Gender: Male Age: Secret Location: N/A
|Introduction: Like many of my earlier pieces, this story focuses more on the drama and relationship than the sex. If you are searching for a good deep story, then look no further. Enjoy!|
I'd just like to repeat that this series focuses much more on the drama, the relationship, and the trials of the protagonist than on the sex. For those of you who are fans of Insanity, Incest, And Intimacy and Into The Depths Of Madness, this story will greatly appeal to you. But don't worry, the sex REALLY picks up in the second and third parts, so your patience will be rewarded. That said, please enjoy.
‘I dream of angels.’
I don’t know why that thought passed through my mind, I certainly had more important matters to worry about. My vision was fading in and out and my hearing was muffling the voices of the people around me. My body was racked with waves of pain, only disrupted by numbing spells.
‘I dream of angels.’
I was just barely able to think the words, for my mind was jargoned by searing agony, flooding my entire body and making me feel like every single capillary in my body was stuffed with shards of glass. The pain began to dull as my mind delved deeper into the cold darkness to escape, slowly placing me in the realm of unconsciousness.
My name is Marcus Clive, I’m sixteen, slightly heavyset with long, messy black hair and a pale complexion brought on countless hours spent in front of the TV and computer instead of hanging out with friends. I was at least able to remember that when I finally woke up. A bright light was shining through my eyelids, stabbing my already sore brain. I could hear the beeping of a heart monitor nearby.
‘First rule of waking up to the sound of a heart monitor: review your last memory before opening your eyes.’ I thought to myself.
My head ached as I delved into my consciousness in search of answers. My memory slowly returned, but at the cost of even more pain. I had been sitting in class… 6th period. Biology was half finished… but there was something wrong. I remembered that my hands had been trembling, even more than usual. There was a dull pain in the back of my head, but I couldn’t remember if it had come suddenly or had been there in my mind, throbbing for some time. I remembered the first invisible dagger stabbing me in the back of the neck. I remembered falling out of my chair, roaring in agony as I collapsed to the floor.
‘It was either a stroke or a seizure. Ah, looks like I can at least think clearly.’ I thought to myself. I ran a small pulse of my muscles through my body. Neither my left nor right side was paralyzed.
‘So if I’m not paralyzed, then there is a good chance that it was a seizure.’ I remembered how my hands had been trembling more than they usually did.
‘Muscle spasms and a blackout, so that means it was a seizure.’ I thought to myself. I opened my eyes, blinded by the fluorescent beams of light in the ceiling. I slowly raised my head, making a mental double-check of all my muscles. Several IV bags were hanging next to my bed and were connected to my veins. I was in a small hospital room with two dusty TVs up on the wall and a curtain between me and the other bed. I already knew it was empty.
I rolled over in the bed, hoping to see her beside me. If someone were to ask just who “she” was, I wouldn’t be able to answer, as I hadn’t the slightest clue. For the past three years, I would greet each morning with the last warm fingers of a dream clinging to my mind. I roll on my side, and lying next to me would be a girl of my age, but with beauty unmatched by anyone else on the planet. With liquid smooth skin as soft as ripe fruit, a complexion shade like that of molten bronze and silver mixed together, and bright blue eyes that held unparalleled kindness and warmth, the very sight of her was like a religious experience. But her most predominant feature was her hair, long crimson hair that shined like rubies and seemed to hang down to her thighs. It was neither straight, curly, nor frizzy, but wavy with an almost flame-like appearance. Groups of strands would stick together and then curl towards the end like a tongue of fire, granting her a tempered and yet untamable mane whose color would remove all fear of blood from anyone’s soul.
Along with the face of a goddess, she had a figure that made a mockery of the word “perfection”. Her glassy-smooth legs seemed to stretch her miles, coming to an end at a full but taut rear end with the shaven entrance to her gates of paradise just barely visible under the folds of the cotton sheet. Her midsection was like that of a bikini model’s, with a concave dip on either side from her perfect slenderness. Cliché as the term was, she certainly had an hourglass figure. Last but not least, even though she was only a teenager, she had D-Cup breasts that looked as soft as water balloons but firm and lively.
Every day, I would wake up with her beside me, lying in bed naked as if we had spent half of the previous night making sweet passionate love. Each time, she would appear to almost be faintly glowing, and coupled with her flawless beauty, I was surely justified in calling her an angel. Lying there, I would watch as her eyes opened like the rising sun, letting me stare into her beautiful blues. Staring right back at me with endless love, she would smile, hum, and fall back to sleep. Even while knowing how it would end, I would always reach out and try to touch her, desperate to feel some sort of proof that she was real, but always, she would fade away before I could even stroke her hair.
Suffice to say, I was almost haunted by this “dream”. This girl, this figment of my imagination, was the light of my life and the reason why I went to bed each night and plowed through each day. I had never heard her voice, never touched her, never knew her name, and never been able to speak to her… yet I loved her. She was my secret, the one aspect of my life I told no one about. When she first started to appear, I even obsessed over her. I would draw her every night on a sketchpad hidden under my bed, remembering her visage with crystal clarity and moving my hand with skill that I would never accept as my own, mirroring her image with graphite and paper with such closeness that I would hold no doubts as to being possessed. Every image was essentially the same, and once I used every sheet and side in the notebook, I stopped drawing her, but continued to keep it hidden under my mattress.
Ironically, she was actually the only dream I would ever have. I would meet her each morning in a half-awake state, but through the night, my dream would be nothing but an endless expansion of darkness, in which I would hover aimlessly until waking up. The only variance from the darkness was a single speck of light in the distance, a twinkling star almost completely out of sight, then I would wake up to find the girl beside me. As I said before, she was the light of my life, a light I desperately needed. In fact, she was the only reason why I was still alive.
Being able to wake up and see her each morning, even if for less than a minute, she supplied me with enough will power to endure the life I didn’t want. I had been depressed for half a decade, even suicidal, completely in contrast to the comfortable middle-class life I lived in my hometown in Maine. I thought back to the countless antidepressants, forced therapy lessons, thoughts of longing to just die. Some people can’t figure out why teenagers in high school are suicidal.
“What do they have to be depressed about? This is the best time of their life!” They would literally be so stupid that they would honestly say that. They only say that because everything happened the way they wanted to. They were popular, had high grades so that no one was ever hounding them about their future, and colleges would accept them no matter what. Either that, or they were just so delusional that they would try to project their dreams of high school onto the next generation to make up for their own miserable experiences.
There are people starving all over the world, people suffering… it’s a mystery to people like me why they just don’t kill themselves as well. It is the only question I will leave behind; how do they have lives that make my horrors look pathetic, but they have the will to live that I lack? I don’t give a shit either way. I may not have suffered as much as people in Africa or other hellholes like that, but I have stared into the darkness of the Void. My suffering has been in my own mind, where it hurts the most. I have felt the bite of a blade to try and cancel out my inner pain with outer pain. I have felt my sanity ripped away by years of sadness. Perhaps that was the hardest part, being depressed without having a reason, that mixture of guilt for knowing that you should consider yourself lucky but the inability to do so, and the feeling of helplessness from the knowledge that it meant that nothing could change how you felt, and that if you would wish for death in a comfortable life, then you would wish for death no matter what.
My eyes have changed over the years, making it so that I do not see the light at the end of the tunnel. Instead, I see into the darkness and see the world for what it really is. But I have her, I’ll always have her, and the day she disappears is the day I lose that final reason not to end it all.
She wasn’t here this time, but I didn’t really expect her to. I had passed out from a seizure, not woken up in the morning. I looked around and found the remote to call for help.
