William Rose - Shut the Fuck Up and Die!

Mona tried to stretch her arms so that they’d reach this ethereal baby… but something changed. The warm, golden glow diminished like an ember burning out and the creature’s skin morphed into something that was as brown and wrinkled as a dried leaf. Cracks spread across the dark eyes and seemed to pull their luster into the advancing fissures, leaving them as dull and lifeless as two dusty marbles. At the same time, Mona heard the whoosh and whine of air: it was a sound almost like a vacuum cleaner sucking liquid from the bottom of a pool, so loud that she could feel the pull of its force in her gut. In response, chunks of the fetus separated from the body, though they did not go without a fight: they struggled to maintain solidarity with the whole, hanging on with thin strands of tissue that stretched and ripped like rubber bands pulled their breaking point. In the end, however, the power exerted upon them was just too great; these jagged pieces of flesh were wrenched free and drifted into the darkness until there was nothing left but that hollow, empty void.

A voice slurred through the emptiness left behind, echoing like the words of a drunken god. Each syllable thudded in her chest and made her knees tremble at the judgment being passed.

“You little fucking whore….”

Tears stung Mona’s eyes as a cocktail of emotion was shaken within her: anger surged with the quickness of a knife, only to be washed away with a nauseous blend of fear and misplaced guilt. But then hatred flared like the tip of a match, igniting the entire concoction in a mushroom cloud of flame before sputtering out within the winds of panic.

“Lying, worthless tramp!”

Someone walked across the expanse of darkness toward Mona, their steps as light and calculated as a boy tiptoeing carefully across a bedroom floor. The moving shadow seemed to quiver with nervous excitement, glancing over its shoulder every few steps as if to ensure that some larger shadow wasn’t creeping up behind it.

A different voice in the darkness now. A voice that cracked and broke beneath the strain of raging hormones.

“Drink this… it’s good. Drink it all, okay?”

The shadow advanced in a series of abrupt jerks, almost as if it were passing through a strobe light as dark as the surroundings. One second it was ten feet away… the next, six. Then three. Two. One….

A pockmarked face that looked like a masculine version of her own floated so close that Mona could feel the sharp gasps of air warm her cheek. Then sensations burst through like rapid fire gunshots in the night: the smell of sweat and garlic, hands fumbling and touching, pain exploding somewhere between her legs before the numbing cloud washed over her again, pulling her into a darkness much like the one she floated in now.

“He’s a fucking gridiron hero, for Christ’s sake! He could bang any cheerleader he wants? And you really expect me to believe that a dirty piece of trash like your….”

Mona felt as if she were collapsing into herself, as if all of her molecules were being compressed into a little ball of ice so dense that a black hole formed within her soul. She kept expecting the sting from the back of his hand and the black olive taste of blood trickling from her split and throbbing lip. Coat hangers straightened into slender rods, the studded belt wrapped snugly around a beefy fist, bottles of Mad Dog that shattered like a cheap tiara, leaving her wondering how much of the sticky liquid drenching her hair was blood and how much was wine: these were expected, these were the norm, and no one gave a damn about this quiet little girl who flinched at every loud noise or sudden movement.

Her father staggered in front of the creeping shadow like a washed up actor who’d somehow stumbled into the glare of a spotlight. His bloodshot eyes blazed over top a bulbous nose webbed with thin, blue veins and his jowls flapped like a rabid bulldog as the torrent of abuse flew like froth from his mouth.

“She’s just jealous, Dad. She’s makin’ shit up to try and get me in trouble. Why the hell would I drug my own dawn sister? Who does that?”

Mona wanted to scream at the top of her lungs: I never said I was drugged! How did you know I was drugged, Timmy? If you’re so fucking innocent, how the hell did you know I was drugged? But all that came from her throat was a whimper so soft that it may have come from a puppy wavering between life and death.

“None of the boys will touch her ‘cause she smells like pee. Fifteen years old and still wetting the bed like a little fucking baby. She wakes up early to do the laundry so you won’t know, Dad. I’ve seen her do it.”

A chorus of voices swirled in the darkness around her, each one jabbing with the cruelty only adolescence can foster.

“Outta my way, Urinal Cake!”

“Oh hell… here comes Pissin’ Mona….”

‘S’up, Outhouse?”

A school desk flashed into existence like a brief crack of lightning, leaving the image of a plastic bag of diapers perched atop her textbooks seared onto her retinas as dozens of voices thundered with laughter.

“You lying sack of shit… is that it? You trying to get your brother in trouble? Trying to make sure he doesn’t get that scholarship because you’re so damn retarded. Well, missy, maybe you need to be shown what it really feels like.”

A pressure had built up somewhere within Mona’s abdomen. It was almost as if her bladder were expanding like a balloon; she could feel it swelling with warm liquid, the walls stretching thin as it continued to grow. Only not quite. Something was different this time. Almost as if the scream that had been trapped inside her for so many years was submerged somewhere down there: it burned like an ingot, the fierce heat boiling the liquid and causing pressure to further billow into the nooks and crannies of her body. The pressure surged into her chest and lungs, made her throat feel as if layers of flesh had been burned away, and then spewed from a mouth that could no longer contain the force that had simply simmered for so long.

Instead of a scream, a stream of fire shot past her lips. It crackled and hissed through the air like a serpent of flame before coiling around her dad and brother. Red and orange tongues hungrily licked away flesh and muscle, rendered fat into bubbling puddles of steam, and eventually turned on themselves until nothing was left but skeletons and ash. The bones held together for a moment, frozen in their final poses; it was almost as if they hadn’t realized yet that even cartilage had been consumed in the blaze. But then they dissolved into a fine dust that scattered on the wind and silence returned to Mona’s dark void.

Only it wasn’t silent. Not really. There was a lull coming from somewhere, almost like a distant buzzing in her ears that grew louder the more she tried to identify its source. Close by, she spotted what appeared to be veils of gossamer fabric. Each fiber was illuminated from within; it was as if soft, pastel light had somehow been woven into the strands and they rippled and shifted like well-dressed spirits dancing in the breeze.

The buzzing merged into a hum and the colors formed patchwork blocks, the tint bleeding seamlessly as they formed a blurry mosaic. The sound filled her entire head now and Mona realized that words were interspersed within the rise and fall of the drone; as more and more words asserted themselves, texture and depth emerged as hue melted into detail.

“Wake up, girlie. Wake up, for Mary… wake up, now.”

Wrinkled fingers snapped in front of Mona’s face and the sound seemed to be the final peg needed to hold her hazy picture of reality together. Though her head felt like wet cement had been funneled in through her ears, she could hear Matt’s voice somewhere close by. It was nothing more than a moan… the same one, in fact, that she’d heard countless times following an all-night drinking binge. She looked toward the sound and the movement made her skull feel as if her brain had just slammed into her forehead. She could feel it thudding there, just behind the ridge of her brow, and the dull ache coaxed a queasy gurgle from her stomach.