fuck it/progress: an evolving short story

To clear up the clutter of the new parts being posted in new threads, here's the story in it's current form, in "order". I'll continue to add to it in this thread so if you want to follow the story it will all be here. Comments, positive and negative are welcomed.

Thanks, Samhain, for cleaning it up for me!

 

Fuck it Part I:
I never understood why it was always the same; every shitty apartment complex, every new doorbell, every new face was just like the one before it. You'd think I'd be conditioned to this by now. Walk-in, follow through, walk-out. Granted, I wasn't driving home to the tune of Two out of three ain't bad anymore, but some how that only made the walk-in harder.

It's weird to see the place, real brick and mortar and not just another @-dot-com. Knee's shaking, don't be a pussy. Palms cold... poor circulation? I can already feel my jaw locking and my tongue filling my mouth to ensure my voice sounds like I feel inside, it doesn't matter. At this point I've still got a pulse and I've come this far, I fit the bill.

She's at the door already, at least this one looks somewhat close to the low res images I tossed off to the night before. I wonder how many people had stepped across the door frame before me, and how many turned back before getting to the second flight of stairs.

She wasn't a stranger to it either, she had a good routine worked out. She gave me the tour of her apartment, I was mostly listening; kitchen, living room, cable from the apartment below. It didn't matter. I knew the tour would end with the bedroom. It always does.

The walk-out is always easier. It's silly really, I've never been asked to stay and I've never wanted to. It's like something shuts off inside us after we both cum. I got into my car and drove home. I don't know what she's doing, in fact, I don't even remember her name.

 

Fuck it Part II:
At this point she's nothing but one of the many "encounters" I've had. I'm sure I fall into the same category with her. It's just easier that way. Relationships drag, old girlfriends, gifts, "events". Everything blurs together on a long enough time line. The memory of a emotionless fuck, on the other hand, burns into your mind like every cigarette you've ever smoked. Identical disposable relief. Granted, some were needed more than others, but each one is killing you... regardless of which you choose remember.

That's why I make sure to remember them all. Not their names, faces, addresses, or soft moans; fuck romantic specifics. After all, a fuck is a fuck is a fuck. That's why I take the most insignificant thing I can think of to enumerate them all: nail clippers. You know that stupid metal foldy thing everyone has in their medicine cabinet or bathroom drawers? I have 47 of them, well, 48 now.

They never figure it out. People lose those things all the time. How often are they used, once a month? Certainly no one would put it together that one of the many strangers they had casual sex with would have taken them. If I didn't show up in a ski mask, and ask for their wallet they're usually relieved. I like that. I know they think about it, somewhere amidst the barrage of logical explanations: "maybe I left it in my purse...", "my suitcase...","the car?". I become an insignificant spark between two synapses. It's a lot like becoming a virus really. I know they must wonder...

What's this!? An email from the slut I just left? Fuck. I knew she might get clingy. For an experienced casual sex seeker there's nothing worse than a post fuck email. Please note: if I wanted a girlfriend I would have actually SPOKEN to you, looked you in eyes, or pretended to care when you were showing me your apartment. Even though I always read these emails, I never reply. Oh shit... she want's her fucking nail clippers back. Wait a minute... where's my fucking watch!

 

Fuck it Part III:
Not only had she figured me out, she'd TRUMPED me! She must be a repeat; but how? It's hard, fucking your life away and having no ability -no desire to remember. 48 women, all shapes, all sizes... well, most sizes... I thought I was better than this. I've already failed. She's in my god damned head now... fucking virus. Now what? I can't let her get away with my fucking watch, I'm not just another watch for her. I'm a god damned person, well, mostly. I'M the one playing the game here. In fact, I probably just LEFT my watch there, in her bathroom? When I was getting her nail clippers. It might even be in my car. Oh what the fuck, she stole the thing, I just need to go get it back. No big deal, no long conversation, just "hey I think I left my watch, no I don't have your nail clippers". I can still fix this. I'll just have to see her again... shit, this is practically a fucking relationship!

It's not like we have to engage in any lascivious actions. But how could I not WANT to. Not only had she caught on to me, she'd somehow been able to pull the sheets over my eyes and take something from me! I didn't know viruses could get viruses.

Could it be that she's just as depraved as I am? Miserable in every way, only truly alive in the subconscious remembrances of anonymous strangers?

