2 comments/ 22066 views/ 4 favorites Prayer By: faceslap "I hope you enjoyed that orgasm, slave," my Lord says quietly, "You will not have another until next Sunday, over a week away." "Why, my Lord?"I ask, my voice a tad too high, a little scared. "Because you were such a slut last night. Because it pleases me. Because you will be in agony. All. Week. Long." It isn't the first time we'd played this game. I'd once had 6 weeks of orgasm denial that turned into two months because I accidentally came with him on one occasion. That is the hardest part, for me. Not being able to follow him into orgasm when he comes is very difficult. I was scared. This is always so hard. It is first uncomfortable—I think of sex every second. I am wet, swollen, and breathing a little faster than normal. After the first week, I usually relax into it. I avoid sex, except when he wants it. I do not masturbate. This short time, a week, shouldn't be too hard, except for the fact that I have two brand-new lovers. I hadn't planned it, but I ended up unexpectedly swooning over a guy friend a few days earlier, and my normally tame dating life got crazier yet when a good female friend who had always said she was "straight" let me go down on her as her birthday present. When it rains it pours. I haven't been dating much because I am terribly attracted to my Lord. He is beautiful, powerful, intelligent and kind. I worship him, and he turns me on every time I think of him. However, this new guy happened by chance, and I'm more excited about him than I've been about any man since my Lord. He's sweet, energetic, communicative, and *really* good in bed. I've been lusting over the girl for about two years. I can't *believe* we just had sex. Anyway, I'm already miserably sex-focused today. I want to suck. To fuck. To come in waves with my Lord and my new lovers, one by one, or maybe all together, but in any case SOON. My pussy is wet. I want spankings. I want to be snuggled into one big pile of flesh with my beautiful people. I want to come. I'm not sure I won't come, just writing this, but writing is the *least* sexual thing I think I can manage to do right now. It's their fault. They were both at a party last night, one that my Lord and I went to together. They both had me on the edge of orgasm. I would leave one and go to the other, then check in with my Lord, then go back to the first. I want to come. I was such a slut, though. My Lord does have a point. I don't think he actually minds that. I think he just wants to have control over me while I'm all excited about these new people. Phew. Orgasm denial totally sucks. I grant that the end can be fun. By the time I'm released, I will have a week's worth of that kind of desire built up. When my Lord tells me I can come when he says "whore" or whatever trigger word he decides to use, I will be ready and I will come so hard for him. I am his. He controls me. That part will be wonderful. This part, however, totally sucks. The fearful edge I will have to walk between ignoring my body and coming hard when I'm not supposed to. The attempt I will have to make to explain to my two new lovers that really, next week is a better time for us to get together because otherwise I will have three weeks of denial, and I can't hold off coming with their new and exciting selves. The fact that everything--from commands to do the dishes, to insults, to eye gazing, to kisses, to spankings—everything will bring me close to the edge this week. This part sucks. I'm already fantasizing about how he will end this session. I'm terrified I will slip. If I slip, I have another two weeks added on to the total of my first week. I do not want to slip. I'm already fantasizing about how he will end this session. I know he will allow me to come, eventually. He always has. He probably always will. He will wait until I *can't* take it anymore. He will threaten me with more time, because he is a capricious lord, and if I do not handle that carefully, if I do not seem sweet and deserving enough of my own orgasms, he will give me more time. He will deny me for longer. I will have to be wary of the ending. Sometimes he stretches it out. I am already not allowed to come, when I'm with him, if I have not received permission. If I beg permission before he has told me I may, I will be in trouble. He may try to ruin my first orgasm after my week of denial by making me have it during a hard spanking session. It is very hard to enjoy an orgasm when he's slapping my inner thighs hard or biting me in painful places. He may try to make me do that, though, because he controls me, and he is capricious and creative and vicious, and he would enjoy my orgasm that way. He may also make me have that first orgasm somewhere I really do not want to have an orgasm. He may whisper in my ear in a line in a restaurant that I must come when he says "four". He might say "four" in public. I might not have any warning of it. And I will come when he says the magic word. I will come for my Lord, whenever he allows me to. Whenever he tells me to. And the coming will feel fantastic when it happens, though it will not feel quite as fantastic if it happens during a beating or in public. He may even let me have it while he's fucking me. Or while he's making me scrub the kitchen floor. Or, god, the possibilities are endless, here. It will be good. I am so scared, though, that I will come before he tells me or allows me to. I will try very hard not to. That's why I'm writing this. I'm trying to imagine all the possible problems. I'm trying to remember how this waiting period works. I remember that he does not like it when I beg for an orgasm early. Or rather, he likes it, but he sees it as a sign that I'm enjoying denial too much, and that he should really deny me for longer so that I can keep enjoying it. I must not beg for an orgasm before he allows me to. I still want to cherish my new lovers, but my Lord is not cruel or entirely selfish. He likes them. He will let me go to them after this time is over. I'm devoting myself to my Lord. To his desire. To his control. I worship him. Please let me do his will. Please give me the strength to yield to him. I am devoting myself to my Lord. I will not come until next Sunday. Prayer for Passing of a Loved One To the reader: There is no sex in this story. It's the story of a brief encounter between two men at the gravesite of the woman they both loved, each in their own way. Please remember, this is fiction. ******** "Grant your forgiveness oh Lord, to the soul of your servant Samantha that, being dead to this world, she may live now to you alone, and whatever sins she committed through human frailty, do you, in your mercy, absolve. I pray through Christ our Lord. Amen." In my life I've had to say goodbye to my parents, two of my sisters, and my son. Right now I'm praying at the