Read The Devil's Monologue Online
Authors: Kimberly Fuller
Tags: #hell, #bully, #devil, #afterlife, #3 years later, #h a carter
The Devil's Monologue (4 page)
I just ripped your dreams
in half and you're smiling? I wonder what you'd do if I told you
the gym teacher fucked your dog? Break dance? What the hell is he
smiling about?!
I wondered.
He just wouldn't stop. Cold shivers danced across my arm, for more
reasons than the crisp fall breeze. I felt a creepy uneasiness
slither up my spine and settle deep in my chest, coiled to
strike.
“Well, JJ. I don't really
care what you think. Or
your
shitty dad. All I know, is that Joanna thinks I'm
a pretty good guy. Oh, that's right, she turned you down, didn't
she? Man, that had to have hurt being
rejected
like that and all. Can't
say she's ever said 'no' to me though.”
came a little closer, his eyes almost wild now. I felt my
confidence begin to chip and crack, leaving razor sharp spiderweb
fractures in its wake.
An air of smugness engulfed Harvey like I
had never seen before, “She smells just like butterflies and
lavender. So intoxicating. And I can't even begin to describe how
delightful her cherry lip gloss tastes.”
He shot me one more maniacal grin and
bounced away, the skip in his step doing nothing more than pissing
off my already crumbling mood. The impending snake of fear that
coiled itself around my ego began to slowly squeeze and constrict.
My suffocating heart sunk deep in my chest and filled with hot
fire. Boiling blood surged through my veins, fueling my already
volatile rage. I swallowed hard and waited for his scrawny little
body to turn the corner. I couldn't stand to look at that bastard
another second. I couldn't let him see that he had hurt me. Harvey
Carter had actually gotten the best of me for once. I honestly
couldn't quite believe it myself.
Didn't know you had it in
you, Harv.
I whispered to my broken
ego.
still beat with its out of whack rhythm as I tried to control the
impending break down.
I wasn't sure whether to feel pain, sorrow,
anger, or betrayal. Countless emotions bounced back and forth in my
mind, ping ponging which way direction my reaction would go. I flip
flopped from hating him to envying him every few seconds. Confusion
broke out all across my soul, or at least what was left of it. I
wanted to slap Jo and kiss her at the same time. Why did she do
this? Why did she let him do this? The thin thread that was holding
myself together was ready to snap at the thought.
“Aaaagh! You Bitch!” I
growled harshly, reaching my fist back and ramming it hard against
the closest unsuspecting locker. The agonizing crunch of bone,
ligaments, and stretching skin boomed in my ears as I pushed my
hand farther through the blood red metal door of locker 243. I
didn't know who it belonged to, nor did I care. At least the blood
stain matched the paint, but I instantly regretted how I was going
to explain this to the Old Man and my coach. If he still let me
onto the field, I guess, after failing Mr. Ryan's stupid history
test.
Thanks again for that one, Carter,
you asshole!
change color. The mixture of dark pink and speckles of eggplant
purple now circling my ever diminishing knuckles. The anger that
boiled inside me overpowered any physical pain I might have felt at
this point. I couldn't tell if it was my rage or the thick swig of
not-so-cheap whiskey I had hidden under the seat of my car that
brought light to my next thought.
So, Jo, that's why you
deny me, huh? For this little
fuck
?!
You told me you wanted a
real man.
That's
what you call a real man?
I'll show you what a real man looks
like.
I'll show that little shit too. He will
never...have you...again...
me through the looking glass is such a horrific monster that I
shake and shudder at my own grim reflection.
That damn mirror is always in front of me.
Watching me. Reminding me of what truly lies in my soul. Stationary
and stoic. It cannot be moved or broken. Believe me, I've tried. I
find such ridiculous irony in that my punishment in Hell be a
mirror. I can't even tell you how long I used to admire myself in
every looking glass back in the day. Every mirror was my lover.
There wasn't a single reflective glance that I passed up seeing my
good looking self. Damn, I used to one handsome S.O.B. Used to be,
anyway.
I guess beauty really is only skin
deep.
Reality takes a harsh bite out of my piece
of happy remembrance pie. Bit by bit my new face creeps its way to
the surface. At least I think it's a new face, but something tells
me this ugliness has always lurked under my skin. Soon, I'm barely
recognizable as a person as I stare into this hellish reflection.
Good looks and charm are hard to see through leathery skin and
empty demonic eyes. Darkness has a way of clouding any form of
decency. As if I actually had any to begin with.
My hand reaches up involuntarily in
frightful slow motion to my face. The tips of my fingernails now
digging and ripping roughly into the depths of my flesh, pulling
away its surface in one sickeningly smooth movement. The thin layer
of my clean cut skin dangles from the edges of my fingers. My once
thick, coal black hair flutters to the ground, giving way to hard
scaly skin stretched harshly over a now deformed skull. There is no
twinkle left in my eye, no coyness to my smile. The sharpness of
blinding pain tears through my being, and I choke back the urge to
cry out. Even in Hell I constantly struggle to swallow my
pride.
I gaze as my once handsome face disappears
into an otherworldly creature. Blood oozes from the deep hole
punched through the center of my forehead, spilling to the corners
of my eye sockets, forcing me to cry my own blood. It is dark and
sticky, much like my heart. I press a single boney finger into the
vast puncture wound until it disappears into the depth of the
circular hole, fingering my brain. That black tunnel forever a
memento of my long dead brother. It was the last and only gift
Harvey ever gave to me. Too bad some gifts are non-refundable.
I keep staring, hoping to wake up. Hoping
I'm just fucked up in the head, locked in a padded room, and given
the best drugs the government can buy. Three hots and a cot beats
this shit any day. Maybe I should have been the one who showed up
with a gun.