I wasn't always this way. There was another life for me... before women were enumerated by nail clippers and condom costs didn't rival my electric bill. I remember our last night together like it was yesterday- no, fuck that, I can't remember yesterday, or the day before that, or the day before that. I remember out last night together like the last meaningful memory of my life; because it is. Unfortunately it's also the night I realized exactly how worthless I am, and I lost her forever.

It was the 4th of July, and I was taking my first real vacation in 4 years...

 

Fuck Part iV 'progress':
We sat, staring up into the summer's sky, as the light last of the light was sucked from it; I couldn't help but wonder if we were following the same path. But, out of the east came the moon, shedding new light and illuminating in ways foreign to the sun. What some think of as the dead of night is really the birth of another age, an age that begins and ends everyday with that big yellow bastard.

Years ago when it got dark people got more sleep. Now under florescent lamps and cathode ray tubes from televisions and computer monitors we stay awake. Slaves, not to the sun or the moon, but ourselves. We've become our own jailers, and our own prisoners. There's nothing KEEPING us from shutting it all off, except ourselves. Everything we perceive as "necessary" to our way of life could be shut off with a large enough spark, so how is it that it's ruling us?

I love power outages. We remember what life is again, surrounded by ghostly shells of metal, plastic, and silicon. Rendered useless by a stray squirrel, a present day martyr; giving the ultimate sacrifice for a 2 hour wake up call... that mostly is met by grumbling and the low hum of diesel generators.

Sometimes the earth, she gets more serious. Perhaps a lightning bolt puts out a neighborhood for a few days. Modern life ceases when our cell phone batteries die. The rambling of our plastic television... replaced with words of our own creation. TV diners melt in energy star appliances, backyard fires, charcoal grills, and flame powered stoves ignite. The closest thing we have to primitive.

Ultimately everything returns to our exaggerated sense of normal, the fires die, the conversation stops, the cellphones recharge and our cell doors close. The lines between necessary and accessory have blurred, convenience is the master of all. Who has the time anymore to sit and stare at a night sky when the series premier is tonight?

That's a privilege reserved for vacation, provided I don't have to bring my palm pilot and play catch-up.

 

Fuck it Part V:
I could tell by the look in her eyes she didn't want to talk about what was on my mind. She hated talking about it. "This is the world we live in now so why spend your whole life resisting everything around you?", she'd say; she always did.

So I shut up. I watched the moonlight play in her hair. I knew what was coming. It had been so long since we'd been on vacation. So I gave in, and we fucked like she wanted to... emotionless. She hated it when I talked, "it's distracting" she would say. I know what she meant now. It wasn't about connecting it was about selling the image, any communication was only making it harder for her.

I thought a lot about the world. I thought about how everything had gotten confused and turned backwards, even us. I still never saw it coming. After we fucked she went to the bathroom, as usual, but this time she didn't come back -I didn't even hear her leave. Somehow it had all been a game to her. The 2 years we spent together. We used to laugh... we even had fun. I found myself loving her more and more, and yet she seemed to be getting further and further from me.

It was all leading up to that one day when she would just never come back from the bathroom. The ultimate fucking slut virus. Though I still don't know why. I call her sometimes, I always hang up. I don't know why she hasn't changed her number, I don't know if there's someone else. If there had been all along.

I learned my lesson from that though. You won't find me making that mistake again. All that trust bullshit, needing each other, falling right into the god damned sink hole. I hate that I can't shake her- I hate more that she shook me.

I hate that I was right about everything. Now I know why she never wanted to talk about it. Relationships are the ultimate convenience. The catalyst for the car, the house, the job, the foundation of the economy.

It doesn't matter, I'm getting my fucking watch back.

 

Your thought process is very interesting, Ill give you that.
A few of your life experiences are a bit similar to mine as well. But is it fiction or non fiction?

 

Mixx - this story is a non-fiction account of a fictional life

Fuck it part Vi:
I drove to her house like I had done it a thousand times. Every now and then when I'm driving around doing errands I'll pass a turn I know I've taken before, a house with kids playing outside that I know I've seen in later hours of the evening. I'll see husbands, boyfriends, girlfriends, people in all capacities pull up to greet a woman that at another time was telling me to bend her over the washing machine in the garage. Sometimes I sit nearby and watch. I pity them really. All the sneaking around, the lying, erasing cookies, history, and emails. Always one step ahead of the blade. If they only realized the freedom that came with giving in... assuming of course some crazy bitch doesn't come along and try to fuck it all up... stealing my watch... fuck.