‘Why the hell do people in movies always pull all the needles out of their arms and stagger out into the hall? Not everyone loses all sense of logic when they wake up in a hospital.’ I thought to myself as I was just about to press the button.
Without warning, I leaned over the edge of the bed and vomited on the floor. A wave of pain was coursing through my body, like hot nails being driven into my muscles. Waking up in my confusion had distracted my mind from the pain, but now I was feeling it at full force. My heart monitor was sending a digital scream, bringing in a nurse.
“Get me some more pain meds!” I yelled as another excruciating wave of agony swept over me.
I was slowly loaded into the MRI on a mechanical table. The huge tube was built into the wall, with the machinery buzzing at a jaw-shaking volume. I had a pair of earplugs, but the volume was still brutal. There was an IV bag hanging outside, and it was connected to me through a plastic needle, so as not to affect the scan. The IV drip was at its highest level, compressing my pain to where it was a deep throbbing.
“So do you have any ideas as to what caused my seizure?” I hollered. There was a click as the doctors at the monitors turned on the radio.
“A few, but how did you know?” A doctor asked with interest.
“I’m not paralyzed, I blacked out, and I had muscles spasms before it happened. Its just common knowledge and logic.” I said.
“Alright, well we are almost done. Just hold still and don’t talk.” The doctor replied.
After a few minutes, the droning of the MRI finally stopped. I pulled out my earplugs as the bench was slowly pulled out of the machine. Halfway before I could sit up, my back jerked as a blade of pain shot up and down my neck. I fell back, gripping my skull and roaring in pain. My blood was icy cold, and every jagged breath was like filling my lungs with shrapnel. To protect me from the pain, my mind shut down, once more causing to pass out.
I sat on the hospital bed with my worried parents, facing Dr. Turner, a blond woman in her early thirties. Like before, I had an IV bag of morphine hanging next to me, trying to suppress the chronic pain that was ravaging my body.
“Your seizures are caused by multiple tumors in your brain, focused on two specific areas. It may be possible for us to kill them with a heavy dose of radiation and chemotherapy, but with how small and numerous these tumors are, the chances are slim. It’s a completely new form of cancer, and we aren’t sure what its long-term affects are.” She said. My parents started to cry, but I was completely calm. That’s the one good thing about being suicidal; the prospect of your own death actually brings you peace. Now I didn’t have to feel guilty about killing myself. The effect it would have on my family was the only thing that kept me from ending it all. Now I could just let the cancer do it for me.
“Is it deadly? What the hell is going on with me?” I asked.
“Not in the traditional sense, but we just aren’t completely sure.” Dr. Turner said. She put up an x-ray of my brain and pointed to a light spot.
“That is the largest group of tumors and we imagine the oldest. However, whether they have grown over time or have always been there is a mystery. They are attached to your limbic system. Specifically, they are growing from the part of your brain that produces the chemical serotonin, as well as other chemicals that control mood. It appears that they aren’t growing any further, but-” She said. I almost had to try not to laugh. Of fucking course, no wonder why I had been so depressed for my whole life. Those fucking tumors had been cheating me out of “liquid happiness”, making it so that my brain was always running dry.
“Let me guess, since they are attached to the part of the brain that creates those chemicals, they’re basically smothering that part of my brain and making me incapable of being happy?” I cut her off. She was slightly surprised and put up a second x-ray, focusing on my brainstem.
“Yes, exactly. As for the chronic pain, these tumors on your brainstem are the source. The tumors are basically rooting down into your nervous system, causing continuous nerve stimulation of pain receptors. They’re basically acting as electrodes hooked up to your spinal column. It seems that until now, they haven’t been large enough to trigger you continuous pain. You could almost say that the tumors have finally activated.”
“So is there any way to lessen the extent of my pain?”
“Yes, with anti-convulsion medicine, pain killers, and maybe some antidepressants, we might be able to lessen the extent.”
“By how much?” I asked.
“Well, at this point we can’t quite be sure, but I suspect that you will experience daily seizures and pain that is probably permanent. With drugs, we can make it so that you won’t black out during the seizures, make the pain tolerable, and maybe take away the edge of the depression so that you won’t become suicidal.”
‘Too late.’ I thought to myself.
“So it won’t kill me, but it will fill me with excruciating pain and crippling depression?” I asked.
“Yes.” Dr. Turner said mournfully.
Not wanting to bother staying in the hospital, I asked to be discharged. Before leaving, we stopped off at the hospital pharmacy to pick up my meds. The hospital would help pay for the mountain of pills I would need just to get through each day in exchange for publishing an article on my new form of cancer. The drive home was silent, for my parents were trying to hold back tears. I was holding my hands out in the cold October air, hoping that the raw chill might ease the dull throbbing in my fingers. The pain pills were slowly kicking in, making it so that the sting was bearable.
When we got home, I walked straight to the stairs and went up to my room. I just wanted to go to sleep; maybe it would ease my suffering. Downstairs, I could hear my parents telling my sister and younger brother the bad news.
I was completely in awe, hovering in empty space within my dream. Before me, roaring in limitless intensity, a star stood, the single star I always saw when I slept. Before, it had always been little more than a single speck of light off in the distance, but now it was clearly in view, the size of the moon and nearly frightening, simply because I realized now that it was not simply a star. In actuality, it was a black hole, devouring a star from the inside out. I could see it as if the sun was a piece of fruit cut in half to reveal the core, sucking in the flames and gas of the celestial giant. Yet miraculously, the sun did not seem to shrink or diminish in size, it seemed more like it was constantly regenerating. Cast around the eternally-dying star was a green oval-shaped nebula, about three times as large as the star itself, and making the whole thing resemble an eye with the black hole as the pupil.
“The eye of God…” I murmured.
While the star was beyond my human comprehension in terms of size, I could feel myself being pulled towards it through the strength of its gravity. Whether this was truly the eye of God, I could not be sure, but one thing I was certain of was that it was my death. No, this object within my dream would not kill me, but it was the symbol of my end, the closer my mind got to it, the closer my body got to death. At the beautiful sight, I could not help but smile.
“I’m going to die, I’m finally going to die. Just a little longer, then I will finally find peace.” I said, almost hysterically. I closed my eyes, and when I opened them again, I found myself back in my bed. As always, the imaginary angel was lying beside me, clearly visible in the light of the morning sun.
Beautiful, she was so beautiful. The two of us were less than a foot apart, yet it felt like a mile. Lying there, this gorgeous hallucination in front of me, I felt my pain disappear like the extinguishing of a candle. Repeating my morning ritual, I reached up and tried to touch her, desperate the experience the sensation of her skin against my own. As expected, she disappeared just as I was about to make contact, but something stopped me from retracting my arm and letting it fall. My eyes wide, my hand trembling, I scanned through the recorded sensations of that brief second, desperate to figure out if what I had sensed so briefly had been real.
It was faint, so faint that it was almost beyond the reach of my sensations, but it HAD been there. Warmth, that was what I felt, the air within the space that she always occupied was warmer, as if energized by her body heat. My rolled my hand around through the empty space she had left behind, running my fingers through the warm air as if her long crimson hair were brushing against my palm. I then held my hand up to my face, clutching some of the air from that space, and smelled it. Like the warmth, what I detected within that air was almost beyond my ability to sense, but it was there, an aroma so faint that I was actually working my mind into a headache trying to analyze it. Roses, that was what it was.
Shaken by this new revelation, I rolled over towards my window and winced from the light of the midday sun shining directly into my eyes. My parents had let me skip school.
“I might as well get used to this…” I groaned as I got up.