grave of the one person that I have loved for almost forty years. She was not my wife; right now my wife is at home working on one of her new books. The grave I'm standing in front of contains the body of Samantha. Samantha was my love. She was part of my heart and my soul. She was as important to me as the air around me. Now she's gone. I feel as though my heart has been cut out. I feel so alone. I also felt the tears start to stream down so I covered my face with my hands and let the emotions flow. "How did you know her?" The disembodied voice made me jump several feet away and turn around suddenly. I saw a young man, maybe 25 years old with curly blond hair, looking down at the grave. "I'm sorry. You scared me. Uh, what did you say?" I asked wiping my face. "I asked how you knew her. Mom. Mrs. Cox. Samantha. You were standing on her grave." "I'm sorry. There's no marker and I didn't know where the head and foot was. Oh, how did I know her? We've been friends since high school. I saw the obituary in the paper this week and was saddened at her passing so I thought I would pay my respects." "I overheard your prayer. It was a prayer for the passing of a loved one. I know because I recited it every day this week. I miss her. She was my mother after all so I should love her and miss her. But I don't recognize you. You aren't a member of our church and I know just about all of her and dad's friends and I've never met you before. So, how did you know mom?" "Like I said, we were friends. We went to high school together and we've kept in touch over the years. That's all." "What's your name?" "My name is Raymond. Raymond Adams." I held out my hand to shake his but he didn't reach out and take it. It just hung there in space for a moment before I put it down. "I can't remember ever hearing your name before." "Well probably because I'm not important enough to mention. We only saw each other every few years. No big deal." At this point I had an eerie feeling about the way the conversation was going. I thought it might be a good idea to offer my condolences and make a hasty retreat. "You say you're her son? Well I want to offer my condolences at the loss of your mother. She was a good woman. Everybody will miss her. Now if you will excuse me, I have to run." I turned and started to walk back to my car. "Please wait." He said to my back. I did what I will soon regret; I stopped and turned back to him. His head was down and his hands were shoved deep in his pockets. I couldn't see his eyes but I could see the glistening of a tear falling to the ground. He stood quietly for a long time just staring at the disturbed earth at his feet. "Can we talk?" He asked quietly without ever looking up. I walked back to him and for some unknown reason I reached out and put my hand on his shoulder. It was just a simple gesture of reassurance on my part but it must have meant something more to him. He slowly lifted his head and looked me in the eyes and mumbled "Thanks." I pointed to one of the reflection benches and said "Let's go over there and sit. We can talk." We sat quietly for a few minutes before he was composed enough to talk. "Mister Adams, you were right, my mother was a good woman. She's always been there for us whenever we needed her. She always gave us everything and never asked anything for herself. I don't know if you know but I've got a sister and a brother. The three of us got everything we ever needed. Not always everything we wanted but everything we needed. Mostly what we got was discipline and love. We're all out of college and on our own now and if I must say so myself, I think we're pretty OK. And that's a large part of mom's doing. She taught us the difference between right and wrong, made sure we went to church regularly, made sure we worked hard in school, and was always there for every play and game we were in. She gave and gave and gave and we took and took and took." All I could do was sit quietly and listen. I didn't exactly know where this conversation was going but I just sat politely and waited. "I'm sorry if I was a bit abrupt with you a few minutes ago. I was just surprised by the litany you spoke. Mom taught it to us when we were young. She said it was a special prayer for someone we loved very much. You say that you were just friends? Well, I believe you must have loved her too, otherwise you wouldn't have said what you said." "I'm sorry Craig, I don't know what to say right now. All I can..." "How did you know my name?" He looked me right in the eye as he asked. Did I say that? Aw, shit! Now I've got to explain how I know his name. "Well, the last time I saw your mother we talked about our kids and our lives. She told me about you and your brother and your sister. She told me quite a bit and described you quite well. She bragged about the three of you a lot, and I guess I did the same thing talking about my family." "When did you last see her?" "We bumped into each other at the mall six or seven months ago. We stood there catching up on the last few years and then decided to sit and have lunch and continue our conversation. That's when she told me about you." "How did she seem to you then? I mean, how did she act?" "I guess she acted fine. I can't remember anything out of the ordinary. We were just talking and catching up on the last few years; nothing unusual. Now that I think back, at the end when we parted she did say something strange. She said "Forever goodbye." I thought that she was just quoting Shelley. I remember how she always loved poetry. I didn't think a whole lot about it at the time." "Yeah, mom did love poetry. She's been suffering with cancer for over a year. I'm going to guess that it was her way of admitting her own mortality and saying a final goodbye to someone she cared about. She said the same thing to dad the day before... well you know, the last day. She must have loved you very much." Oh, crap, what am I into now? What does he know about us? I can't tell him at his mother's gravesite that I was her lover for almost forty years. I can't tell him that I was there before he and his sister was born. How the hell can I tell him that he's named after me? I've just got to be patient and not say too much. "I didn't know anything about your mother's illness, Craig. Like I said I just saw the obituary this week. I'm so sorry that she suffered so long. I know that she's at rest now." The conversation hit a lull and we both just sat and listened to the gentle wind blow through the trees for several minutes. "You're my father aren't you?" He asked without looking up from his hands. Without missing a beat I replied, "No I'm not. Your father is the man that raised you and took you to hockey practice. Your father is the man that worried about you when you were sick. Your father is at home now mourning the loss of his wife." "My father has