[nobodylaiceps]

"Screams of Dementia"

Chapter 1.
"Choosing a Life""

He was woken by the screams of pain from his mother. He thought to himself that his mother better have accidentally chopped one of her fingers off preparing breakfast. He sat up in his bed on which an old spring mattress lay along with old stained white sheets. His mother never was quite the maid. His blanket was a pleasant sight, a cigarette burned, beer soiled, sleeping bag that had belonged to one of his friend’s father. This man went camping by himself occasionally to “find some peace of mind”. He was actually going out to practice acts of bestiality.

“Nathon!” his mother yells.

Nathon drops his right foot, then his left onto the aged white, now brown, carpet being stained from drinks being spilled and mud-dragged into most of the rooms in the house by Nathon and his father.

“I can’t ever sleep in late in this damn place,” he mumbles to himself. He then stands up and looks around his small room for something to clothe himself. Across the room, he spots his ancient, torn up, Earth Day shirt that he had when he was younger. Walking across the room to his dresser that the shirt is laying on, Nathon grabs his shirt, shakes the wrinkles out somewhat, and slips it on. He is amazed that it still fits, though it is a tight fit, after all these years. After dressing himself, Nathon heads to the kitchen to see what the commotion was about. In fact, his mother was preparing breakfast. Though the screams were not from accidental amputation of her fingers, she did have hot oil pop and seemingly explode onto her face and hands from the bacon she was frying. (She then used the oil to fry their eggs.) So, now Nathon knows what stirred his anger. But since her screams were practical, his ire subsides. And for once, he’s grateful that his mother is preparing food for them both. Nathon and his mother eat their breakfast of fried eggs, bacon, and biscuits along with orange juice. During the meal there is no conversation, just dry silence.

His mother, Valerie, is an average sized woman. About 5’6” with adequate breast, wide hips, long, beautiful, fading red hair. Eyes like emeralds and skin pallid as baby powder. An Irish beauty of 47 years old. She’s lost most of the weight gained during pregnancy of her only child. To guess, I’d say she weighs at around 150pds.

The only son has gone back to his room now, to do the usual: rest a while longer after eating, listen to music and smoke his full flavor cigs. Which he is addicted to and half hoping for lung and/or throat cancer. Awakening after sleeping all day, Nathon hears the front door creak open; His father has returned from work. “Asshole fucker”, Nathon laments.

Nathon’s father was rarely around in Nathon’s younger years, he was a neglective father; Apathetic, slightly inane, and reclusive. (“The perfect model of a father, huh?”)

Well, when it comes to Nathon’s father, Joseph practically doesn’t exist in his son’s mind. So all is well. While Nathon only intended on taking a small nap, he slept all through the day,thus awakening to his father’s return. Now he’ll be up all morning. Though there’s always alcohol to conk him out.

Before he can begin drinking his father yells for him.

“Nathon!” he yells again. In response Nathon yells, “What?!”

“Get the fuck in here, boy!” Joseph retorts; Nathon screams in his mind while he walks to the living room to meet his aptly inebriated father.

“What did you do today, you little shit?” Nathon sighs with ire stirring in his mind; Then, replies “I slept all fucking day, father!”, with more emphasis on father out of irritation and weariness of this same old routine. Nathon adds, “What did you do today, Joseph?!”

Then a backhand flashes, slamming against Nathon’s face, bustin’ both lips. Nathon instinctively covers the wounds. Then, leaves them be. Next, he sucks all the blood pouring from his lips and possibly gums into a pool in his mouth, which he spits right into his so-called father’s face. This brings on a laughing fit from Nathon as he turns around to go back to his room to drink. He should have known the encounter with his father wasn’t over yet. “You son of a bitch!” Joseph roars with a slur. Joseph then grabs Nathon by the scruff of his neck, choking him while turning him around to deliver a punch to his son’s nose.

“Now who’s laughing?” Joseph inquires. While all this is happening Nathon’s mother is sleeping soundly. Not a word, a scream, or a hysterical laugh heard.

Nathon realizes he has to defend himself; He snaps, pulls his knife out of his right foot’s boot and plunges the blade all the way into his father’s abdomen. Seemingly into his stomach or small intestines. His father’s eyes widen so much they seem to be on the verge of exploding or popping out from their sockets. Then, his eyes begin to roll back into his skull right before he collapses onto the floor. Nathon realizes that in the shock of his action, he’s forgotten to pull the blade out. So he kneels down and prepares to pull the knife out. Wait, he has a thought, since he’s already aptly committed murder, he might as well do this right. Grabbing the wooden handle, he twists the knife to the right with a little struggle. Now the wound won’t close. Pulling the blade out didn’t feel as he always imagined it; The task was not done so easily. Now there’s blood pooling all over and around his father’s dying body and carpet. “What a damn mess.” Nathon says in soliloquy.

