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I've been all over the place lately. At the beginning of the summer I was plowing through the Needles, Names, and Numbers drafts, ultima...

Saturday, February 15, 2020

Nightmares of the Bottom


“Are you high, Harry?” My father asks.

I’m in shock and complete disbelief that he could even ask such a thing.

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?!!”

He pushes his glasses up his nose. “Don’t bullshit me, you’re fuckin’ high. You been usin’ again.”

My Dad is shorter than me, he’s a good 5’10. I’m six feet even. But fuck if I’m not still scared shitless of him. All things considered, he’s got a right to ask if I’m using. I’ve lost weight, there’s bags under my eyes, I’m pale, sickly.

And, y’know, I have been getting high again.

BUT NOT ON HEROIN OR METH, WHICH MEANS I’M SOBER.

My hand reaches into my pocket as my mother weeps on the couch. I thumb the bag of capsules, making sure I still have them, and didn’t drop them, which would explain the current interrogation I find myself in.

I look back at my Dad. He’s thin, holocaust thin. His teeth are rotting out of his face. His eyes are pinned, his cheeks sunken, his bones rigid. I smell piss.

“ANSWER ME!”

“I’M NOT GETTIN’ FUCKIN’ HIGH ANYMORE!”

“PROVE IT!”

Suddenly I have a urinalysis cup in my hand.

“Please, Harry…” My mother cries.

She looks like shit too. Her skin and eyes is an almost mustard yellow. Surely her liver will give out  soon. Nevertheless, she has a beer in front of her.

“YOU’RE A FUCKIN HYPOCRITE!” I scream.

“BATHROOM! NOW!”

“I don’t need this fuckin’ shit… I came here to visit, not to be treated like a fucking drug addict!”

“YOU DON’T HAVE A CHOICE HARRY, NOW GO!”

My Dad clenches his bony hands into fists and begins to leave his hospice bed, sitting in the middle of our living room.

“Alright, alright. Jesus Christ…”

I walk through the dining room and into the kitchen bathroom, locking the door behind me and sitting down on the covered toilet lid. I begin to cry.

“He’s fuckin’ cryin’ in there. Little fuckin’ faggot. I DON’T HEAR ANY PISSING GOIN’ ON IN THERE, HARRY!”

“FUCK YOU!” I scream at the door.

“Fuck me, right… Fucking embarrassment is what he is.”

“Yes, absolutely.” My mother adds.

“We did so much to keep him from ending up like this. Catholic school, busted our fucking asses, and WHAT’S HE DO?!?! HUH?!?! WHAT THE FUCK YOU DO, HARRY?!”

“SHUT THE FUCK UP, I’M TRYING TO FUCKING PISS!”

“I knew he was using, I knew the whole time…” My mother cries.

I’m trying to piss, but I can’t. Too much pressure. I shake my cock around like an abusive mother would an infant, to no avail. Enraged, I throw the cup at the wall, and it disappears.

BOOM, BOOM, BOOM!

“WHAT?!!?” I roar.

“WHERE IS IT, HARRY, WHERE’S THE PISS?! YOU’RE USING! YOU’VE ALWAYS BEEN USING! FUCKIN’ JUNKY PIECE OF SHIT!”

“YOU FUCKING MADE ME LIKE THIS!”

The bathroom door disappears.

“Excuse me?” My Dad asks.

“You… Fuckin’ heard me…” I mumble.

“Pussy. A fuckin’ pussy. That’s all you are. Pinnin’ your problems on me. You saw how this goes. Both of us, we showed you. It ain’t fuckin’ pretty. But you just couldn’t leave it the fuck alone, could ya?! COULD YA??!”

My Dad pushes me, his frail limbs packing quite the punch as I stumble backwards, landing in a hospital gurney. I don’t have a shirt on anymore. I’m very thin. The light is flickering inside my room. There’s blinds over the doors. A TV, hidden behind a glass partition, plays The Sopranos.
I’m strapped to a heart monitor. I can see shadows moving behind the blinds, speaking in hushed tones.

“Seven grams of crystal meth, in his wallet… Here… He’s got pills too, never even seen them 
before…” One says.

I check my back pocket, only to find my bare ass. I’m in a gown. Fuck.

“HARRY??!!?!!?”

My Dad’s voice rips through the halls of hospital, shaking my room as dust falls from the ceiling.

“Fuck. FUCK, FUCK, FUCK!”

I rip the wires off my chest and hop off the stretcher, leaning on my IV pole as I stumble out into the hospital. It’s incredibly busy, but no one seems to notice I’m here. A morbidly obese young woman, with jet black hair, very pale and sick, lays in a gurney to my immediate left. A green t-shirt barely covers her enormous stomach and breasts, and she’s packed her lower half in a very tight pair of leggings.

“Why are you here, miss?” The nurse asks her.

“I’m too fat.” The woman replies, her mouth not moving as she speaks.

“And why are you so fat?”

Suddenly, the woman sits up, with a great deal of effort, and points to me.

“What?!” I gasp.

“You made me this way. I was happy. I was fat, yeah… But you didn’t help…”

“I don’t even know you…”

“OH YOU DON’T?!?!”

I squint at her. “Sarah?!!?”

“I PUT ON A HUNDRED AND FIFTY POUNDS, FOR YOU, HARRY! ALL FOR YOU! JUST SO YOU COULD CUM! YOU TOLD ME YOU LOVED ME! IS THIS HOW YOU TREAT SOMEONE YOU LOVE?!!? HUH?!!? LOOK AT ME! I’M DISGUSTING! I FUCKING HATE MYSELF! But I suppose none of that matters to you, right? You’re on to your next victim!”