I immediately grabbed my bottle of meds as my agony began to flare from being conscious, downing two pills without anything to drink. It took time to get dressed, as I quickly found that my muscles were stiff from the waves of throbbing pain. I aching all over, I walked downstairs and saw my dad in the living room, reading the newspaper. He was there to make sure I got through my seizures without hurting myself.
Trying to stay unnoticed, I snuck into the kitchen. The last thing I wanted was for him to want some long conversation about how I could talk to him at any time and all that other stuff. I took my antidepressants and convulsion meds, and made myself a bowl of cereal. Just as I was crossing the kitchen with the bowl, a bolt of electicity shot up my spine, making me feel like I was being flogged with red-hot chains. I dropped the bowl with a loud smash and collapsed to the floor, gripping my skull and roaring in anguish. My dad bolted out of his chair and rushed over to me. Within ten seconds, it was over. I could feel the pain ebbing away, until it was at its normal levels.
“Are you all right?” My dad asked.
“Yeah, I’m ok.” I said, slowly getting to my feet.
“We’re taking you to the hospital.” My dad said as he went to get his car keys.
“No.” I declared, it sounded like the beat of a drum. My dad looked at me.
“I’m going to be having these seizures for the rest of my life. I can’t go to the hospital after every one. I’ll get used to them eventually.” I said as I picked up the broken shards of the bowl.
I suffered two more seizures that day, both of them causing me to fall to the floor in agony. My mom got home with my older sister and younger brother. They all paused when they saw me in the TV room. I was watching a horror movie and the room was dark. There were bags under my eyes from the strain of my seizures, and my hands were trembling more than usual. I looked at my mom and gently shook my head. She got the message and slowly pulled my siblings away. The dinner had an awkward silence as everyone tried not to stare at me.
“Emily, you wouldn’t happen to know what my homework is, would you? Did you talk to my teachers?” I asked my sister.
“No.” She said softly.
“I need to head back to school tomorrow, I can’t afford to lose two days as a sophomore.” I said.
“No, definitely not.” My mom said.
“I need to go back to school sometime, and these seizures aren’t going to go away. I have cancer, not some goddamn cold that will go away after a day of rest.” I said as I took a pain pill. Everyone tensed as I mentioned the cancer.
“There is no reason for me to stay home.” I said.
The sky was a dark grey and sleeting as my mom drove me to school. Other students were swarming in to get out of the rain and snow as the doors were finally unlocked. First period was about to start and I hadn’t wanted to wait for it with all of the other kids. The last thing I needed was an awkward twenty minutes outside the school with everyone staring at me.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” My mom asked for the hundredth time.
“Like I said, there is no reason for me to stay home.” I said dryly as I pulled up the hood of my grey sweatshirt.
I stepped out of the car and into the falling snow and rain. It was going to be a harsh winter. Fall hadn’t even ended and the ground was covered by a foot of snow and ice. I didn’t notice the cold as I walked towards the school. I was the last person inside and I quickly headed towards my first class. I was hoping to stay unnoticed, putting off the inevitable awkwardness. I stepped into the small classroom, trying to hide behind the crowds of kids getting into their seats. I sat in the back of the class where no one would see me. If I had been noticed, no one was mentioning it. The teacher began calling attendance. I became more and more tense as he approached my name.
“Marcus Clive?” He asked, doubtingly.
“Here.” I said. As one wave, everyone turned to me.
“Ah, I had heard that you had suffered a seizure on Monday, are you alright now?” He asked.
“Yeah, I’m fine. I found out that I have a new form of cancer, but I’m fine.” I said dryly as I took a pill. Everyone gasped and began muttering amongst each other. For thirty seconds, the teacher was silent.
“Please, continue.” I said. I grimaced as my pain began to rise.
I walked down the crowded halls with everyone staring at me. Every few seconds, someone would ask me a question about the disease in my brain or tell me all that lame bullshit about how I could talk to them at any time. I reached for my pills the second enough time had passed since my last one. Just as I put my hand on the cap, the sensation of being stabbed in the back of the skull with a nail bat ran through my body, sending me tumbling down to the floor and roaring in pain. People around me freaked out as I writhed on the floor, gripping my skull as the tumors on my brainstem all sent a particularly strong tremor through my nerves . Within several seconds, it was over. I lay on the floor in a cold sweat, slowly trying to get up.
I raised my head and coughed up a mouthful of blood onto the floor. The stress of my constant pain, coupled with my seizures had ruptured an artery or vein somewhere. People tried to help me up but I waved them away. I took another pill and ignored the voices of everyone as I walked away with a limp.
It was lunch and I was sitting where I always sat. Against the wall of the cafeteria was a set of folded bleachers where students could sit during lunch if they didn’t want to be at a table. As always, I was by myself, but that was because I was compelled to be. I sighed as another girl came up to me and said that if I ever wanted to talk, I could talk to her.
‘You’re only saying that because of my cancer. If I didn’t have a brain full of tumors, nothing would change between us. I barely even know who you are.’ I fought the temptation to say it, but my anger was making difficult.
“Thanks.” I said, but I said it with a very dry tone.
She walked away and I looked out over the cafeteria for the hundredth time, trying to avoid the gaze of the people looking at me and loathing what everyone was. Humanity was as much of a cancer as the tumors in my brain, and I hated my species with every fiber in my being. I hated the weakness, the greed, the stupidity, the shortsightedness, and every other thing that made us the overgrown cockroaches that we were. I looked at the tables surrounded by just girls. There was a time when I would have sold my soul to just find a girl who would go out with me. In my heart, I knew that only love or death could bring me peace, and I had known it for years. For more than half a decade, I had been looking for my soul mate, the one girl who could take away my pain. At least, that’s what I used to want.
Even before my cancer, my life had been agony. My mind was ravaged by its own cold existence, all this time cheated out of chemicals like serotonin. For six years, I haven’t known what peace, happiness, or sanity meant. I felt like I was constantly on the verge of hallucinating. I had already suffered from hearing voices in my head only a few years ago, so it wasn’t hard to think that my grip on reality could shatter any time. But that sadness had in time been twisted into hatred, the feeling of not belonging to any part of the world decayed into loathing for that world. I was trapped in a realm of existence that I could not escape from, and no matter how well I lived, be it a billionaire or a homeless vagrant, my misery and anger would be eternal and unquenchable. It was no wonder that the idea of a relationship now made me sick to my stomach, how could I ever fall in love with a goddamn human brought up in this goddamn world?
‘This world… is dead to me. And if I’m lucky, I’ll be dead as well.’ I thought to myself bitterly, staring out across the sea of classmates.
I staggered through the hall, trying to recover from a seizure only a few moments’ prior.
“Marcus, do you want to talk?” I heard the voice behind me. I already knew who it was. Her name was Julia, and she was one of the few people who were nice to me. Well she used to be, I hadn’t talked to her since middle school. She was kind and beautiful, and for a while, I thought that I loved her. But then I learned that she had a boyfriend, and after that, I simply lost interest. Now I saw her simply as a nuisance, a reminder of the days of wishing I could be with her, no matter what the cost, days when my pain and desperation were euphoria compared to my current agony.
“No.” I said harshly.
“You need to talk to someone.” She said.
“No, I just need to get to class.” I said as I spat out a mouthful of blood. The bleeding would always start after every seizure.
“Why won’t you look at me?” She asked in desperation.
“Because I’m in pain!” I roared at the top of my lungs. I turned to her.