Back in Nathon’s room, which is conjoined with the laundry room, Nathon begins drinking his bourbon and for now puts off the garbage he’s going to have to dispose of. He kills again, this time only fifth a bourbon and a half a pack of cigarettes. (A much easier task.) Then, after urinating he washes the blood off his hunting knife and hands. Now sticking the clean knife back into his boot for the time being. There’s no telling when he may need his knife again. Tired, drunk, and confused, Nathon wonders what he should do with his mother. If he must, which he must, kill his only remaining parent, it will not be with the knife his father tainted with his ignorance and malice when he was stabbed. Her demise will be quicker and less painful, perhaps painless considering she prepared breakfast the morning before for them both. There are guns in his home, some his and some his deceased fathers. Either way, they’re all at his disposal.

Valerie was released from her servitude of cooking and insults from a drunken husband. There was no pain; She was asleep while Nathon walked into his mother’s room, then he took a small hand gun and shot her twice as near as possible to the center of her forehead with his quivering, drunken hand. Now, Nathon’s life truly begins, so he hopes.

With essentials gathered and bodies disposed of in their back shed, Nathon smokes another cigarette and wonders what to do next. Besides the obvious, being to leave this house he’s in and adding the guns to the artillery of his. “I need cash, cigs, and some food.”, Says Nathon to no one but himself. “Fuck!” screams Nathon. “God damn bloody lips and nose, I probably need to stitch my lips up.” A loud snap and grinding of bones and cartilage being forced back into the original structure, or as close as it can come to. Now, Nathon only has one more medical problem to deal with. That’ll be dealt with later, maybe. Gathering cash from his mother and father, along with his father’s check he’ll cash and his cigs he’ll smoke; Nathon is ready to head out of this own little Dystopia of his, and out into the land of simian humanoids trying to pass as Homo sapiens. Luckily, Nathon does have a vehicle of his own, a 1989 white, big bodied Lincoln, which has enough trunk space to fit at least four full grown men in, or his parents. But no sense in bloodying his trunk, besides, they need their rest, Nathon thought. “So let them bed together in the shed, like to bloody peas in one big wooden pod,” Nathon half says poetically.

With his tank half empty, he sets out. Where to, he doesn’t know nor care; Just away from there.

Chapter 2.
"On The Road"

Looking in his rearview mirror, Nathon notices he now has a chipped front tooth from his squabble with Joseph last night. “Fucking ay,” Nathon mumbles. At the nearest gas station Nathon stops and fills his tank to the brim. Pays inside for the gas and a 24oz. can of Steel Reserve. Lights a cigarette, pops the can of lager, and he’s off onto the interstate. Leaving his town that could be any one of our own. About four minutes later the beer’s finished and the can is lying on the interstate behind him.

He’s hit his city’s downtown; He never much cared for the night scene or downtown neither for that matter. He’d rather be away from noise pollution and be in his solitude. Needless to say he continues through downtown without a stop or even a look at his surrounding, seeing just the road ahead of him.

His car is equipped with a CD player in which he inserts a CD of Ministry. With the music playing he feels a little more at peace. “Just one fix” is playing and Nathon almost weeps with joy, or is it confusion and sadness. Perhaps all of them combined.

Chapter 3.
"On the Road Again"

Still on I-65 four hours later with a decent buzz still humming in his head and now the need to urinate dancing on his bladder he goes on to the nearest ramp exit to find a pit stop. Luckily there are a couple fast food restaurants, a gas station, and a liquor store farther away. He gives a thought to eating this late morning, but opts for some liquor with his so-called better judgment. So, after he stopped at the gas station where he used the restroom (in a rather filthy room at that, with a customary broken toilet lid), he then heads over to the liquor store.

Once inside he looks around at all the liquors like a kid in a candy store. Nothing but time and the road now. Nathon picks up a pint of 100 proof peppermint Schnapps, then as always he chooses the cheaper and more voluminous bourbon. Another man enters the store. Not just an ordinary man though. A man extraordinarily tall and thin, lean to the point of emaciation. It’s not just his appearance but his presence too. He seems to exude a queerness that no man should. Oddly enough Nathon finds himself attracted to this man, daydreaming of pulling this man’s pants down and taking his cock into his mouth in front of the male cashier. This thought is quickly dismissed about this strange, dark haired man. This odd man is over in gin section now; Nathon resumes his walk from the center of the store where he stopped to stare and daydream of the stranger, continuing to the counter to pay for his liquors.