I got to her place, the walk in was substantially harder this time. I ascended the staircase and halfway up I heard what I thought was her voice... I mean, it would have had to be. "Come on in, let me show you my apartment". What was it, two hours since I was here? Two in one night... maybe more! This is one fucked up chick.

I wanted to bust into her house, I wanted to demand my watch back, take it back. Then take her right there and make this new sissy fuck watch. What did he know about it anyway, does he have 48 pairs of women's nail clippers? I think not. I heard the door shut and I started to make my B&E quasi-rape fantasy a reality; but I stopped. I couldn't. It's exactly what she wants me to do. She's set quite a mine field out for me... and I wasn't going to play into her hands. I had a better idea. I'd wait. Sooner or later this guy would leave and that would give me a chance to talk to her in private.

An hour went by and they were still inside. Two hours came and went. Could it be that she's a pretender? I couldn't believe it, the women I held in such high regard, the surrogate virus that almost made me forget about my primary infection; a pretender?

Finally I made my way to her door, which I found, surprisingly ajar... I could have sworn I heard it shut. I walked into what seemed to be an empty apartment. Quiet, still, you could practically feel the desperation in here, it wasn't an apartment, it was a conversation piece before a fuck, it was a large scale diorama. Walking around the house I found her, she was lying, mostly naked, on her bed. It looked as if she'd been smothered. A weight suddenly returned to my wrist... I had somehow recovered my watch.

 

My impression is that your fictional character doesn't like this particular woman and should not be with her, period. He also doesn't seem to like women in general, to put it mildy. I hope your character is fictional.

 

Fuck it part Vii:

The court decided that I had a "psychotic break". Apparently it's not uncommon for someone in my condition. Since I don't remember the event really it's not my fault. They gave me some pink pills that seem to help, and I have to be monitored for a while.

I've been thinking about her less and less. Not seeing the terrified look on her face as I busted into her apartment, not hearing her muffled crys from beneath that filthy pillow. I didn't like where I was before, but these little pink pills put everything in perspective. I even got to keep my watch!

I think today I get to go outside and walk around in the garden with my new friend Stacy. She's really nice. She had a psychotic break too! We have a lot to talk about. Her pills aren't as good as mine and sometimes I need to remind her to calm down.

Dr. Henderson says I collected nail clippers as a way of punishing myself. To find someone else punishing themselves with my things is what apparently sent me over the edge. I don't really believe him. I just didn't want to be hurt again, it brought it all back for me. Fool me once, shame on me. Fool me twice, well, you know...

Anyway, I don't think I need to go out and have sex with strangers anymore. Stacy told me we could have sex if I wanted. There are lots of private spots nearby and no one has to find out, she said. I think we might do that today. It'll be my first time since her; I'm not too concerned. Besides, I don't think she is even allowed to have nail clippers...

.end

 

I've lost my nail clippers could I borrow pair

Seriously I think you have a real talent for writing, I thought that was excellent, would you consider spicing it up a bit, having a couple of sex scenes in it and then when he remembers at the end being more visual with the violence?
the reason I'm saying this is because if you want to create a shocking story why not go the whole way and really go out to shock?

Do your charaters have HIV and thats why you are all in this spiral of casual encounters?

Anyway like I said I think you have a great style and that piece wouldn't look out of place in a short story collection, I think what you might want to think about is what genre do you want it to be, if its 'horror' like I said I think it needs to be spiced up a bit.

Have you ever read Richard Laymon?
S

 

Samhain:
I don't think he can be 'more visual with the violence' since as I understand it the guideline for images is much more strict than the guideline for words. Correct me if I'm wrong.

 

I'm talking about in his wording and he doesn't need to post it on here if he doesn't want too its just an idea.
S

 

i really liked this story had lots of voice and a kind of unusual theme but i really enjoyed it

 

thanks for all your feedback.

I'm still undecided how much I want to "give away" of the story and how much I want to be left to the imagination of the reader. In my mind it's part of a collection of short stories, so I like that you guys think it could work in that respect. What questions were you left with?

Like Samhain asked about the HIV thing and stuff... was anyone else left with questions like that?

 

well anyway, I thought it was great!
S

 

Oh, and in response I hadn't designed it for them to have HIV or any auto-imune "time-bomb" kind of disease. Though anything is possible!