Born with Unrest pumping through my veins...

What was our ultimate goal, they asked, and would ask for the lifetime to come. To get drunk, laid, and home on time, we answered. What the hell did we know?

 

It was a warm evening, and the beer bottle perspired in my hand as I sat on the “Top of the World” – a little nest created on the top of a hill to give it’s VIP occupants a convenient view of the “Pit,” a large area in which the bonfire, logs and blankets lay to serve the seventy-something guests expected to attend. The area was chosen and adjusted for the party months prior to the event – Pavlik, our masterful planner, was given the task of finding a place shielded from the residential area, yet big enough to accommodate a large number of abbreviated 14 year-olds. The small plain he found was about half a mile away from the closest panelak, connected to the fields, surrounded by forests, and therefore giving us plenty of opportunity for a quick escape, shall our night of youth celebration be interrupted. The men of the 9^th grade then worked hard on building the fire pit, bringing seating logs, and building a small roof over the elevated area overlooking the Pit. Finally, invitations were spread by word, beer and cigarettes were illegally obtained, and on a fine June evening, all of us gathered in joy and misery of our anticipated departure from youth.

 

I instinctively chose the VIP nest for its promise of peace and safety. Only four of us fit there, and as the evening opened and unraveled, Tereza, Jakub and Matous joined me, sickened by the savage happenings in the pit. The party opened when sun began to set, the fire was lit, and some guests pulled out bottles of Becherovka and Fernet while the more sophisticated of us sipped on beer and wine cooler. Drinking large amounts of an alcoholic beverage for the first time in my life, I curiously studied its physical and psychological effects on a young person. Pavlik, the proud host and famous provider of entertainment, handed me bottle after bottle, delighted by an obese, geeky intellectual who finally decided to let go and explore the wild side of life. My head spun, my limbs grew lighter, and I could not wipe a smirk off of my face – the guests in the pit began to sing and dance, and my general indifference towards that mob of fellow adolescents quickly grew into passionate love and frightful loathing. For the first time, I wished for that night to never end, a feeling that would last for years to come, long after the time had passed. Something stiffly rubbed against the inside of my pants – a sudden strike of lust overtook me, and I searched the Pit crowd for one of my numerous erotic objects, little cock-teases who drove me insane in my celibacy all throughout my basic schooling pursuits. Most of them were already sitting on someone else’s lap, giggling and sipping and licking their lips. Calmly, I drank.

 

“Holy shit. Shit. I had a dream about the stars coming together, and making a huge star. Give me some water,” said Matous, his head supported by a dark blue backpack. “Weed is weird,” he added. Pavlik, Tereza and I laughed at his chubby, sweet face caught in a grimace of temporary bliss. Pavlik handed him a bottle filled with vodka, and Matous could not tell the difference.

 

“C’mon, lets check on them,” said Pavlik, and the look of concern on Kristina’s face inspired me to elevate myself, and stumble along. We walked through the field, and I shamelessly stared at Kristina’s perfectly shaped, jean-surrounded ass. I fell in love with her during the Christmas Celebration in 7^th grade, especially with her thin figure and luscious, raven black hair. I caught a hint of her sweet perfume as we arrived to a place where her best friend, Sasa, lay on top of my friend, Slavek. His hand was frantically rubbing on every curve of her body, and they were kissing, drowsily, slowly, yet passionately.

“They’ll be fine,” said Pavlik with a smirk, and grabbed Kristina convincingly around the shoulder. Smooth son of a bitch. As they walked off, I observed the erotic trans Slavek and Sasa engaged in – they moved slowly and gently, indulging in each other’s motion, but their faces were expressionless, missing. Their bodies fell in love; their minds didn’t. What a fucking poet, I thought, shrugged, and forced myself to leave.

 

‘Where is he? Fat…Fat! I’m gonna kill him! Don’t push…Leave me alone, kundo!”