“I’ve been in pain long before I got this tumor. I used to think that either love or death could cure me, but I hate this world and everyone in it far too much to ever fall in love! I’m already dead, I’ve been dead for as long as I can remember, but for some reason, my body won’t take the hint and croak, so I’m stuck in this wretched and agonizing bag of flesh and bones, trapped in a world I despise and surrounded by a species that I pray would go extinct! You’ve made it clear that you cannot be the one to help me, no one can. I can only suffer until my abominable existence wipes itself out.” I said harshly.
“Are you mad at me?!” She asked defensively.
“No, I’m mad at fate. I’m mad at my own cursed existence. If you want to help me, then put a bullet in my head.” I said softly before walking away.
Deciding it would be better not to risk having a seizure on the bus and wanting some fresh air, I walked home. The weather wasn’t too bad, and the cold helped ease my pain a little, plus it gave me time alone with my thoughts, free from distractions and noise. Walking along the ice-caked road with my hood tightened to keep my ears warm and safe from the snow, I let my mind wander back to my dream. If what I had concluded about that star was right, then my death truly was approaching and would soon conclude. Even if what Dr. Turner had said about my cancer not being terminal was correct, the side effects sure would be. How long could the human body truly last when forced to suffer endless torture?
‘Whether it is my true death or not, until that time comes, this how I must march through time. Whether I will continue to exist in some other form is irrelevant, no mind can truly understand the meaning of death or the weight it carries, therefor, it cannot exist within our minds. We cannot comprehend death, we cannot understand it, not without experiencing it ourselves, as which point, we cease to exist. Therefor, death is incomprehensible; it is the end of all reason, in which all human rules and assumptions become meaningless. We can only understand things that exist, while we ourselves exist, so while we may fear death, it is impossible to become aware of it ourselves.
We cannot feel our own death, just as we can’t feel nonexistence. We can watch others die, we can feel our own lives slipping away, but we cannot feel that final moment. We cannot know precisely when it ends. We can see a million people die, but we cannot see our own, it’s like every single person is an immortal surrounded by mortals, a continuing paradox of observation and ignorance. Life occupies the entirety of our minds and our existences, it is infinity, it is the endlessness. Death is the world outside of infinity, the realm beyond argument, in which beginning and end are one in the same.
If I cannot find or detect the end of my life when it happens, then through my senses, it will never happen. I am immortal, and the only way for my death to occur is for everything and nothing to collide and end my existence. Or am I wrong? Will I continue to exist beyond death? Will I live on, even while my body rots in the ground? It’s possible, it’s certainly not impossible.’
“Hey Marcus, want to play chess?” My brother Phil asked. I was sitting on the couch in the living room, watching TV with a wet towel on my head. I had been feeling feverish all day. Phil was two years younger than me and had the same black hair as I did, though his was cut shorter and he had a different bone structure. He and I had been playing chess for years and he had never once beaten me. You could say it was the one activity we did as brothers, and from what I guessed, this was his attempt to try and distract me from my pain.
“Yeah, sure.” I shrugged. Phil sat on the other end of the couch and the board was set up. I kept my eyes focused mainly on the TV, looking at the board only when it was my turn. I had some difficulty moving the pieces, my fingers felt stiff and brittle.
“Phil, do you know where I could get some pot?” I asked out of the blue.
“What?” He exclaimed, wondering where the question had suddenly come from.
“Come on, I know you’re a freshman, but you’ve always been on the social circuit. You must know someone who can sell me some weed.” I sighed.
“No, I don’t hang around with people like that.” He replied. I sighed again and continued to play. For once, Phil managed to beat me, but it was a hollow victory, especially with how quickly he won. I knocked over my king with a click of my tongue.
“Well now, it looks like the old king is dead and the new king has risen. Long live the king.” I said dryly before getting up and leaving.
“Hey Marcus, what’s up?” My sister Emily asked, surprised to see me standing in the doorway. Emily was a year older than me and a Senior, she’d be turning 18 and graduating in the spring. She had my mom’s blond hair, but it was mixed with my dad’s dark hair gene.
“Do you know anyone at school who could sell me some pot?” I asked, nearly scaring her with how blunt I was.
“What? No! And you shouldn’t be smoking that stuff, it’s bad for you!” She said shrilly.
“Oh cut the shit Em! It’s goddamn marijuana, it’s completely harmless and you know it!” I barked back. Emily’s eyes darkened and we were both silent. I softened my tone before continuing.
“You know I wouldn’t even bother with the stuff under normal circumstances… but things have changed.” I huffed.
“Marcus, do you really think that stuff will cure your cancer?” She asked.
“I wouldn’t believe it if it did, I’m just hoping that it can make things easier. Come on, pot is probably the least dangerous thing I could put in my system these days and the government banning it is one of the most retarded things in the history mankind. It’s a fucking plant that makes people feel good. Besides, let’s say the anti-pot propaganda is true and it is bad for me, do you honestly think that I’ll live long enough to face the consequences?” I asked.
“Marcus, you’re not going to die.” She said sympathetically, getting up from her bed and walking over to me.
“Emily, I’m already on borrowed time. The movie is over and the credits are rolling, and Rotten Tomatoes gave it all negative reviews. I’m going to die soon, I know it, so just be a good sister and let me a little selfish before I kick the bucket.” I muttered. Emily sighed.
“Mike Broflovski, you can find him under the football bleachers at school. I don’t know anything else about him.” She finally relented.
“Thanks.” I said before walking out.
I was lying in bed, staring at her longingly on another school morning. With my eyes fixed upon her hallucinatory figure, the fires of agony within my body were silent, nearly making me sob tears of joy. It had been almost a minute since I had woken up and saw her open her eyes before falling back to sleep, but for once, I managed to overcome my desire to try and touch her, and instead was letting the delusion continue, or whatever it could be called. She was sleeping, this girl who’s name I did not know, this angel conjured up by my demented soul, she was sleeping so peacefully that I wasn’t sure I could ever overcome my guilt if I disturbed her.
She was so beautiful, I could have laid in that warm bed for the rest of my life, just staring at her. With each breath she took, I could see her chest rising with the expansion of her lungs, and the flickering strands of her blood-colored hair. The blanket of my bed was barely wrapped around her beautiful frame, letting me look upon almost her entire body. At the sight of such physical beauty in such close proximity, even I would gain and maintain the erection of a lifetime, but with her… I felt nothing but love.
Piercing this real-world dream, my alarm clock began to beep. Knowing that it would mean her disappearance, I reluctantly reached out over her to turn it off. But even with the deactivation button pressed, the girl remained with my arm stretched out over her like a bridge. She had never stayed this long before, was the hallucination just growing in depth? Would I finally be able to touch her? Humming in bliss, she opened her eyes and stared at me with a small but sweet smile on her lips.
Her voice was inaudible, but her lips parted and shaped the words with incomprehensible love and care, like a master artisan sculpting a spinning clay pot with her hands. I had never been one for reading lips, the ability completely eluded me, but once, just this one time, I was able to read the formation of the words like a bright neon sign, and hear them whispered in the center of my mind.
Two words, two simple words, but the weight they carried pushed me over the edge. Unable to hold the tears of joy back any longer, I desperately reached out to embrace her, only for her to disappear before I could be blessed with her touch.
I stepped into the locker room of the school. It was time for gym class but I wouldn’t be participating. My constant pain was my permanent excuse. I stuffed my backpack in one of the lockers and grabbed my pills.
“Why do you always cry when you fall down?” A voice taunted. I already knew who it was and I was trying to keep my blood from boiling. His name was Tom, and he was nothing but a punk and bully. He had tormented me all throughout middle school and my freshmen year, driving me into depression. He was probably one of the largest reasons as to why I wanted to die.
“Tom, leave him alone, he has cancer.” Another jock said.
