Good News and Bad News

The Bad News:

Waiting to Die, my serial story, is going on a brief hiatus. You can expect it to return sometime in early September. The reasons for this can not be disclosed at this time, but I will tell you that it involves a major publicity stunt that should atract many more readers to the site. I promise, the book will be back.

The Good News:

This doesn’t mean the site will be silent all summer. In the interim, you can expect: more Philosophy posts, more Flash Fiction Friday and possibly book reviews. Please keep checking the site for new content. I promise there will be some.



Waiting to Die: Chapter 4

The Story So Far:

Ricky is worried about his friend Jules, who practices self-mutilation. After a nightmare that can’t be easily summarized, Ricky decided he would try to help Jules. For more information, read the previous chapters.

The next morning at breakfast, Ricky sat at the messy kitchen table with his tired head in his hands. A piece of toast on a paper towel sat in front of him. The room was full of the noise and chaos that comes with a family getting ready for school and work. Ben fought with little Mary, who was accusing him of eating all the cereal. Ricky’s parents argued about something or other in the paper. Two dogs slurped noisily at their bowls of water.

“Ricky?” Ricky noticed that his father was no longer looking at his paper.

“Yeah dad?”

“How is school going?”

Ricky started feeling nervous. “Uh, fine. I guess. I really don’t know. Why?”

“Just wondering. So, no problems?”

“I don’t know.”

“Hmm. That’s weird. How can you not know?”

“I just don’t I guess.”

“Well, I think you need to pay more attention to your schoolwork. Don’t you think so?”

Ricky was getting a little frustrated with this pointless back and forth. “You know what dad, actually everything’s fine. I’ve even been doing better lately.”

“Well that’s great!” Ricky’s father looked at his wife sitting next to him. “Did you hear that dear?”

“Sure did Bill. You know Ricky, I was talking with Marsha at the supermarket the other day and she told me about this great tutoring program. She heard about it from her cousin Brenda who’s son had a learning disability. Anyways, I think you might want to look into it.”

“Good bye.” Ricky grabbed the remains of the toast, got up and walked out of the room. Ricky dashed up the stairs to his room and grabbed his keys, wallet and other various school shit. He quietly walked out the back door to avoid his parents. Today, Ricky didn’t feel like playing interrogation games. It seemed that he had way too much on his plate already.

On his way to school, Ricky saw a frog dashing across the road in his headlights. He felt a pinch of sick glee as he squished the creature under his tires. He had a sudden urge to stop and examine the remains, but traffic was moving much too quickly for that sort of thing. Besides, the fact that he even wanted to stop was starting to scare him. He had never thought of himself as that type of person. But lately, he had been discovering a lot of things about himself.

Jules was absent from school that day. Ricky asked teachers, office staff and fellow students about Jules. No one had a clue where she was. Some of the people he asked didn’t even know who she was. Ricky never realized how much of an outcast Jules was. It was surprising to learn that outside of her small circle of friends, Jules was practically invisible.

At a round table somewhere in the middle of the lunchroom, sat a small group of misfits. The seat to Ricky’s left was occupied by Winston Bogs. Besides from having the stupidest name ever, Winston was born with an almost unbearable speech impediment. He had major trouble with his D’s, R’s and S’s. He was prone to occasional outbursts of seemingly random anger. When he got mad, it was almost impossible to take him seriously because of the way he talked. It was hard being Winston’s best friend. But Ricky bore that cross unashamedly. Ricky and Winston had been through thick and thin together.

The youngest at the table, Ron Franklin sat next to Winston. Ron was short and scrawny, which had made him a constant target for bullying in elementary school. These days, everyone just ignored Ron completely. Ignoring him was easy, he was very quiet. Ricky could only recall twenty or so words Ron had ever spoken without prompting. About a year ago, Winston and Ricky had been talking about something or other when words came out of Ron’s mouth from out of nowhere. “My mom got arrested you guys. Apparently, she pulled a knife on her boyfriend or some shit. I don’t know. I’m ok though.” To this day everyone was too shocked to ask.

At the moment, the rest of the seats at the table were empty. Especially the seat to Ricky’s right, where Jules usually sat.

“Wuh ith Juleth?” Winston asked.

“Hell if I know.” Ricky replied. “I’ve been trying to find out all day but no one seems to know.”

“Wunt you and huh gonna hang out latht night?”

“Yeah, we did. Oh, that reminds me. Can I ask your advice about something?” Ricky was planning to ask Winston what he should do about Julie’s cutting, but the second the word advice slipped from his lips he realized he really didn’t want to talk about it. Winston was a good friend and all, but he could never be serious when the situation called for it.