“Would that be all?” the cashier inquires indifferently. “Yeah.” The strange fellow walks up behind Nathon making him nervous. “Biped #1” Nathon thinks to himself a little nervously. To Nathon’s shock he’s hit with a blunt, metal object, dead center on his right temple. With an explosion of white light with streams of yellow, Nathon collapses to the floor with an aftershock of paralyzing pain throughout his head and down his neck all the way through his spine. At the blow and during the fall all he can see is the seemingly bright white and yellow colors of pain brought by the blow to his head. Blinking after regaining his consciousness that he lost for a few seconds, Nathon strains to see his attacker while rubbing the large knot on the side of his head. He hears a noise besides the throbbing in his head now; Is it laughing? He thinks it may be, or is it a voice mocking him? He isn’t sure. Nathon’s vision is clearer now; He sees a face coming into focus. Then he’s distracted by a push to his back.

“Hey, man. Hey!” Nathon opens his eyes for the first time and looks at the cashier in front of him.

Another jab to his back and a voice again; “Hello!” It’s the strange man behind him.

Nathon has apparently nodded out and dreamt his attack. Turning around, Nathon looks at the customer behind him and apologizes for making the man wait. Nathon exits and the scarecrow walks to the counter and begins his transaction. Oddly enough when in his car while pulling out a cigarette to smoke, Nathon realizes he does truly have a horrible headache. He passes this off as a coincidence and the effect of not having enough alcohol in his system. So, after using his car lighter, Nathon exhales an enormous cloud of smoke and takes a big swig of his Schnapps and recaps the bottle. With his key in the ignition and ready to start up and roll out Nathon is startled by a loud bang. Maybe it was just a dropped bottle. Nathon knows better; the scarecrow just dropped the cashier.

“Fuck this” Nathon mumbles to himself while quickly pulling out. Back on the road with a cig in his mouth and a bottle in hand, he takes a glance in his rearview mirror to the road with the liquor store and spots the odd killer walking out the front doors of the store to his own car. Nathon slows down a little so he can watch this character a little longer. This man stops then spins in a circle on his right foot tilted hill up with outstretched arms almost like a coked out ballerina.

The accelerator is pressed and Nathon drives off to the first interstate exit. “This world, man” Nathon laments.

Chapter 4.
"Lost"

Now being Tuesday night, Nathon has driven continuously from the liquor store heading north and’ll be crossing into a new state within an hour. Nathon never bothered with his lip, while it’s starting to heal up by itself. He hasn’t touched the whiskey yet. Since it only took the pint of Schnapps to get him drunk and he’s just now coming down eight hours later. He’s spotting vagrants every now and then on the sides of the interstate, walking one way and the other. Some are stationary and flying, others just walking to find shelter for the night. Nathon twists the screw top off the whiskey bottle and wishes he bought a chaser while struggling to keep his swig down. After half the bottle Nathon has finally crossed into another state and thus feeling a little safer leaving the state his murdered parents are in. Though Nathon wouldn’t call it murder himself. A necessary evil maybe, but not murder. Tired and drunk, maybe I should say shit faced, Nathon pulls into a Wal-mart parking lot to pass out for the night. He sleeps all through the night ‘til morning undisturbed, except for the morning sun shining in on him which begins his process of waking up around 6:00am.

Chhh eh! Kuhh...ehh...ernt! Some awful, destructive grinding, noise…though not exactly metal being rendered into some absurd abstract object, not altogether at least. “Shit!” Nathon yells realizing that it’s his CD player that’s been playing all night thru the morning which is now devouring his Ministry CD. His player itself may be taking its own life into its own hands by this sacrifice of music and machine. Nathon responds to this experience like any sensible person would, he kicks the shit out of his CD player, consoles, dashboard, and anything else near by deserving his wrath for the moment. “Fuck it, whatever…Murphy has won again”.

(Time to start this day, time to find a way;
Lost somewhat without help from others,
Look for an existence to form from clay.
I’m not sure, but I think that day has turned to night.
Should this realization merit shock?
Even while I have an abundance in intellect,
Skewered as it may be, it never depletes with the clock.
Drain that bottle, on the road with roaring throttle;
I make my reality and dismiss rationality,
While run into this pit I squint my eyes and let it bleed;
What will I do? I believe I know…it’s time to kill another,
Time to take love into myself and become a brother.)

