The Darkest Depths
by Daniel Beadle - Monday, October 19, 2009
“That situation at the bar left a bad taste in my mouth... and I’m not talking about the metallic taste of blood, neither.” Jake spits on the sidewalk. “But like I was saying… that blonde pop star… It’s not that she’s particularly attractive. It’s just easy to find yerself attracted to someone at the center of attention. ‘Course, I listen to her music… makes me feel closer to her, like I can practically crawl into her mouth… dick-first. Too often do I look at some mildly attractive bitch, and just yearn to drag a sloppy, half-hardened dick across the outside of their thigh. But it’s the really beefy ones you just want to deep fry and eat the muscle off their bones. Gotta love that deviant shit… I figure, if yer gonna be offensive, you might as well go all the way. …Like raping the rotting corpse of a same-sex relative. But I’m digressin’ a bit. Look at that one. You see that shit, you gotta wonder what kind of noises she makes when she orgasms…”Jake and Stalker are standing on a cold city street across from a nightclub. Jake takes the occasional drag from his cigarette as he and his companion watch women enter and exit the building. Naturally, Jake is speaking without a filter on his thoughts, dispensing a plethora of misogynistic insights.
“Of course she’ll tell you she has a boyfriend. The way I figure it, all girls will tell you they have a boyfriend just to cool you down a little. No guy ever has a girlfriend because he’s always keeping his options open.” He pauses as his eye catches a female with an hourglass figure. “Look at her… I just want to crawl into her womb and be unborn. You know what I mean? Just revert to fucking fetus for nine months.”
Time rolls forward, and Stalker feels disoriented as he listens to Jake’s tirade of sleazy remarks: “I just wanna fuck her throat… I just wanna take her home and play with her... like wholesome stuff. I just wanna pet her... heavily if necessary. I just wanna to tell her my feelings. I just wanna stick my finger up her ass. I just wanna nibble on her a little. I just wanna choke her softly, maybe spit in her mouth…”
The last comment throws Stalker off, because he’s not completely sure who spoke it. Jake’s spontaneous singing stifles his uncertainty: “I'm a girl watcher, I'm a girl watcher... Watchin' girls go by… My, my, my.” Jake licks his lips. “I'm a girl watcher, I'm a girl watcher... Here comes one now... Mmm mmm mmm...” He stops singing and points out a girl that’s caught his eye. “That one. Look at her. Looks kinda like Briana Banks.”
Stalker expresses his reservations with a grunt.
“What’s the matter with you? Lower your standards, god dammit. Look, she’s thin and she has no major deformities. What more could you ask for? Besides…” Jake squints. “Her friend’s got nice hammers. C’mon.” Jake stamps out his cigarette as he walks briskly across the street. Stalker follows, feeling partially non-existent in the shadow of Jake’s bombastic personality. At what point, he wonders, did he become relegated to a supporting character in his own story?
Jake hums a tune once more: “I wonder if you know, that you’re putting on a show… Could you please walk a little closer?” Jake and Stalker arrive on the opposite sidewalk, now half a block from the nightclub entrance. The two girls are walking briskly away from the club as the boys approach. Jake speaks softly to Stalker: “I like the way her ass moves when she walks.” The boys quicken their pace. “You gotta get close enough to get their scent... So you can almost smell that pussy..."
Stalker feels an overwhelming sense of déjà vu mixed with disgust.
“HEY!” shouts Jake. “You girls need a ride?”
Stalker hangs back as the girls turn around. Even from a distance, Stalker can hear their slurred speech.
“Who’re you?” says the blonde.
“I’m a good guy… trying to keep hot girls like yourselves from getting attacked by some weirdos.”
“Weirdos? Are you saying that you’re not weirdos?” The girl begins laughing as she looks at Stalker.
Jake dismisses it. “Don’t mind him. He’s a virgin. You want a butt?”
“We gotta get back to the hotel… My boyfriend is coming to pick us up…” She hiccups. “He drives a Porsche.”
Jake smirks. “Yer boyfriend?” He begins laughing.
“What’s so god damned funny?”
“Nothing.” Jake motions for Stalker to circle around. “Drives a Porsche, eh? The official car of douche bags and tools trying to seem younger than they are.”
“He’s loaded.”
“I’m sure he is.”