“So? Its not like I would cry if I had that.” Tom said before shoving me. I turned to him.
“You’re just a pathetic little bitch.” He taunted.
In my mind, something snapped, the anger which had always been suppressed by the fear of consequences finally broke free. Tom was larger than I was, but I didn’t care. Practically foaming at the mouth, I reached out with both hands and grabbed him by the throat, slamming him against the lockers. I was strangling him with all the strength I could gather in my sick body, using adrenalin to increase the power of my muscles. Not only could he not breathe at all, but I also had my thumbs pressed against the main arteries in the side of his neck, halting the flow of blood to his brain. He couldn’t focus enough to use his arms to free himself. I would normally never retaliate like this, I had learned early in life that the bullies always got off without a single slap in the wrist but the victims who defended themselves basically got the chair. There was nothing that could be done but take the pain and hope your tormenter would eventually get bored. For what I was doing, I could easily get expelled, but not a single part of me cared. If I was going to live a life of agony and die an early death, I might as well do whatever the fuck I wanted.
“How about I correct some of the BS spewing out of that deformed pile of grey matter you call a brain? First of all, I don’t fall down. I have goddamn seizures. Second, the tumor in my head is strangling my limbic system just like I’m strangling you, meaning that my brain is now incapable of producing chemicals that let me feel anything other than misery and anger. Last but not least, when I have a seizure, all of my senses are so overwhelmed with the pain that I collapse as I am bombarded by waves of agony and psychological torment.
I suffer every second, but when I have a seizure, it makes being lit on fire seem like a massage! Have you ever been in so much pain and wanted to die so bad that you almost hacked at your wrists with your own fingernails to slash the veins? I think anyone would shed some tears if they experienced that.” I hissed.
Tom was turning blue from the strangulation, and I had to fight with everything I had to keep from murdering him right then and there in front of everyone. Instead of ending his life, I threw him down at the ground, inadvertently smashing his face against the corner of one of the locker room benches. The impact completely shattered his eye socket and fractured his skull. Another few centimeters and his eye would have been permanently lost. After he fell to the ground, I finished with a kick to the jaw, busting up almost half of his teeth. Tom was passed out on the floor and oozing blood with everyone staring at me in fear.
I opened my bottle of pills and took one out.
“That is just a sample of what I live with constantly.” I growled as I took the pill.
Tom was rushed to the hospital and I was suspended for the rest of the month. Under normal circumstances, I would have been suspended for a full month or even expelled, but the punishment was light for several reasons. Tom had been the school bully ever since 6th grade and was nothing but a worthless punk. He treated everyone like shit and teasing someone with cancer was the worst thing anyone had ever seen. Everyone in the locker room testified against him and said that I had done what needed to be done long ago. I silently disagreed with them on that. What should have been done long ago was Tom being lined up in front of a firing squad and shot. I knew in the back of my mind that everyone was testifying for me because of my cancer, everyone hated Tom, or everyone now feared me.
My sentence was also so light because of the recent trauma of learning of my disease. My parents immediately picked me up from school. During the ride home, they constantly contradicted themselves. They would say how much trouble I was in and that what I did was wrong, then go back and say that Tom deserved it and what I did was reasonable. I didn’t really care about being suspended, and Thanksgiving vacation would come a few weeks after I got back, letting me have more time to relax.
As the days droned on, I spent my time watching horror movies. The lights would be turned off and I would laugh bitterly during every gruesome kill. Horror movies were one of the few things that I didn’t hate. But the fact that I watched them in the dark on Friday and Saturday nights, while most people were hanging out with friends made my parents nag nonstop about my social behavior. They would tell me that I need to spend time friends, and I would tell them that I didn’t want friends.
“Who are you?” I whispered, once again lying in bed and facing the girl of my dreams.
Ever since she had first spoken (albeit while mute), I had been hoping and wishing that whatever it was, be it a hallucination or paranormal event, whatever it was that allowed me to see her each morning would grant me the ability to interact with her even further. At the question, she batted her eyes coyly and rolled onto her back, letting the pale light passing through my window shine down upon her voluptuous breasts. At the sight, I found myself completely powerless to stop my now building erection. The girl looked at me, giving a sleepy smile as if waking up on a Sunday morning and reminding herself that she could just go back to sleep.
“My name is…” She began
The name was spoken, entering my mind and drawing confusion. I repeated it, uttering the unexplainable noise even without understanding it. The noise was not a word, consonant, or vowel, it was like nothing found in nature or anything humans had ever created, it could not be compared to anything. As soon as I heard it, I completely forgot it, but even with it slipping my memory, I was somehow able to repeat the sound if I so desired. The girl smiled as I said her name back to her, as if what she had told me and what I had said was her real name, but my mind would not allow me to be aware of it.
“Who are you?” I again asked.
The girl smiled and repeated her statement as well. But this time, I instead focused on her voice. This was the first time I had ever heard it, and it was more beautiful than I ever imagined. Clear as the chiming of a bell but soft as the coos of pigeons, the sound of the three words preceding the blur that masked her name was like a lullaby.
“What are you?” I asked.
Breaking character, the girl moved towards me, slowly yet suddenly and nearly making me jump. She brought her face up to mine, our lips almost touching while we stared into each other’s eyes and exchanged the same breath.
“Wait for me.” She murmured, pulling away and disappearing.
I stepped into the school on the first of November, and it was as if time stopped upon my arrival. Everyone was standing like statues while staring at me with both fear and admiration. With my usual stony scowl and grey hood pulled up, I took a pain pill and proceeded to my locker. I was walking with a limp, for I had suffered a seizure in the shower earlier that morning and banged my leg. My dad was now adding a guardrail in case of another seizure.
After I stopped off at my locker, people started bombarding me with questions as they had done on my first day back. They asked me to tell them what happened in the locker room, even though the guys in there had probably already retold it a thousand times. They also asked me to repeat what I had said about my cancer, for that had been the first time I had actually described it to someone. I just ignored all of the questions, acting like they weren’t there. There was no reason to answer, even if it was just to be polite. They meant nothing to me.
I was lying in bed, holding a joint the size of a cigar. I had bought all the weed I could off that Mike guy and told him that he had better have more when I came back. If I’m going to blow my savings on pot, I might as well get some goddamn customer service. I always had a few hours to myself after every school day, my siblings would be hanging out with friends or be playing sports and my parents would be at work, leaving me with the house.
Lighting up one end of the joint, I took a deep puff and immediately began coughing and hacking. Ok, maybe I should take it slower…
I began getting into more fights at school; quite simply, I was done with the bullshit. If anyone insulted me, gave me lip, or got on my bad side, I did not hesitate to throw a punch. I was going to die soon so there was no reason to give a fuck about anyone or anything I decided I might as well deal with old business while I still had time. I received my fair share of injuries, I was often sporting a black eye, busted lip, or bruised face, but as long as I didn’t suffer a seizure during a fight, I normally won. I guess that was one advantage of full-body endless pain: your enemies can’t do anything to make you hurt anymore than you already are.
The school tried to ignore my actions, or at least punish me lightly. Each altercation earned me a couple days suspension, but they didn’t have the nerve to go any farther. The school system and I had bad history, and they certainly had a lot to apologize for… My parents were the same, putting up a false front of condemnation while being unable to gain the courage to punish me. They knew that I was self-destructing, acting out to try and cope with my pain. It was the only thing I could do.
November was exceptionally rough, quite simply because I had decided to try chemo and radiation treatment for my cancer. Well, to be honest, my parents basically coerced me into doing it and making me feel guilty if I refused. They wanted me to live no matter what, so the only way to throw off their suspicions that I was eagerly awaiting death was to feint hopelessness and fear towards the treatment. I eventually agreed to treatment under one condition: if I didn’t see any results before the end of November or I started losing my hair, I was going to quit. I didn’t have high expectations for the treatment, but I would do it to get my parents off my back.