After this soliloquy Nathon lights a smoke, searches for his bottle to see what’s left of it and then puts it aside after taking inventory. His soliloquy has already been forever forgotten by him, as if he never even thought the words, let alone spoken them. With engine started, Nathon leaves the parking lot and heads north to wherever, not caring where for now.

Chapter 5.
"Talking to God, But hearing the Devil"

Somehow Nathon has found himself in some wooded area, not having any clue where these woods are located, whether he’s near Wal-Mart or even in the same state still. One thing he does know is that he’s not in his car and it’s nowhere in sight. He woke up lying on the ground under a tree, which he was curled around, embracing the trunk through the night. “The night? Wait…what’s happened? Nathon’s thoughts start wonder, “What the…fuck happened to the day?”

He checks for his weapons; his guns are gone but his knife is still in his boot thankfully. Sitting up now trying to recall any recollection of the day that has been oddly and a little unnervingly erased from his memory. Nothing. No snippets, no dubs to hear, no subtitles to read, just blackness and a sick feeling in his heart and mind. Starting to gag, Nathon coughs and continuously does so until he finally throws up what’s left of his stomach contents; bile, and liquor. Without even wiping the bile off his mouth first, he lights a fag and enjoys every draw of it. After exhaling with cigarette out of his mouth, he coughs and clears the phlegm from his throat and mouth by spitting the substances onto his jeans, absently rubbing the filth onto his pant’s leg. Surely Nathon is wondering what the hell has happened in his life, what’s caused all this mental anguish? Wonder he does, but to comprehend he does not. Now this, lost with most of his defenses stolen or maybe just lost considering he can’t recall what’s happened today, being sick, no telling for what reasons, and finally he ponders on why he still allows himself to live. He’s never truly considered himself a suicidal person, though he’s never held any life in much high regard, especially his own. Still so, he’d rather leave a scratch on the surface of history, a blink of an eye expelling a mote of dust out into this universe, no matter how small he will leave a sign of his existence. With those grandeur thoughts aside, he comes back into their reality. Knowing that nothing matters in the end; everyone is a copy of a copy of a clone; homogeneous. So enough of this haughty will power and ever increasing impediment of pride, it’s time to live. Eat, drink, and be merry. (That’s what the wise ones say, is it not?)

First off, let Instinctual Drive take the wheel; time to find safety/shelter, food, and possibly some amorous love. Whether the intercourse is mutual or done by complete domination, right now, Nathon could just as easily rape or wait for a willing being. But why make your primal urges wait; haven’t they always served well when complied with? This matter will be dealt with later, though he’ll masturbate anyways…just to feel…something. First, he needs to acquire safety and food. “Wait, what am I…” Nathon begins irritated, “I need to find that damn metal monster!” Now leaning against an eighteen foot high pine tree, Nathon scans across the wooded area. Hoping to find any resemblance of a car far away, since nearby his car is obviously not around. Well, then, Nathon begins to think, I might as well have my dinner now. With that conclusion Nathon pulls out what’s left of his pint of bourbon, half a bottle maybe a little more. “Thank Chaos.” Downing half the bottle in one pouring down his esophagus, he immediately feels much better and almost gay. Warmed up by the liquor, the chill of the night will no longer be a problem. More alert and no longer hungry, just a perpetual thirst, the search begins for Nathon’s belongings, mainly his vehicle at the moment.

When his car was found, oddly it was in the woods he woke up in, only a quarter mile from where he slept or maybe knocked unconscious against that pine. There was someone still in the drivers’ seat with his chest and head leaning against the steering wheel. Passed out drunk or finally crashed after some hard drug use. Who knows?

"I don't give a fuck about reason, he stole my car. Or did he?"

After coming closer to his car he realizes the front passenger door is open, meaning there's another fuck involved. He takes a closer look by standing right in front of the driver’s door, now seeing blood. "Shit."

Nathon looks at the hood then straight beyond that, it seems this fuck crashed his car as well and after the wreck his so called buddy bolted. Now seeing the impact on the trees and the damage on the front fender and hood, Nathon realizes they hit the trees with enough force to almost knock them half down. Then apparently rebounding due to the impact and slight hill the trees are on; sliding the car back down on wet leaves to flat earth. Nathon pulls his hunting knife from his boot, since he doesn't see his guns anywhere in sight. Trying to do this gingerly as possible, so as not to draw any undue attention which could be fatal for him. Poking his head into the driver's window, face to face with this, "Thief!" Nathon yells hoping to wake this man and watch fear slowly register on his worn, tan face. Ready to kill, blade just an inch away...no response. Nathon's shoulders drop in disappointment in unison with an exhale of sorrow. Into this sleeping beasts neck, "Ahh!" Nathon yells with ire and unadulterated frustration. He pulls five inches out of the seven inch blade out of this scum's neck. No reaction still; what is this? (Ah. He sees now.)