Alzheimer's. He doesn't remember much. I'm not even sure if he realizes that mom's gone." "I'm sorry to hear about your father. I only met him once and then it was only brief. Judging from the man I see sitting before me now I would say he was a good father, I mean before the disease robbed him of himself. Alzheimer's is a cruel disease." "Well, he had his moments." I could see a look of concern on his face as he asked me again, "Are you my real father?" "Why are you asking me that? What makes you think that your mother would do something like that to your family? That's disrespecting her memory." He paused, took a deep breath and said, "Just before mom died she gave me a letter. It was sealed and she asked me not to open it. She said it was for someone very special to her and that someday I would know them and give it to them. I know now I was to give it to you. You see, I didn't do what she asked. Instead I opened the letter and read it. It put my mom in a whole new light for me. I now see her quite differently. I still love her, but I see a different person now. I'll go to the car and get it for you." As he walked over to a car at the curb I had a minute to gather my lost wits. All I could do is wonder what the letter would reveal. I'm worried. How is my life going to change after reading it? If he's already read it what is he going to do? He sat back down and said, "Mom said I'd know who to give this to but she didn't say how I would know. After I read it I now know. Here, this is for you." I took out the two pages and unfolded them and read. My dear Raymond. By the time you get this letter I will be gone. I'm not sad about dying but I am sad about not being able to say goodbye to you face to face. For all the years I've known you I have loved you and cherished every moment we had together. There were a lot of events in my life that made me feel happy and loved and being with you was among my most intimate memories. You always made me laugh when I was down or hurting. You always came to comfort me when I called. You always understood when I had to say goodbye again. There were times when I was alone that I would smile just thinking about you. You filled my heart with such joy just by being you. A love that strong cannot be undone by death. I believe in an afterlife and in heaven. I believe that I've been a good person on earth and will have a special place after I die. I know that you will too. So I will be waiting for you to spend eternity with me when it's your time to make the journey. I don't know how God makes it happen but I can't imagine an afterlife without all the people I loved on earth, and that includes my family and you. You never asked me why I named my son Craig and I respect you for that. The reason is that I wanted to give him your middle name just in case he was your son. I so wanted to have a baby with you when we were together that weekend in Ocean City. I don't know if it was wrong of me but I hoped and I prayed that I was pregnant when I left. I just wanted a part of you growing inside me that would be a part of both of us. When Craig was born I was overjoyed that he had your curly blond hair. I knew that he was ours. However, over time I came to question that conclusion because he also has some of the same traits as my husband, like a quick temper and broad sly grin. I really don't know who his father is. I just hoped that he was ours. When he was born DNA testing wasn't as available as it is today so his paternity was never proven. And the older he got the more I didn't want to know. I believe in my heart that he is our son and I will go to my grave believing that. I want you to know that I got rid of all of the little tokens that you gave me over the years, so I have no memories of you except those in my heart. No love letters, no post cards from the places we stayed, and no photographs. I don't want to leave my family with a legacy of doubt after I'm gone. I read that book "Bridges of Madison County" and I don't want my children learning about us. I don't need trinkets to remember you by anyway. Don't be sad at my passing. We've had a good life together even if we only saw each other every year so. Those times together were beautiful. Please remember me on my birthday and not my death day. Remember that I have loved you since the day we met in Mister Duncan's band class and I will leave this world loving you. Browning said it better than I can. She said, "I love thee with the breath, smiles, tears, of all my life! And, if God choose, I shall but love thee better after death." Forever goodbye, Samantha I put the two pages back in the envelope and walked over to my car to cry. Craig just sat on the stone bench and waited quietly for my return. When I returned I looked him in the eye and said, "Who else knows about the letter?" "Nobody, just me. I can't destroy everybody else's memories of mom. I just can't." "Thank you for that. I imaging that you've got a lot of questions. Ask anything that you want and I'll answer as best I can. I won't lie to you any more." I could see the wheels spinning in his mind as he formed the questions that might change his life forever. "Mister Adams, we are having a memorial dinner in mom's name at the church this coming Saturday. The proceeds will go to one of mom's favorite charities, reading literacy. I would like it if you would come." This took me completely by surprise. "Craig, I had expected questions about your mother and me and what we did. I had expected you to accuse me of hurting your family. I even expected you to get angry at me for possibly being your father. But, I never expected you to ask me to dinner. There isn't some ulterior motive here is there? Are you planning to humiliate me in front of your family and friends? Are you planning on ruining your mother's memory? Well, I won't be a part of it. No sir! I loved your mother just as much as you did and won't be a part of anything that would hurt your family or her memory." "No, no, no, I wouldn't do anything like that. I especially won't do anything to hurt my family. I just thought that you and I could get to know each other a little better and you could meet my sister and brother. I won't ever tell anybody about mom's letter. I promise." "Well, I'll have to think about it and let you know. Let's just leave it at that. OK?" "OK." I sat back and thought about how much trouble I could cause by showing up at that charity dinner. No way was I going to go. I just wanted to be polite to Craig. I did have one question of my own simmering in my head that I wanted to ask though. "Craig, I was wondering if you were interested in what you mother said. She wasn't interested in knowing if you and I were related. I was just wondering if you were. Do you want to do the DNA test to prove who your father is, and know one way or the other?" "I thought