The brunette rummages through her purse. “Stacy? You have any Xanax?”
“Listen,” says Jake. “I could be your boyfriend tonight.”
Stacy looks at him blankly. “You’re not my type.”
Jake shakes his head. “…Because I’m not some 40 year old geezer with deep pockets, right? Well, that makes for a very bright future for me, and a very shitty one for you.”
“You’re a…. asshole.”
Jake grabs her hair and jerks her head back. “The second I fuck you, you lose all superiority you ever thought you had.”
“I’m not scared of you,” says Stacy with a shaky voice.
Jake smiles and says, “That’s because you don’t know me yet.” Jake slams his forehead into hers, and she falls to his feet.
The brunette begins shouting, “WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS?”
“Grab her, man.”
Stalker pulls the girl’s wrists behind her back as Jake approaches.
“YOU FUCKING ASSHOLES!”
Jake grits his teeth. “Shut…” He punches her across the face. “UP!”
The brunette falls. Jake spits on the ground, then mutters, “Help me drag them into the alley. I’ll bring the car around and we can take them from there.”
* * *
Stalker shivers as he looks at the adjacent highway. He and Jake are on the second floor of a gutted building in a forgotten neighborhood at the edge of the city.
“There,” says Jake as he steps back. “We’re all set, buddy.” Stalker turns to see the two females fastened to the ground with an odd assortment of electrical tape and extension cords. Their faces are covered in tape as well, with dirty rags shoved down their throats. Their garments are torn but intact, and the tarp that they lie on collects blood leaking from the back of their heads. Jake rubs his dirty hands as Stalker walks over to his position.
“…So I drilled holes in the back of their skulls, and it puts them in this zombie-like state… a trance. They won’t resist anymore.” Jake catches an odd glance from Stalker. “What? You think just cause I don’t have a fucking degree means I’m not smart?” He motions at the two women. “Now tell me… is this not every man’s fantasy? Two hot bitches bound and gagged, spread eagle, just waiting for a dick up their twat?”
“Why are we doing this?”
“Oh come on. How else are guys like you and me gonna get this shit? We’re the wretched. Girls won’t touch guys like us, and I don’t know about you, but I can’t afford a prostitute. Pussy is like a can of soup in a supermarket. You buy it, or you steal it. And I haven’t eaten in days. Now come on. Hold the blonde in a head lock and lick her face while I see how far I can drive this metal piping up her box.”
Something sinister has been growing in this man named Jake. Something ugly. There was a point when Stalker considered Jake an ally, something of a kindred spirit. But the worm has turned, and Jake is now a grotesque reflection of everything he is, and all that he fears becoming.
The moments flutter in the shadowy atmosphere. Grunting mixes with panicked breathing. “Let me give you that unwanted orgasm, sweetheart.” Muffled screams, severed flesh. This is a dirty deed. “I gotta tell ya…” mutters Jake. “I don’t think I’d be able to get off if they weren’t suffering. …As someone who is able to find something as grotesque and alien looking as a vulva attractive, I'm certainly capable of being aroused by things far more obscene… Now grab those nails.”
Jake nibbles on her ear, then moves his face over hers. The kiss is forced, and Jake fishes her tongue out of her mouth with own. Her eyes widen as he bites down and pulls away, spitting her tongue across the room. “YOU LOVE THAT SHIT, DON’T YOU?!” He drops a shoulder on her face, then reaches down her throat and pulls on her uvula until it snaps.
Jake grabs his worn out baseball bat and slams it down on the pubic bone of the brunette. He repeats the process until he hears the bone snap, and watches a spurt of blood shoot out of her crotch. “HA!” he cries.
“…Like gouging out the eyes of the young, before you skull-fuck them and leave them for dead.”
He feels a lazy fist hit his eye, and he laughs. “YOU FUCKING WHORE! (double standard double standard) I HATE EVERYTHING I DON’T LOVE. And I sure as shit don’t love you.”
Jake drags a dirty finger along a bloody thigh. Shoves that shit deep. Organs writhing, blood spilling. He looks at Stalker and laughs. “This is a lesson in trauma,” he says. “Are you dead on the inside yet? You will be soon enough.” Like animals fucking. Rape isn’t frowned upon in every culture. Is it? Horrible, disgusting. “It’s the hormones that drive us.” Fuck the cunt that gushes the blood of life. YOU HATE EVERYTHING. What is the distance between you and a monster? How much does life have to kick the shit out of you before you kick back? “I wanna FUCK YOU. I WANNA TASTE YOU!”
