Category: 267monologues

i’m driving through the woods, right, in this really amazing ford thunderbird. 1957, 1956 maybe. gorgeous, cherry red, all shiny and shit. white vinyl seats with lipstick red trim, all that good stuff. and this baby purrs, even going up to 70, 80 miles per hour, just hums like a kitten. kelly’s in the passenger seat and she looks beautiful, she looks like a million bucks, she gives helen of troy a run for her money. she’s using the mirror on the back of the sun shade thing to freshen up her makeup, pursing her lips and using her pinky finger to take off excess lipstick and eye shadow. she turns and looks at me occasionally and laughs gleefully, kicking her heels against the floor of the car, and sometimes she pulls a silver flask from between her breasts and pulls from it. she hands it to me. i pull from it. we’re in love as fuck.

but the woods are dark and we get lost and end up stopping in the middle of nowhere, on the side of the road. kelly’s giggly but i can see the fear in her eyes. i tell her it’s gonna be alright and she shooes me away playfully, saying, “i know, silly.” and then i look out and the woods are like, i dunno, like they’re underwater, and the trees are undulating, the ground is roiling, it’s like a bad trip or something. i look back to kelly and she’s gone. the door’s open and she has run off, and now the car is full of water. and i’m underwater. i suddenly feel the need to hold my breath.

i’m drowning, and i’m alone, and this whole time i’m thinking, “god i could use a drink.” so i swim out of the car and i’m underwater now, and i can see kelly’s dress shimmering in the darkness, she’s swimming toward me and she has a cigarette in her mouth which is lit. underwater. that kind of shit drives me nuts.

she swims up to me and tries to speak but her words are bubbles, like the bubbles have words in them but it’s a dream so they’re all gibberish. at this point i remember i’m drowning and start struggling to breathe, which is when she comes up to me and kisses me, and while she kisses me she breathes into my mouth and for a second i feel this surge of life, the water is bright and i’m closing my eyes in the dream and it feels wonderful and then i open my eyes and i’m kissing kelly’s corpse.

and then i wake up. and i remember she’s dead. and i get up and start to make breakfast.

jack fucking squat. i’ve been looking for hours and found jack fucking squat. you know aunt darlene’s gonna flip her shit when she sees what we’ve done to this place, right? she is going to murder us and stuff us in the holes we’ve made in the walls. hell i’m surprised i haven’t found any bones in here in the first place. nothing but insulation and old newspapers and the occasional bird’s nest. this is nuts, we’ve been led on a wild goose chase which i think is darlene’s way of getting us to tear this old shitty house down without having to pay for it. and all for what? money? jewelry? dad’s old porn stash? who fucking knows. all i can say is my hands hurt from tearing at drywall and itch from the insulation, so i’m done. if you want to get rich, go ahead, but i’m done. i don’t believe any of this bullshit anyway, it’s all you but for some reason you’ve decided to get drunk instead of help. just perched on your talons waiting to snipe the treasure away from me. fuck you! go find it yourself you dumb cunt. i’m done, you hear me? I’M DONE!

the seats are fitted with a parachute. once the cockpit started to break apart there was a rupture in the oxygen tank which caused it to explode. i don’t remember much of what happened afterward, but the medical logs from dr takahashi suggest that the tank or the pressure of the oxygen released hit me in my left side, meanwhile the cockpit itself broke apart, launching my seat into the atmosphere. i’m not sure what happened to the others. i must’ve been conscious enough to “eject” myself from the remnants of the cockpit, which in turn triggered the parachute altitude sensor, which opened at approximately 2500 meters from the ground. i was unconscious and still strapped into the seat when the paramedics arrived. i don’t remember any of this; my next memory was waking up in the ICU. the others … i mean you can see the photos for yourself. they didn’t make it. i don’t know why they didn’t try to eject. my best guess is that the oxygen tank explosion knocked them unconscious, or even killed them right then. i just happened to be very, very lucky, and i am keenly aware of that, every time i breathe.

as to the allegations of sabotage, i can’t speak to that one way or another. every test i performed was green, including the second op tests i did for the other crew. i am aware of lt gustov’s extremist leanings. i knew nothing about it up until five days into the mission, nor did any of the rest of the crew, or anyone on the ground. none of us knew. now that we know in the aftermath, i don’t think it answers the question as to if the mission was sabotaged. to be honest, i think the capsule just couldn’t handle the stress of reentry, which i think is more of an issue for angel corp, who have routinely skimped on quality building materials, fudged quality assurance test results on multiple occasions, and who have connections with our government so deep, it’s nearly impossible to untangle them from the space program. so, despite lt gustov’s political leanings, i would be surprised if he had any involvement in the breakup of the galatian over earth space, unless he is somehow involved with the biggest mishandled corporation on the planet. all i know is that lt gustov was a good friend during our six months in orbit and that his death, slamming into the ground at terminal velocity, was completely and utterly unwarranted.