about that. I think I agree with mom. She didn't want to know and I think I'm going to go with what I already know. Whoever my father is biologically won't take anything away from the father that raised me. It's not important to me to know. I think that I'm just going to think of you as a friend of the family and treat you as one. If you don't want anything to do with us, that's OK too. I know that if mom loved you then you must be OK so I'm going to go with that." "I can respect that. I would like to meet your family. I'll consider the dinner next weekend." We sat quietly both knowing that the meeting was over but not wanting to part. I stood and walked over to the gravesite and Craig soon came along side me. We said a prayer for the passing of a loved one together." "Grant your forgiveness oh Lord, to the soul of your servant Samantha that, being dead to this world, she may live now to you alone, and whatever sins she committed through human frailty, do you, in your mercy, absolve. I pray through Christ our Lord. Amen." We turned and went our separate ways. "Forever goodbye, Craig." Prayers On Fire "What kind of cigarettes can I get with this?" The dirty change hit the metal tray below the separating plexiglass shield with a piercing clang. Nathan shuddered at the sight of the woman; loose leathery skin, faded eyes, hair like straw dry enough to be set ablaze. Her mouth was open and she was missing at least three teeth. He looked down in the tray to see an assortment of dimes, nickels, and pennies. Not even a fucking quarter, he thought. And he hated when people didn't even have the courtesy to count the change beforehand. Working graveyard at a gas station in a seedy part of town ensured Nathan all the unpleasant people he could handle. It paid fairly well for a gas station job though; nobody wanted to work that shift, not here. The woman had three dollars and twenty two cents in rusty coins. This was an exchange he was all-too familiar with; it seemed nobody out at this hour could afford decent cigarettes. He grabbed a pack labeled Red Calx, which was basically twenty paper rods filled with dirt, mold, and tobacco. How people could smoke that shit, he never knew. "I wanted the menthols." That harsh, scraping voice got another silent shudder from Nathan. Her throat sounded as though it had a thick coating of tar inside, which it probably did. He slipped a nickel and two pennies into the tray and put the Red Calx back, grabbing the Green. He pushed the pack through to the other side. "You got matches?" The woman's voice almost seemed to be belched forth. Yes, Nathan thought. Anything to get you to stop talking. He nodded and grabbed a small matchbook, giving it to her while observing the deep lines in her face one more time. The woman looked up at him, seemingly annoyed, and turned around quickly. Nathan watched her walk off the parking lot. She wore green sandals; obviously very fashion conscious, making sure her footwear matched with her cigarettes. The street was empty and the wind whistled lightly, its presence evident only by the swaying of the steam which crept up into the black sky from a grill in the sidewalk. Across the street was a jagged fence, behind which was a tarped building still under construction. He watched out through the yellow plexiglass window for a while before deciding to check the bathroom. Nathan wiped his dry palm down his tired face and took a bored sip of the coffee in his styrofoam cup. He put on his black jacket before stepping out and the chill of the cold soaked through his uniform, scraping against his skin. Checking the bathroom was the worst part of the job; he had found some truly foul messes waiting for him in the past. Walking by the pumps, he rubbed his hands together. At least it kept him awake. More than a few times he'd fallen asleep on the job. Sitting in that tiny little box, surrounded by cheap merchandise, it wasn't very difficult. The lull was interrupted only by the strange, random people, and only about two or three of them showed up each hour, if that. He opened the bathroom door to find it, much to his suprise, clean. Nathan turned on the light and walked in, looking around. No mess. No fuss, no muss. He was about to close the door when he saw the small brown tattered book on the edge of the sink. Curiosity, only sharpened by his boredom, overtook Nathan as he took it. It bore no label, and the corners were frayed with use. He opened it, somewhere in the middle, and read randomly. May 8 That stupid frank. i thoght he was my frend but he is a fagot. that boy tried to kiss me. Oh man, he thought. This guy's a fucking idiot. He had found entertainment; he would make it through this night yet. He brought the book with him as he headed back to the box. It was about three in the morning; he knew his next two hours would be more or less undisturbed. Once Nathan got back into the warm station he took his seat and started reading at the first page. Febrery 3 My last ones done so I am starting a new one. Today I was so full, I ated three cheese burgers and they were so good I ated two more. Nathan was laughing so hard he could barely hold the book in front of him. He had no idea how he was finding himself this amused so easily, but what the hell. The second half to the shift was going to go by easily. All he had to do was make coffee around five and deal with the morning people for an hour. And read this imbecile's journal. then I drinked some beer and I threw up. Still laughing, Nathan decided to go straight to March. He wouldn't be able to stop laughing at however many mispelled "February"s there were. March 3 I saw a pretty girl today. I like her. she has big boobs. she wears a skirt and I like skirts. I made a frend today his name is frank. he is nice. "Uh-oh," Nathan said aloud, smiling. He started to think about how Frank's revelation of his alternate lifestyle might have gone. Did he try to seduce him? Did he play "I'm Too Sexy For My Shirt" and dance for this guy? Maybe he was even liking it before Frank decided to put the moves on him. Nathan chuckled. "What a twist." March 10 Wow frank bought me beer. what a nice dude. he says theirs going to be a party and Im excited. he says this guy he knoes always throws good partys. maybe Ill get pussy. Well, the girls do go crazy over guys with reading levels rivaling those of third graders, Nathan thought with a smile. "Get ready to squeal, ladies... the ladykiller is coming for you!" March 14 The party tonite was fun. I got layed. the girl said she didnt want to but I knoe she did so I made her. I think I hurt her but she liked it. Nathan blinked at the startling entry, the light mood coming to a sudden hault. Nervously he scratched his shoulder and realized that he still had his jacket on. Jesus, he thought. He wondered what the poor girl looked like. Or where