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244 lines
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Access Denied 000@@@@@@@@P'/// 000@@P//////////// .d@@@@@D X Marks The
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d00@@@@@@@P'//// d00@@@a///////// d@@@@@@@@@' Shit
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D a m n e d F u c k i n g S h i t
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- Presents -
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Issue #54
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Date: 5/30/96
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Title: Scarred
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Author: Dementia Praecox
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[Editor's Note: Yeah so ya see, DFS is back with some brand spanking new
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stuff. Look at the index for some more inph0 on DFS mother fucker!!! -AD]
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- s c a r r e d -
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by Dementia Praecox
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There was rain.. it seemed almost too much rain. It flowed
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through the streets in small rivers and collected in puddles along
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the sidewalks. It smacked against the sides of buildings. It
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filled up all the weathered-in cracks along the ground, and took
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with it all the grime, all the muck and filth, that the city had
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collected during the day. It beat steadily against his already
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completely drenched and soaked-through clothes, dripping under his
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collar and sliding down his back, none of which he felt. It fell
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continually on her cold, lifeless face, mixing with his tears as he
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knelt over her shattered body, as he stared into her unfocused
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eyes, silently begging her to return to him.
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"Please.. please come back.. don't leave me..", he brushed
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aside her drooping hair and sobbed into her neck, "I love you.. ".
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She didn't move. The rain continued its drumming. Around them,
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the city was silent, waiting out the storm, as nature seemed to
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weep for her newly lost child.
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It had been so quick.. Jesus Christ. What the hell had gone
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so terribly wrong? What had she (or he?) possibly done to have
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deserved this? He searched back through his already departing
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memory of the incident to try to remember what had even happened..
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that movie really could've been better but oh well you
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just can't pick these things just by the commercials that
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doesn't really matter anyways my god she's so beautiful
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i love her so much what makes her even speak to me i
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don't like that car over there the color just doesn't
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look right i really like the color grey maybe i'll paint
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my house looks like it might rain soon shit i wonder if
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it's gonna freeze again and cover everything with ice
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like last time is my garage door open i think i left it
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closed but i can't remember i can't help but smile when
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i watch her like this she's so funny without even trying
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to be i love her what was my life ever like without her
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i can't even remember anymore but that doesn't matter
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because she's here now i think it's time to pick up
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another battery for my cordless phone i can't even tell
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what anyone is saying anymore on that damn thing i like
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oranges i think i'll have some orange juice when i get
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home smashing pumpkins really sucks this guy looks like
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a hardass could i take him yeah undoubtedly yeah keep
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walking motherfucker i wonder what it feels like to beat
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someone within an inch of their life and then stand back
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and laugh at them trying to breath my god where did that
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thought come from i hope she never finds out these things
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i think about sometimes that doesn't make me weird does
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it oh well no one else knows anyways and everybody thinks
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like that god i love her so much where is this alley
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going anyways seems like we've been walking forever this
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car's going awful fast black berreta pretty sleek i guess
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but i don't know if i want one jesus christ shut the fuck
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up like you know a thing about cars oh no look out you're
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to close move move get out of the way lookout oh fuck he
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just plowed her out of the way is she okay stop stop get
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back here mother fucker license plate has a 9 and 0 in it
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is she okay dear god no no not her why not me please be
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okay i love you there's so much i haven't told you god
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there's blood everywhere how long has it been raining
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hang on i love you don't leave oh jesus why hang on
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please where's the police...
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The day dawned bleak. At first, he thought it was all some
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foul, accursed nightmare teasing his mind with the worst
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possibilities of his life. Then he opened his eyes. She was still
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gone. He called out to her, pathetically hoping she was there, but
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empty silence and the dying echoes of his shouts were the only
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sounds that greeted him. He collapsed into a weeping pile of
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wretchedness upon the bed.
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It had been almost a week, and he could still not sleep
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through the night. He had eaten next to nothing and even that he
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could hardly keep down. He couldn't go to work. He couldn't go
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out with friends. He couldn't do anything.
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Every single day he called the police, hoping that the
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situation had changed, hoping that they'd at least found something.
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Everyday, "Sergeant James Hicks" told him the same thing.
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"Sorry sir, we've got nothing new to report to you today,
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we'll call you if there's any new developments," the pig always
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said. He had already spent hours talking to the prick, filling out
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reports.. and he despised him. He seemed to be the incarnation of
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everything he found atrocious in people: gigantic, stupid,
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incompetent, a hopeless individual.
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Were they even ATTEMPTING to look for the killer? That
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worthless bastard was out there somewhere, still alive, still free,
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while she was gone, an innocent victim in the world of the guilty.
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The police it seemed, did nothing, ever. How many black berretas,
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with a 9 & 0 in the plates could there POSSIBLY BE for Christ's
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sake?! He was obviously being screwed by the police.. there was to
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be no legal vengeance whatsoever for her death. She was
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yesterday's news, and the police department had bigger and better
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things to do than to take care of a single vehicular homicide in
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this seething gutter of despair that somehow passed for a city.