Suffice to say, the medicine wasn’t nearly as bad as the sickness, contrary to what everyone had said. Anemia, chronic pain, loss of appetite, fatigue, and skin irritation? Hell, I barely noticed them beneath my current situation. I’m not sure how many hours I spent in that hospital, sitting in a chair while poison was pumped into my veins or my brain was fried with radiation. Contrary to my desire to die, I decided to take the maximum of each treatment. I sure as hell didn’t see a reason to half-ass it. Hell, for all I knew, I could get lucky and they’d kill me before the cancer did.
The results came back just as my hair began to fall out: negative. No progress had been made and the tumors were resisting the treatment. Big fucking surprise.
It was Christmas Eve and my relatives were expected to arrive in less than an hour. They all knew that I had cancer and I was not looking forward to some sappy family reunion like on those stupid talk shows. I walked to the door and grabbed my coat.
“I’m going out for a walk.” I hollered.
“But everyone is going to be here in just a few minutes!” My mom called from the kitchen, working feverishly to make a big dinner.
“Exactly. Could you do me a favor and tell them to act like I don’t have cancer?” I hollered.
Before my mom could reply, I stepped outside and into the bitter cold. There was no wind, but the air was frigid and raw. The air was clear, showing a pale blue sky as the sun slowly drifted towards the horizon. The surrounding area was either thick woods or marshy fields. I started walking down the side of the road, not caring where it took me, even though I knew exactly where it led. The white sand and gravel on the side of the roar was filled with garbage, from beer bottles to empty cigarette cartons. The cars that drove past me had a dull whooshing sound, like a last dying breath. The raw frigid air, the bleak landscape, the taunting drones of cars driving by, and the trash around my feet was both comforting and depressing. The cold helped ease my chronic pain and the barren scenery made me feel more at home, but with each empty cigarette carton I kicked aside and each car that broke the silence, I was reminded of how alone I wanted to be and how much I couldn’t be.
Coming to a stop, I reached down and picked up the umpteenth beer bottle to cross my path. The label had long since been weathered away, and the inside was caked with the dry liquor and the insects that had tried to eat away at it.
“This world is rotting.” I muttered.
Then, not knowing why but suddenly furious, I raised my hand and threw the bottle down at the cold pavement, shattering it into hundreds of tiny shards, one of which flew up and delivered a cut across my cheek. Before I could even wipe away the blood, I collapsed as a wave of seizing pain burned up my spine. I fell into the snow, feeling the raw air sting my lungs as I roared in pain. This seizure was far worse than the ones I usually experienced. I rolled on my back, looking up into the bleak sky as the snow froze my hair and ears. I was gasping for air as my body jerked, wondering if this was the seizure that would finally kill me. It had sure taken its sweet damn time.
I heard a car speed over to me and stop. A car door slammed and footsteps echoed as someone ran over to me. A guy’s face came into my view.
“Hey buddy, are you all right?” He asked. I got up, wincing as I did. I staggered to my feet and vomited a pint of blood onto the side of the road.
“Yeah, I’m fine.” I said as I limped away. It was time to head home.
I stepped through the front door of my home and was instantly bombarded by hugs and greetings from my relatives: cousins, aunts, uncles, grandparents, and everyone else. I could sense the awkwardness underneath their words as they asked how tall I was and all of the other clique inquisitions.
“Dinner is ready!” I heard my mom call from the kitchen. I had no appetite.
“I’m just going to go to bed.” I said. Before anyone could even stop me, I went upstairs and into my room. I moved to my bed, wincing as my muscles became more and more sore.
“Please, just let me sleep and not wake up.” I said to myself as I laid down and let my aching body shut down.
“Why can’t I hear your name?” I asked, speaking to the girl while the hallucination would let me. Having already gone through the recorded movements and actions, the girl opened her eyes and gazed at with her usual warm smile, while almost laughing in a gentle hum.
“Are you even real?” I asked.
“Does it matter if I am real or not?” She murmured, warming my heart with the possibility that maybe she wasn’t just a figment of my imagination.
“Yes, no… I’m not sure.” I mumbled. The girl then moved closer to me, closing the gap between us and reducing it to a few unbearable inches.
“If I don’t exist, if I am just a creation of your own mind, then you should be happy. If it is you who created me, then that means I am always with you. I am where you want me to be, you just have to wish it.” She said lovingly.
I put my hand over my face, having suddenly felt my eyes watering up. Every word that passed from between her beautiful lips was a shock to my very soul, like the ending of a beautiful book.
“No, that’s not good enough. I need you with me, I need you to be real. I don’t know why, I just need-” I was silenced, my whole body brought to a complete stop by the sensation of the girl’s lips against my own.
I moved my hand away from my eyes, in complete and utter disbelief. This was the first time I had ever been able to touch her, and that first touch was expressed through my first kiss. Her face, so close to mine, I could see every single detail of her visage and saturate myself with her rosy aroma. The sensation of her lips against mine, it went beyond just canceling out my pain, it made me feel… good. I felt happy, euphoric, like I had just been working for three days straight and was settling into a hot tub. Her lips were so soft and warm, but also carrying a gentle flavor, it was like I was kissing a wisp of steam from a cup of tea.
The girl eventually broke the connection and we stared into each other’s eyes. The girl then sat up and moved on top of me, her hands pushing down on my shoulders and her long crimson hair hanging down around our faces like a curtain, seceding the space between us from the outside world and making it all our own. Staring at her full breasts and feeling the smooth lips of her pussy rub up against the shaft of my hardening penis (with only the fabric of my boxers separating them) was driving me wild with hormonal lust.
In all honesty, I hadn’t been this aroused in months, I could literally feel the blood pumping furiously through my body and firing up the long-dormant parts of my brain that I had ignored for so long. But beyond her beauty, beyond her naked body resting on mine and making me hornier than ever in my life, the greatest feeling was her weight on me. It was real, I could feel her pushing down on my shoulders, sitting nakedly on my lap, I could even hear the springs of my mattress creak beneath us. This weight was real, it had to be, and that meant she was real.
“You need me to be real because you need to believe that there is some aspect of this world that can make you happy, that there is at least one person who can take away your pain. But if I am just a creation of your own mind, then you should be overjoyed. It means that you hold the key to your own happiness, and wherever you live, no matter how you live, you can make it paradise.” She whispered, her face lit up with tender care and love.
The girl then leaned down and settled herself on top of me like a cat, her chest pressed against mine and her face buried in the side of my neck. Her body, it was so warm and soft, I was completely at a loss for words on how to describe it. All I could do was wrap my arms around her womanly frame, hold her tight, and cry tears of joy. I didn’t care, real or not, she was here with me, and that was all that mattered. Whether she was some sort of angel from heaven or just a figment of my imagination, as long as she was with me, I’d be happy.
“Marcus, come on, it’s time to wake up. You’ve been in bed for too long.” My mom said, knocking on the door. At the sound of the doorknob shaking, I turned with fear in my eyes.
“No, don’t. Please, not yet.” I said softly, even though she wouldn’t be able to hear me.
The handle was fully turned, and just as the door began to move, the girl disappeared, leaving me alone once again. My mom just stood in the doorway, looking at me and wondering why I was crying.