his new friend Frank had been while this was going on. He started to think about what else he might find in this book. March 21 I saw the girl with the big boobs again and I talked to her she doesnt like me fuck her. thats what I said I said fuck her. I told her FUCK YOU Still slightly bothered, Nathan couldn't help but laugh. He imagined the guy pausing and deciding to add the last line, as if he felt the need to clarify what had been said. Because after all, pulitzers can be lost when penmanship is overly vague. March 27 Today I couldnt go to work becaus I started crying. I couldnt stop crying. I drinked a lot of beer and I fell asleep crying. I punched another hole in the wall first. Now Nathan was starting to feel disturbed. "This guy is fucked up." April 8 I folloed the big boob girl. I'll make her feel bad for not liking me. I talked to frank today. he said he is having a party again. that will be fun. more beer and pussy. April 11 The girl with big boobs has one more chance I will invite her to franks party. if she doesnt go with me shell see what happens. April 14 She said no. I told her I cant help I like big boobs and she pushed me. Im gonna fix that bitch. but the party was still fun the same girl was there to the one who fucked me the one who knoes a real man when she see one. she said I hurt her but I told her to shut up she wanted me bad you shoud have seen it. Now he was becoming a bit scared to continue reading. Nathan had at first pictured a big, dumb, harmless oaf writing about nonsense. Now the image in his mind was much more threatening. This was clearly a troubled man with more problems than he had fingers to count, not to mention apparent tendencies to force sex on girls. And now he was going to "fix" someone. Nathan's breathing was slow and his shoulders gave a slight tremble as he read on. April 19 I saw her with her boy frend. I got so mad I didnt knoe what to do. I could see red I think and I folloed them. it was late and I folloed them in to the park. they kissed on a bench and I was so mad. there was nobody around so I put a rock in my hand and went to them. I hit his face and she screamed, I told her to shut up and I punched her. her boy frend fell on the grass and I went to the girl. her boobs were so big. I hit her in the face with the rock to. and I fucked her. thats what she gets Nathan's arms were shaking so violently he nearly dropped the book on the counter. "Oh my god," was all he could manage. He looked fearfully out at the empty street, thinking about how this guy was here. He had been here on his shift. Nathan's stomach turned at the thought, and a wave of nausea caught him. He shut his eyes tightly before resuming. April 20 I was in the paper! look LOCAL COUPLE FOUND BLUDGEONED, WOMAN RAPED Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god. Nathan's mind was in a frenzy. The fucker had pasted the article on this page. His eyes sped over the typed words and his exhales were coming out in a broken rapid succession. Pairs of words like "murder scene" and "dental records" were almost menacing as his eyes widened. Then he heard the knock at the window, and he lept in his chair. He looked up to see a man with frazzled blond hair and an unkempt mustache which resembled broom bristles hanging over his mouth. He had a strange smile that was throughly disorienting. His brown eyes seemed to slither in place, watching Nathan sit up straight and put the journal down. "What can I do for you?" The man just looked over Nathan, his eyes narrowing, his grin thin as a dime. "You know how to get to Ventolin Street from here?" Nathan glanced at his dirty red plaid shirt and began to give him directions nervously. The man's voice was high pitched and seemed strained, with a hint of a southern accent. After Nathan finished, the man's smile opened to reveal spotty yellow teeth and he nodded thanks. He watched the man walk away and he moved slowly, as though he hadn't a care in the world. Nathan thought he heard whistling, but he couldn't be sure. Then he looked back at the book. Did he really want to read further? There was a lot left to be read, and who knew what else this guy could have done. Taking a deep breath, he picked up the book and reopened it. The writing itself was intimidating, each crooked letter almost seeming to laugh at him as he continued from where he had left off. April 28 I downed 90 miligrams and I drinked a 40. everything is beutiful. May 2 Franks being acting weird. he wants to hang out all the time. whatever I say whatever you want but I dont knoe about him he says come to his house all the time In horror, Nathan rushed to the page he'd started on, now reading the entry in its entirety. May 8 That stupid frank. i thoght he was my frend but he is a fagot. that boy tried to kiss me. I pushed him away and he cryed, so I hit him. I broked a bottle of beer on his head and stabed him with it becaus it was broken and sharp. Raw emotion siezed Nathan and he threw the journal against the plexiglass, sobbing. He was shaking. He couldn't read anymore of that depraved book, and he buried his face in his hands, his elbows on the table. The next thing Nathan knew, he was laying in bed. He looked around the room with a dull grogginess and nestled back into the soft white sheets and pillows, closing his eyes. Then he heard a muffled voice. It was a soft voice penetrating through from outside. Nathan sat up and looked toward the source, seeing a large window covered with white curtains. He got out of bed and walked to them, pushing them open. The sky outside was very light blue, and he saw a small girl standing outside, roughly ten feet from the window. The voice belonged to her. It was white outside as well, and Nathan deducted that it had been snowing outside. The girl was maybe eight or ten, and her hazy blue eyes looked pleadingly to Nathan. "Please... it's cold." The pounding at the plexiglass woke him up. It was Tom, the morning attendant. Light was hitting the window all around him and splashed through, fractured into smaller piercing rays that stabbed Nathan's eyes. "Open the door," he shouted, an amused smile on his face. Nathan sat up in a daze, the sight of the book on the countertop rousing him. Quickly he grabbed and stuck it in his jacket pocket, walking over to the door to unlock it. Tom walked in. "You're lucky it's slow, dude.. I've never seen you crashed out like that before!" Tom laughed heartily as Nathan got up and began to count his drawer. Slowly he pulled his head back together, hurriedly completing his paperwork as his relief whipped out a barrage of bad jokes. Tom was not the most sophisticated of people, and being a thirty-five year old gas station employee certainly wouldn't help any argument to the contrary. He was loud, his jokes were crude, and he was crushingly impolite. Yawning, Nathan walked