“You got uh pregnant, idn’t you.” Winston laughed.

“Just never mind man.” Ricky turned away from Winston and looked down at his tray. “You know, what if I had knocked her up dude? How would you have felt then. Huh?”

“I wuh have felt gateful I’m not you man.” Winston began to laugh so hard he choked on a noodle. “Fuckin gateful.”

“You should feel, gateful, she’s not pregnant or I’d kick your ass.” Ricky spooned some cheap pasta down his gullet and retreated back inside his mind.

At first Ricky thought of all his worries. Jules, his grades, his parents and his emotions rotated in a circle of pointless panic. But then his mind drifted into less troublesome thoughts. He thought of Ben, his face covered in cereal. He thought of his pet dogs, tromping obnoxiously around the house. Then, he thought of the stupid talking trash can and laughed to himself.

“Hey Winston!” Ricky gestured for Winston’s attention, summoning him from his own bowl of awful spaghetti. “Last night, when me and Jules were eating burgers, I saw a fucking talking trash can.

“The trath can talkt and fuckt? Wow!” Winston’s mouth opened in mock amazement. “No way man!”

“You know what I mean Winston.” Ricky felt a little disappointed that Winston wasn’t interested.

“That can hath been thuh for awhile man.”

“Really?” Ricky thought Winston was bluffing. Surely he would have noticed the can on one of his many trips into the familiar world of fast food.

“Yeah man. The uhpuh, uhp…” Winston’s face bore a look of embarrassment. “The fixin guy fixed it lath week.”

Ricky laughed at Winston for a moment and then felt ashamed. But he didn’t feel guilty for long. Winston was being a dick and he had to realize that the way he talked was quite funny.



Waiting to Die: Chapter 3

The Story So Far:

            Ricky and Jules were fooling around at Julie’s house when Ricky noticed that Jules looked like she had been cutting herself.  Ricky, who is suicidal himself, confronted Jules about the scars on her arms and she made him leave.  For more information, please read the previous chapters. 

 

            That night Ricky dreamed of Jules.  In the dream, she stood before him.  Blood gushed from her arms and chest.  She held a bloody French Fry in each hand.  But as Ricky looked closer, he realized they weren’t French Fries.  They were, in fact, razors.

 

            “Ricky, where is your life?” Dream-Jules asked a manic smile on her face.  “Right here! That’s right, Ricky.  Right here.  I am your life.”

 

            Dream-Ricky glared at Dream-Jules.  “Quit fucking doing this to me you psycho bitch.” Dream-Ricky began to scream louder and louder.  The volume of his voice shattering glass on mountaintops.  His head pounding, Dream-Ricky screamed and screamed.  He screamed for Jules.  He screamed for his parents.  He screamed for his grades, for his thoughts, for his friends, for his sanity.  But most of all, Dream-Ricky screamed for his life.  It was then that Real-Ricky realized that he was screaming too.

 

            Ricky woke up, echoes of his screams still reverberating inside his head.  Sweat poured down his face and his long hair stuck to his forehead.  His mouth felt completely dry and his throat felt soar.  He needed something to drink if he was to salvage any possible sleep out of the rest of the night.  On shaky legs, he got out of bed and headed to the kitchen.  He walked on tiptoes, trying not to wake the rest of his family.

 

            As he walked, Ricky wondered if his cries had woken anyone up.  It would be quite embarrassing.  Luckily, sleeping like a baby ran in the family.  Besides, there were no other bedrooms up in the old attic where he slept.  Nevertheless, someone still might have heard him.

 

            When Ricky entered the kitchen, he was surprised to see that the light was on.  He was even more shocked to see his little brother Ben sitting at the table eating cereal.  His chubby face was covered in chocolate milk, streams of the stuff ran down his chin.  Soggy Cocoa Pebbles littered the table and the surrounding floor.  Ben crunched loudly on the cereal, not even appearing to notice Ricky’s entrance.  It was quite repulsive indeed.

 

            “What are you doing?” Ricky said, laughing softly to himself.

 

            “Eating cereal.” Ben replied with his mouth full, still not looking up from the bowl.

 

            “I know that piggy, but why with chocolate milk? Oh and most of all, why at two in the fucking morning?”

 

            “Mom said that just because you can drive, that doesn’t mean you can curse under her roof!” Ben finally looked up at Ricky, a smug expression on his hobo-dirty face.

