What Doesn’t Kill Us

Taylor’s Story



 I fucking hate people. I hate people so damn much that I want to tear them apart. Rip some balls. Yeah, I’d tear them shits off with my teeth. There are few exceptions to this rule. My friend Joe, the boy kicks ass. But whatever, everyone else can die. Or better, serve me.
 There are these people that I hate especially though. These neighbors of Joe’s named the Carlyles. There like those cheesy ass people that smile all the time when they walk by and say stuff like, “Oh Taylor, hi, how’s the family, how’s school.” I hate that, I want to be like, “Fine, How’s your goddamned libido.” Just to freak them out you know?
 People don’t see that side of me a lot ‘cause I’m all upbeat and shit. They’re scared of how I’m dressed but a lot of them think I’m adorable. I guess I am, but they don’t know. Who are your friends when even they don’t know you? Joe knows me. I love that about him. He could put on my skin and walk around and be me, inside out.
 So these neighbor’s of Joe’s, the Carlyles, they have this daughter named Samantha. What kind of a name is that? Cheesy right? Well Samantha walks her dog Jesse Girl all the time. “Here Jesse Girl,” she says. “Come on Jesse Girl.” All I can think of is, “Kill Jesse Girl, must kill Jesse Girl.”
 Samantha has the pockmarked face and big thighs and a big huge ass and big everything right? So I think that, you know, there is something interesting about this chick. Through all her annoying cheesiness, the girl is grotesque, a fucking female penguin on her way to kill Batman. And there is something orgasmic about that. Already I’m turned on. This should not surprise anyone though. My prick is like a fucking flagpole. It’s up at dawn and doesn’t fall to the sun goes down at night.
 I should say that I wasn’t really attracted to her, there is something just orgasmic about the entirely grotesque and foul. This chick represented that. She made me nauseous and I could not have been harder.
 I sat watching her on this beige love seat thing near the window. It was a sticky hot day and I felt glued to my seat, literally speaking of course. The sun was bright and all around me was sunny happiness. Nothing like the city. Same houses all around with various shades of pink and gray, clean lawns with little statuettes of horse jockeys carrying lanterns. Not to mention flamingos, flamingos all around.
 I hadn’t gotten some in months and months because I was trying to go clean. But I was watching her walk that dog of hers and I left the house and walked up to her. She was standing there smiling and I thought her smile was gonna reach her goddamned ears I swear. And her rupturing face was nothing nice. I thought if she kept smiling like that, her entire face would blow, spewing blood and puss like a volcano.
 “Hi.” I said feigning pleasure to see her.
 “Oh hello Taylor. Say Taylor? Why do you have piercings, boys don’t have Piercings.”
 I pet Jesse Girl on her fuzzy poodle head and tweaked her ear. The dog passed me a look of shock, so I did it again.
 “Sure they do Samantha. It takes a strong person to put holes in their face, and guys are always talking about having balls right?”
 “Yeah I guess, but I wish you wouldn’t talk with that kind of mouth Taylor. Mom and Dad says that people who talk like that are bad and I shouldn’t do that ‘cause then no one would ever like me.”
 I wouldn’t worry about that, I thought. People hate this bitch anyway she talks, could speak like the goddamned queen of England people would want to take a needle and thread to her lips.
 “Don’t worry,” I said. This smiling shit hurts. “You’re a sweet girl, of course people are gonna like you.” She liked that, she smiled even wider if you could believe it, I sure couldn’t.
 “Say Taylor? Would you like to come over to my house and have a raspberry fribble? My mom and dad aren’t home so you could come over and they won’t mind.”
 “Raspberry wha-? Oh fuck it yeah I’m coming.”
 “Oh Taylor shut your potty mouth. You can’t come over if you’re gonna talk like that.”
 “Oh no,” I thought. “Wouldn’t want that.” But I apologized and followed. Her house was a mess of potpourri. It was real nasty, in a clean sort of way. The house was all flowery and there was all this ugly paintings of religious things. She saw me staring. I explained to her my fear of religion and how I’m much more apt to protect my wallet from priests then I would gypsies and she was appalled. “Taylor,” she whined. I tried not to smile, but failed.
 She brought me this raspberry thing that tasted like Pepto Bismal except it made me sicker. I drank it in one fall swoop and put it on the glass table in front of the leather couch I sit on. For religious fucks, they’re certainly don’t treat animals too well. Naming a dog Jesse Girl, owning a leather couch. That made me mad, I hate that shit if it’s for no reason so I kinda dropped the glass on the table to make a loud noise that scared the shit out of poor penguin girl.