with a drowsy jangle to his small white sedan. As he sat in the driver's seat, pleasantly thinking of going home to collapse on his bed, he looked at the neighboring seat. Fuck. He had three final notices next to him, probably placed there before he left the house last night. He reached over and picked one up when his cell phone rang. The number was an area code that offered no familiarity, and he didn't answer it. Nathan was not in the mood to talk any more than he had to, and he dropped the phone on top of the flimsy envelopes, turning the key in the ignition. His eyelids tightly shutting and opening again and again, he drove out of the parking lot and onto the gradually busying road. A beep hit his ears and he looked at his phone. Who ever called had left a message. Nathan yawned, the perfect statement for his lack of interest in checking it. Through his narrow eyes he saw the long, skinny triangle of the road before him and the buildings on the sides flashing by, getting bigger before disappearing. The sun was coming through the windshield and it splayed across his lackadaisical face, illuminating his red rimmed eyes. Finally he reached the mall and pulled into the parking lot. He parked near the entrance, grabbed his bills and his phone, and got out, trudging toward the entrance. At this hour the mall was inhabited with senior citizens getting in their morning exercise. They would walk up and down the lengths of the long rectangular edifice in sweats and headbands. Walking, Nathan thought, was believably high impact for a class of people notorious for having hip replacement surgeries. Once inside, he went to a bench and sat, watching the huffing senior citizens pass him. Remembering his message, he dialed his inbox and brought the phone to his ear. "You have one new message." "Yeah, no shit." "Hey Nathan, it's Karie. Listen, we can't hang out tomorrow.. I have to go to the college. Fuckin' sucks. Anyway call me back, we need to hang out again. Okay? Okay bye." Puzzlement overcame him. He didn't even know who this girl was. The tone of her voice, even more so than her words, suggested that they had planned something beforehand, that they knew each other. That they were at least good natured acquaintances. Nathan searched through his memory for who this Karie may have been. He listened to the message again, but it didn't ring any bells. Her voice did not remind him in the least of anybody. That was when Nathan remembered the book in his jacket; he felt it brush against his ribcage, and thick tendrils of discomfort suddenly rose up in his chest. Fretfully, his pupils darted left and right as he pulled it from his pocket. He looked down at the worn out cover, the ramshackle spine, features which had seemed so quaintly amusing before. Now they were disheartening enough to send chills throughout his entire body. He opened it again. The random page he turned to had large smears of orange underneath a sketch of a face. Each line in the crude illustration had more lines scribbled overtop, as if composed in a fit of rage. Over this was scrawled LOOK AT THE BLOOD Nathan dropped the book and clutched his stomach as he began to heave. His mind raced madly, colors and shapes barely bothering to take the form of images in the eye of his mind. Whatever it was he had stumbled upon, it was the very darkest corner of someone's being, and he no longer wanted any part of it. He scooped the journal up and threw it into the nearest trash can. Then he sat back down and threw his arms atop his head. Nathan's palms prodded into his temples while his shaking body exaggerated his breaths for ten minutes until he felt a tap on his shoulder. He looked up to see a kindly old man looking down at him. The hints of a smile were at the corners of his nearly lipless mouth, and even with his eyes wide open Nathan could see the happy looking crinkles at the corners. "Are you alright, son?" With eyes red as stoplights, Nathan told the man that he was fine, to which he gave a shrug and resumed his morning walk. After a while Nathan's breathing returned to normal, and he stood. He wasn't sure of how much time had passed, but people younger than sixty were starting to come in, which Nathan thought was wonderful. After the night he'd had, seeing normal daytime people was quite a relief. He decided to get some breakfast at the food court before going to the city hall customer service center, as the drab commercials had so often suggested. Once he had eaten, Nathan felt much better. He was going to get something done today, and he could go home and sleep. Tonight would be his Friday too, and he could do absolutely nothing for the next few days. As he thought this, he looked over toward an entrance and saw a familiar face. It was the man from the gas station. He was wearing the same plaid shirt, his sleeves rolled up to reveal semi-hairy arms, and he had olive pants with a stain over one of the thighs. He was playing violin, though Nathan couldn't hear. The case was at his feet, and he was surrounded by four girls, probably eighteen or nineteen. His mouth appeared to be moving. Nathan watched for a moment when abruptly the girls started to run from him, their faces twisted with mouths agape and leaking eyes. Startled, he looked back at the man who was giving the same grin as before, looking directly at Nathan. Quickly though, Nathan averted his eyes and walked on his way, shaking his head at what he had just seen. Some dirty old man saying who knows what to girls sympathetic enough to crowd around and listen to him. There was a small line at the customer service center, and Nathan stood at the end, wiping his nose and holding his bills close to his stomach. Once he was called up, he gave his bills and his credit card to the representative. The rep, Bill, was kindly making small talk when Nathan happened to look over out into the mall and saw the man again. Again with the violin. Again with the girls. And again they ran from him weeping not a minute after Nathan had laid eyes on them. And again the man smiled at him. "Is there anything else I can help you with?" His head spun back to Bill. "Uh, no.. I'm fine," he stammered, taking back his card. "Thank you." When he walked back out the man was gone. Good, he thought. The man's sudden appearance and disappearance was disheartening, but Nathan just wanted to get out and go home. As he approached the exit, three girls ran in front of him, pushing open the doors and falling out into the parking lot. Nathan turned around and sure enough, there he was. His oily eyes and the deep folds in his face seemed to taunt Nathan, accompanied by that grin. That fucking grin. He could almost smell beer off of him with his matted blond hair, his stringy mustache, those rumpled clothes. Nathan shuddered and left. Nathan walked briskly to his car, not caring to look