i’ve fucked my way to the top and i’ve fucked my way to the bottom and i’ve fucked my way to the side and let me tell you, none of those fucks were as good as the fuck i’ve had just now. simply exquisite! your pussy is like a fine aged wine, mmmm, god, just thinking about diving back into that flesh yacht has my johnson hard as a goddamn rock! do you realize what you’ve done to me, bertha? you’ve made me love life again! i could dance on the fucking table i’m so excited. you stirred things in my cock that have never been stirred before, and coming inside of you was like attaching angels wings to my balls. hot damn! you drained me of my seed and filled me with this intense desire to be happy. it really feels good. before this i fucked just to fill that lonely hole in my soul. god. god damn. everything’s different now, bertha. i’m no longer a husk of a man, i’m a full blooded fuck device, bertha. what do i have to do now, marry you? is that what you want? cause i will do it, i’ll do it right now. of course i’ll pay you what i owe for the night but then let’s go to vegas and get married, let’s get married and then fuck every night, i’m a good guy, i can shower you with money, presents, jewelry, whatever you want! i just need a woman like you in my life, a woman who knows how to extract all the goodness from my dick, filling me with a joy i didn’t even know was possible! ugh it’s so great! i feel so great! bertha come on, let’s get married.

[bertha snores]

what! bertha you were asleep this whole time? i was professing my love for you, you stupid bitch!

sometimes you chisel through love like a prisoner escaping alcatraz. sometimes it hits you over the head like a ton of bricks. and sometimes, sometimes you realize you were there all along, that this person you’ve spent time with as a friend was actually someone you’ve loved from the beginning, and then they look at you in the dark of the movie theater and it’s so intense that you feel a little embarrassed, so you glance away, but you can still feel their eyes on your face, just watching you because watching you is a thing they love doing. in any other context it would be creepy, but not this one. this is the one everyone wants.

it’s scary. it’s scary because it’s this kind of realization like you’re in quicksand, like you realize halfway through sinking that you’re in quicksand, and ideally in this instance you want to sink, you want to be a part of that sand, but you also know that once you do that’s it, that’s where you are, and the only way to get out is to kick and scream or have someone else pull you out. i’m sorry. this is a poor metaphor. love shouldn’t be something you want to kick and scream out of. but on the other hand, it’s not this easy, laissez-faire thing you just idly let happen. it’s an active force, a thing that must be cultivated, watered, harvested. it’s not an easy thing, not like how it looks in the movies. in the movies they cut out all the boring shit, they just heighten the emotion, but that’s like giving someone a lovely trellis without the wooden posts to hold it up. that’s the trouble. everyone wants it to be something special, but it can only be special when you’ve built the foundation first. everything special has the same foundation.

so. you came all this way just to kill me, didn’t you? all these years of searching, and here i am, an old man resting peacefully in a wheelchair, with an afghan over his chilly old legs and a cup of warm earl grey tea in his slightly shaking hands. now, you think, after all these years, the time has come for revenge! for the things i did to your mother and father when you were just a boy. and other people. lots of other people. there. you’ve had my confession. cart me off to jail where i can die among the other murderers, thieves, and sexual fiends locked up there. but while i confess i would remind you that you keep looking at one side of the facts. i murdered your parents, yes, i raped your mother while your father bled to death, yes, i am not excusing my actions as i am a troubled, troubled man, but there is the other side. your older brother, for instance. where do you think he got his rambunctious ways? why do you think, late at night, he would go out in the backyard to find field mice to dissect? do you really think your boyhood dog chester just up and ran away one day? no. of course not. your brother is a fucking murderer, boy, and the only person who knew was me. and the only reason i knew is because i’m a fucking murderer, and i spent the last two years of your parents life learning everything i could about them.

at first it was just your mother, back in the 70s my method was to track down young brunette women with wavy hair. i did this because they reminded me of my own horrible, troubled mother. i hope you’ll appreciate my frankness on the subject; i’ve spent nearly a decade in various therapies and psychoanalyses trying to figure out what is wrong with me. problem is, it’s hard to pinpoint the problem when you can’t tell your therapist that you frequently saw the limbs off people you’ve stalked. anyway, i had tailed your mother for a week when i noticed her and your father engaging in strange activity. you were, what, ten years old or so? maybe you’ve repressed those memories, i don’t know. i won’t go into detail because i can see from the look in your eyes that you already did your research. i saved your life, boy, saved you from a lifetime of bad decisions. but i wasn’t able to save your brother.

