Covered in Blood

I walk into battle covered in blood

Smelling like ashes, smelling like rum

Looking like the deep fried walking dead

Looking for relief from what’s in my head

I see you on the other side of the street

You could be a mirage from the heat

Or you could be laughing like a jackass

Earning your place among the maggots

I take a bite out of your delicious throat

More pig’s blood to cover me like a coat

Rip out your heart, hell, your whole ribcage

You scream like you’re three years of age

You’ve got some serious pipes for a wimp

Are you sure you don’t belong to a pimp?

If you can feel the pain, you’re still alive

Let’s turn up that shit to a hundred and five

Slurping down your brain through the sockets

Make you fuck your eyes with your own rocket

Pull out intestines and watch the shit flow

Share your corpse with the ravens and crows

The funny thing about this nutritious meal

I get dessert as part of the dinner deal

Who will suffice? Your daughter or wife?

Hell, they left your ass for a much better life

I’ll save my coupons for another day

More satisfying than Mickey D’s anyway

The king of burgers has nothing on this

Sweeter than the redheaded Wendy’s kiss

Pay you tomorrow for a carcass today

My belly is stuffed with violent decay

I burp like a fifteen megaton blast

Nickelodeon slime pouring from my ass

Until next time, try to enjoy the daylight

Try to make it fun, put up a better fight

Silent Warrior, Final Chapter

“Good morning to you…good morning to you…good morning, dear Alan…”

“G…g…good morning to you!”

“Alan, why are you so sad?”

“Why wouldn’t I be sad? This isn’t good morning. It’s fucking dark in here, Ally! I don’t see any sunshine! I don’t hear any cock-a-doodle-doos! Instead all I hear are screams. It could be another prisoner screaming in pain. It could be a guard screaming bullshit instructions. Or it could be me screaming ‘cause I’m constantly in fucking pain! Why, Ally? Why all the worms and maggots?”

“I’m a biologist. I deal with such creatures on a daily basis. I’m not going to just sacrifice my life’s work because you find earth’s critters disgusting. Everything in this world has its own special place. It could be a bat eating mosquitoes. It could be a pack of wolves hunting down deer. It could even be something as natural as a mother bird regurgitating worms into her babies’ beaks.”

“Cut the bullshit! You know how disgusting you really are! Scott had it right all along and I didn’t listen to him! He’s got more common sense than the two of us put together!”

“Don’t you talk to me that way, little boy! If I wasn’t a hallucination, I’d wash your chubby mouth out with soap! I left Scott George on his own for the same reason I left his father Carter. They rejected me, just like you’re rejecting me now. I tried to keep the peace between you and Scott. I even showed up at his trial to put in the best possible word for you. But you threw that all away when you tried to stab him in your cell. Now you’re in the darkest part of jail and you’ve no one to blame but yourself!”

“It should be Scott in this room, not me!”

“Then prove it, Alan! Scott became the man he is today because he fought for everything he believed in whether it was right or wrong. Now’s your time to fight. You may be under lock and key, but your war with Scott is far from over. As long as your mind continues to destroy you from the inside, you have all the reason in the world to fight. You don’t want these images and words, do you? Forget the worms and maggots for a minute. Your real enemy isn’t anything that can be found in the animal kingdom. It’s your own weakness!”

“Weakness? I’ve been beating ass since the day I was born and you have the gall to call me weak? What about all the crybabies on the playground who threw a fit because they couldn’t hang with me? What about all the teachers who care more about precious self-esteem than they do about the real world? Why aren’t you calling them weak?”

“Because they’re not weak, Alan. They have the kind of strength you could only dream of having: strength in numbers. You’re only one man trying to fight an entire world. But if Mr. Simpson has taught you anything, it’s to pick apart the army one soldier at a time. Mr. Simpson may have softened over this long exhausting semester, but that doesn’t mean you have to. I want you to take every ounce of your insanity and use it as a weapon. Fists alone have achieved nothing.”

“In case you haven’t noticed, I’m in solitary confinement! You even said yourself you’re a fucking hallucination! Who am I supposed to use this weapon on? There’s nobody here with me! Even the guards have tuned me out, for Christ’s sake!”