back. He'd seen enough of him for a day, for a lifetime. In his perturbed state however, he had forgotten where he parked. He slapped his forehead and looked back to the mall's entrance; noone was there, and that relieved him. Just relax, Nathan thought. It's just some creepy gin soaked old man. He's got girls to harass in the mall, he doesn't care about the gas station attendant who gave him directions. Prayers On Fire Walking up and down each long car ridden aisle, he finally found it. He recognized his black bumper and his white trunk. Finally he could get out of here, and cheerfully he jogged to it. He walked along the right side of the car and went to open the door when he looked through the wondow and froze. A naked dead girl was sitting inside. Nathan couldn't even react at first; he looked almost haplessly through the glass at the nude body. Her lips were turning blue and the majority of her body was extremely pale. He gulped hard and shut his eyes. "I haven't slept, I'm just seeing things," he said. Nathan unlocked the door and the corpse's unrestrained head fell to the side, its bleached eyes looking squarely at him. That was when the panic hit him, it felt doused over his head and it stung his dry eyes. Fear overtook his mind and he ran. He ran to the street, he ran along the sidewalk. Nathan ran blindly, with no idea where, just away from what he had just seen. When he saw a bus in the right lane, he searched up the sidewalk ahead and saw a bus stop. Nathan waved his arms and made a mad dash for it. He didn't make it there before the bus, but the driver was dropping off passengers anyway, and this gave Nathan time to catch up. Once he got to it he practically bolted up the stairs, as if in an attempt to make it inside before the doors closed. The driver looked at him with a somewhat concerned expression, and Nathan tried to explain between pants. "I... missed you... last time and... I need to.." He shook his head and fished a dollar from his pocket, handing it to the driver. He then walked down the small corridor, looking at the plastic seats on either side. High school students, elderly folk, people on their way to work. Nathan found a seat near the back, not sitting so much as collapsing on his rear. What could he do? He first contemplated calling the police. Initially he shied from the option, but once the body would be found in his car the police would be contacting him anyway. If he approached them first, perhaps his story would be more believable. He could say his car had been stolen. There would have to be evidence of another person being in the car; the body got there somehow. Oh god, Nathan thought. A murderer dumped a fucking dead body in my car. He was wringing his wrists anxiously. He couldn't believe these thoughts were his. Nathan had never delt with the police before, he'd never had a reason. Now they were going to find a corpse in his car. He tried to calm himself to minimal avail; he was maybe about ten minutes from his house. He just wanted to get home; a quart of whiskey was waiting there for him, and if anything could get him to relax, it would be that. The bus stop closest to the house was a block away, and Nathan dragged himself down the street toward home. It was all he could do to keep walking, with his shot nerves and his mind ravaged by tumors of thought wandering aimlessly in his head. I just need to get home, have a few drinks, and chill out. Once Nathan got home he did just that; he practically attacked his whiskey, drinking it straight from the bottle. It was the same room Nathan had woken up in before; the cream colored walls and the white bed. He got up to see the same flowing curtains hiding the window, and he walked to them. Once he spread them, he saw the same blue sky and the same girl; only this time instead of pleading her eyes were gleaming. Great tears leaped from her blue eyes as she looked at Nathan. He looked behind her to see the same man, the man with the unsightly hair and mustache, standing behind her with that disturbingly familiar and sinister smile. Suddenly he furnished a knife, and Nathan nearly fell back. His mouth opened, exhibiting a toothy grin as he walked up right behind her. The man's eyes stared viciously into Nathan's and he wrapped his left arm around the girl's neck. Her face begged Nathan for help, but he was paralyzed. He watched the two feebly as the man's blade sank into the side of the terrified girl's skull. Nathan sprang from his bed to the sound of his phone ringing. Immediately he grabbed his head and moaned. He looked over at the nightstand and the bottle and he had drunk half of it. Ignoring his phone, he stumbled to the kitchen for water. Dull streetlight crept into the room, and he looked at the clock in the living room; it was already eight in the evening. As Nathan drank his water, he began pulling his thoughts together, which were as scattered as a kaleidoscope's fragmented colors. Then something hit him. The phone. It was the police. Why they hadn't been here yet he didn't know, but he had to get the phone. It had finished ringing, but he was sure a message had been left. Nathan walked back to his bedroom, his head starting to feel better despite his queasiness. He picked up his phone from the nightstand and dialed his inbox. "You have one new message." "Hey Nathan, it's Karie again... call me back! Bye." "Who the hell is Karie?" Almost annoyed, he went through his log of missed calls and found the number. He dialed it. "Hello?" "Hey Karie, what's up?" "...hi... who is this?" Nathan almost groaned audibly. "It's Nathan, remember me?" Suddenly the line went very quiet. "Wh-what do you want?" What? "What do you want? You've called me twice today." "Look Nathan, just... just leave me alone, okay?" Something was wrong - her voice was starting to sound slightly warbled, like he was talking to an old scratchy record. "Is everything okay?" Karie's voice started to slow, gradually at first and then rapidly. "No, ....I mee-a-a-n-n y-y-e-e-s-s-s-s...... e-v-v-e-r-r-y-t-h-h-i-i-n-g .....i-i-i-s-s-s....... fffffffiiiiiiiiinnnnnnnnnnne...." The last word was said with the slowest, deepest voice Nathan had ever heard. Shaken, he ended the call. "What the fuck is going on?" The police had made no attempt to contact him, which was a slight relief, but Nathan still needed a ride to work. He was still somewhat aghast; he had to tell somebody about what was going on. He decided that he would go to the police first thing in the morning, that he would tell them everything after his shift. He then found his phone book and called a taxi. At nine thirty Nathan heard the cab honking out in front. Pulling on his jacket, he left the house, locking the door behind him. He still felt slightly hung over, and when he opened the cab's back door he eased in slowly. "Gas station, right?" Nathan nodded, and