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He sat alone in the apartment until once more darkness lit the
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city with its sweet, anonymous embrace. Although he seemed to be
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staring at the wall, he didn't see it. He saw only her, her dark,
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alluring eyes, her smiling face.. her broken body cradled in his
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arms. Finally, he decided it was time for another try. One more
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trip to the police station, one more attempt at justice. He would
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go tonight, and he would go every night, until she was avenged, and
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her troubled soul could at last be laid to total peace. It was all
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he had left now, his only reason to continue dragging himself
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through this melancholy cycle of pain called life.
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The streets were deserted as he walked the few blocks down to
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the police station, his heels dragging across the sidewalks
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wearily. He arrived just in time to see someone walking to the
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parking lot. Even through the haze of darkness, he could recognize
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Jim Hicks' fat, unkempt bulk shuffling through the parking lot
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towards his car. He was about to call out to him, see if anything
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had happened, but found that he couldn't. His ragged breath caught
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in his throat, and he slumped to the ground, still encased in the
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protective shadows of the night.
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"Oh god.. no..", he sobbed quietly to himself as the sergeant
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sped away in his sleek, black berreta, license plate NJC-590.
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_______________________________________
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Jim left work at the same time he did every night, slipping
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into his more relaxed "home" mood to escape the tensions of the
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day. He certainly was not getting any younger, and his heart had
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been troubling him lately, especially with the shakeups he'd had
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recently. He pulled open the door and slid his ponderous bulk
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behind the wheel of his new car, his pride and joy. As he closed
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the door, a great sigh escaped him, and he relaxed entirely. He
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only felt the first few dull pangs of agony after the metal bar
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smacked him over the head before dropping off into the depths of
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his subconscious.
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______________________________________
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He was screaming again. That was good. It meant he was still
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alive, still in agony, and still paying. No one could hear him
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here, anyways. They were deep in the heart of a deserted warehouse
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near his parents' old home. They had been here for hours now, and
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they had been busy. Well, he had been busy. Hicks, or what was
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left of him anyways, had been mostly screaming.
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"You're going to die, you miserable son of a bitch", he'd told
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Hicks when they'd started, "and it's going to be slow, so get
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ready". Then he had become vengeance personified.
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At this point, Hicks was only barely recognizable as human.
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He was strapped naked to a chair, and rivers of blood seeped from
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almost every pore. His right arm was stapled to a wooden desk, and
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the hand was completely crushed. Bone fragments protruded all over
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from where the sledgehammer had gone to work.
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Long, deep gashes from a razor blade covered his entire torso.
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Rusted fishing hooks and nails peeked out from any open flaps of
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skin. His entire body was covered with seared wounds, because
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everytime Hicks would pass out from pain, a red-hot poker would be
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plucked from the fire and pressed against his flesh. He'd wake up
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screaming and start thrashing all around, and the work would begin
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again.
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Finally, hours later, there was really nothing left to do but
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leave him to die. He sat in front of him, toying with a gun,
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waving it around enticingly. Finally he spoke.
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"Should I kill you now, fuckface?", he asked him. Hicks
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managed to groan out his approval around the stump of his tongue,
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which had been cut out earlier with a dull pocketknife.
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"Don't worry, you'll die soon enough. Don't even think,
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though, not for a second, that you'll escape this by dying. I
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haven't even started on you yet, you bastard. When we meet again
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in Hell, I'll be laughing as I flay you to pieces by the hour.. For
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now, though, I'm just giving you something back that you gave to
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her.. How does it feel to know that you're about to die? To know
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there's nothing you can do about it?" he stared at the quivering
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form for a bit. Hicks said nothing.
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"Answer me!". In response, Hicks moaned softly.
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Two shots rang out loudly through the warehouse, echoing back
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into the dank, foul recesses. The contents of the false judicial
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champion's skull emptied onto the back wall, and fragments of bone
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littered the floor. The haggard breathing stopped, and the form
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slumped over. It was done.
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He sank down on the floor, shaking quietly. Two tears slowly
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tracked their way down through his face, landing softly on the
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floor.
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"I love you", he said quietly in the darkness, before placing
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the gun into his own mouth. Seconds later another shot rang out in
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the stillness.
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In the end, the papers called him a monster. In the end, the
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police called him a demonic sadist bent on imagined vengeance. In
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the end, he was shunned by society as a killer of its children, an
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eater of its innocence. But in the end however, he was merely a
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lover.
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- t h e . e n d -
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Find DFS On These Fine Systems (When they're up...)
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==========================================================================
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| Paradise Lost +1.414.476.3181 DFS World HQ |
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| Temporary Insanity +1.414.666.W00T DFS Affiliate HQ |
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| Arcane Asylum +1.414.PSY.CHOS DFS Thingy HQ |
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| FTP - etext.archive.umich.edu - /pub/Zines/DFS |
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| HTTP - http://www.execpc.com/~adenied
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| See, it's like this. I don't call out, so I don't know if any of my |
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| distros are still up. So they're all GONE! If you want to be a site |
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| mail Access Denied at adenied@execpc.com or call Paradise Lost. |
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| ASCII Art by Incarnate |
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| To submit, call Paradise Lost and log on as DFS. The password is: |
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| JINGLE JINGLE |
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==========================================================================
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