She pulls up her shirt, revealing her big, stretch-mark riddled stomach. Her breathing grows more labored and frantic. I can see her organs failing.  

“Titillating, isn’t it?” The nurse asks.

“WHAT’S WRONG, HARRY?!? IT WAS SO FUCKIN’ HOT WHEN I WAS CRAMMING DONUTS INTO MY FUCKIN’ MOUTH ALL DAY!”

“Please… Don’t…”

“You wanna see my legs, Harry?!”

“No.”

“You used to love them! Remember you used to give me cankle kisses?!”

“I can’t… Please…”

The nurse pulls up her leggings, revealing obese, fluid-saturated legs, the skin stretched to a layer as thin as cellophane, turgid and purple.

“No… I didn’t mean…”

Suddenly she flops back in bed, the heart monitor running to her body flatlines.

BEEEEEEEEEEEEP….

“Dead. Because of you.” The nurse says, deadpan.

“FUCK! FUCK THIS, FUCK THIS, FUCK THIS, FUCK THIS!”

I rip out my IV and begin to run down a long hallway that never seems to end. Doors line the sides as the lights flicker in and out. I just keep running.

BOOM…

BOOM…

BOOM…

BOOM…

Finally, I reach a door. I grab the handle and it melts between my fingers. I wipe the smears of bronze paint off on the door while pounding on it with my fists.

“PLEASE! PLEASE, PLEASE, PLEASE LET ME IN! I CAN’T… I CAN’T…”

At the end of the hallway is my father. He’s limping along with a cane, so frail his clothes hang off his frame. He’s snarling at me.

“YOU….”

“YOU’VE BEEN NOTHING…”

“BUT A PAIN IN THE ASS…”

“Fuck you!” I scream as I pound on the door.

My Dad’s shorts fall down. He’s wearing a diaper, saturated with piss as he shambles down the hall, a shell of his old self. He’s not the old man I knew.

“AFTER ALL THIS… YOU’RE STILL… GETTING… FUCKING… HIGH…”

“SHUT THE FUCK UP! SHUT UP, SHUT UP, SHUT UP, SHUT UP!”

He stops suddenly, his eyes watering up. “I’m tired, Harry…”

“So sleep.” I reply, curling into the fetal position against the door.

“I’m tired of you fucking up. I’m tired of being so sick…”

“SO SLEEP!” I snarl back.

“Why couldn’t you be more like your sister?!”

“DON’T FUCKIN’ BRING HER INTO THIS!”

“Why not?!”

“BECAUSE SHE MADE IT OUT OF THAT TOXIC FUCKIN’ SHITHOLE WE CALLED A HOUSE GROWING UP! MADE SOMETHING OF HERSELF! DON’T YOU FUCKIN’ DARE RUN YOUR FUCKIN’ MOUTH ABOUT HER!”

“Hehehehehehehe…”

My Dad spits out a tooth as blood flows out of his mouth, all while he laughs maniacally.

I wake up.

**

“Mr. Miller? We’ve been expecting you.” A muscular bald man says as he takes my bags.

I’m led through what appears to be some sort of new age opium den. It’s relatively empty. Hookahs filled with some sort of narcotic leave their users slumped out on pillows, dreaming. A pink light fills each room. We walk through a beaded doorway, leading to a room-wide booth seat. A table sits in the middle, holding a bottle of Jameson and a massive pile of Cocaine.

“There you are. She’ll be in shortly…” The man says, nodding.

“OK.” I reply.

I go to town. Snorting, drinking, smoking. The beaded doorway rustles, and in walks none other than MuffinMaid. In the flesh. She’s a bit heavier than her recent posts would imply, but every bit as sexy.  She’s tall, as tall as me, clad in a pink bikini. Her belly almost obscures the second half as I drink her in, her pale blue eyes enrapturing me as she tosses her black hair out of her face.

“Mr. Chin says I have to take care of you.” She says sheepishly.

“C’mon over, darlin’, I don’t bite.” I reply.

She smiles and chuckles, taking a seat next to me.

“You, um… You mind if I…” She stammers, motioning to the coke.

“No! No, no, no, no, no! By all means!”

She snorts up a fat gagger and swigs Jamie from the bottle. My kinda woman.

“Can I bum a smoke?” She asks.

“Absolutely.” I reply, handing her one from a pack that seems endless.

“Thank you…”

She lights the smoke, exhaling seductively before looking at me. There’s something fucked up about  her face that I can’t put my finger on, but I love it.

“You wanna play with my tummy?”

“I thought you’d never ask…”

I put my face in her stomach, my dick throbbing through my jeans as I do so. I kiss it, worship it, its soft warmth returning me to a childish state as I rub my face over it repeatedly.

“Hey, Harry?”

“Yeah?”

As I look up, I realize it’s not MuffinMaid.

It’s my sister.

I fall off the booth seat, knocking over the table and coke and booze resting atop it. I begin to crawl backwards as my sister’s face looks back at mine.

“How could you do this?!”

“HARRY?!?!”

“NO! NO, NO, NO, NO, NO, NO! NO!”

I vomit all over my shirt.

Then I wake up.

And I vomit again.

I haven’t been getting much REM sleep lately.

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  2. Can you pls write us some new stories, Harry? ^^

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