 

            “Fuck you!” Ricky watched Ben’s shocked face triumphantly.  “Now, what are you doing again?”

 

            “I watched Nightmare On Elm Street at Dean’s house.  I just can’t get to sleep.”

 

            Ricky felt a real zinger coming on.  “Mom said that even though…”

 

            “I wasn’t under her roof.” Ben looked defiant as he ate another overflowing spoon full of Cocoa Pebbles.  Ricky had to give it to the kid, he was damn smart for his age.  By the time he was sixteen, Ben would be quite slick.  But hopefully, Ben wouldn’t still be so much of a pussy.  “What are you doing up anyway.” Ben said, adding insult to injury.  There was no way Ricky could tell Ben that he had a bad dream without explaining, and Ricky knew Ben definitely did not need to know about his situation.

 

            “I just came down to get a glass of juice.” And with that, Ricky turned away from Ben and began rummage through the fridge.  There wasn’t much but Ricky was able to find a container of orange juice.  It was about empty but there was almost enough for a glass of Oj.  Ricky poured his drink quickly and looked at Ben.  “You need to clean this up.” He said, pointing to the mess Ben had made.

 

            Up in his room, Ricky sat on the edge of his bed, gulping down the juice.  The feel of the acidy liquid, sliding down the back of his throat, calmed Ricky.  Obviously, he still couldn’t get to sleep, but his nerves seemed to be a little less wound up.  Because of this, the drink was gone almost immediately.  Ricky put the glass on his nightstand and swung his legs around onto the bed.  He laid down, on top of his sheets, resting his head on his hands.

 

            Ricky thought of hanging himself, then and there.  No questions asked.  The image of Ben flashed briefly in his minds-eye, but the pressure, sadness, hopelessness and confusion carelessly shoved it aside.  Who was he to tell Jules to stop cutting herself? Who the fuck was he? Ricky punched his pillow in frustration.  As if he didn’t have enough problems of his own, along comes Jules with a whole new helping of shit for him to deal with.

 

            And Ricky knew, he had to deal with it.  Like it or not, Jules was his friend.  Perhaps his only friend.  Ricky didn’t know how he would deal with it, or when he would deal with it, or even if he could deal with it.  But Ricky knew one thing for certain.  It was inevitable.  He had to try.

 

            Ricky wasn’t the type voluntarily take on responsibility.  It just wasn’t in him.  He had big problems of his own.  But there was something different about Jules.  Something special.  Despite all his resistance, something inside him told Ricky that he could and must help Jules.  It was certain.

 

            It was with such thoughts bouncing around in his head that Ricky became sleepy.  The thoughts became softer, quieter and less intense.  Until it seemed that all thoughts dissolved into nothingness.  A miracle had indeed occurred.  Ricky had gone back to sleep.

 

            And when he slept, Jules did not appear before him.  Instead he saw the infamous Freddie Krueger.  Dream-ricky gazed at Freddie’s clawed hands and ugly face.  For a second, he expected Freddie to turn into Jules.  His claws turning into her razors.  After it became apparent that this was not going to happen, Dream-Ricky felt relieved.  And best of all, Real-Ricky felt nothing.

 

Waiting to Die: Chapter 2

THE STORY SO FAR:

            Ricky, a depressed teen, woke up in the middle of the night with plans of hanging himself.  However, he was not sure if he wanted to go through with the attempt.  Ricky broke down and cried, eventually going to sleep without commiting suicide.  For more information, read the last chapter.  

 

 

            “In moments of weakness, I curl up  in the fetal position and ball my fucking eyes out.” Jules said sheepishly.  “In these moments, the darkness consumes me, suffocates and engulfs me.”

 

            “That’s terrible!” Ricky groaned, looking down at his hamburger blushing furiously.

 

            Jules took a bite of a French Fry and grimaced.  “You know this stuff isn’t good for you?” She asked.

 

            “You’re the one that wanted to eat here.”

 

            “True.” Jules said, eating another French Fry.  “Well, anyways, haven’t you ever felt like that?”

 

            “Well, actually, no.” Ricky lied.

 

            “Oh.” Jules said disappointed.  “Well, have you seen The Grape Lady video?”

 

            “Uh, can’t say that I have.  Was it funny?” Ricky took a bite of his burger and continued talking.  “I mean, to you at least?”

 

            “Never mind.”

 

            “Sounds great.” No longer hungry, Ricky got up from the dirty rickety table.  He quickly grabbed his tray and headed towards the talking trash can.  The sound of his shoes sloshing in spilled soda and coffee permeated the crowd noise.