Very little blood drips out; this man has been dead for hours...He wasn't just knocked out from the wreck, it killed him. Now, with that dealt with, Nathon must find his guns and free money as well. He forgot to check if his money was still with him. It wasn't, nor was his wallet that held it. Of course, why wouldn't it have been taken? He searches the dead man for other’s stolen valuables and his own. While searching he finds his wallet with cash intact and one of his smaller hand guns on the driver. Also finding some small amount of meth and heroin on this person, these drugs were surely the cause of all the track marks on this dead scum’s body.

“So, that’s how he crashed, too me ‘ron, so he just decided to ride the dragon and fucking fly wherever; Right into a tree” Nathon thought bitterly with a grimace displayed.

Now aloud Nathon grumbles, “Piece of shit wrecked my car”.

Grinding his teeth while he shoots the man in both his eyes for good measure, “Not like he’s going to be using them” Nathon speaks of the goodies he’s collecting. Those items being, cash, a new blade, a couple clean syringes, some smokes, and a lighter to boot. “I’ll be keeping the life of yours I took as well, Mr. Benson” being said while looking at Benson’s driver license and his S.S. card. All set now, after taking his plates off his mangled car that’s now no use to him now. Some siphoned gas, some matches, and a shirt from the corpse rests halfway out of the car's gas tank; the torch is lit along with the gas-soaked corpse. The interior burns now in unison with the fuse sticking out from the gas tank. (Goodbye, Benson,) “Hello, my name is Mr. Benson. Yes, the Benson. Haha.” Nathon hears a ghost speak to him, unsure if in just his head or not.

The gloomy, night sky is lit with pumpkin glow, the fire of death and rebirth. Flaming fingers reach towards the Heavens only to be blown away by inconsiderate winds that billow from the bosoms and lungs of angels. Flames reaching towards Heavens are another outcast, yet smoke is admitted by disguise of a sooty mask.

There’s no siren yet, but he cannot stay here, not for even a minute longer.

With all his new and old belongings in pockets, boots, and his backpack, Nathon runs past the burning bodies both originally star stuff, and runs until he sees some street lights. He cannot stop now though, unless for observation; No cars are around, no sirens yet. Should he venture onto the streets? He decides not to and continues through the woods. A large, quiet, bushy clearing comes into view, with littered tin cans here and there, Ramen noodle packages, and what seems to be a used tampon. Sirens are audible now, coming close, “wait”, closer, and they pass. He runs in the same direction he’s been running, away from the wreck/arson scene. Still not feeling safe with the idea of leaving the woods yet; so, after running around 1 and a ¾ of a mile and no longer hearing sirens, Nathon walks right towards the street in this little neighborhood which he’s not familiar with then, continues with a ginger walk, so as not to seem to suspicious. After another twenty minutes of walking he finds a pharmacy which he goes into to rest and to find out the time. Its 7:40pm, he’s been hiding, running, and walking for almost an hour and a ½ now.

“Can I help you?”

“No, thank you” Nathon replies to the young, homely, female cashier; which he thinks of taking right now, on top of the cashiers counter, stripping, ripping her panties off with his teeth and yanking bloody clumps of her hair and roots out with his right hand while holding her down with the other hand on her neck. Just another fantasy though, nothing more. But one can always dream.

“Oh. You could help me somewhat; could you tell me what the day is?”

“Oh. It’s Tuesday I believe” she answers with an innocent smile; also with…is that lust I see? Oh well.

“Maybe things aren’t that bad” Nathon stated while being grateful for it was just one day lost and not multiples. The clerk just smiles to this last comment of his and picks up some mag of nonsense about celebs and Mexican vampire babes. Searching through the food isles, Nathon grabs some assorted nuts, Ramen noodles, and some box containers of liquid soup, vegetable type. While he’s at it he grabs two 12-packs of Steel Reserve and a six-pack of PBR. After purchasing this all, he stands in front of the store, packing his backpack, the food in a small compartment. Then, the six-pack above the food in the small place, (he might need to switch their positions around so the food is more accessible and won't be crushed by the beer). With just enough room in the larger compartment one of the 12 packs fits snuggly in. Too snug almost, but it’ll do for now. The other twelve cans he’ll have to carry in a plastic grocery bag; not for long though. He sits down on a bench in front of the pharmacy building (built with tan and red bricks) and begins to masticate the pistachios he so loves. The salty, green, brown, and amber, shriveled seeds that almost looks like dried up eyes of some animal that’ve been broiled after salt sprinkled over to absorb the moisture from the organs and given it a toughness so as not to just sizzle, drip, and harden to a crisp mush or better yet like some salted, dried testicles from the same small animal, like a squirrel maybe. Heh; who cares, they taste rich and they can be part of a start of a healthy diet. Plus, all nuts are splendid with beer. With that thought in mind, Nathon walks to the nearest gas station and to his surprise fate was on his side, or is it luck? Either way he found what he was looking for.