Even if my dreams had now reached new levels of depth and I could interact with the girl more than I had ever hoped, that didn’t help my daily routine. In fact, it made it worse. Spending every second longing to go back home and go to bed so that I could wake up beside that girl, my life became even more miserable. Everything that made my day difficult became worse, and everything that had never bothered me before was now a curse, as it required time and stood in my way. Add that to my continuous pain and my multiple daily seizures, and each day went from being an endless hell to a taunting deprivation of the one light in my hellish life. Christmas and New Year’s came and went, and I was happy to see them go. I hated the holidays; all of the cheer and happiness made my organs fail.
Such lively contact like the night before was rare and not often repeated. The girl still appeared every morning for a few minutes, but I could rarely do anything more than touch her gently with my hand. Going further would cause her to disappear. She never spoke much, only when I said something to her or asked her questions, and even then, her answers were simple and often repeated. Regardless, just waking up next to her each morning was enough to get me through the day, but barely.
Each day, my pain was getting worse, and I found myself taking more and more pills than I was supposed to, both painkillers and anti-convulsion meds in an attempt to curb my seizures. Originally, I would take two painkillers every four hours and one anti-convulsion med every six, but now I was downing them like tic tacs. While my visions of the girl remained routine, every night, I dreamt about that star, the star being devoured by the black hole in its core, the star sitting in a nebula looking like the eye of God. Each night, I could feel myself drawing closer and closer to the black hole in the center, being pulled in towards my death. The closer I got, the larger the celestial mass became, surpassing my human comprehension. I was close, so close, soon I could rest in peace.
“Fifty bucks for a dose, and I’ll give you an extra ten for a clean needle and to help me set up. My hands are too shaky for something like this.” I said, standing in an alley in town. The sky above was grey with a gentle snowfall pouring down on the dealer and I. Luckily, the café to our right kept us out of the wind. The man before me looked to be in his late twenties, unshaven with deep distrust in his eyes. I was a new customer to him, and normally he would have turned me away on instinct, but luckily I looked sick enough to pass for a hardened user.
“Let me see your hands.” He ordered. I held up my hands, letting him see them tremble. With every nerve ending in my fingers firing, my hands were shaking so badly that it looked like I had MS.
“Alright, fine. You’re in luck kid, I just got some brand new syringes yesterday and I’ve got one left.” He said, looking around to make sure we wouldn’t be seen and then taking out his merchandise. Filling up a spoon with heroin, he clenched the handle with his teeth and used his hands to hold a lighter and protect the flame from the wind. Slowly the powder melted into its liquid form, and before it could cool, he unwrapped an unused syringe and filled it with the drug, finishing by handing it to me in exchange for the cash.
“Tch, luck. If luck were on my side today, this needle would end up killing me.” Said as the dealer walked off.
Sitting down on the cold wet ground, I pulled up my sleeve and looked for a vein. It certainly wasn’t hard; my skin was as thin as paper and my arteries were all swollen from malnutrition and the strain of my disease. I pushed the needle into my arm, not even feeling it amongst the billions of other painful pricks tormenting my body. I hesitated pushing down on the plunger, wondering if this was really the route to take. My life was already cut short and the chances of there being a cure for my pain were slim, but did I really want to further burden myself with even a single injection of this toxin and risk an instantaneous addiction? After all, the pot had been a dismal failure, what chance did heroin have of helping me? I concluded my hesitation with a laugh, deciding I didn’t have much to lose.
I pushed down onto the plunger, filling my bloodstream with the poison. Casting the empty syringe aside, I leaned my head back and stared up into the snowfall, waiting for the drug to take affect. Could I possibly be any more pathetic? Sitting in a back alley with heroin running through my veins, trying desperately to free myself for just a few moments from my disease, it was beyond pitiful, it was shameful. But soon, the drug began to take effect, numbing my senses and bringing down my pain to a dull throbbing while leaving my mind spinning. Waiting for this dark miracle to truly free me from my agony, I stared back up into the grey sky and let my mind wander.
Is there a god? I ask myself that question often, but of course, so does everybody. I don’t know if I am a believer, an atheist, or just an agnostic. I see no reason in the world, no meaning, no pattern behind the chaos other than the patterns humans try to create. Is there a purpose in any existence? Even mine? Was I created with this body simply to suffer? Was I created and then abandoned, never cared about by whatever deity might have cursed me with life? Was all of mankind created to suffer or was it created and then abandoned?
There is so much pain in the world, so much agony beyond my own. What kind of twisted god would put us on this earth to live as the abominations that we are, caught in evolutionary limbo? Would our creator not also be our parent? Shouldn’t they try and protect us from harm? Are we merely entertainment? A TV show for a more advance life forms? Or are we little more than a bacteria colony growing on a discarded test tube, created by accident and never acknowledged?
What use is there of a god in this human world? Either he doesn’t exist, doesn’t care, or is he a sick freak that loves to create life solely to toy with it. People waste their lives praying and begging to some bastard in the sky to change their lives, all the while trampling under everyone beneath them and casting judgment upon those who walk different paths. But for judging them, am I no better? Do I have any right to speak badly of people when I too am cursed with this pathetic human body? How can I condemn others for being judgmental of others when it means being judgmental of them?
I guess that’s one of the main problems of this world: no one can create change without doing exactly what their opponent is doing. Whether it is trying to stop a genocide or get a bill passed through congress, every stand is just a repeat of its failed predecessor. Everyone thinks they know what’s best, they think they have the key to saving the world or that they have seen the truth that no one else has so much as caught a glimpse of. All the same mistakes are just made over and over again, all the same promises spoken and never fulfilled, all the faults of others pointed out by those who are nothing more than hypocrites. If this life really is the work of a god, then he is a sadistic god, a life where the tallest societal structure is nothing more than a pile of rubble, a mountain of failures all stacked up on top of each other with no one capable of escaping their mantle.
I don’t know if there is a god, I’m not sure whether or not I want there to be a god. If there isn’t a god, then all this is meaningless and there is nothing for us in this world but a quick life, an unavoidable death, and an eternity in which no one remembers us. If there is a god, then he is either incompetent or evil, in which case, I want nothing to do with him other then a chance to pay him back for creating me. What am I? A believer? An atheist? An agnostic? What is the name for someone who’s belief in God is nothing more than the desire to kill him?
I don’t know how long I sat in the alley, whether it was the cold from the ground or the cold of the wind, or just the hopeless and disappointed impatience that finally made me get up and move. The heroin had been slightly successful, it managed to bring my pain down to a dull throbbing as I mentioned before, certainly making it tolerable, but after everything I had gone through, my definition of tolerable had grown much larger, and its meaning had grown much smaller.
It was morning, and I was getting ready for school with my family in the kitchen. In my hand was a mound of pills, one that I stared at loathingly. Pain killers, anti-convulsion meds, blood thickeners to keep my internal bleeding from going out of control, antidepressants, and countless vitamin supplements to help me get some nourishment. With constant pain wracking my body, I rarely noticed my appetite, and any food that I did eat was often thrown up during my seizures, so pills were the only way to make sure I got the nutrients I needed. I was always on the husky side, but after so many weeks of this pain, I had burned through all of my fat reserves and was little more than skin and bones. Hoping that wouldn’t just puke them up later, I poured the pills into my mouth and forced them into my gut with a glass of water. Time to start a new day.
“We’re so close now.”
My eyes bolted open and I quickly realized that I couldn’t move. The girl, the girl who’s name I did not know, her whisper had woken me up. Never before had something like this happened, and even more, she was sitting on my lap again, almost pinning me down. The sun had not yet risen. In fact, it was barely after 2:00 am.
“What?” I asked, certain I was still dreaming.
With a warm smile, she leaned down and gently kissed me.
