Afternoon Gears!
Some prompts are challenging and others make you feel like the absolute worst human being on the planet. Today, I wrote a response to the latter.
The prompt: To write about someone who is completely and utterly awful in every way imaginable. Then, I want you to throw in a Unicorn or Narwhal or something into the story. Somehow. No more than 1000 words.
I want everyone who reads this to know one thing: I do not, in ANY WAY support the actions of the character I wrote. Instead of thinking that I have some serious shit to fix in my life, instead, remember that I wrote about the absolute worst person I could imagine. To me, this character embodies that meaning.
Find comfort in that fact.
Despicable Human Being
“You are the most despicably disgusting person to have ever lived.”
Imagine being told that by everyone you encounter. You find no remorse or sympathy in their face or voice for what you’re going through. None. Honestly, I suppose I can’t blame them for it. I am, after all, what the world thinks I am…
“Dart, you filthy fucking asshole! Wake up! WAKE UP!”
My eyes flashed open and closed shut immediately, the morning light far too bright for my splitting headache. I groaned and rolled over, seeking solace in the sleek, purchased warm body next to mine to escape the recurring dream I’ve been having lately.
Wait a second…
“Melissa?” I called out, stumbling as I rolled off the bed. The whore I’d paid for last night didn’t stir. How odd. Melissa wasn’t supposed to be home for another day at least though!
“Fuck you Dart! Fuck you and your disgusting lies!” You said you were changed!” shrieked Melissa from a different room. I could hear glass shattering and stomping. Melissa seemed to be making her way through the house destroying what few valuables I had. As always, the incessant chanting could be heard outside. It never ceased, no matter the season or day.
“Melissa! What are you doing home?” I asked, struggling to think through the morning haze that clouded my mind. I gripped my head and tried to will the pain away.
“That’s it? Fuck you bastard, you want to know WHY I’M HOME EARLY?” she screamed, hurting my ears. She came into view from the kitchen, her body blanketed with fury. “Once, I said, fine. Maybe there’s something I’m fucking doing wrong. Twice? I still fucking forgave you, even though you sired a child! But a third time? Ohho no! You’ve got some fucked up, twisted little pattern going on that you won’t fix. And after I loved you, despite the heinous crime you’re loathed for around the globe! I saw good in you you tiny little prick!” Spit was flying from her mouth as she screamed. An odd thing to notice, considering the fact that she was marching towards me with a dangerous, threatening posture.
Oh.
A switch flipped when I saw her like that.
“Come off it bitch. You’ll always love me, no matter what I do,” I said, meeting her furious stare with my own.
“No Dart. I’m done. You’re done. We’re done!” she said, her voice cold as steel and her eyes moreso. “You are the most despicably, disgusting person to ever exist.” No remorse or sympathy. She turned around to leave.
“You piece of shit whore!” Snapping my head out, I twirled her around to face me before connecting my first to her cheekbone. She cried out before finding herself sprawled on the hard tile floor, dazed.
With the same lack of remorse, I kicked her pregnant belly, hard. Several times. Each time my foot connected, she whimpered and curled up into a smaller ball. Seven times I kicked her before tears flowed out of my eyes and I stopped.
“You don’t deserve my baby. You’re nothing but a pathetic excuse for a woman! You know that I took away the ability of reproduction in women all over the world! You know that I commited genocide, killing the world’s Chinese population without a thought! You know that my beautiful engineered virus is loathed and feared throughout the world and you dare to defy me?!?!?” I reached down and yanked her fiery red hair hard enough to pull some out. Seeing her face bruised and crying, I couldn’t take it. I slammed her head into the tile floor, knocking her out cold.
As I stood up, I saw her belly ripple, the first signs of a violent miscarriage. I began to sob, hating myself even more for the despicable man I’d become!
The chanting grew louder as a crash sounded down the hallway. Seconds later, a young black woman with a revolver came into view. I started to but found instead, found myself lying on the floor, a horrendous migraine starting to blur my vision. I blinked for a few second, watching the woman pick up Melissa and help her stand before I closed my eyes…
“Dart Repo”
I stepped forward. I must be dead, standing before the judgement.
