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D a m n e d F u c k i n g S h i t
- Presents -
Issue #54
Date: 5/30/96
Title: Scarred
Author: Dementia Praecox
[Editor's Note: Yeah so ya see, DFS is back with some brand spanking new
stuff. Look at the index for some more inph0 on DFS mother fucker!!! -AD]
- s c a r r e d -
by Dementia Praecox
There was rain.. it seemed almost too much rain. It flowed
through the streets in small rivers and collected in puddles along
the sidewalks. It smacked against the sides of buildings. It
filled up all the weathered-in cracks along the ground, and took
with it all the grime, all the muck and filth, that the city had
collected during the day. It beat steadily against his already
completely drenched and soaked-through clothes, dripping under his
collar and sliding down his back, none of which he felt. It fell
continually on her cold, lifeless face, mixing with his tears as he
knelt over her shattered body, as he stared into her unfocused
eyes, silently begging her to return to him.
"Please.. please come back.. don't leave me..", he brushed
aside her drooping hair and sobbed into her neck, "I love you.. ".
She didn't move. The rain continued its drumming. Around them,
the city was silent, waiting out the storm, as nature seemed to
weep for her newly lost child.
It had been so quick.. Jesus Christ. What the hell had gone
so terribly wrong? What had she (or he?) possibly done to have
deserved this? He searched back through his already departing
memory of the incident to try to remember what had even happened..
that movie really could've been better but oh well you
just can't pick these things just by the commercials that
doesn't really matter anyways my god she's so beautiful
i love her so much what makes her even speak to me i
don't like that car over there the color just doesn't
look right i really like the color grey maybe i'll paint
my house looks like it might rain soon shit i wonder if
it's gonna freeze again and cover everything with ice
like last time is my garage door open i think i left it
closed but i can't remember i can't help but smile when
i watch her like this she's so funny without even trying
to be i love her what was my life ever like without her
i can't even remember anymore but that doesn't matter
because she's here now i think it's time to pick up
another battery for my cordless phone i can't even tell
what anyone is saying anymore on that damn thing i like
oranges i think i'll have some orange juice when i get
home smashing pumpkins really sucks this guy looks like
a hardass could i take him yeah undoubtedly yeah keep
walking motherfucker i wonder what it feels like to beat
someone within an inch of their life and then stand back
and laugh at them trying to breath my god where did that
thought come from i hope she never finds out these things
i think about sometimes that doesn't make me weird does
it oh well no one else knows anyways and everybody thinks
like that god i love her so much where is this alley
going anyways seems like we've been walking forever this
car's going awful fast black berreta pretty sleek i guess
but i don't know if i want one jesus christ shut the fuck
up like you know a thing about cars oh no look out you're
to close move move get out of the way lookout oh fuck he
just plowed her out of the way is she okay stop stop get
back here mother fucker license plate has a 9 and 0 in it
is she okay dear god no no not her why not me please be
okay i love you there's so much i haven't told you god
there's blood everywhere how long has it been raining
hang on i love you don't leave oh jesus why hang on
please where's the police...
The day dawned bleak. At first, he thought it was all some
foul, accursed nightmare teasing his mind with the worst
possibilities of his life. Then he opened his eyes. She was still
gone. He called out to her, pathetically hoping she was there, but
empty silence and the dying echoes of his shouts were the only
sounds that greeted him. He collapsed into a weeping pile of
wretchedness upon the bed.
It had been almost a week, and he could still not sleep
through the night. He had eaten next to nothing and even that he
could hardly keep down. He couldn't go to work. He couldn't go
out with friends. He couldn't do anything.
Every single day he called the police, hoping that the
situation had changed, hoping that they'd at least found something.
Everyday, "Sergeant James Hicks" told him the same thing.
"Sorry sir, we've got nothing new to report to you today,
we'll call you if there's any new developments," the pig always
said. He had already spent hours talking to the prick, filling out
reports.. and he despised him. He seemed to be the incarnation of
everything he found atrocious in people: gigantic, stupid,
incompetent, a hopeless individual.
Were they even ATTEMPTING to look for the killer? That
worthless bastard was out there somewhere, still alive, still free,
while she was gone, an innocent victim in the world of the guilty.
The police it seemed, did nothing, ever. How many black berretas,
with a 9 & 0 in the plates could there POSSIBLY BE for Christ's
sake?! He was obviously being screwed by the police.. there was to
be no legal vengeance whatsoever for her death. She was
yesterday's news, and the police department had bigger and better
things to do than to take care of a single vehicular homicide in
this seething gutter of despair that somehow passed for a city.