“You can’t stay in solitary confinement forever, Alan. Even the strictest prosecutors know this to be true. For what you did, you won’t even be in jail forever. You may be a destructive bastard, but you’ve never once murdered another human being. Implanting suicidal thoughts in someone else doesn’t count. I’m talking about the worst kind of murder there is. I’m talking about animalistic rage that can only be forged in darkness like this. Channel that rage and don’t let the world get away with locking you up like this!”

“…You want me to survive this place…by beating the shit out of everyone here? You want me to find my exit by pushing around people more powerful than me?”

“This isn’t the sandbox, Alan. This is jail. If you don’t stand up for yourself here, nobody else will. The guards aren’t here for your protection. They’re here to make sure you conform. They’re here to use you as a punching bag whenever they damn well feel like it. You’re not going to let that happen, are you?”

“…Never…I never wanted to be a part of society…I never wanted to follow anyone’s rules…Why should these assholes in uniform be any different? Is it because they have keys? Is it because they have so-called training? Is it because they’re tougher than me?! I don’t fucking think so!”

“Good! That’s what I want to hear from you! That’s what I’ve been waiting to hear from you since I married your father! Nobody pushes my baby around! And when I say baby, I’m not talking about that ungrateful snake Scott! I’m talking about by one true baby. The one I’ll forever cherish. The one I’ll forever spoil and love. Alan…this is your time. Don’t screw it up!”

Alan Young awoke in his solitary confinement cell with rough stubble on his chin, razor sharp hairs poking out of his bald head, and his heart beating a combination of fire and nitro glycerin. He breathed heavily like a wounded animal. He lusted for violence and aggression with bloodshot eyes. He smiled so hideously that he could smell his own sour breath.

Only a small patch of light illuminated the room through the barred window to the outside. Even though the sun was barely rising over the landscape, Alan still had lost track of how much time he spent cooped up in here. No clocks, no indication from the guards, only the occasional shitty meal which was inconsistent with the rest of the feedings.

Alan stood his clumsy body up and grabbed hold of the bars while staring out into the horizon. He held his stepmother’s words deep inside him until his very core was hot enough to melt away the last of his sanity. What once was a heart was now a heap of ashes. What once was a racing mind was now a zombie’s rage. The urge to kill had taken over his entire body. Just one taste of blood…anybody’s blood…

Surely another prisoner would satisfy his violent appetite just fine. He even believed some of the guards deserved a few undead thrashings. But the ultimate dessert at the end of this blood-soaked meal would be none other than Scott Marcus George. All Alan needed was one opening to strike. One tiny mistake made by another occupant of this hellhole. The rest would come as naturally as breathing.

“Scotty-Boy…I’m coming for you…and not even your marsh-dwelling girlfriend will be able to save your skinny ass this time!” Alan ranted as he shook the bars like a steroid-pumped professional wrestler. “I’m coming for you, motherfucker!”

THE END?

Silent Warrior, Chapter 18

“In the case of The People vs. Scott George, how does the defendant plead?”

“Not guilty, your honor.”

Every eyeball in that courtroom gazed upon Scott with judgment and scorn. Dressed in a suit and tie passed down from his father, Scott could feel their hatred radiating off of his soul. His defense lawyer said not guilty, but his mind said otherwise. His face was more readable than Mr. Simpson’s desecrated chalkboard and the message written on it over and over again. So this was what defiance was like, Scott thought to himself. This was what happened to anybody who dared to be more than mediocre and ordinary. He could feel his dreams being crushed like poison pills under the weight of this courtroom’s table knife. His face drooped with depression and self-loathing.

The judge banged his gavel and said, “We will now hear the opening arguments from both sides. Mr. Prosecutor, you have the floor.”

A lanky gentleman who towered over the rest of the courtroom personnel took the center stage and held his hands in front of him, eyeballing everyone with seething persecution. “Ladies and gentlemen of the jury,” he started. “The defense will have you believe that this is just a simple case of a vengeful teacher lording it over his pupils. But I now ask you, who is the vengeful one here? A man who gives out C-minuses like it’s Christmas or an even younger man who plays mind games of his own by having sex with that man’s daughter? That’s really all this is: mind games.

“And guess what? Judging from Miss Adrienne Simpson’s absence from this courtroom, I’d say those mind games are working. Don’t forget that she is the victim in all of this, not Mr. Scott George. She is the one who will live with this mistake for the rest of her life. Fifteen years old is not an age for losing one’s virginity. It is an age in which she should be exploring the world around her. It’s an age in which she learns from greater sources of wisdom than an 18-year-old boy posing as a grown man.