“You are hereby given a chance to heaven,” declared a hooded Angel in black garb. His voice was dark and deep. The sheer menace I felt sent a shiver down my dead spine. “Your task is to save this Unicorn. Do that, and you may appear before Christ for redemption.
I glanced behind the Death Angel and saw a bleeding Unicorn that was clearly suffering. Nodding my understanding, I walked through the low mist to a rack with several different tools. Some for life, others for death, and still others for worse. Taking a knife, I walked over to the Unicorn and began my work.
Slowly, carefully, I skinned the beast. I watched in horror as my body and limbs seemed to move of their own accord to maximize the suffering of this magnificent beast. I sobbed uncontrollably as time passed indefinitely until the animal finally died, shuttering as it breathed a final breath.
An opening yawned before me as I stood, still covered in blood and gore. The creature that came from the opening was terrifying, the worst horrors imaginable! I cringed and cried, knowing I hadn’t passed the test.
“I am Satan. Welcome to Hell, Dart. You will make a fine toy for eternity!
Alas, I am what everyone thought I was.
Disgusting, despicable, rotten.
Destined to an existence of pain, rot, fear, loathing, torture, and suffering. Exactly what I deserve for what I’ve done.
I nodded silently and shed a single tear, knowing my existence, was over.
~ Fin
I had trouble writing this because I feared judgement from everyone. After thinking about it though, I figured out that I feared judgement of myself and 'me' thinking that I was this kind of person. If I could write about it, that meant I could relate, even recreate this kind of scenario, didn't it?
That's what went through my mind. I thought I was fucked up in the head even though I would never, ever in a million years injure my wife or children in ANY way!
Alas, I came full circle and realized that I'm not any more fucked up than you are, and most importantly, that I'm not this kind of person or ever will be. I also realized that what I wrote is, as I mentioned in the beginning, the worst person I can think of. That's right: The worst person I can think of is a genocidal, racist wife beater that aborts babies through brutality. If you want to judge me for thinking this is the worst kind of person, go right ahead.
Just know you are judging the wrong person.
~ Storyteller
Very nice story, Ben. I agree, writing about things that are so opposite ourselves is terrifying. It is almost earth shattering because it forces us to question how we could come up with those ideas but unfortunately we are merely spinning out old ideas and we are regurgitating the violence we are indoctrinated with as participants in this world. It's a bit of a double edged sword because on the one hand we are awesome in that we are so unlike these kinds of characters but it's deplorable that the horrors we write of are other peoples' truths. Overall very well done, really nice dialogue and the story flowed fantastically and seamlessly. I feel like I'm in Creative Writing again so I'll stop, but great job!
ReplyDeleteThanks for your kind words Megan!
DeleteI agree that some of the inspiration for the words we come up with is from our exposure to violent media and other people's writings. Human beings are empathetic creatures, allowing us to at least 'understand' (on some level) the situation another is in.
Contributorially, (totally made that word up. No idea if it works) I also believe that while we may not be these horrible people we write about, it's possible that we 'feel' like there's something of these characters in us. I know that I've had moments where I've been so disgusted by what I've done that I've felt like this kind of character, even if all I did was sneeze on somebody accidentally.
The pool of words and knowledge us writers have to draw on is vast and everything we write has a hint of personal experience laced into the story. That's what separates the extraordinary writers from the ordinary.
Way to go with a prompt and take it all the way! Nicely done Ben!
ReplyDeleteI went through a period where everything I wrote was extremely dark and twisty. I have a post about it somewhere.. I should try to dig it up for you. Anyhooo... I think all writers go through this period where they seriously question their sanity (I went so far as talking to a counselor about it) and it turns out, it is completely and utterly normal. Look at Stephen King. Great guy, family man, gives to charity blah blah blah - and that dude writes some twisted shit.
I wouldn't worry one bit.
As for the "writing" section, it was very well executed - though this booboo confused the story for me in a big way, something you might want to edit to get the point across more clearly: I started to but found instead, found myself lying on the floor, a horrendous migraine starting to blur my vision. I blinked for a few second,