He sat alone in the apartment until once more darkness lit the
city with its sweet, anonymous embrace. Although he seemed to be
staring at the wall, he didn't see it. He saw only her, her dark,
alluring eyes, her smiling face.. her broken body cradled in his
arms. Finally, he decided it was time for another try. One more
trip to the police station, one more attempt at justice. He would
go tonight, and he would go every night, until she was avenged, and
her troubled soul could at last be laid to total peace. It was all
he had left now, his only reason to continue dragging himself
through this melancholy cycle of pain called life.
The streets were deserted as he walked the few blocks down to
the police station, his heels dragging across the sidewalks
wearily. He arrived just in time to see someone walking to the
parking lot. Even through the haze of darkness, he could recognize
Jim Hicks' fat, unkempt bulk shuffling through the parking lot
towards his car. He was about to call out to him, see if anything
had happened, but found that he couldn't. His ragged breath caught
in his throat, and he slumped to the ground, still encased in the
protective shadows of the night.
"Oh god.. no..", he sobbed quietly to himself as the sergeant
sped away in his sleek, black berreta, license plate NJC-590.
_______________________________________
Jim left work at the same time he did every night, slipping
into his more relaxed "home" mood to escape the tensions of the
day. He certainly was not getting any younger, and his heart had
been troubling him lately, especially with the shakeups he'd had
recently. He pulled open the door and slid his ponderous bulk
behind the wheel of his new car, his pride and joy. As he closed
the door, a great sigh escaped him, and he relaxed entirely. He
only felt the first few dull pangs of agony after the metal bar
smacked him over the head before dropping off into the depths of
his subconscious.
______________________________________
He was screaming again. That was good. It meant he was still
alive, still in agony, and still paying. No one could hear him
here, anyways. They were deep in the heart of a deserted warehouse
near his parents' old home. They had been here for hours now, and
they had been busy. Well, he had been busy. Hicks, or what was
left of him anyways, had been mostly screaming.
"You're going to die, you miserable son of a bitch", he'd told
Hicks when they'd started, "and it's going to be slow, so get
ready". Then he had become vengeance personified.
At this point, Hicks was only barely recognizable as human.
He was strapped naked to a chair, and rivers of blood seeped from
almost every pore. His right arm was stapled to a wooden desk, and
the hand was completely crushed. Bone fragments protruded all over
from where the sledgehammer had gone to work.
Long, deep gashes from a razor blade covered his entire torso.
Rusted fishing hooks and nails peeked out from any open flaps of
skin. His entire body was covered with seared wounds, because
everytime Hicks would pass out from pain, a red-hot poker would be
plucked from the fire and pressed against his flesh. He'd wake up
screaming and start thrashing all around, and the work would begin
again.
Finally, hours later, there was really nothing left to do but
leave him to die. He sat in front of him, toying with a gun,
waving it around enticingly. Finally he spoke.
"Should I kill you now, fuckface?", he asked him. Hicks
managed to groan out his approval around the stump of his tongue,
which had been cut out earlier with a dull pocketknife.
"Don't worry, you'll die soon enough. Don't even think,
though, not for a second, that you'll escape this by dying. I
haven't even started on you yet, you bastard. When we meet again
in Hell, I'll be laughing as I flay you to pieces by the hour.. For
now, though, I'm just giving you something back that you gave to
her.. How does it feel to know that you're about to die? To know
there's nothing you can do about it?" he stared at the quivering
form for a bit. Hicks said nothing.
"Answer me!". In response, Hicks moaned softly.
Two shots rang out loudly through the warehouse, echoing back
into the dank, foul recesses. The contents of the false judicial
champion's skull emptied onto the back wall, and fragments of bone
littered the floor. The haggard breathing stopped, and the form
slumped over. It was done.
He sank down on the floor, shaking quietly. Two tears slowly
tracked their way down through his face, landing softly on the
floor.
"I love you", he said quietly in the darkness, before placing
the gun into his own mouth. Seconds later another shot rang out in
the stillness.
In the end, the papers called him a monster. In the end, the
police called him a demonic sadist bent on imagined vengeance. In
the end, he was shunned by society as a killer of its children, an
eater of its innocence. But in the end however, he was merely a
lover.
- t h e . e n d -
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