My eyes refuse to tear away from the dirty
mirror with the grim reaper face snarling back at me, his
annoyingly smug grin beaming brightly. I'm not sure whether to feel
honored or be completely afraid.
“How does it feel to see
beneath the surface, Jacky?”
It frightens my very core to know that
boogymen are real, and that I am becoming one of them.
honor even.
“
I can do that, right? You'll let me change, won't you?” I ask
into the darkness, but I already know the answer before the
question seeps through my mind. There is no changing in Hell. At
least not for the better. You might think you somehow become the
good guy, but the Devil knows you're not.
call out in frustration.
Wait. People? No, that's not right.
I forget, you are not people. You're
torturers. Destroyers of souls. You are the wardens of my own
private prison. In this prison, there is no rehabilitation. God
can't save me here. I can't change. I don't even know if I want to.
At least no one is pretending to give a crap about me in Hell. They
don't pretend around here, they truly just don't give a shit.
I never thought all the time I was alive
that this place was ever real. I went to church and all, but I
mean, who actually believes this kind of shit exists?! I had always
thought stories of fire and brimstone were just tall tales told to
kids to keep them in line and out of trouble. Maybe had I known it
was all true, I wouldn't have done half the things I did back then.
Maybe I wouldn't have hurt so many people had I known I would spend
my eternity gazing beneath the surface of my own manipulation.
Maybe I would have even eaten my damn vegetables.
I've had enough of my own peep show for now
and resort to looking at the dirty mud covered boots on my feet.
They used to be so shiny and polished. I used to keep them secured
in a nice little box in my closet, clean and untouched from the
rest of the world. Strange that I used to take such drastic care of
something that was so meaningless. I treated my shoes better than
my friends. If you could call them friends, I guess. Again, means
to an end, that's all they really were. Just means to an end.
I stare at those ugly
dirty shoes that never stay clean and think I shouldn't be here.
Not think,
know.
I
know
I
shouldn't be here. I don't deserve this shit.
He
deserves this, not me! I didn't
kill anybody,
he
did.
He
did
this to me! And yet, here I rot!
I fucking hate you,
Harvey Carter.
I hope
you burn in Hell with me.
Hell?
the same time. Not a pretty site nor an admirable act, but there
was such a heavy weight of uneasy burden crushing at my chest that
I'm left feeling suffocated and hopeless. It comes on fast and
sudden, washing out every other emotion.
I constantly feel so utterly alone, even
when surrounded by the people who called themselves my “friends”
only to appease my temperamental ego. They weren't my friends. I
used them to get the things I want, and they stuck with me to be
left alone. The world's most fucked up quid pro quo. Only Mike was
the exception. He was the only one I could completely count on. I
was quite sure he'd jump off the London Bridge if I told him to.
Natural born follower if I ever saw one. Yet, even his friendship
just wasn't enough these days.
Nothing was good enough anymore. Football
was a sham. Sex was meaningless. Booze was tasteless. And the Old
Man was fucking around on Ma. Boy would we make a great sitcom! I
desperately needed something more out of life, and soon, or I was
going to snap.
I took in a long deep breath as my heart
began to pound faster.
Thump thump.
Thump thump. Thump thump.
Thump thump thump. Thump thump thump.
The deep thrumming of blood ferociously
racing through my veins echoed loudly in my ears. The pounding was
deafening. I knew the cold sweat would be coming on soon, and I
wasn't sure how many more times I could take this happening. It was
getting so much more frequent, and the little green happy pills
weren't kicking in today like usual. I closed my eyes and tried to
block out the invading thoughts and force them back into their
cage.
I should just shoot myself
and get it over with,
I thought
resentfully. The Old Man always kept a loaded handgun in his
“office” that would be easy enough to sneak out without him
noticing. He said it was for security reasons. Yeah,
sure.
Deep breath, Jack. Deep
breath.
But my body didn't seem to
register any air seeping through my clouded lungs. I already felt
so dead inside that it seemed way to easy to just quit breathing
and let it all disappear. Poof! Gone. Bye, bye, Jacky.
with the entire town in attendance, no doubt. High school football
heroes always get the best eulogies. Of course, there wouldn't be a
dry eye in the house either. Each attendee filled with overly
dramatic sobbing faces and bullshit tears of remorse. Everyone
pretending they cared. Everyone pretending to be sad, knowing full
well they were overjoyed at my absence. Hell, they'd all probably
break out into song and dance before I even had a chance to rot in
the ground.
Ding dong, the Dick is
dead.
“You people don't give a
rat's ass what happens to me,” I muttered under my breath watching
the array of “friends” living it up on the school's front lawn, a
trickle of sweat slithering down my temple.
Why aren't these goddamn pills working?!
just kept on playing their merry little games while I prayed for my
heart to stop racing, it's pounding causing a symphony of anguish
in my head. I tried thinking about all the grotesque things I could
make each one of them do at my amusement in efforts to distract the
ever growing negativity that clouded my mind. I wasn't sure if
picturing them as my personal flying monkeys excited me or saddened
me. Either way, I wasn't exactly proud of the feeling.
I wasn't proud of a lot of things these
days. Especially after what I did last month that started all of
this. Who knew succumbing to your innermost dark desires would
create a barrage of self hatred panic attacks? Jesus, I still can't
believe I actually did it. What I'm having a harder time dealing
with is that I really want to do it again. And again.
Genna won't even look at me anymore. When
she sees me walk down the hall, she practically runs in the other
direction. I guess I shouldn't be mad, but it pisses me off
something fierce that she won't even acknowledge me.