Ultra Deviance (Work in Prog)

St. Priscilla's #2- "MC" Dennis

A Beautiful Service

"I don't wanna go! No-no!"

MC's father, Buck, whimpered, not yet willing to part from his wife's (MC's mother, this wasn't that kind of family) casket, even though it sat at the bottom of a hole in the ground. Five metres deep.

MC rolled his eyes and took out the rusty flask in the black trench coat his father had thrown to him before diving in the five meter deep hole to embrace his wife's black casket.

As the funeral staff were struggling to pull his father off the casket, his Uncle Buford approached and put a quivering hand on MC's shoulder. His uncle wasn't much for formal attire, wearing an open white dress shirt, a green suit jacket, and long jean shorts with white construction boots.

"W-wanna g-go?" His uncle asked softly, motioning for the flask which MC gladly handed to him, unsatisfied by the foul liquid.

"Yeah, let's go." MC followed his uncle to his yellow truck where his uncle removed his shirt and jacket, and they silently drove home.

Buck came home later, the funeral staff had kindly driven him home, and placed his sobbing form onto the green family sofa.

MC checked the time, and the calendar, while opening a cherry soda.

"Ah shit. Uncle Buford!"

"Yeah?" His uncle called as the toilet flushed, and the sink turned on.

"Can you take me to school? Pa's kinda useless right now."

"Uh-" his uncle peaked out the washroom door to see his brother, MC's father unconscious on the couch, his bum in the air, and his shirt half on.

"Y-Yeah, why not?" His uncle stumbled out of the washroom, pulling up his torn jean shorts and adjusted his green belt. His white construction boots seemed to shake the house every time they hit the floor. "I'll wait outside in mah truck. Just holler when yer ready and whatnot."

"Thanks, Uncle Buford." MC said as he gathered his bags in his room.

"Hey, d-d-don't mention it, Nephew." Uncle Buford, remarked as he struggled to close the door.

After getting the three bags he had already packed the week before, he stopped in front of the family photo containing their whole family. MC, his mother, his father, and Uncle Buford.

He still remembered how long it took for them to get ready for the photo. She was always so particular.

"Don't worry, Ma. I won't let dad bring me down. Never. I promise you that much. Only you, Ma, only you could make me care about that bastard. Only in your honour do I let that bastard cry himself to sleep every night, and show him mercy rather than violence. I...hope you heard me." MC kissed the photo version of his mother and headed out the door.

He tossed his bags into the back of his uncle's small yellow truck and got in, at that moment, it began to rain.

Hard.

"You ok-ok-okay with yer bags ge-ge-gettin' a lil' wet?" His uncle asked, the severeness of his stutter increasing with his stress and confusion, much to MC's annoyance.

"Yeah, I don't give a shit, really." MC casually remarked, as he sipped his cherry soda, and attempted to roll up his window. Before he could try, however his uncle grabbed his shoulder.

"Oh, that shit d-do-don't work no more. S-Sorry." He glanced at his outfit, and slicked back his long, dirty blond hair.

"Sh-shit, I should probably put on a sh-sh-shirt." He got out of the truck and searched through the trunk before coming back, wearing a drenched, white dress shirt. The same one he wore at the funeral. He pulled his now wet, mane-like hair, and his thick beard through the soaked shirt.