“Members of the jury, don’t let the defense minimize this incident as some kind of BS technicality. This is a serious offense Mr. George committed and he must pay for all of the damage he’s done. Thank you, your honor.”

As the prosecutor took his seat and straightened his tie, Scott absorbed his harsh words like a sponge soaking up toxic chemicals. His posture grew worse, his saggy face became less defined, and it wouldn’t be long before the floodgates underneath his eyes opened for the final time. Final seemed like an appropriate word to him, whether that meant getting stabbed in prison or doing the job himself. The not guilty plea sounded less and less genuine with every second that passed.

The defense lawyer, a stocky man who would measure up to his opponent’s chest easily, took his turn at center stage and engaged his audience with a stern tone. “And why shouldn’t I minimize it?” he asked. “Is it because the status quo needs to be satisfied? Is it because technicalities are more important to us than the real issues of today’s justice system? Let’s not forget the real reason Adrienne Simpson isn’t here today. It’s not Scott George she’s afraid to face. It’s her own father, the one who made this 9-1-1 call to begin with.

“This is HIS war. All is fair in love and war, right? No tactic is too underhanded. No victory is too minor. As a history teacher who specializes in the art of war, Mr. Simpson lives by these mantras. But let’s be honest: if Scott George was only seventeen years old and Adrienne Simpson was fourteen, we wouldn’t be having this conversation. What is Mr. George supposed to do: break up with her and then start their relationship over again once she’s of age?

I know that this argument gets thrown around a lot in legitimate rape cases and for the most part it’s a valid statement. So let’s keep that statement valid by giving Mr. George a fair shake. Save your judgment and vitriol for someone who truly deserves it. Thank you, your honor.”

Scott picked his head up and wiped the sadness out of his eyes, if only for a minute. His lawyer patted him on the shoulder and assured him it would be okay. Would Scott believe such a thing was possible? Would anything be okay ever again? Would the damage continue even after the not guilty plea became an undisputed reality?

“Mr. Prosecutor, you may call your first witness to the stand,” ordered the judge.

The skyscraper of a human being took center stage once more and said in a commanding voice, “I’d like to call Ms. Aloysius Striker to the stand, please.”

Scott mouthed the words, “What the fuck?” as the living presence of his most brutal nightmares skulked to the witness box. Sure enough, there she was: no puppet strings, no puppet body, no worms, yet she still gave Scott violent shivers throughout his system. He could feel the maggots swarming in his intestines like villagers running away from a fire-breathing titan.

“Ms. Striker, I’ll start off by asking how you’re related to the defendant,” said the prosecutor.

“I’m Alan Young’s step mother,” she said in a trembling sob. The maggots grew even more restless inside Scott’s bowels. He didn’t know whether to shit himself or projectile vomit across the room.

“And who is this Alan Young you speak of?”

“He knew Scott George ever since they were in elementary school together. My step-son never got the education he wanted and it was all because of Scott’s vindictiveness. Alan never stood a chance. He was always sent to the principal’s office over minor occurrences. Scott used the system to his advantage and made sure my baby boy suffered for as long as humanly possible.” She wiped a singular tear from her eye and asked, “How is my step-son supposed to learn anything when he’s being held down?”

Scott whispered the word, “Bullshit!” and his lawyer patted him on the back to calm him down.

The prosecutor leaned on the edge of the witness box and said, “So what you’re trying to tell the jury here is that Scott George is a powerful man. He has so much power that he can use it for anything he wants, whether it’s for good grades or for making sure those he deems unworthy feel his wrath.”

“Objection, your honor.”

“Overruled. Please, Mr. Prosecutor, continue.”

“Before I was so rudely interrupted, I was going to ask you, Ms. Striker: based on your interactions with the defendant as well as your step-son’s interactions, do you believe it’s possible for Mr. Scott George to be manipulative enough to take a young girl’s virginity out of spite?”

“Objection, your honor!”

The rest of this conversation became a cluster-fuck of gibberish to Scott as he paid more attention to what his intestinal worms were going on about. They slithered around like spitting cobras and hurled their venom about. Scott’s head felt like a balloon ready to pop. His mind was also crawling with these toxic worms. And cockroaches. And faceless cheerleaders who proudly proclaimed they wanted to, “Bring out the gimp!” Sweat drizzled down his forehead and into his eyeballs, which were already going blacker than the lungs of a coal miner, an appropriate analogy for someone who could barely breathe.