“Gotta rectify the past. …The less I say, the smarter I sound. …No shit…”
Look at your girlfriend with eyes of discontent. No, even worse. Loathing. She turned you into some weak and emotional sack of life. Why don’t you make a pathetic phone call and apologize for being honest for once?
“See, girls are attracted to confidence, and guys are just attracted to looks. You think I'm talking to you because you have a great personality?”
Blood splashes on his face, and he licks it up.
“…I live to offend. So, how low is your self-esteem tonight? You better have low standards. You have a boyfriend, eh? Does that mean that you’re sexually satisfied?”
What is the fantasy of every man? What does he not admit? How much does he want to demean the women that reject him?
“…So, what did you say your cup size is?” (This isn’t happening. This can’t be real.) “Have you considered implants? I can’t wait to hear you moan. I wanna give you a little taste of what I’m about right here, right now. I’m gonna be the first to do everything to you.”
Decay is the natural process of things. You wait long enough, and everything falls apart.
“God DAMMIT, yer wearing a lot of make-up. If I had the opportunity to kill off everyone on this shithole planet, I would take it without a second thought.”
“You can’t do this—”
“You’d be surprised at what I’m capable of. I aughta fix it so you bleed when you shit. We are the wretched. Cry for me. (I never had anyone.) Well how about this? HA!”
Women are like toilets. They collect the waste that drips from your limp dick.
“Fuck your lies. I hate. YOU CAN’T ESCAPE ME!”
Jake cracks open her skull with a baseball bat. He can’t help himself from eating the bits of brain scattered across the floor.
“YOU LOVE IT! Bend over. You are weak.”
And Stalker pisses and moans about some cunt he fucked for one season. Sure as shit’s fucking someone new. He watches the women being tortured, raped, killed… but he doesn’t stop it. Does he enjoy the balance that this act creates? Women who toy with emotions and fuck a new man every day? But why single out the females, when monsters like Jake are just as real? Truthfully, all humans are wretches. And he knows it.
“ARE WE HAVING FUN YET?!” cries Jake. His clothes are tattered and his whole body is splattered with blood. Stalker winces like a boy who has just been beaten by his father.
Why are you still reading this?
(The screams don’t sound human.) Stalker hears the voice of some asshole he never met. “…Gotta fuck that bitch ‘til she bleeds out. Like breaking a god-damned horse.” How did all get so twisted?
“Every time someone dies, I can’t help but laugh. God I love killing people. …Hey hot lady. How would you like to get raped and killed in some back alley somewhere? HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHA HEH HEH HEH HH. Ha!”
“You become the offensive, and nothing is offensive to you anymore. Fist fucking ass shit licking whore I’ll kill and kill and kill and kill (and rape) but it never stops the world from spinning I hate everything I don’t love, but that’s all a lie anyway, right?!”
Jake gazes at the head on the floor. She looks so peaceful, he thinks. Nails have been hammered into her eye sockets. She has the smile of a ghost on her lips.
Jake licks the blood off his fingers. “I want to rape and kill every fucking woman on this piece of shit planet. And then I want to die.”
This is every man’s fantasy. This is every man’s fantasy. This is every man’s fantasy. This is every man’s fantasy. This is every man’s fantasy. This is every man’s fantasy. This is every man’s fantasy. This is every man’s fantasy. This is every man’s fantasy. This is every man’s fantasy. This is every man’s fantasy. This is every man’s fantasy. This is every man’s fantasy. This is every man’s fantasy. This is your fantasy. This is every man’s fantasy. This is every man’s fantasy. This is every man’s fantasy. This is every man’s fantasy. This is YOUR fantasy.
Stalker retreats to a back room, quickly clasping his hand over his mouth. His torso is wrenched upward as vomit spills out his mouth. His disgust is infinite, as is his guilt. He falls to the floor as he listens to the fading laughter of the man he knows as Jake Alberts. Stalker begins to cry.
“He who makes a beast of himself gets rid of the pain of being a man.”—Samuel Johnson