 I woke up from a drunken state of melancholy and looked down into the Pit to locate the source of sudden hysteria – it was Lukas, throwing his long arms and legs around while Maja tried to hold him down. He dramatically proclaimed my name, and pointed his bony finger towards the Top of the Hill - he was after me. There was enough distance between us to keep me calm, but I menacingly lifted the beer bottle I was holding, just in case. Maja climbed on his shoulders while other two boys held him down and tried to talk sense into him. Sweet Maja…She told me I had pretty eyes and offered me a blowjob for 20 korun to call her mother couple of months ago, and the mention of this event probably triggered Lukas’s wrath. However, there was no fight – rule number one, established by the ninth graders, clearly stated that we were all to be friends during the event. Finally, Lukas sat back down on the log, threw his arm around Maja, and took a swig from his Becherovka bottle. Everyone’s attention turned back to their previous interests, and the only public attention I received during the event faded away. I stared at Lukas, a mammal of lowest form, someone I always pitied greatly. He barely passed seventh, eighth and ninth grade, he could not locate Africa on the map even if it were outlined and had arrows pointing to it, and his face resembled a monkey banished from it’s heard for being too ugly. As an athlete, he enjoyed the favors of the girls, especially Maja, and his simple mind was never to occupy itself with more than soccer playing, tying his shoes, and perhaps ditch-digging. He was, in every way possible, the exact opposite of me. Suddenly, he burst out laughing, kissed Maja on the lips, and patted the shoulders of his friend, Sladek, who jumped over the fire and burnt the crotch on his pants.

 I turned my head. Tereza was asleep, drooling slightly – smartest girl in class, courageous, sarcastic in the best way possible. Matous waved his hand in front of his face, back and forth, back and forth – perhaps not the smartest child in school, but certainly kindest, unable to take part in any mischief, unwilling to hurt any living being, emotionally or physically.

 I looked down into the Pit. I always thought we were better than them. We are, in a sense. So why, under the same circumstance, do they get to laugh while we’re ready to cry?

 

What a fucking poet. Philosopher extraordinaire. Intelektual.

 

Once again, I woke up as my name was being called.

“Jano, this is Standa. He’s big into books and politics and shit.”

Pavlik’s sharp, clever eyes made contact with mine. Immediately, I understood. The pretty, blue eyed girl sitting next to him was staring at me with her eyes half open, smiling in an alcoholic bliss.

“Hey,” I blurted out, “I’m Standa. I love your shirt.”

Under normal circumstances, I would not have been able to speak to such a pretty female while she looked into my eyes. But the ethyl provided me with great courage, and my compliment seemed to take immediate effect, as she nodded, snorted, and asked: “Do you like candy?”

“I’ll leave you two alone,” said Pavlik, and climbed down into the Pit. Good man, sweet man.

 I could not believe me and Jana were walking into the field. I thought of holding her hand, but was afraid it could spoil things – we passed Sasa, sleeping alone in the spot she previously occupied. I was surprised to see her clothes were still on and seemed untouched, but I abandoned the thought immediately as me and Jana sat in the grass. Without a word, she pressed her lips against mine, and we engaged in clumsy, wet, inexperienced kissing for about two minutes. Then, she lay down on her back, stretched her arms above her head, and stared at the sky.

 The lust was burning up my insides, and I was slightly convulsing. I thought of what I should do first – slide my hands under her shirt, or in her pants, or take them off first? Kiss her lips, or stomach, feel up her ass? So many possibilities, and she waited, barely conscious, barely acknowledging my existence. It was to become an evening to remember…But as my hands slid under her shirt, my lungs exploded and refused to provide me with air. I shook my head, my brain pounded as if it was a beating heart, and I rolled my large body over to the side. She stared at me with a questioning look, this girl who didn’t even know who I was, this angel who saw me during gym class twice a week but never learned my name,  this sweetness who would never touch my fat lips or fat cheeks while she was sober. I stood up, and walked down the field path, ready for another beer. She did not follow.

 