 

            “I’m a trash can!” The garbage can said.

 

            “No shit.” Ricky muttered, opening the lid and dumping his tray quickly.

 

            “Thanks for feeding me!” The trash can replied enthusiastically.

 

            “No problem Bob.” Ricky chuckled to himself.  A fat thirty-something housewife standing behind him began to stare.  “That’s what friends are for.” Ricky walked back to the table and sat down.

 

            “Where did you go?” Jules said, looking up from her burger.

 

            “I was talking to Bob.”

 

            “Who in the hell is Bob?”

 

            “Never mind.  Look, are you about done already?”

 

            “Why?” Jules looked sincerely concerned.

 

            “Because I’m tired is all.” Ricky opened his mouth wide and yawned to prove the point.

 

            “Yeah, just give me a minute or so and I’ll be ready to go.”

 

            “Sure.” Ricky fidgeted with his keys impatiently.  “Hey, I just remembered.  Your parents are out of town right?”

 

            “I thought you were tired.” Jules said laughing.

 

            “I’m tired of sitting here.” Ricky shrugged sheepishly as Julie picked up her tray and began to walk towards the talking trash can.  He jumped up and followed quickly.

 

            A few minutes later, they were both in Ricky’s car.  The windows were down, sending a cool breeze and a cool mood into the old Honda.  The speakers quietly, (a relative term), played a Sod album.  Dusk was approaching and the temperature of the polluted air would soon drop to typical nighttime levels.  Although there were a few rain clouds approaching in the sky, it seemed like nothing in the world could go wrong.  Or at least nothing new.

 

            In the evening light Ricky saw Julie’s small two-story house approaching.  He pulled into the short gravel driveway, making a slight crunching sound.  He parked the car and sat for a second thinking.  Ricky thought of Jules and her fucking psycho issues.  And then he thought of his own.  And finally, he thought of her tits.  After Jules gave him an enquiring look, he turned the key in the ignition, darkening the night and silencing the music.

 

            Jules slowly rapped one arm around Ricky.  Ricky looked down into her eyes and kissed her softly.  Jules kissed back with a surprising amount of force.  They started making out fiercely and Ricky quickly tore off her shirt.  They moved closer to each other until they were both sitting, scrunched together, on the middle console of the car.  This went on for a few minutes until the feeling of being cramped became too much for them both.

 

            With one fast gesture, Jules pulled on her severely wrinkled shirt and opened the passenger door.  Ricky opened his door and hopped out, his head spinning.  Jules grabbed Ricky’s hand gingerly as they hurried up the sidewalk and onto the porch.  Jules reached into the pocket of her jeans and began scrambling frantically for the house key.  Ricky waited impatiently as Jules unlocked and opened the door.

 

            Almost as soon as they were in the house it began to rain.  Jules shut the windows and drew the blinds while Ricky fiddled with a fancy lamp, trying to get it to come on.  It seemed really nice but the lightbulb in it had to be busted or something.  It was dumfounding.  Ricky stared at the lamp, genuinely puzzled.

 

            Jules quietly walked up behind him and put her arms around his waist.  She squeezed tightly, sending an unstoppable shiver through his body.  Ricky gasped and Jules let go, sniggering quietly.

 

            Jules once again took her shirt off, but more slowly this time.  Ricky reached around to her back and fumbled with her bra.  After a few, seemingly eternal, seconds, the bra fell loosely.  Ricky scrutinized her body.  Seeing all the various minor imperfections but not caring.

 

            And that was when he noticed the scars.  Up and down Julie’s arms, Ricky could see lines made by razors.  Some were fresh, some seemed pretty old.  Ricky nervously took a few steps back.  The excitement drained from his cock and his brain like a tornado violently and indifferently jerked it up into the sky.  Ricky composed himself and opened his mouth to speak.

 

            “Um, Jules, where did these come from?” Ricky asked, already knowing the answer.

 

            “Just an accident in the yard.” Julie replied, taking a deep breath.

 

            “That’s bullshit and you know it!” Ricky was now angry as well as worried.  “I mean jesus Jules, we all have problems but that’s not a fuckin…” Ricky stopped himself realizing that he didn’t have a clue how to deal with this.

 

            Tears began to gush from Julie’s eyes.  “Fuck you! You don’t even know, Ricky.” She said between sobs.  For some reason, she put her hands over her tits trying to cover them up.  “You know what, get the hell out of my house.  Now! Ricky, leave.” Jules stormed off quickly.

