round rotated above the young girl, clueless that mommy's cold dead eyes were watching over her; she wouldn't remember the dream later on but she'll remember the music; the moonlight sonata. And she'll remember how beautifully the notes danced around her as the castle in the air blanketed the horrifying reality that was tainted by an evil so extreme; even the blood soaking up her mattress would puddle up a disturbance in her future; one that would destroy her reputation before she'd be old enough to make one.

By then, Karen and Vinny were completely taken care of; the fifth bottle of red wine was almost down to its last cup. Pat cherished the art he'd made and decided to share the composition with the others. He might as well make sure there's an audience to applaud his success before going through with his humbling culmination.

Pat had blown his head apart with a 223 Winchester Magnum in Alissa's room; the phone, like his skull, was shattered but the damage wasn't as impactful as the caliber bullet that tore through his face.

When I got the call from dispatch, something told me backup wasn't necessary. I was right around the corner of W. Clinton, two blocks from 54 Elm Street. A while ago, an anonymous phone call was made, but no report was made, so strangely enough, they had to track the caller ID, thus putting me right on the spot. It was a good thing I ate nothing that morning.

Vinny probably went through the worse that night.

The first thing I saw walking into that house was a welcome invitation straight from hell. Pat degloved his father from head to toe with a scalpel after removing the middle part of his spinal cord to ensure there was no fight for salvation. The last of Vinny was only his skin' stapled upon the wall like tapestry for the guests to see. And in blood was a message that read, 'Hell Is Desolate!'