And then it happened. Scott George plopped onto the floor limp as a noodle. The cacophonic rage swirled around him some more as he overheard his lawyer shouting, “Get some paramedics! He needs help!” Scott believed no amount of medical attention could give him the help he needed. An oxygen mask was only a fashion accessory. An IV needle was more of a weapon than a bastard sword. The paramedics could flood the courtroom with all of the equipment they wanted, but he made no mistake about it: nobody was coming to save him.

If there really were maggots and worms in his system, they would cannibalize him and leave him on the side of the road as a gigantic turd. How appropriate considering he felt like the lowest form of human shit imaginable. He didn’t know whether the judge wanted to send him to prison or a bottomless toilet. Either way, the future was dead, just like the democracy Mr. Simpson always rallied against.

He could hear Adrienne’s voice in the back of his head comforting him with soft, unintelligible words. How he wished for the feel of her silky hands against his cold skin. Fuck the legality of it all: love was love. But the judges and juries didn’t care about love in the first place. To them, it was just as expendable as democracy and the future themselves. Scott wanted to awaken from his blackness and check to see if Adrienne was really there, but what was the point?

Ottie-Doo

The Skull Hammer Cult walked the Earth in search of the ultimate paradise and somehow landed in the backwoods area of Paulson City. Their official church was an old schoolhouse from the 1800’s, a one-classroom compound with broken pieces of wood holding it together and stale red paint coming off in flakes. There used to be a beautiful golden bell at the top of the steeple, but it had since been replaced by the symbol of the Skull Hammer Cult, which was an iron skull minus a jaw with a sledgehammer going through its cranium.

Inside this official church, children ranging from little ones to teenagers were sitting in their desks praying and dancing around like creepy little puppets, waiting for their master to return. Randy Fender, the cult master in question, dredged through the front door carrying what appeared to be a dead cat. Its mouth was bleeding and one eye was hanging out of its socket. Instead of being frightened by this, the children’s eyes lit up like Christmas bulbs as they clapped their hands happily at their masters arrival.

Randy, dressed in a smelly blue mechanic’s jumpsuit and a black demon mask, approached the center of the schoolhouse and laid the dead cat on the altar, its rancid corpse making the ugly Skull Hammer symbol even worse to look at.

Mr. Fender looked among the children and said, “Do you see this? This, my brothers and sisters, is what we’ve been looking for this whole time. Not just a source of tonight’s delicious meal, but this wicked creature holds our key to salvation. This cat is imbued with magical powers, powers that once possessed can make us stronger than we’ve ever been. No mere mortal shall stand in our way to paradise. Wait no longer, children. Take the first bite!”

The hypnotized children waved and wiggled their fingers over the cat’s corpse, as if to anticipate how this magical feast will taste to their young palettes. And then the cat’s body began to glow in a mystical purple aura, which made the little ones even more excited than they already were.

They were forced to take a few steps backward, however, when the cat corpse came to life and stood on all four paws. After letting out a long-winded yawn and popping her eyeball back in its socket with her fuzzy paw, the kitty looked around the schoolhouse to see what all the hubbub was about.

“Yes! This is exactly the proof we needed!” shouted an exhilarated Randy. “I knew I picked the right one! I knew it the minute I laid eyes on this poor tortured pussycat!”

The cat gave a confused look and said, “What the hell are you talking about, you whack job? I’m not a poor tortured pussycat. I’m the kitty sage Ottie-Doo. Call me Ottie for short.”

“Wow!” said one of the children. “She can talk!”

Randy grabbed the kid by the back of the neck and sternly warned him, “Remember what I said when I first met you: don’t speak until spoken to, little one!”

“Put that boy down, you monster!” yelled Ottie before she waved her paw and threw a green lightning bolt at Randy Fender’s hand, the sharp pain causing him to yelp and let go.

“So, you’re not only a magical kitty who can talk, but when you do talk, you’re a total smart-ass! I don’t like your attitude, little kitten. These children know better than anybody what happens to little smarmy-mouthed wise-asses in my Skull Hammer Cult. Children? Show this precious feline what I’m talking about!”

