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The Visitor |
Fiction
Feta Cheese - The Musical
Tell me, sir,
Could you please save
My head, I fear
That my brain waves
Are slowly turning into
Lumps of poo...
(Chorus background: Poo! Poo!)
And I know
That if I spent
A second saving
Up to rent
A great big flat
I would be fat
From vindaloo...
(Chorus background: In the loo...!)
Refrain:
Oh, GLORIOUS! So GLORIOUS! The mountains made of CHEESE!
Oh GLORIOUS! So GLORIOUS! These hills do what they PLEASE!
(Chorus background: You're welcome!)
...I seriously need help. Of the professional kind.
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Tigers and Antelopes
Jason had that feeling again. The same one he had in Covent Garden when he first met her. She was just an aquaintance, but it sparked up that feeling.
The first time he experienced it he was fourteen years old. Her name was Sarah. Her hair smelt of danger and she moved the way tigers hunt. He was the equivalent of an antelope at the time, right for the pickings. She pounced and he fell.
But not this time. Now he was conditioned. He wasn't an antelope anymore. He wouldn't be prey. As this new predator stalked him within the shadows of the cocktail party, hiding behind coloumns and guests, her eyes striking him like poisoned darts, he stood and waited, a bait.
Deep inside the left breast pocket of his second hand tweed suit jacket, just above where his heart would be, his stanley knife awaited his call.
"I've seen you before, haven't I?" she said, "Donovan's party at Covent Garden?"
"Yes, you did," he replied.
"I've been watching you," she said, her voice deep and sultry.
"I know," he replied. She talked, he listened, and when the conversation died down he asked her,
"Follow me for a second, will you?"
"Where to?"
"I want to introduce you to someone. Someone very close to my heart."
I just realized the character in this is called Jason, same as the guy in 'The Mark' story I wrote before. And the short script I posted before that. All the main characters in this 'Fiction' section (save for the 'Floppily-Doppily Land' story) are called Jason. Subliminal connection? Maybe. Who the fuck is Jason?
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In Floppily-Doppily-Woppily land...
Since Eddy's been posting demented children's stories, I thought I'd have a go for shits n' giggles.
In Floppily-Doppily-Woppily land
There once was a boy who looked up to a man
Who sat in a bin and would smile with a grin
As he merriedly sipped his St. Broderie's gin
"I like him because of the mess that he's in,"
Said the boy as he talked of the man in the bin,
"He's lost all his money, his wife and his kids
But he's always so merry, a-fondling his tits!"
For the man in the bin had gained weight, quite a bit
From drinking all day and the man would not shit
"For shit is the soul, and the soul must not leave,"
said the man as he licked off the gin on his sleeve,
"There is no event that is reason to grieve,
In that 9 to 5 life I decided to leave
And why should I grieve of the loss of my wife?
The bitch took my money, my kids and my life!
My comics, she took them, my trophies so bright
That I won as a boxer in my final fight
She took them away and ran off with my brother
Since before we were married they'd always been lovers!
But I did once catch them but I did not bother
To bring up the day when I saw my bro smothered
In My wife's own bossom as my labrador
Was mounting her hard as she lay on all fours."
The boy would go often to listen for more
Of these strange anecdotes that the man had in store
But he did not know that the man had a secret
He'd think of the boy, grab his penis, and beat it!
And as the boy's visits became much more frequent
The man kept on thinking, "I love him, I feel it!
But if I did tell him he'd run to the cops
And they'd send me to jail and my bottom will pop!"
The boy kept returning, the man would not stop
His fantasies of the boy rubbing his cock
But deep down the boy had a secret himself
He was not a real boy but a toy from the shelf
Of considerable value, and a man of much wealth
Paid for the dear toy and used Satanist stealth
To give it a soul by a fortified demon
(For argument's sake, the rich man's name was 'Steven')
And Steven said, "boy, you must grab all his semen,
And give it to me, only then we'll be even!
And you can go back as a toy on a shelf"
But the boy did not want to be his former self
"I like my new body, it is of good health
If I had a lisp, I would say, 'my butt smellthhh
of poo, but thathhh cool becauthh I am alive!'
So don't come down here with that ol' semen jive!
So Steven said, "My, by the heads of my wives!
I've never heard such insubordinate cries!
I'll turn you back into the toy you once were
If you don't get the semen, by theft or by lure!"
So the boy went and found the man covered in fur
Which he took from a lady of well-known demure
"I've got me a coat, that'll last me till winter!"
Said the man in the bin, "now I won't need to shiver!"