 “Taylor.” She whined again. I laughed at her. The sun was going down outside. It looked pink like the house.
 “Taylor,” she continued slurping the medicinal goop into her stupid maw. “Why do you wear black all the time.”
 “Why do you wear pink all the time,” I countered. “You look like raspberry fribble.” She laughed.
 “You’re real easy to make laugh.” I said. This went on for a long time. She kept asking me weird stuff. Like why I die my hair and how come Joe fucks guys.
 “You do bad stuff.”
 “Yeah.”
 “Why?”
 “Why the hell not.”
 “Don’t talk like that. When you do bad things, it comes back to haunt you.”
 “When I die, I’m going to come back to haunt you.”
 “You’re horrible.”
 “You’re real pretty.”
 “Stop looking at me like that.” I was looking coy.
 “Like what,” I said. “I like you.”
 She whined my name and I started to massage a flashing probe under my fly.
 “Taylor, you shouldn’t do that in public.”
 “Do what in public. There’s nothing wrong with this. Your father does it.”
 “Shut your mouth, he does not.”
 “He does, I seen him.”
 “Taylor stop it.” I laughed out loud. I kept laughing as I unzipped. Samantha wasn’t laughing. Where was her Jesse Girl now? Curled up at the base of the tree outside. I pulled off my black tee shirt and yanked up my wife-beater.
 “Hey, you like my belly button ring?”
 “It’s disgusting, I don’t like it.”
 “Hey look at this shirt, it’s called a wife beater, you know that? Hey you know how men hit their wives?”
 “No.”
 “Well, you put your hand up like this.” I pantomimed, raising my hand and showing her the back of it. “Back of the hand, like a back swing.” I got up and walked up to the ugly floral chair she sat in. I brought my hand down very slowly and tapped it against her cheek. “Like this,” I said as my hand clicked against her cheek.
 “Taylor, stop it.”
 “Like this.” I did it again.
 “Stop.”
 “Just like this.” I slapped her hard with the back of my hand. She shrieked, I giggled.
 “Stop.” She was crying now. I kinda took her arms and let her drop to the ground. I stood for a second looking down. Her oozing puss, her eyes that looked like they were about to drop out of her skull. I laughed again. I ripped her button off and yanked.
 “Time to find god.” I said.
I let my pants fall, then my underwear. I just let myself fall. Samantha cried and shrieked along with my rhythm. “That bitch.” I thought. “ She made me do this. Can’t fucking take advantage of me like this, acting the way she does, living so close, her fucking fault. Shouldn’t have let me in. Should have known about my habits. Maybe I should cut her like I cut myself. Let her know how it feels to be real. That’s what I’m doing. This is real. What doesn’t kill us makes her stronger. I’m making her stronger.”
 My prick felt like it was gonna break off when I came into her. Joe will be mad at me, I thought suddenly startled. I don’t like that, I don’t like it when Joe is mad at me. And I may go back to the home. Shit.
 I got up. Looked down at her again. I stood for a long time watching her cry. Then I realized, this time I really did feel sick. She suddenly looked angelic, it made me nauseous. I walked out. Leaving her. It was night, I didn’t even realize. I was crying now. I went up to Jesse girl. “Bitch,” I thought. “She knew I had problems, shouldn’t have brought me in, giving my that fucking raspberry fribble.”
 I saw Jesse Girl sitting down near the tree, looking quizzically at me. I don’t know how long I stood there. The only lights on were the street ones. I remembered my earlier thoughts about killing that dog. It seemed like minutes ago. Without looking away from those silly dog eyes, I took out my pocketknife. I slit her silly dog throat and watched the blood stain her fur. The dog did nothing then collapsed in a lump. I was sobbing now. I took the knife and cut her stomach open, crying so hard, I didn’t think I could anymore, but I did, like a leaky drain. I cut into Jesse Girl’s stomach watching blood shoot, intestines spill out into the grass, other organs that looked like the type of stuff you take out of chickens before you cook them. I stood again, sniffling now. I was covered in blood and my eyes were dry as Jesse Girl’s bones. The dog was dead. I did it. All at once I felt in and out of control. I smiled. I looked down at my scared wrists and cut deep. As the blood oozed and mixed with Samantha’s and Jesse Girl, all I could think was, “Joe will be mad.” I felt something rise in my throat. I felt like a bursting thermometer as blood came out of my throat. I gurgled, fell to my knees, and gone.