and now you’ve come back to avenge your freak parents, aren’t you? you gathered up all the clues that led you here. congratulations. i guess you’re no better than they were. it’s alright. i understand. i was once like you, destined to follow in my father’s footsteps. i killed seventy-five people. did you know that? mostly women like i described before; i have a notebook logging each one. i suppose i should keep that a secret but what the hell, i’m going to kick the bucket whether it’s from your bullet or just being an old bastard. i killed seventy-five people because i hoped they would fill this hole my father left in my soul when i was six years old. each murder left me more and more disappointed, until it became rote to research the life of my next kill. it was like eating food; i had to do it to feel human.

now i’m too old to give a shit. i don’t have the strength to kill anyway. i’m tired. maybe you shooting me in the head would ease this tired old soul, once and for all. but remember: it’s not about me anymore. my days are over. your are still in the prime of your life. you shoot me, you start down that path. remember that. you don’t come back from that path. you don’t come back.

this is all very new to me. happiness, i mean, not this room, i know i’ve been babbling about the ikea furniture but … i mean being happy, feeling happy. and i’ve got you to thank for that, don’t i? all i needed was an outlet and you gave one to me. spending the last half-dozen years or so in a peripatetic haze in this city where i knew no one and no one knew me … it was rough, and quiet, and cold, and simple, and lonely. i embraced that loneliness, as it has always been a part of my life, an aspect of my personality difficult to describe to the ebullient people in my world. now, alone, i could study it, talk to it, breathe with it, and that … made me go a little crazy. i became too lonely. too distant. too disconnected from real life and real people. and i have to thank you a hundred times over for giving me a hand to help me back into the world of the living, back into the social construct and the people within it. it’s amazing how easy it is to slip into this gollum-esque life of living in a cave called your bedroom, staring at various glowing rectangular screens that give you all the information and masturbatory pleasure you’ll ever need. watching people fuck on screens will never be as good as hanging out with friends, drinking a beer in the summer sun, ruminating on life and relationships, all that stuff. i just have to remember that, the next time i’m wallowing alone in the darkness. thank you for helping me.

where were you when you heard david bowie died? me, i was balls deep in a lady, balls deep i say, and i know if bowie heard that he would laugh and appreciate it, i just know it. bowie was a cool guy but a little weird, yeah, so i’d just be like, “hey bowie, i was balls deep in a lady when you died!” and he would laugh and laugh. it would be great. he might not understand what “balls deep” meant at first, maybe he’d cock his head a bit to the side and say, “what do you mean?” and i’d have to explain it in more detail. “i was having sex with a beautiful woman,” i’d say, and he’d nod and take a drag of his cigarette, looking me up and down. “i know,” he’d say with a wry smile. “i was being willfully obtuse.” and then, a flicker in his eyes and i’d feel a strange feeling in my gut, like … am i attracted to this guy? no, of course not, i’m a healthy heterosexual male, and yet … he glides over to me like a lithe vampire, perches next to me, his face close to mine. “how did it feel?” he asks, with his iconic vocal cadence. he smells like scotch and cigarettes, his eyes are slightly milky, he’s older, but still piercing and gorgeous. he’s got that long slicked back blonde hair like the “let’s dance” era, the 80s, the riches, the overabundance, and he is so cool, just so … thoughtlessly cool, a man so confident about himself that you can’t help but fall in love with him, because you’ll never be like that, you’ll always worry about bills and your love life and sex and–then i say, “it felt good.” “how good?” “really good.” and he’s close now, his thin pink lips hovering just beside my left ear, his hot breath tickling the hairs on the side of my face. “was it better than the best fuck you’ve ever had?” he asks, and i nod, and he whispers, “good.” “there’s nothing more liberating than a good fuck with a beautiful woman,” he says, and that’s it. he stands up and walks out, leaving a scotch class with a sip left on the end table.

every pill i’ve taken so far has done nothing. this is bullshit! i wanted to be all touchy feely tonight but i still feel normal. derek you told me this shit would work! all i feel is like i have to pee. it’s cool, it’s cool, i’ll just … i’ll call larry, see if he’s got anything better. hey do you have any weed? it’s cool if you don’t, it’s just, damn i want to get fucked up tonight! this whole last year has been such shit and all i want to do is drink and do drugs and get all touchy feely with humanity, and if this molly ain’t gonna do it then maybe some weed will. i think you got a bad stash, derek! it’s also weird that they’re all minty–maybe they just gave you some mints! hey! are you in the shitter? are you taking an epic shit right now? god damn, we gotta leave in like five minutes and i’m completely sober! will you look in the medicine cabinet for nyquil or something? this is fucked up.