Happiness & Homicide Preview 1
Even the voice in my head is monotone today. Here I am, narrating a sexually explicit, funny and rather charming, I think, story and my inner voice still remains monotone. How is that even possible? The narrative force of my life is so flat and unemotional. Why-My thoughts are interrupted by the man in the apartment next to me, who's just put on some kind of light jazz. I think of it as elevator music; it's bland and generic and has no beat. How the fuck can anyone listen to this?
I was going to masturbate, fantasising over the hooker I killed last week, but that music has really put me off. I stand up and run my hands through my hair. Hm. It's really getting shaggy…perhaps I should get a haircut. Though, the girls have told me that my hair is a part of my charm.
I walk into the bathroom and flick on the lights. I stare at myself in the mirror. What I see is haunting. Dark circles under my eyes, half a sideburn and the start of a cheap looking goatee. Urgh. I'm fucking ugly! I lean closer to the mirror and pull under my eye down and take a closer look. Striking hazel eyes stare back at me. Nope. I still don't like what I see. My nose ring gleams in the bathroom light, as do my lip piercings. Why do they look so happy? Meh. I flick the light off, letting the natural light bathe the bathroom. I lean over and turn on the hot water and put the plug in the tub. I reach for my bubble bath to find that the bottle is empty. In a fit of rage, I throw it across the room and proceed to the stand-up wardrobe in the corner of the room. I pull the doors open, like the Pope does on his balcony, and I glare into it. 6 bottles of Pomegranate-Vanilla bubble bath stare back at me. A sly smile slips onto my face, I select one of the bottles, then shut the doors.
I pour three capfuls into the half full bath and the water off. I slide into the bath, exhaling with relief as the warm water washes over me. The water levels off just above my hips and the bubbles almost cover the roses on my right hip, however, the FUCK YOU is still quite visible. I lay back, letting the water rise around me. I don't know why I feel so sedated. Why can't I feel anything? I'd even take apathy at this point. What's this? The warm water has indeed stirred something up inside me. I feel a tingle in the tip of my penis. I look around. I'm alone. So very alone. I slide my hand down a little further, toward my crotch and look around again. Yep, I'm alone. I close my eyes and start to stroke myself.
I sit, still in the tub that has my ejaculate in it, but I could care less. It's a great metaphor for the world. We are all just the byproduct of someone's ejaculate. Failed dreams, accidents and planned failures. And more often than not, you're left sitting in it, left to clean up the mess. I'm too focused on despair to care that I'm practically sitting in the biological fluid of my possible children. I'm counting the tiles on the bathroom wall. Red. Mint green. Red. Mint green. Red. White. What? Where did that white tile come from? It's out of place and it's really beginning to upset me. I reach over the side of the tub and snatch a thick black marker off the floor. I remember the days when you could sit and sniff one and get high off it...That was before brains became such a big goddamn deal in this country, and it's interesting as most of the people in this country don't use their brains. Talk about oxymorons. I uncap the marker and let its toxic smell fill my nostrils. Delicious. I scribble in the white tile to make it less distracting. I sit back to admire my work. I don't like it.
Discontent with the way things are going, I get out of the tub and try off. I uncork the tub and sit and watch as everything is sucked down the train. I wrap a towel around my hips and make my way out into the bedroom. The sun has risen higher and the new sunlight leaves new decorations on the bed. The grey sheets look dull in this light and I find it disturbing. They look old and worn out. They look like….me.
Do I really contribute to society? God, I hope not. The thought of all these ungrateful football mums, briefcase caring fathers, cross-eyed kids, vicious church people, illegals and whatever else is polluting society benefiting off my ass really pisses me off. Society. As far as I'm concerned, it's the fall of the modern world. I peer out the window and see two children skipping down the sidewalk, the mothers behind them, gossiping. They both are pregnant and pushing strollers. I snort in disgust. "Disgusting," I mutter under my breath, as I snap the curtains shut. "Polluting the Earth with more of these genetically fucked up creatures, who I bet will have oddly shaped heads and sharp little teeth. And no doubt, the few taxes I do pay, will be supporting them. God help me. Hope they don't become part of my customer base. I deal with enough unfortunates as it is." I hate this world.
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