I stared at Pavlik as he puts his arm around another trophy, Liba, as he lit up a Marlboro and started imitating an American rapper, to everyone’s delight. Kristina also found a new object of desire, although her mouth probably still stank of Pavliks saliva. The class entertainer (or moron, depending on how you look at it), whom we nicknamed Spevi, ran into the pit and interrupted Pavlik with loud screeching: “Take a bite of this! Kdo si kousne je borec! Take a fucking bite if you’ve got koule!” In his hand, he held a green chili pepper still dripping with juice, which he probably stole from the nearby bar. His announcement caused quite a riot – Lukas stood up and instantly bit off a big chunk of the pepper, chewing it viciously as if it were an eternal proof of his masculinity. One by one, the men of the ninth grade cried, spit around, ran off to the forest while holding on to their asses or filled their mouths with vodka and dirt. It was quite a sight, and I looked around The Top of the World for anyone I could have shared it with – Teresa disappeared, probably off to bed, together with her other female friends. Matous ignored the excitement in the pit, but instead stared at me with a smile that suggested I just gave him the best lay of a lifetime; Petr, another friend of mine (intelligent yet misguided, way too fond of napping and socialistic theories – a disastrous combination, my friends!), was laughing out loud while slapping his knees and pointing at the Pit inhabitants. When he saw me studying him, he gestured me to follow along, and jumped off the hill, boldly entering the circle and taking a bite of the chili pepper. Entities became one – Martin achieved the impossible. I, having conquered thirteen beer bottles, felt my insides come out of my mouth and float above me as my empty shell slowly disintegrated. I vomited on my shoes. I felt incredibly ridiculous, incredibly strong, incredibly dumb – in short, I felt like an animal, and I felt great. The EtOH hit my brain all at once and smashed it to pieces, or was it the chili pepper that carried its scent under my nose and turned a switch I didn’t know existed? Yes, I thought of the chili pepper as my enemy and closest friend. Yes, I was completely, hopelessly drunk. I stood up, jumped down into the middle of the fire, came out unharmed, took the last piece of the pepper, and put it in my mouth. I bit down, allowed the juices to slowly run around my gums and burn, burn to cleanse, burn to make me feel, burn away the taste of puke and the stench of sweat and the bodily fluids pouring on my head from above, from the laughing crowd of familiar faces attached to familiar bodies who were dancing, kissing and fucking.

 No, I didn’t. I sat on The Top of the Hill, my insides were back in place, and a massive metal cube fell on my head. I rolled to the side – Matous was asleep yet again, and I wondered if he found his new addiction of choice – after all, a skinny pothead gets more ass than an overweight gaming geek. I laughed. My poetry had left me as I felt a horrible twist inside of my stomach, and lost consciousness.

 

 “Wake the fuck up, Kalfi,” said Pavlik’s foot as it kicked my ribs.

 I stood up, slowly, while my stomach made the strangest of noises, and I discovered a major pain in my left knee. Crowds of people were leaving the event, hugging, singing, finishing off their bottles, putting on perfume in hopes that it would confuse their parents (or that their parents would, in fact, give a shit).

“Nezasukal sis! No pussy for you, my friend. I tried, you cant say I didn’t!” said Pavlik with a charming grin on his face, and put his left arm around me, while his right rested around Matous’s wide frame. We walked, slowly, through the outskirts of Prague, our neighborhood, with its 12 story grey apartment buildings, grey sidewalks, grey garbage containers, and graffiti sprayed all over the grey walls.

“Its ugly as fuck,” I said, ”but it’s been there for us, it made us the way we are, and I’m gonna fucking miss it.”

“What a fucking poet,” Pavlik responded.

Matous suddenly rolled around Pavlik, and approached me closely. I patted his shoulder while tripping and almost falling.

“It was…It’s the best. Been the best, so much honor, mam te moc rad, parchante zkurvena, this fucking night, I can’t believe it, the stars are there and then they are not, all you can do it wait for it and hope, it goes away…” Matous fell to the ground and continued his rant in-between sobs, making it impossible to distinguish his words. I kept on listening. I knew exactly what he was saying.

 

When we approached my building, I gave Pavlik a hug, and he slapped my face afterwards. “You’re gonna do it, chubby,” he said. Matous embraced me right afterwards, refusing to let go for what felt like ages, but said nothing. His mind was blank, but not at peace.

They left. I looked up toward the lit window in 3^rd story.

I mentally prepared myself for the pain to come – my dad did give a damn.

 “I guess I’m a fucking poet,” I said.

 

The following day, we all had lunch together, and laughed the entire time.

A week later, I was on a plane, and never saw them again.

 

We were walking in the forest, and it was quiet. I looked at you through the camera, lens making the air around you look dark, but not too dark, and saturated, but not really. You walked on, carefully stepping over the twigs, avoiding noise. I loved noise - I wanted attention, a reaction, and raised my feet high to wake the spirits of the forest and make them accountable. You asked why we were there again. I had thousands of answers for you, but none of them seemed to fit. We walked on.

I saw a beautiful butterfly. I saw the way you admired it; you wished to touch it, but instead sat down and observed it. I caught it, and smothered it with my hands.

You are ugly, you said.

I think I am, I said.

And we walked on.

Its morning, I realize with distaste. Lately, the mornings here look just like all the other parts of the day – the sky is painted grey, clouds are bloated bellies full of stink and goddamn flies. I get up and fill the bucket next to my nightstand. Its overflowing, splashing on my bare feet, but I’m not brave enough to make the trip to the compost. My dreams consist of cereal and milk, but there is nothing to eat here, except for the rotting…It’s even in the damn fridge. My pants are brown when really, they should be blue, and my beard smells of spoiled cheese. Why am I so self critical today?