 

            Ricky just shrugged and opened the door.  The cold rain seemed soothing rather than irritating as he walked towards his car.  He stood by the car, cooling off.  Before he got inside he turned towards the house, looking into Julie’s bedroom window.  “I’ll call you later.” He screamed and got into the car. 

 

MEDIA:

The Grape Lady video Jules mentioned. 

A video I found of a similar talking trash can.

Waiting to Die: Chapter 1

            Ricky sat up in bed.  Wiping the sleep away from his dark brown eyes he looked at the clock on the wall.  He still had three hours until morning.  He had plenty of time for the simple task he was now determined to complete.  As far as he knew, hanging himself only took a maximum of 10 minutes.  He was a bit ignorant in these matters but he intended to learn all he could.  From experience.

 

            He was very greatful that he had waited until the middle of the night to exit stage left.  The peaceful quiet in the house was perfect for such an occasion.  It gave him room to think.  It gave him the appropriate atmosphere for tying things up in his mind.  Everyone in his family was asleep and he could go about his business without interference.

 

            Ricky was quite surprised that he was not scared.  When contemplating suicide he had felt nervous and very strung out.  But now, on the brink of death, or so it seemed, he felt calm.  A sense of finality and inevitability had come over him.  Ricky chuckled to himself quietly.  He thought of how he was killing himself to be free from the trivial trappings of his life, yet in his final hours none of the trappings were to be found.

 

            Ricky got up from the bed and padded quietly over to his closet.  He opened the door and dug through the various rubbish  as quietly as possible.  After some time, Ricky retrieved an old shoe and began to remove the shoelace.  After he had slid the lace completely out of the shoe Ricky ran it through his fingers.  He sat the lace down and put the shoe back into the closet.  He then picked up the lace, walked back over to his bed and sat down.

 

            “Ricky, where is your report on the layers of Earth.” A teacher had asked him.

 

            “Ricky, where is your Algebra?” Another had asked.

 

            It was all going to shit.  He had been going downhill for quite a while now but he wanted to leave before he crashed.  Because he could see the bottom of the hill and it didn’t look nice.  But the part that pained him the most is that crash or not, either result would be so insignificant that you would have to use a very powerful microscope to even glimpse any signs of it’s importance.  Somehow everyone else was able to either be oblivious to this fact or live with it gracefully.  He just couldn’t see how.

 

            “Ricky, where is your report on the layers of Earth?”

 

            “Ricky, where is your Algebra?”

 

            Ricky, where is your life?  He didn’t know.  It seemed that he didn’t know much at all lately.  Things just sort of went by and you hoped it would get better.  You just sat there, waiting to die.  Ricky was tired of waiting.

 

            He got up from the bed and began to secure the noose.  It seemed that no time passed at all before he found himself standing on a chair with the shoelace looped around his neck tightly.  The other was secured by a nail in the wall.  He paced nervously back and forth on the chair’s sturdy wooden surface.  He gingerly stepped off with one foot but quickly recoiled.  He needed some time to pace himself.

 

            “Ricky, where is your report on the layers of the Earth?”

 

            “Ricky, where is your Algebra?”

 

            Ricky, where is your sanity? Once again, he found himself ignorant as to the answer corresponding to a very simple question.  Where was his life? Where was his sanity? Would suicide answer these questions.  How confusing the whole ordeal really was.”

 

            All of a sudden Ricky needed to get down.  He undid the loop around his neck and stepped down from the chair.  How interesting it was that if he hadn’t untied the loop before stepping down in this manner, there would be no turning back.  But he had untied the rope and he did still have time.  But did he want it? All of a sudden, great torrents of teardrops flooded Ricky’s eye sockets.

 

            He whimpered and moaned softly as he retreated to his bed.  He sat down and let the teres flow.  And they did flow for a long time.  For instead of lessening, the pent up anguish became more powerful by the second.  Some part of Ricky’s mind knew by redirecting his thoughts he could stop this but he didn’t pay attention.

 

            He continued to think of the pointless mess he was in.  Flunking out of school and in a horrible emotional state.  He thought of his early childhood.  Where things were simple, black and white and easy.  Instead of soothing Ricky, these thoughts of childhood only saddened him more but he continued nevertheless.  For he knew, perhaps only by instinct, that he needed to get it out of his system.

 

            When Ricky finally finished, he just sat there on his bed recuperating.  And recuperation gave way to drowsiness.  And drowsiness gave way to sleep.  And sleep would inevitably give way to another day of waiting.  Waiting to die.