105 lines
5.5 KiB
Plaintext
105 lines
5.5 KiB
Plaintext
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= F.U.C.K. - Fucked Up College Kids - Born Jan. 24th, 1993 - F.U.C.K. =
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Deep Inside
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I awoke from another nightmare. "My God, does it ever stop?" I asked myself
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as I stood up and reached for a cigarette. She had invaded my dreams and
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subconscious for four years now, and no matter what I did, what drugs I
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took, she always came back.
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I looked at the clock. 4:22. "God damn," I told myself, "four years since a
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good nights sleep and I'm still alive. Barely." I was about to go insane
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over all of this - first the stress of expulsion from school when I was a
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teen, to the suffering and misery of not forgetting about a love that never
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loved back. You'd think that it would pass, but hell. She was the perfect
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girl, I always told everyone. I used to think we were made for each other.
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I used to think there was a chance. I used to think I was human. I've
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become a monster, I thought, deep inside I've become a monster. And there's
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only one way to stop this--stop this for good.
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I reached into the closet and pulled out an old attache case that my father
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had given me. Inside, I saw my blue Smith & Wesson case. Fingers trembling,
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cigarette in mouth, and sweat dripping down my face, I pulled out the case
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and laid it on the bed open. I saw my silver, shining device of death. A
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.357 snub-nose revolver that I had received as a teen from an ex-cop. What
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a life I'd led. She must be still sleeping, I thought. She'd be at home,
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alone, in bed. My thoughts ran away with me, I collapsed, and lay crooked
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and bent on the bed like a child who'd been punished, crying and sobbing
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her name. "WHY?!" I cried out. "WHY ME? WHY DID THIS HAVE TO FUCKING HAPPEN
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TO ME? WHY CAN'T THIS ALL JUST STOP?! GOD, HELP ME SARAH! HELP ME!!!..."
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I struggled to get my limp, broken soul erect again. Once more, I told
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myself, once more I'd been damaged. I never escape it. She follows you,
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tortures you, rapes your mind and corrupts your soul. Now. NOW.
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I packed five brass-cased silver-tipped .38 shells into my .357, thinking a
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different shell size might confuse the police. "They'd be looking for a
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.38. The bore markings would be too close for them to think anything else."
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I clothed myself, put my black bomber coat on, dropped my .357 into my
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pocket, and walked out the door, heading for her flat. It took me 35
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minutes to reach it, and I stood outside the door until about 6:00 looking
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at the window, waiting for the lights to come on. Paranoid, heart pounding,
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temperature rising. Pain returning to my limbs. That same teenage
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nervousness of asking a girl out returned to me, as it always did when she
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was in my vicinity. The lights flipped on. I walked slowly up the staircase
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to her flat and knocked on the door. A pause. Another knock. By now my
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entire body was limp and shaking, a cold sweat on my brow. My fingers
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stroking the trigger and cylinder of my pistol like an act of foreplay. She
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opened the door.
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"What are you doing here? I thought I had made everything clear to you
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years ago. I'm not interested in you or a relationship with you. It's
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nothing personal, but you have to understand. I know you love me, but I'm
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afraid I just cannot return that love. I'm sorry."
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She started to close the door, and I stuck my foot in it to avoid another
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night full of nightmares. "Sarah, I have to speak with you. Now. Just let
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me in...I'll only be a couple minutes." The door re-opened. I walk inside.
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"Let me go get dressed." She said as she walked towards her bedroom.
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"Sarah, I can't wait anymore. I've been through too much torture. My mind
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is destroyed. I have no life. I have no love. I have nothing."
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I slowly pull out the revolver. Sarah, standing in her pajamas, starts to
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run for the door. I grab her. I draw the pistol towards her, holding her
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arm and counting to five in my head, and watch her. Watch the fear. Watch
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the nightmare. It's your turn, Sarah, It's your turn. She closes her eyes.
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She fears that she'll die. I pull the pistol from her head to mine, ease
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the hammer back, and pull the trigger.
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BLAM!
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I awake from another nightmare. "My God, does it ever stop?"
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Not when it's deep inside.
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nate (ae)
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nate@nets.com
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nate@wiredsolutions.net
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= Questions, Comments, Bitches, Ideas, Rants, Death Threats, Submissions =
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= issues, send a list of any missing issues and they will be mailed. =
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= (c) Copyright. All files copyright by the original author. =
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