Hi folks.
I just finished this tonight, being in a sort of fiction-mood this past while. Let a man know what you think, if you wanna read it. It's pretty short, but maybe a tad distasteful.
Thanks folks.
The Fourth Step
A Short Fiction By Aaron, The Duke De Mondo
Shit, man. Look at this. This is some crazy, deranged, thoroughly grotesque nonsense right here. Shit, man, is what.
My gut hangs heavy in my torso, weighed down with the knowledge that, however I approach the situation, I screwed up, is the heartbreaking reality of it all.
And for what? Seven years, man. Seven years spent weeping into the shoulders of grown men, seven years spent fidgeting with armchair coverings like some amphetamine-riddled malcontent, seven years grinding my teeth to barely acknowledged stumps of black chalk glaring from the shimmer of my gums.
And this is all it takes to piss it into the wind, all it takes to choke back 84 months worth of hard-work, roll it around my tongue and spit the hardened, sickening paste up all over my shirt.
This piece of shit right here, this opinionated son of a whore who couldn't even determine a fella's political persuasions when faced with an armful of flags and slogans etched in pitch black Indian ink.
You stupid son of a bitch, man. You ridiculous human foible, is what. You curiosity, you exhibit in the great museum of the fucking idiotic remnants of existence. Look what you made a man go and do.
So I'm gripping my mobile phone, seeing all that's left of seven phone calls I missed on account of this dipshit. The aborted conversations that could have raised me to an ever greater plateau, all that intellectual worth kicked to fuck on account of this idiot right here, this limp-necked son of a bitch with half of my glove still in his hair.
Phil answers after, like, three rings or something, like he knew some shit was going on, like he knew I would be calling.
"Yeah?"
I hate it when motherfuckers answer the phone like I just asked them a question.
"Phil", I say, running my free hand over my left trouser leg, once immaculately pressed with a crease you could slit a wrist on, now a shameful tapestry of wrinkle and corruption. "I fucked up, man. I fucked up bad."
Phil says about aw, don't tell me this shit, man, and I'm all, like, yeah, that's what I need to hear right now, man. That's what I need to hear when I'm dragging a motherfucker into a cubicle, is for you to say don't tell me this shit.
Article comments
1 - Chris Kent
Interesting and brave. When using profanity, sometimes less is more. After a while, one feels pounded over the head, and the profanity no longer has shock value. This is an angry post, though the reins need to be pulled in......
And that and a dime gets ya a cup of jack squat....:)
2 - Aaron, Duke De Mondo
Chris, thanks for the comments man. And i agree, profanity can get really tiring really quickly, although to be honest, i think other things i've posted on here really do get on my nerves more than this does.
The Derren Brown post, for example, just made me want to weep, is what. I almost quit posting after that, and yet noone else noticed.
But yeah, i get what your saying man, and thanks a lot for the advice.
I kinda like this, although that line about the sandbags seems really clumsy, but once things are on here, bar spelling and what not, i usually let them go, by which i dont mean im being lazy, but i just think it would be cheating, and its best to move on and do better next time. Which, thanks to good folks like yourself, i get to do with a bit of advice which i happen to regard rather highly.
Thanks man.
3 - boomcrashbaby
A couple of questions.
7 years of what down the tube? You tried 7 years for what? Did I miss it?
And during the time it took to bash the guy, you got 7 phone calls? Are you a dealer?
What exactly could some stranger talk about that would get such a visceral reaction?
The grammar/slang is difficult to read, when it's not spoken by the characters but is actually within the narrative itself. Other than that, I like the story and am interested in knowing the details that led up to it as well as what happened after.
4 - Aaron, Duke De Mondo
Boom, thanks for the comments man but shit, lol, don't get The Duke confused with the fictional narrator of this tomfoolery. heh
The "seven years" thing refers to seven years of support therapy this fella has had for to combat his addiction, being, an addiction to, well, the kind of nonsense he did just now. By fucking someone up so bad, he's just had a major lapse in sobriety, which, to him, renders all those groups, all those talks, all that hard-work to keep on the straight and narrow, renders it all meaningless, cause now he has to start over, if he CAN. Which is why he refers to the unfortunate victim of his outburst in such a vulgar, derisory manner. He sees that because this fella provoked him (what did he say? who knows?) it's the victims fault. "If only he hadn't made me go and get all barbaric" kinda thing. Like, i dunno, if a recovering drug addict ends up getting high after 7 years of NA. Maybe someone offered that pill, but you didn't have to take it, man. But at the same time, the guilt and utter worthlessness one feels after such a relapse is not to be shrugged off with a mere "well, you obviously weren't trying awful hard. go screw yourself."
In support groups, phone calls are rather important. If he had answered them, maybe just one person would have said something that would have calmed the old testosterone. But he didn't answer. Again, it's his own fault, but what can he do but blame someone else? He already feels defeated enough without admitting to all that as well.
Hope this clears it up a tad. Thank you for the kind words, also. Honest to God, that kind of stuff means a lot. Thank you.