Perhaps its judgment day! I laugh to myself. They used to laugh with me, but now they are rotting. Should I walk outside? The weather is beautiful, sun is shining, birds chirping, somewhere I think. Its dark and gloomy. What happened to my glasses? I can barely see. The grass needs to be cut, but I cant get to the tractor. My stomach moves in different directions, intestines moan – did I eat some of that rotting? I cant remember. I think I need to make a trip to the compost. They are everywhere, looking at me as I run, cry, hold my belly in agony. Don’t look. The smell forces me to vomit, but my pants are already down, and so I’m sitting in the outhouse and leaning over at the same time. Release. These here are not watching anymore – their eyes have been eaten by the starving chickens, but lungs still resonate with screaming offense and broken trust. Has the shepherd forsaken his lamb, or has the lamb forgotten its shepherd? I’m empty, and my tongue is burning. What could I feed them with? I’m passing their houses, waiting for the usual scream, a horrific prayer – but their mouths are stuffed with the dead, the rotting. They’ll survive some time longer, but why? To torment me, to remind me. The biggest, a scrawny piece plagued with parasites, comes out and runs toward me, last living hero protecting his herd. He spares me, knowing I am worse than the rotting, but asks me to stay away. They want me gone.

The house becomes my only Earth, on this Judgment Day. Moments worth repeating as I sit down in a dusty chair – when was the last time I had a woman? A year maybe, while drunk and willing. I think of the filthiest of perversions, of worst tortures, alcohol, happiest moments, anything to inspire something – but something has become nothing, and its no longer here.

There used to be a dog here; I’m not sure what happened to it. It used to have a name, and I used to love it. It might be rotting, or perhaps it became a part of the herd, and now preys on the dead. My teeth are bleeding, but all I taste is pus.

 

I hear them coming! Cavalry of angels – finally, free your master! Sirens. I put on my white Sunday shirt, black tie, and run my fingers through the greasy threads covering my head. They’re running everywhere, cussing and vomiting. My prisoners, my children welcome them with exhausted squealing. I cry as they enter my room and ask: “Is this your farm?”

“Yes, my angel.”

“You Goddamn son of a bitch, how could you?”

But that is why. I could! He wants to hit me, I feel it. But he doesn’t.

“Show us everything.”

We walk, but I can barely breathe. They all wear rubber suits and masks.

“Is that him?” asks another angel, holding his stomach. The handcuffs cut into my wrists.

“How many do you have?”

“One hundred thirteen,” I say.

“We counted twenty alive. Why didn’t you call someone? The whole village smells this shit, it’s a goddamn outrage and as far as I’m concerned, you deserve a bullet, you hear?”

A bullet sounds fine, but no one here is innocent enough to deliver it.

“Found a dead dog, too, boss. Might as well kill off the rest, they’re suffering,” says a third angel.

“Let the animal control decide. Take this guy where he belongs. I hope the judge keeps you there for a while, buddy.”

Jail sounds very fine, my angel. Its rotting. They carry them around, take them out of garbage cans. I tried. I wasn’t always rotting. My piggies. I tried. But now I’m done, and jail sounds very fine. They take me away, and years later the farm dies in flames, together with the rotten air. All there is left am I.

A short story that took me 8 months to finish. Feedback would be greatly appreciated, good AND bad! =) <333

Yes, I know. Its still quite empty in here.

I'm working on it, promise!

I am going through a 10th revision of my short stories, making sure over and over again there is no bad grammar, or embarrasing typos. Really, I am just trying to decide whether the stories are any good...But I will get over myself and post them, so you can all decide for yourselves.

Coming Soon... 

 The Mirror: Alex just celebrated her 18th birthday...And in the mess of useless presents she has received, an old mirror stands out with a shade of mystery. An adult fairy tale. 

 Punishment : A story of a man, who's cheating affairs cost him his most treasured possesion - his penis.  

  A Death Affair : A young novelist finds himself the main suspect in a murder of his fiance. However clear the circumstances seem to be, he tells his side of the story, story of an affair with Death itself, with chilling conviction. 

 Also Coming Up: Garbage Angels, Corporate America, New Orleans Lullaby, movie reviews, articles, short screenplays.

 Ya'll better read this crap! I need feedback! =)