“We are so close now; we can talk, we can touch… we can kiss. I can feel you and you can feel me, the time has almost come. Just wait a little longer.” She purred once her lips separated from mine.
“What has almost come?” I asked.
“Happiness.” She said lovingly while sitting back up. I sat up with her, wrapping my arms around her and resting my forehead against her chest. The soft warmth of her bountiful breasts against my face was a sexual nirvana, coercing my dick into a pulsing erection.
“Why can’t I hear your name?” I asked. The red-haired beauty giggled and gently pushed me back down.
“Because you have not yet named me.” She murmured, hovering over me on all fours.
“What do you mean?”
“You must name me, so that I may exist solely for you, so that I may bring you happiness and ease your suffering. Then when you regain the will to live, you will exist solely for me, and this world will become paradise.”
“But don’t you exist already?”
“Why don’t you touch me and decide for yourself?” She suggested coyly. I smiled, feeling my horniness and excitement brush away my tiredness.
Raising my right hand, I reached up and cupped one of her breasts, sending an uncontrollable shiver through my body and causing some pre-cum to ooze from the tip of my dick.
“I didn’t know you were such a pervert. How naughty.” She murmured, closing her eyes and humming to herself blissfully with a small smile.
I was smiling as well, massaging the orb of flesh with both care and curiosity, having never felt a girl’s boobs before. I began massaging the other one with my left hand, rubbing the nipple with my thumb and causing the girl’s hums to increase in volume. Jiggling them, squeezing them, rubbing them together, I thoroughly explored every secret her womanhood held and familiarized myself with every single centimeter of her soft skin.
“It feels so good to have you touch me.” She panted as I began toying with her nipples, gently squeezing them between my index and middle fingers and rubbing them with my thumbs.
“You certainly feel real.” I said, happier than I had been in years.
“Well to be sure, how about a taste?” She offered, lowering herself down and kissing me.
Following the lead of her lips, her tongue slipped into my mouth with unbelievable length, I almost felt like I was going to choke on it. Her mouth and tongue, they were so delicious, and the wetter the kiss became, the more of her flavor I was able to sample. She tasted like ripe mangos and tea and the longer I tasted her, the more energized I felt. After several minutes of kissing, the girl pulled her lips from mine and smiled.
“My body is so hot right now, can you cool me off?” She whispered. I smiled and raised my head, kissing her first on the cheek, then down the side of her neck, and to her collarbone. As I slowly moved down, the girl slipped her hands into my boxers and grasped my cock, nearly making me cum right then and there simply from the sensation of having someone else touch it.
“Just as I thought, it’s sized just for me.” She hummed, lovingly stroking it while my lips finally came to her breasts.
Shaking like a drug addict, I was barely able to contain my sexual hunger. All these years, my hatred and depression had made my instinctive drive little more than a dull annoyance, but now, it was like it was all rushing out at once. I ran my tongue across her breasts, unable to believe how good they felt and tasted, and just that I was making such intimate contact with this strange entity.
“Be as rough or as gentle as you want, I belong to you after all.” She said tenderly.
At her words, my emotions suddenly flared up and quelled my instinctive desire. This girl, whether she was real or a hallucination, I did not care. I loved her, she was precious to me, and I could not hurt her even if she asked me to. I was slow, gentle, working my lips around each nipple and stopping periodically to massage her breasts with my tongue. While I worked, she rubbed her smooth slit against the shaft of my cock. It was so soft, already soaking wet from her arousal and making me dizzy with the sweet aroma.
“Such a simple touch, yet it feels so good. To be so close to you, I feel like I’m going to faint in happiness.” She cooed.
As her movements became more aggressive and the gentle rubbing became passionate grinding, I reached out and held onto her shapely ass with my hands. So soft and yet so firm, both full and taut, she had the ass of a Brazilian model. All this stimulation, it was too much, I could feel all the muscles in my lower body tensing up from my approaching orgasm.
“I feel it Marcus, I’m about to cum.” The girl moaned softly.
“Me too.” I murmured, wishing I could be inside her instead of just grinding against the entrance.
Gyrating her hips, the girl’s movements increased until it actually felt like I had penetrated her. We finally came at the same time, me launching about a shot glass’ worth of semen onto my stomach and fresh sheen of wetness coating the girl’s womanhood. At the feeling of ecstasy, I gave a deep grunt and the girl gave a shrill and rather adorable whine before she collapsed on top me.
“We’re so close, we can already bring each other happiness.” She panted while kissing my face wildly.
“Any chance we could take it a step further?” I asked, placing my hands on the sides of her face and brushing aside her long crimson hair.
“No. Close as we are, we cannot yet bond ourselves in that way. Only when we both live will we be able to create life for ourselves. Soon, we will be able to give ourselves unending happiness. Wait for me.”
“But I don’t know what I’m waiting for… And I don’t know if I can wait much longer. Every day, my ability to endure this pain lessens. I’m losing my sense of touch, my sight and hearing are failing, and my body is wasting away because I cannot hold food down. I just want to die, I just want it all to stop. If I end it all, then I can spend eternity with you.” I said desperately. The girl lowered her head and kissed me, brushing aside my fear.
“We will spend all of eternity together, but wouldn’t that eternity mean even more if it also meant a lifetime? Just wait, and I will end your suffering. Here, let me give you something, something to hold you over until our day comes.” She said. Smiling, she moved down to my deflating manhood. Lowering her head, she began licking up the semen I had ejaculated just a minute ago, humming in joy like it was chocolate syrup. Watching her tongue lap up my seed, I felt my cock re-harden, which she lovingly stroked with her hand.
After licking up every drop, she held her head just above my manhood, stroking it with her hand and working out any softness.
“Now, let me bring you happiness.” She said with a tender smile before taking the whole thing into her mouth, swallowing it with ease and bringing her lips all the way down to the base. At both the sight and feeling of her sucking me off, I immediately had my second orgasm and shot a dose of semen down her throat. The girl quickly pulled her head back and coughed, but before I could apologize, she smiled.
“Don’t worry, it’s fine. Just try and hold back a little, let me enjoy this too. Besides, it’s delicious.” She said coyly. Holding back? Hell, that was easy, I doubt I had any sperm left to release, but with her hand stroking my cock and that hungry expression on her face, I couldn’t lose my erection if I wanted to.
Bringing her head back down, the girl resumed blowing me, but this time taking it slow. She started simply by running her tongue around the head, licking away any sperm that remained from my first or second orgasm. She then moved to the shaft, delivering long wide sweeps, almost tracing each vein and sending shivers up my spine. After physically memorizing every detail of my cock, the girl again wrapped her mouth around it completely, bringing her head down under the head was crammed against the back of her throat. Moving each time with an upward inflection, she began bobbing her head with a steady rhythm, massaging my dick with her tongue and cheeks while her saliva dripped down into my lap.
As she worked, I watched with a smile and gently stroked her hair and brushed my fingers against her cheeks, trying to communicate my gratitude without interrupting her. Through her efforts, I could feel my body working up the strength for one last climax. It would probably be a dry fire, but it would be no less powerful. Sucking on my dick like it was the straw in a particularly thick milkshake, the girl broke through the final threshold I needed and I finally came, spraying every last drop of semen I had into her mouth and on her face when she finally released it.
I laid my head back, completely drained of both energy and cum. After swallowing all of my seed and cleaning it off her face, the girl sat on my lap and ran her fingers through my hair.
“Name me, so that I may exist solely for you, so that I may bring you happiness and ease your suffering. Then when you regain the will to live, you will exist solely for me, and this world will become paradise.” She murmured before leaning down and kissing me on the forehead, just as I was drifting back to sleep.
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