martedì 9 agosto 2011

Storytelling: A Man's Responsiblity

DISCLAIMER: I am not a sexual deviant or a sick person. The following short story is just an attempt at extreme fiction, in the vein of Douglas Cooper or Peter Sotos. It contains topics and images that might disturb some of you, so if in doubt, do not read. I'd rather have no readers than have a bunch of people accusing me of being a sicko, cause they cant separate reality from fiction.


When Charles turned eighteen, he started developing a thought that in the end would grown like a sentient, rotten tumor and eat out every single bit of life and emotion in him: he was going to bbecome suddenly old and be alone. He would've become a desperate man, sitting in a relatively neat but obstensively abandoned apartment and obsess on details of tv shows. He would've hung to the ultimately delusional hope that "one day things would change", which would have never become a reality and wwould've become more grotesque and impossible day by day.

As he had witnessed with many people before his own eyes, there's a moment in every man's life where they have to settle down and become responsible. A moment where they have to choose a line in their life, they will have to follow down to their deathbed and ensure a following to their bloodline. They have to find a partner and have kids. It's not about sexual prefrences, one can adopt, but every man has to become a family man, witha respectable job, a house and a suit. Every man has to stop following the ambitions and dreams that havent been realized up to that point and cut them like dying branches off of a tree, before their delusional disease starts to poison the core. A man has to either have already won up to that moment, or just get out of the game and join the ranks of accepted social behaviour.

It has to be a personal realization and the sooner it happens, the better it is. Charles had the epiphany at tywetnty. He hadnt become what he wanted to be up to that point, his attempts at becoming a succesful writer only resulted in a series of mediocre short term assignments. His relationships were all flawed and broken. He was mediocre looking, and lacking a strong personality, so he wasnt made to be a succesful or a happy person. Happiness isnt for the mediocre, thats what his mother told me.

She knew he was a disappointment since the very beginning. He had blamed his lack of a nfamily or of lasting relationship on the fact that he had to take care of her incresing illness, but she knew that it was a lie and some sort of masquerade. SHe had always felt in hhis heart that he was a mistake and a broken being. She told him every time: on the very moment after conception, she had looked at him and felt like something wrong and upsetting had been taken out of her body. Her husband, his father, died in a car crash, while driving intoxicated, not long after. So her attention was permanently focused on him and at every second he was a constant source of slight repulsion and annoyance to her. He was too chatty, too over weight, too weirdly cheerful, too imperfect and flawed. He was average in all he did, and whenever he obtained any sort of result, from school, to practical things, he always ended up with decent results but never excelling. And she always felt disgusted by this.

She started drinking heavily almost to maintain a fcade in public, a facade that had to gide the hsame of being a lonely woman and the shame she felt about him.The alcohol would in the end get to her and poison her until she became a blabbering wreck that had to be taken care of constantly. A nurse would be too costly, so Chrales had to clean her up and feed her, using that as an excuse for his own lack of a life. Still, she became more and more spiteful with aging and delirium. Death came as a mercy. He would remember her last phrase forever.

"I fucked a dog and gave birth to one"

Everyone who knew him thought he had a normal life. He just lied to people, to avoid their pity and disgust, making up stories about his day to day living, often inspired by what he saw in his neighbourhood., He'd rather follow up those lies than bear with the fake sympoathy and judgemental compassion of people. Isolation helped. He had no social life to speak of. The little he had, disappeared with time passing, while everyone around had become real people, or just shunned away from him after feeling the creepiness he was hiding.

That was his non-life. he had become what his mother felt he would be: a lonely worm with no family, nothing to care for and to discipline. nothing of his pown that mattered.

But things changed.

It happened gradually. People that knew him noticed the shift. He started showing up to social events again. Going out, looking better. And he talked of his real pride: a child, something of his own.

It had been a difficult process. It always is in modern society. but nothing that couldnt be overcome with money. He "oiled the wheels" with his mother's heritage. The bitch made him miserable but, in the end, left him the means to obtain what he wanted. So with a slight touch of corrpution he avoided the bureaucratic obstacles that were put ahead of him and got finally waht every man needs: something to care about, something that changes yoiur life, something that makes you a real adult.

Picture were shown but everyone wanted to see what had made Charles such a different person, a better one....

So he invited everyone to his house. A cleaner house, full of toys, and decorations, completely tranfugured by the energy of this change in his life.

And everyone saw.

His name was Jaime. It was of indefinite age. Charles kept him tied to a long wooden pole by a strong iron leash. His head was harshly shaved and his eyes feverish. Arms and legs were covered with bruises, especially the knees, from trying to run away. Where the leash was, there was a red circle of bleeding rashes. Wwhenever someone approached it, Jaime cowered yelling and moaning.

"You really disciplined it well, its so well behaved. Congratulations, Charles!"

Charles felt embarsssed. But he had to admit that was true. His mother taught him well.

"Can we have it couple with ours?"

"Of course! I was thinking of having its genital removed, for safety. But if you think that would be better...."

He still had so much to learn....

Jaime whined and peed himself from terror. Charles turned and without changing expression, he kicked it in the face.

People clapped and cheered.

Yes. But he was finally a real man.

2 commenti:

  1. Fiction this may be but you have seen footage of children and animals chained up and abused. This story is uncomfortable and builds in intensity. I felt unnerved by it but compelled to read on, the end both repulsed and satisfied me, it needed to end like that.

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