A bathroom, but not inside the station, it’s in the back of the building outside past the tanks which requires a key. So, after getting the key to the bathroom Nathon sits down on the toilet, lid up (why not?) and starts on finishing the six cans of PBR. Six minutes later he’s just opening the third. Taking a little more time on this third one, five minutes exactly (well, almost his addled mind thinks) he finishes it and puts all three empty cans after being crushed under the back lid of the basin, you know where. Behind you, that basin filled with water and the buoy inside and the levers connected to the plunger and the chain connected to the flushing lever. (Who cares, I no longer do.)

Now with a little more room in his back pack he’s able to fit six more beers in his pack, only because he took out all of the food and put that in the grocery bag. He returns the keys to the old man at the counter and then, takes his leave.

"I need to find a bar," quick Nathon thinks to himself. With pistachios gone Nathon opens a can of Vienna sausages and eats every one, throwing the trash back in the bag. The streets he’s walking are pretty silent, no cops so far and not many other beings walking around. Being around 8:23pm now, Nathon finds a dumpster to sit behind to rest for a minute and drink a couple more beers as quick as possible. Lights… cop lights? No, just some fucker driving with his high beams on. He’s still spooked though, why take anymore chances, he’s already committed that necessary evil. Cops are surely already looking for him. And what about the dead body in his wrecked car, they’ll find out soon enough the body isn’t his.

“Ahh!” Nathon somehow manages to squeak and yell at the same time. Nathon opts to be inside versus outside the dumpster for the night.

(Austin’s transcription): After getting in, he nestles onto the soft trash bags and cardboard boxes with his backpack still on and bag of food & beer in hand, he looks to his left and sees a slit of light, a side sliding door cracked, which he slid open almost two inches so to have visibility inside his makeshift bar and house and to see a limited view of outside. Now feeling a little more in control and comfortable, Nathon starts to finish his beer. Two are drained, then another. Now with the Pabst gone and twenty minutes passed, Nathon’s cares have substantially passed as well as those of most people who become a little inebriated, tipsy, whatever you wish to call it.

Nathon naps in his dumpster, such a peaceful rest it is. His bed is the trash bags and cardboard, his backpack he took off his back to use as a pillow and he cuddles the bag of beer and food. The stench did have some effect on his sleep though, not waking him up periodically, but affecting the contents of his dreams. Scents are very powerful stimuli. Yes, his dreams were alcohol-driven as well, but that was just a minor factor, especially since there’s always alcohol in this boy’s body. First of all, the dream began with Nathon just as a viewer, seeing strangers interacting, talking to one another but with no words he could hear. He was in the sky it seemed, looking down on these beings which he could not interact with nor them with him; needless to say they didn’t know of his watching presence. There were only a few people congregating at first in dialogue that couldn’t be heard. (So, could those beings ever hear themselves?) If not, then why are they even there, this is my dream is it not? For none of us to interact fully, then why continue this reptilian existence? Back to the point: Now there are six beings below, and wait! I’ve doubled! I am down there now as well. We all seem to be standing around in a large field of grass and flowers. It’s been daylight ever since this ‘dream?’ began, and now all of a sudden it is pitch dark, no light whatsoever, no stars, no moon, nothing. But still my self, the watcher from above, can see everyone as almost I’ve cast a spotlight on every one down there but only I can see this illumination. “Anthony.” My self, the one below has called my name. And in this dream I do know my name is Anthony, as it always has been. And at that, the watcher (my other self) is gone and I’m now only down amongst the others as the one who just spoken to this other self, the watcher. In this dream I am Anthony and I am much younger, I must be around 12 years of age. But when I was as two and looking down as the watcher, everyone down there including my self was older, all at least in their late teens up to early twenties. Not caring much to explore this young body of mine, I realize the flowers can still be seen. They have a smell as well. “What is that smell?” I ask myself. I reach down to pluck a flower and end up uprooting it all. The stench! On the roots there’s a slime that looks alive, it’s pulsing and extending longer with every drip and pulse; there’s also an emitting sound of some sort of electrical humming. For some reason I know I must eat this root, the slime, this organism? So I do… when in my mouth right before I chew, the slimy, pulsing root shoots itself down into my esophagus and attaches itself there with what feels like small metal talons. I try to scream, but I only gag. I try to swallow this thing down… no use. So I cry. I rip at my face, tearing flesh off in jagged strips with my nails. Then a voice says, “It’s okay.” I don’t know why I think or let alone accept this, but the voice is that of the scarecrow.

