Poems / Short Stories

Short Story/Horror (M)

My nose twitched in a vain effort to get rid of the persisting itch, yet it continued to persist. At this point, I was sufficiently pissed off. With a battle cry that could strike fear into the hearts of the heartless, I wriggled around on my bed to rub the feature against the rough white pillow.

At last! I sighed in contentment--or, tried to, as my face was still smushed up against fabric. I turned my head to the side and took in a deep breath. The padded white wall--my dearest friend of five years--greeted my sight.

I smiled gleefully. "How are you today, Dap?" He didn't answer, but--then again--he never did. I was beginning to assume that he was mute, but I didn't dare voice my thoughts 'cause then he might think I was crazy.

The fluorescent lights beamed down at me and I smiled back. I had learned within my first week here to not talk to them. They didn't like conversation and would shock me if I pushed for an answer.

I resumed my wiggling in order to sit up straight. It was difficult though, my jacket didn't offer much room for movement.

Eventually, I was able to prop myself up against Dap--not forgetting to thank him in the process--and I resumed my previous activity, what I was doing before the... itch broke my thought process.

How did I get here? I asked myself for the 1,769th time since I was first introduced to Dap. It became a routine: wake up, greet Dap, wriggle into a semi-seated position and ask myself how I got here. But because of the itch, I had to start all over again--so make that the 1,770th time.

My mother always told me to remember the humiliation of the past, so that I would never let the pride of the present go to my head.

And so I did. Every day, I would ritualistically remember the circumstances that brought me to Dap--my dearest friend.

It was a beautiful day. Birds were chirping, the sun was out and my best friend at the time was over at my house eager to convince me that going to a party was in my best interest.

I had reluctantly agreed and she had dressed me in a skimpy dress before we snuck out of the house in the dead of night. The party passed in a blur--leaving most everything in a fog--but what I can remember most clearly was a man who had staked his claim on me at the start of the night.

My next fully conscious thought was that of terror--though now, I can't see why I was so terrified.

I was crouched in the farthest corner of a fairly large storage room, crying and struggling to control my short breaths.

My heart had quickened its already rapid pace and I remember desperately clutching a tremorous hand to my chest in a pathetic attempt to muffle the thunderous sound.

It wasn't fair.

It didn't make any sense.

Why me?

The clicking of black Suede Martens had echoed eerily off the rusting metal lockers at a torturously slow pace.

I didn't understand it. I was average--almost perfectly so--I never aimed to stand out, and I always avoided any form of attention.

Except for once.

And that one, little word would be my end--or beginning, as I have come to fondly call it.

Even through my terror, I had managed to curse my rebellion, my ignorance, my killer. If I hadn't been so terrified, my anger would have flared, but there was no room for wrath.

I heard the door squeal open and a hand had automatically flown to my mouth in order to stifle a pathetic sob. "Have I told you how wonderful you smell, Darling?" I shuddered in disgust and found yet another thing to curse. He took a deep breath through his nose, filling the deafening silence. "Like apple pie," He tapped forward, "I could just eat you up." On the flip of a dime, his sickly sweet voice turned animalistic and the man launched himself at the stack of empty boxes nearest to him.

I had resumed cursing my mental list, adding the tattered dress and basement storage closet to it. I remember thinking that my body wouldn't be able to take the stress--that I would snap any second.

I don't know why I would think that. Sanity is just a word, right?

Any ways, I had felt my heart rate jump when the crashing came closer, but the next second I felt nothing.

Nothing, but disgust.

It was shameful how terrified I was. Pathetic.

Why should I be afraid? I had recalled after seeing a box cutter two feet away.

That would do.

This man didn't deserve to live. He had killed so many people and I didn't plan on letting him continue. As a matter of fact, no one deserved to live.

My so called "friend" who practically ordered my death...

The taxi driver who permitted our passage...

The bouncer who did the same...

The bartender who offered free drinks...

The host who welcomed us into his home...

The slut who danced over my crush...

The man who rubbed his junk on me...

The girl who held my hair back as I retched into the toilet...

The teenagers who attended the party...

The child who disobeyed their parents...

No one deserved life.

My mom always taught me that life was precious, that it shouldn't be taken too lightly.

She was right.

And I was going to prove just how right she was, starting with the leering man in front of me.

He towered over my figure, smiling with wretched lust. I smiled back before shoving the box cutter through his still beating heart. The blade sunk in, deeper and deeper, until I yanked it out with a delightful squelch.

His blood rapidly poured from the wound and his previous smile was wiped off his face, replaced with stunned horror.

A beautiful expression, if I do say so myself, and I wanted more.

-/*\-

So what do you think? I remembered to split up the paragraphs this time and hopefully my grammar was a bit better. If you see anything that needs adjustment (grammar, spelling, etc.), please let me know.

You might have noticed that I bumped up the rating to mature. That's entirely because of this addition. I thought it was a bit too much for the regular rating, but what do you think? Should I change it back?

Don't forget to vote!