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xmag.com : September 2002: The Cum-Hungry Genius

I think this time; it's not going to be funny. I think this time, someone might get hurt.
I remember the injustices of the past. Cowering in corners. Shitting on floors. Forced into forgiveness.

Not this time.

Cross me. Please. Give me a chance to make it up to you.

Hold me in your warm arms again so I can strike. Bring me close to your heart so I can bite into it, a mouth thick with what should be your blood. My venom will be stronger than yours. The urine flowing through your veins will kill you in the end. I'll be able to smell it in the dark. I can smell the things you have been eating. Candy should make you sweet, Bunny. You hide in the bathroom curled behind the toilet, and I can smell you there. Longish hair falls in front of your sick face. I wish I could say it was pockmarks from self-surgery but your skin is as smooth as the porcelain you rest it upon...besides the shit smears. And is the shit in your house from your ass or are you clean like you are supposed to be?

Did you want this to happen? (I have to think you did.)

It's dark in the bathroom right now, and you're probably trying to remember better times you had there. It might be hard. Every time you trap a moment of joy in your head, the touch of the cool linoleum curling up in the corners on your heels and the mildewed carpet under at least eight of your toes brings you back to right now. If only you could get your toes off of that fucking carpet....you've seen Vena in the mornings, as you two get ready for school, piss all over that carpet. You know that's just the way he is, so you don't get mad but you do get a little grossed-out even though he's your brother. Mom says he has trouble listening, so she went to a doctor and got him little pink pills to make him pay more attention in school.

You try to be still. Back pressed against the wall. Tiny dinosaur bones pressed against the wall through a thin and faded nightshirt. You remember the first time you saw it...Christmas morning. That was when you and Vena still looked alike. You got matching kimonos and fake fur bears bigger than him but not you. You were turning into a worse person by the second. You were something to be ashamed of. You were something to be burned.

You should have hid in the closet. The closet already smells like urine, so I would have never known you were in there. You pissed in there because you were an animal, a small beast reveling in the scents you should have been ashamed of. Hunched low to the ground far in the corner letting the waves of piss run down your legs and sitting in it. Small red raised welts like thousands of ants had bit you on the inner part of your thighs. The uncomfortable part was the most fun. The most memorable.

The things you did to me just by your presents. The things you sat through are unforgivable. And now I can remember...you crying.

I wanted to hurt you more because of the crying. Twist your skin into flower patterns. Bite only your fingers until they bled and then tell you I would let you go if you could only open the door. You're fumbling with the knob, blood and tears smearing, making it impossible to open. Screaming in frustration. Snot coming into play with the sweat and the tears and the blood. A lovely strawberry milkshake down the front of your face.

If only I could make you understand. I'm doing this so you won't turn into me. So you won't have to remember. Memory is the worst thing. I'm saving you. Call me Christ in the mornings and call me patients at night.





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