The boy said, "I know of a way you'll sure quiver"
And with that he knelt and undid the man's zipper
The man blessed his days and awaited his prize
As the semen spewed, hitting the poor toy-boy's eye
Then Steven appeared and his smile was so sly
The man said, "I'm sorry, it was my first time"
And Steven said, "you, who doth live in a bin!
Don't you recognize your own flesh and blood, man of sin?
The man took a sip of his watered down gin
And said, "you're my brother? How long has it been?
What news of my wife, my kids and my trophies?"
And Steven said, "your wife's a slave to God Loki!"
Perturbed and disturbed, the man gave him a poke-y
And said, "don't you mess with me, bro, you don't know me!"
And with that the man changed, his body did grow
His skin turned to brown, and his hair turned afro!
For he was no man turned to bum or hobo
The man was now bigger, and fitter, with flow
"Ey, yo, motherfucker, you fuckin' wit' me?"
He said in ebonics, "don't you know I'm a G?"
He took out his gat, and his 9-mil Uzi
And shot Steven down to the ground easily
So don't ever jack-off an old homeless man
In Floppily-Doppily-Woppily land
This came out MUCH more disturbed than I thought it would. There's something wrong with me...
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The Mark
A little piece of fiction I wrote out of boredom on myspace, just to see how my twisted brain works. Completely unplanned, just follow wherever the words may go...
Jason watched the girl lead her mark into the alleyway. This wasn't the first time he'd watched her. Ever since the day they bumped into each other at the deli, he'd followed her. Watched her. Fantasized about her. Perhaps tonight she'd be his one and only. Perhaps not.
She said her name was Natalya. She smiled a rehearsed smile designed to hide any emotion that would betray the mark's erection. The only thing that mattered was that hard-on. Hard-on's made money, no matter what shape or form. Don't think about the past, don't think about home, keep it up, in every sense of the word.
Jason watched Natalya get down on her knees. She gently brushed the dirt below and hitched her skirt up slightly. She wasn't going to dirty that skirt. The night's still young. Jason watched, took a deep breath, and began sharpening the machete.
The mark's name was Gerald. Gerald Hart. Gerald was in advertising, an associate manager, which makes Gerald a busy man, and Gerald simply hasn't the time to court or flirt. He has no time for bars and clubs, the endless game of charades at night. Time is precious to Gerald, and if Gerald doesn't cum within the next ten minutes Gerald will be late for his wife's 38th birthday dinner at La Bernadine, and Gerald's wife is not an understanding woman.
Natalya held all of Gerald's four inches in her manicured hands and said a prayer, the same prayer she'd said dozens of times before, every single time. She moistened her mouth and gave Gerald a little kiss, a little peck, before taking all of Gerald in her mouth.
Jason's heart skipped a beat. Maybe he should just keep watching. Maybe he should at least wait a while longer. He checked the machete. It was sharp enough.
Gerald held onto the grim brick wall and wondered why his wife would only do it that one time.
Natalya tried to get the taste out of her head.
Jason came out of the shadows.
Gerald came.
Natalya swallowed.
Jason ran.
Gerald gasped.
Natalya's eyes caught sight of
Jason lifted the machete above
Gerald's head was gleaming with sweat. He reached for his wallet to pay
Natalya was caught off guard when she saw
Jason lunged his machete into
Gerald's stomach felt warm. Why did it feel warm? And wet. Didn't he cum inside the whore's dirty mouth? That's why his wife wouldn't do it. It's a whore's game, and so he went to one to get done what would've been merely five minutes of saltiness and a starchy after taste. He came in the whore's mouth. Not his stomach. So why was his stomach warm? Why was it wet? He'd never cum that much before. It didn't feel like he'd cum that much before. Cum isn't red. Was the light making the cum look red? Why was-
Jason struck his machete deep into Gerald's heart this time, twisting it as he pierced through his Armani suit, CK shirt and indespensable rib cage. Natalya got to her feet and lit up a cigarette.
"You didn't have to wait until he came," she said, smoke billowing out of her lips.
"They're easier to get once they've popped a load," he replied, pulling the machete out.
Gerald dropped to the ground. He felt someone feel inside his suit. This wasn't a girl. Girl's don't have hands this big. The whore's hands weren't this big.
"Nice wallet," said Jason, admiring the hand made leather.
"How much is in there?"
"About $2,000 in cash, some credit cards..."
Gerald thought about the time. He was late. He was definitely late for his wife's birthday.
"...car keys."
"He came in an Audi. I think he parked it down there." She pointed to the other end of the road. "God, did he ever wash his dick?" she said, spitting out remnants of Gerald's seed onto the gravel.
"Come on, Nat," said Jason, cleaning Gerald's blood off the blade, "let's hit up the deli and get that taste out your mouth. Cream cheese bagels."