I wake up, trying to scream but I start to gag. There’s trash in my mouth resting above vomit I was choking on. I guess the stench in here is pretty bad. “Hahg”, Nathon gags and coughs. Coughs and another. Choking still, but can breathe somewhat now. The hacking passes as the trash and vomit passes out of his mouth from his esophagus. “Anthony”, “I told you that you’d be okay. I told you”, Scarecrow has passed through his dream into his waking and continues to speak to him; so it seems. In dismay and confusion, “I don’t need this”, slips from Nathon’s swollen lips. Only half his belongings gathered, Nathon bolts out of his trash treasure chest. In the process he’s successful in catching a leg on the sliding door and falling face first on the pavement from being in such a fright. This results in a raked face, scratched arms, and busting his lips again. Nathon weeps like a child who has lost his mother in a large crowd or just found out his dog was ran over by an automobile. Rising up on his knees now he then proceeds to throw what beer he did take out of the dumpster back into its rightful place. A loud metal thud sounds with the cans hitting the inside of the dumpster. Maybe there’s been too much alcohol for him this week. Now, with only his back pack barely filled with what little food he left in it earlier, and his clothes on his back he begins to walk again. Feeling somewhat secure after stopping a few feet away from his old abode and checking his pack for his guns, they’re still there and that gives him a little comfort. A small handgun is in his waistband now, just in case another incident may appear.

[jerH]

You've got a good character here in Nathon....this became a really tough read right at the end though. The dream sequence was rough....I feel like there's something there that I'm missing, and a little more clarity might make it more accessible. I kind of got the feeling this was written quickly, like the words just came pouring out. That's good, but I think it left you with a rough gem that could benefit from some polishing. Definitely good base material here though...look forward to reading more from you.

[nobodylaiceps]

Originally Posted by jerH

You've got a good character here in Nathon....this became a really tough read right at the end though. The dream sequence was rough....I feel like there's something there that I'm missing, and a little more clarity might make it more accessible. I kind of got the feeling this was written quickly, like the words just came pouring out. That's good, but I think it left you with a rough gem that could benefit from some polishing. Definitely good base material here though...look forward to reading more from you.

Thanks...you're one of only a few people whom I've spoke to that've read my work in progress, and the only one who has commented on it. In a positive way at that, thanks. You're correct, the end I wrote around 5am on alot of caffeine, in a fever....then, crashed. The dream sequence doesnt mean much...it was only done to bring back the character from the liqour store...this story is probably going to take a fantasy/paranormal twist...Im working on this right now, the story as a whole that is. (I love Gibson as well....count zero, neuromancer, pattern recognition...only ones ive read by him...started spook county at a book store....then passed out in the chair. I didnt sleep the past days before, and was drinking quite a bit.) peace.
Postscript: I dont know why I just didnt PM you, since everyone is going to read this now. So why not just not submit this?

[GermanRose21]

Wow. That is some powerful material you have there. Nathon seems so real. The anger, the murders, its great. Like jerH said it is still rough, the dream is really hard to read and comprehend. It didn't make much sense to me either, but I really enjoyed it. Look forward to reading the rest of it!

[nobodylaiceps]

im going to take this down and post the next act of this story.

[jerH]

No need to take it down...you never know when someone will provide some great insight.

[Dante]

I wouldnt take it down if I were you. Jut clean it up a bit. It is rather clustered at certain points and it makes it hard to stay focused. Maybe its just me. You seem really good at anger though. I enjoyed this.

[WorldWarCheese]

I'm going to write this as I read:
Chapter One:
1.

His mother, Valerie, is an average sized woman. About 5’6” with adequate breast, wide hips, long, beautiful, fading red hair. Eyes like emeralds and skin pallid as baby powder. An Irish beauty of 47 years old. She’s lost most of the weight gained during pregnancy of her only child. To guess, I’d say she weighs at around 150pds.

This description seems a little cold to me. You did a fantastic job of describing everything else but this came off like a police wanted persons report and not the description of a poor woman trapped in a grimy home with an apparently shitty life.