he looked up in the front seat. He was more than a little spooked when he saw that the driver was the man from the night before, from the mall. Nathan nodded silently, trying to sit back casually. It wasn't going to be a long ride, he told himself. He was just driving, and frankly if he was going to do something, he would have already. Still, he was too abashed to directly ask him about his behavior at the mall. Cautiously Nathan looked up at the man's photo I.D., and his photo was as unnerving as his actual appearance. He was wearing the same plaid shirt, and probably the same pants as well. The taxi cab had a very strange smell, not necessarily bad, just strange. Maybe a blend of semen and smoked methamphetamine. The name on the I.D. said- "The name's Enoch, Enoch Draven Hyde." Nathan's eyes darted back to Enoch, trying not to look too alarmed. "Nathan." "Yeah," he began, rubbing his stubble covered chin. "You worked last night? You gave me directions." Nathan shifted. "That's right. A fare, I'm guessing?" Enoch's eyes made contact with his in the rear view mirror. "Nope." They had entered the city and the lights were dulled by fog. "I've got someone else to pick up," Enoch told Nathan. "It's on the way. Is that alright by you?" His eyebrows arched, and Nathan nodded without delay. The cab pulled over to a curb, and the door opposite Nathan opened. In stepped a petite brunette wearing a short sleeved white blouse and a pleated maroon skirt. She sat and closed the door, her deep brown eyes looking over at Nathan briefly. Nathan smiled, pleasantly suprised by the lovely girl. Nathan looked at the rear view mirror and saw Enoch's eyes, again those slithering, oily eyes. The pupils grew frighteningly as they turned onto the girl, gazing harrowingly into hers. Enoch's petrifying smile, the one he had seen in his dream, loomed on his ghastly face and Nathan turned back to the girl. Her eyes were half open as she slid her skirt up and grabbed her panties, pulling them down to her thighs. The pink cotton clung to her bronzed thighs as she ran a hand up the inside of her leg. She cooed a shaky moan, a humiliated look on her pretty face. Sitting right next to this girl was making Nathan incredibly uncomfortable, and when he felt himself growing hard he was actually embarassed. Still, he couldn't take his eyes off of her. Her hand moved inside her thighs, and her mouth opened. Her eyes fluttered and closed, and her hips started sliding up and down slightly on the seat. Her breathing grew heavy and she spread her legs a little farther. Nathan could now see her fingers inside herself, between her tanned thighs, with the rolled up pink panties clasping to them, and she began to cry softly. Nathan looked back to the mirror at Enoch, who was smirking at him, his eyes still sodden with malice, that horrible smile connecting his ears across his visage. Then, without warning, the cab stopped. "Thirty," Enoch said. Nathan pulled out his wallet and handed him the money, eager to get out of the taxi. Once he exited, he looked back and saw the girl spread out on her back, still masturbating as Enoch sped off. Nathan wiped his face, watching them pull away. He smelled the steam rising from the grill next to him and he turned around, starting to walk toward the station. That was when he saw Tom in the booth. "He's... still here?" He walked closer and saw a red stain on the plexiglass; Tom was pounding his forehead into it repeatedly. Stupefied, Nathan rushed to the window. Tom's eyes were vacant as he continued hitting his forehead against the stain, a gruesome open lesion just above his nose. "Tom!" Nathan shrieked. "What the hell are you doing?" Tom gave Nathan a sudden, manic grin. "If it stops bleeding, they'll make me come out." Looking around frantically, Nathan felt himself losing his grip. He couldn't handle anymore of whatever was happening to him, and again he ran. Nathan was consumed with desperation. Powerful thoughts were forcing their way into his head, and they appeared with large letters, scrawled in that barely legible writing from the journal give up hope give up fool Running and running, ignoring the screaming of his excrutiating lungs, he reached an alley off of the main street. Nathan collapsed onto his knees and looked up through the dark walkway. He saw wooden fences, rickety vertical boards lined up and meeting old, almost crumbling brick pillars. On his hands and knees he crawled, huffing wildly as images engraved themselves into Nathan's mind one at a time, even more intensely than the words. Broken glass on a dirty hardwood floor, bloody fingers on a gleaming knife, a crying girl clutching her knees. Pushing through a gate, Nathan got up onto his feet and saw a small house before him, the front door wide open. His brain was too amok with thought to properly register much at this point, and he walked through. To his right was a short stairwell, and across the wall was scribbled in red hescomingupthestairshescomingtomyroomhespoundingonthedoorhesgoingto Once he got to the top, he looked over and saw the same girl from the taxi; she was naked and she was curled in a ball on a bed. Standing next to her was Enoch; though now he was without his trademark smile. He stood draped in shadows, looking at Nathan with absolute hatred. Nathan noticed a sharp itch in his shoulder, and he reached over to scratch it. Once he did though, a lump of flesh fell to the ground, leaving a large red hole exposing the bone. His mind went awry and he bit his tongue, feeling the gums around his teeth soften. In sheer terror, he felt each tooth one by one loosen and fall into his mouth. Nathan fell to his knees, spitting out teeth and he looked up pleadingly at Enoch. "Please... help me..." "Die, motherfucker.." Enoch growled these words, repeating them over and over again, gaining intensity with each utterance. Soon he was screaming it at the top of his lungs, creating a sound comparable only to a train screeching to a sudden stop. Nathan pressed his hands on his ears and felt his entire body crumbling, starting to vomit at Enoch's feet. ************************* "Jesus... how long has it been now?" "He's been on suicide watch for two days now." Tonight was Jerry's first night watching him, and already he had chills. The prisoner had tiny pupils brushed onto his bulging eyes, his body soaked in sweat, sitting up and facing the corner of the cell. "I can't help but feel bad for the guy..." Edward scoffed. "Did you see the pictures of what he did to that girl?" Jerry shook his head. Edward walked to the bars and snorted with disgust, looking at the prisoner's pale face. "You deserve whatever you get," he muttered. He then backed away and headed out the hall. "You'll be fine, Jerry. I'll see you tomorrow." Jerry sighed uneasily, looking over at him. This was going to be a long night.