“Wait!” shouted Ottie. “Do you children really want to listen to this man? Look at him! He’s less than human! I’m a dingy old cat myself, so that’s saying a lot! Seriously, what do you young ones see in this disgusting man?!”

No response from the children, only wild red eyes and drooling mouths. Randy said, “You were saying, little kitten?”

“Do what you wish to me, demon man, but no harm shall come to these children!” threatened Ottie-Doo.

The kids laughed in throaty, monstrous voices as they closed in on the kitty with their arms stretched out like zombies. The witch kitty floated in the air with pink stardust fluttering underneath her. The kids stared in awe as she flew around the schoolhouse showing off her magical powers. Her biggest trick yet was forming a ball of orange electrical and fiery energy in her paws and chucking it at Randy Fender’s demonic face.

If the cocky cult leader wasn’t wearing a mask, he would be showing off his creepy confidence as he grabbed a nearby child and used him as a human shield. The magical ball exploded the small child, but not into blood and guts. Instead the little boy turned into a pile of maggots, worms, and beetles. It was a sight that made Ottie-Doo watch on in shock and horror as she floated near the ceiling.

“You can’t save these children, witch cat,” said Randy. “They’ve been converted to my minions a long time ago. So many tearful parents are wondering right now if they’ll ever get their children back. Maybe they will someday. But then again, when your body is loaded with parasitic creatures, would any parent want you back in the first place?” The evil cult leader laughed his head off.

The louder and throatier Randy laughed, the angrier it made Ottie-Doo. Her fuzzy paws were curled into fists of fury and her old lady teeth were cracking underneath her jaws. A cyclone of blue lightning and wind encircled her as she prepared for her next magic spell. Randy was already one step ahead of her when he knelt down to peel back a floor board and pulled out a gigantic battleaxe, which was also glowing with blue energy.

“Just to show you how far gone these children are, Miss Ottie-Doo, let me show you just how much they’re willing to sacrifice to make me stronger!” With that said, Randy held out the glowing battleaxe and one by one the children dissolved into a puddle of worms. The worms crawled all around Randy and were gathering around the metal axe, the blade absorbing their spiritual essences. This horrific sight struck even more fear and doubt in the heart of Ottie-Doo as her magical energy was dwindling and she was sinking to the ground below.

She hung her elderly kitty head feeling like a failure to these poor children. Then again, if they were made of worms and maggots, maybe their childlike forms were merely a mind game. So many thoughts raced through her mind as she tried to wrap her head around what this Randy Fender asshole was doing.

She couldn’t take too long to think, however, as she dodged out of the way in the nick of time when the blade came crashing down. Big Randy swung that battleaxe like a berserker, shattering every piece of wood he hit into sawdust. Ottie bounced around and dodged every single shot. She even found herself running along the walls just to avoid getting slashed with this magical weapon.

“You’re gonna die, bitch! You’re gonna die badly!” screamed Randy when he took off his demon mask and revealed the face of a hideously scarred and tattooed psychopath. The sight of his hideous face made Ottie curl up into a ball of fear as her eyes leaked with salty tears. She didn’t feel like she could fight such a monster anymore. He was too big, too fast, and too monstrous. Ottie was just an elderly cat who literally slept like a corpse.

Randy charged over to a cornered Ottie with the blade held high. With one final swing, he was going to break this “annoying” cat into a million pieces. But just as the blade came crashing down, Ottie had one last hope for victory. Randy’s attacks were relying solely on reckless momentum. Therefore, Ottie used telekinesis to use his own momentum against him. Instead of cutting through the elderly witch kitty, the axe took a magical detour into Randy’s stomach.

The cult master never saw this coming behind his own rage. The spirits of dead children were flying out of his body and out of his axe while the ultra-evil Randy Fender melted into a puddle of maggots and worms himself. The parasites dissolved into little puddles of blood and the last of the children spirits flew away into the night sky. With just one small opening, Ottie-Doo ended this battle.

But at what price? Those kids were beyond help. Whatever Randy Fender did to them would put a strain on the parents forever. All Ottie could do was tuck her head and meow softly to herself. She won the battle, but lost the war.

Just when she was about to spend this evening in a crying slumber, she felt a gentle touch on top of her kitty head. Ottie looked up and saw one of the spirit children smiling a beautiful smile at her, just like all children should. In no uncertain terms, the child spirit had only one thing to say to her savior: “Thank you!”