2. WHAT THE FUCK!?!?! Crazy........... wow, if you gotta kills some people in a story, haha, this is the way to do it I guess.

Chapter Two:
A little confusing here, he's just driving around right? A'right, I bet this is setting something good up.

Chapter Three:
1. Surprises surprises. Wow, if I didn't love the aspect of "Whoa, this is nuts" (It's really fun to read) I'd be a little taken aback at the apparent randomness of it all. But hey, I'm a random guy and thusfar, this is a Grade A in my book.

Chapter Four:
1. The Making-Sounds-With-Words seemed a little off. Not the sound I had in my head. Maybe it's just me. (I find those things tough anyways)

2. Cool poem, did you write that yourself?

Chapter 5:
1.

amorous love

Umm... rape's not all that amorous...

2. Umm... I'm lost.

3. More lost...

4. What happened to the parents?

5 (And really most important aspect) Nathon was an interesting character that looked like he was going somewhere or to something intersting but then it ends really confusing and abruptly with something about an "Austin" guy that I didn't really understand (And I love random) and it's all really really making my head spin (Then again I'm readint this at 5:30 AM, wtf am I doing!?)

I'll try Chapter 5 tomorrow after lunch when I'm awake. But kudos on 1-4, damn good read.

[RENA HANDS]

First, I love the title. Second, there is too much repetition for me. Interesting read for the first two chapters that I’ve read.

Example…Walking across the room to his dresser that the shirt lay on, Nathon grabs his shirt, shakes the wrinkles out somewhat, and slips it on.

Possibly…Walking across the room to his dress that the shirt laid on, he grabbed it, shook out the wrinkles, somewhat then slipped it on.

I think also verb tense in incorrect, should it not be written in past tense?

Stirred by the scream of his mother, he thought to himself maybe she has chopped off one of her fingers as she prepared their breakfast. He sat up on his bed; an old spring mattress covered by stained white sheets. Mom was not much of a maid. The blanket was a sight, a cigarette burned, beer soiled, sleeping bag that had belonged to one of his father’s friends. The man camped often by himself occasionally to “find some peace of mind.” This friend practiced acts of Bestiality.

“Nathon!” his mother yelled.

He dropped his foot, then his left onto the aged white, now brown, carpet stained from drinks spilled and mud-dragged into most of the rooms in the house by Nathon and his father.

You tend to capitalize after using a semicolon this is not incorrect.

Example…Awakening after sleeping all day, Nathon hears the front door creak open; His father has returned from work.

Possibly…Awakened after sleeping all day, Nathon heard the front door creak open; his father had returned from work.

Again, more repetition…Nathon’s father was rarely around in Nathon’s younger years, he was a neglective father; Apathetic, slight inane, and reclusive.

Possibly…Nathon’s father was rarely around in his youth, he was a neglective father; apathetic, slightly inane, and reclusive.

There is no wording as neglective, but there is negligent or neglectful.

Possibly…Well, when it come to Joseph, “father,” practically doesn’t exist in his son’s mind.

The vulgarity is too much. The alcoholic items mentioned should be capitalized. You remain repetitive with your ideas and words.
The verb tense confuses also. And Nathon is just too violent.

[WorldWarCheese]

Originally Posted by Rena Hands

And Nathon is just too violent.

I gave it some thought and I agree. Not just too violent, but too RANDOMLY violent I think.

[nobodylaiceps]

Originally Posted by WorldWarCheese

I gave it some thought and I agree. Not just too violent, but too RANDOMLY violent I think.

He's suppose to be that way, very emotionally unstable, this fellow is not sane, neither will he thinky sanely nor act sanely.

[WorldWarCheese]

Okay, I just reread my comments and enough of the story to remember it (no offense, but man, I've read more stories in the past year than the last 5 together) and come to the conclusion that yeah, he's insane. But it's not a "good" insane.

A "good" insane is "One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest" insane where the insanity is portrayed as a sort of alternate logic that makes sense if you think about it through "their" eyes. You spend less time going "WTF" and more time wondering why no one else in the story can fathom why the insane guy does what he does.

This was the one where you kinda just said "He's fuckin' craaaaazeh" and went with it. Which is cool, but not for a main character. To personally get into a story I need to either:
Empathize
Sympathize or at the very least
Understand

the main character. In this, I did not. I questions the judgment, was often shocked in a more "wtf? whyyyy?" way than normal and found myself less "in" with the main character than someone who is farthest from the dude's mindset.

You gunna write crazy, make me understand the crazy. So much so that when someone asks me if I would like a sandwich IRL my new natural reaction is to go "OOGAH BOOGAH" and stab her. In the eye.