Natalya fixed up her skirt and watched the mark breath his last breathe. As they walked away, Gerald's cellphone rang. On the other end of the phone his wife sat at La Bernadine alone, silently wishing her husband would just drop dead.
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Jason and Ravi go to Turnmills
INT. FORD ESCORT - NIGHT
A Ford Escort, parked on the side of the road. Inside, JASON and RAVI are sat in the front. It's a chilly September Friday night on the streets of London, outside Turnmills.
JASON, dressed in a shirt, tie and suit jacket, complete with glasses, keeps his eyes on the night club opposite them. It's about three AM, and the clubbers are making their way out.
RAVI, dressed in a hooded top and truckers cap, is playing 'Bounce' on his Nokia phone. He loses, and chucks the phone onto the dashboard.
RAVI
I'm hungry.
JASON
You think I'm not hungry?
RAVI
I wish we could have a cheeseburger. Don't you wish we could have a cheeseburger?
JASON
Shut up, we're supposed to keep our eyes on the job.
RAVI
Yeah, but wouldn't you kill for a cheeseburger right now? Or chips in pitta bread. I could murder some chips. Vinegar. Salt. Ketchup. Mayonnaise.
JASON
I don't see why anyone would pay one pound fifty for what is essentially a big pile of carbohydrate.
RAVI
I'm hungry.
JASON
We're both hungry.
One of the clubbers pops out, staggering slightly.
RAVI
What about that one?
The clubber stops by the side of the building and starts vomiting violently.
RAVI
Alright, maybe not.
A group of girls come out next, giggling.
RAVI
What about them?
JASON
Look at them. They're sixteen if they're a day.
RAVI
Yeah? And?
JASON
Don't you have any morals?
RAVI
Fine. [pause] Mousakka.
JASON
What did you call me?
RAVI
I didn't call you anything, I said 'mousakka', it's a food.
JASON
Stop fixating on food.
RAVI
I'm just hungry that's all.
JASON's eyes are now on a girl who's just popped out of the club. She's smoking a cigarette.
RAVI
I miss a decent meal, is all.
The girl makes a call on her mobile phone. JASON looks mesmerized.
JASON
That one.
JASON exits the car.
RAVI
Like peanut butter. I never liked peanut butter but... [realizing JASON's gone] Oh, bollocks.
EXT. STREET - NIGHT
JASON calmly walks over towards the GIRL. RAVI walks in another direction, towards the back of the building. JASON approaches the GIRL, taking out a cigarette. He approaches her and talks to her with the demeanour of a James Bond-bred cool-as-ice kinda guy [I don't know what I'm trying to describe here. Basically, he approaches her in such a way that it wouldn't cause the girl to run away. Somehow].
JASON
You shouldn't be walking alone at this time of the night.
GIRL
And why not?
JASON
Lots of dangerous people out this time of night.
GIRL
Really? You one of them, 'cos if you are, I best warn you I've got a can of pepper spray in my bag and I don't mind using it.
JASON
No, I'm not one of them, [pointing at cigarette].
The GIRL, hesitantly, lights his cigarette. As JASON takes a puff, RAVI appears from behind with a cloth of chloroform, grabbing the GIRL.
JASON
Ravi, on the other hand, is a vicious little cunt.
The GIRL passes out.
RAVI
How come I never get to be the one to chat them up?
JASON
'Cos you look like a serial rapist.
INT. FORD ESCORT - NIGHT
JASON and RAVI carry the girl into the back seat.
RAVI
I do not look like a serial rapist.
JASON
Yes, you do.
RAVI rolls up the girls sleeve.
RAVI
I fucking well don't!
JASON takes out a black medical bag. He opens it up and pulls out a syringe.
JASON
Look, there's a reason we do things this way.
RAVI takes the syringe and starts taking the GIRL's blood. He repeats this as they talk, filling up a jar.
JASON
I'm good with women. You're good with the more... unsavory aspect.
RAVI
'Unsavory aspect'? I do all the hard work here, mate! You just walk up to them and lull them into a false sense of security.
JASON
I do not. I make the fall easier for them. I'm the calm before the storm.
RAVI
So I'm a storm now, am I?
JASON
How much've we got?
RAVI
Sigh... about a pint and a bit.
JASON
That'll do. We don't want her to wake up dead. Let's put her on that bench there.
RAVI and JASON carry her out, then return to the car. As they drive off, RAVI takes a big gulp from the jar, then passes it to JASON. JASON turns to RAVI, then turns back to the road.
JASON
You've got a bit on your nose.
RAVI
Oh, cheers.
He wipes it, then takes a look in the mirror. There is no reflection.
RAVI
God, being a vampire's shit.
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