Beast

JayandKay · 2009-05-09T21:42:10Z

It’s eating me. I'm sitting on the couch. As I sink deeper, I wrap my pudgy hands around the remote, glaring at the screen. I contemplate the monster. Sweat sticks my hair to my head as the fan whirs above; click, click, clicking as it goes round, dragged down by turgid air. The monster is an insidious little fucker; already got its grubby little paws in me, trying to get my heart but I won’t let it. An ad comes on showing some tacky new takeaway, all tassels and bells and won’t you come down and try our specials? Buy one meal, get one free! Pure grease, no doubt. But it does the trick. I smack my lips, as saliva wells up. This is how the monster works, changes things in you, only slightly – ever so slightly at first – like a master craftsman tinkering with his product, but it’s just the beginning. My hair straggles down my back in wet clumps – that at least, isn’t the monster’s fault. That credit belongs to the goddamn doubly damned heat, the constant never-ending reminder of just how close we are to hell. My feet tingle and I can almost see the flames licking at my gross little toes. I can’t reach them anymore, not with this belly. It isn’t just the sun, I think, glancing at the clock with its tiny, almost missed ticking – click, tick, click, tick it goes, as the clock and fan dance lazy circles around my head – its Bill too. He makes me want to scream nine times out of ten and that sole other time, I mostly want him dead. But I can’t do shit and he knows that, he’s got the monster see, and now I’m trapped. It’s nearly 5’o’clock. Slimy bastard will be here soon. I turn back to the TV. I haven’t been watching for more than a minute before my bladder pulses, impossibly full so soon after I’d just been, and I hadn’t even had a drink yet. Shit. I ignore it for now, focusing instead on the cartoon. Outside, the sun blazes a sadistic gold, turning the world into a furnace. The occasional car grunts pass. Though I keep my eyes on Bugs Bunny, my ears are perked up and I listen, just waiting for what I know is coming, any minute now; as inevitable and indomitable as the heat The clicking and ticking somehow seem slower and thicker for each minute that passes. A dog barks once, twice, in a running chorus. I squirm, beads of sweat sliding down my thighs. I really need to pee and I’m breathing hard and fast. The heat presses down, ironing my soul. My breath rattles out from behind peeling, pink lips. The house, with its brown paper walls seems so thin, like it could blow down at any minute and it pulses with harshly panted breaths, set to explode with the pressure of it all. I twitch. ‘Will someone shut that damn dog up!’ I scream. ‘Goddamnit, you can never get any peace round here!’ I lurch to my feet, ungainly body awkwardly balanced, and charge over to the window. My heart stops as I see it coming down the road, that low, awfully familiar hum preceding it. Bill’s brand new Ute is a polished, dark red that seems to drink in the light and get darker, until it’s near black. How something so huge and dark and mean looking can glide so smoothly, like death itself in a slow moving tide of blood-metal yet sing so sweetly, I don’t know. All I know is that it scares the hell out of me. ii. He lays on the bed beside me. Smells like grease and smoke and old sex. Rise and fall of his gut, patchy skin. I listen to him breathe. It sets a rhythm. I lay there with my hands on my stomach and I feel the tiny, fish-hook fists under my belly jab and beat. A fragile knocking. Purple, blind bastard. Doctor showed me pictures of it today. Martian-eyed, spine curled up like a scorpion's blistered sting. All the tubes and the crap inside of me. Winding around like tapeworms, white and slurping. The little pink nubs and the filamented fingers. It's a boy, he said. It's gonna be a beautiful baby boy. Just look at how healthy he is. Just look at how active he is already! Be a helluva athlete, I'm sure! Bill smiled. I smiled, too. But godssakes, all I wanted to do then was drag it out of my stomach by all those cords and pipes and stuff it down Bill's throat. I can't get to sleep. He breathes in. A wet, stringy sound. I close my eyes. The dark comes across me, tucking me in, a quiet, marble comfort. The moon stares empty and bruised, like a lobotomy patient. Absolute stillness; I can hear it. Not only the kicks and the soft fists. Thin words. Hisses, full of tongue and throat. So soft, it’s almost missed. Comes up through my fingers in slight, tiny transmissions. I listen real close, focusing in on it until it’s the only sound in the whole room. Words as small as fleas. Those parted, unformed lips, spelling out the first, gnawing words. –momma– I jerk my hands away. The words stop. My hands are sweating. They're always sweating, but now more than ever. The heat from the summer night sticks to my skin like a postage stamp. That word hangs there, an unspoken secret. Licking sweat, all up and down my body, and the trembling, swallowing navel. It's talking, dear god in heaven, it's talking to me. In that skinny, perverse devil voice. Something wrong here. I can taste it. Feel it. The sweat and the stink. The sticky toes, like cold grubs. He breathes. He breathes as the fists knock. Looking for room, scrabbling for space –it consumes. I feel my thoughts floating, suspended in the muck of my head, like specimens in formaldehyde. I can't think anymore. I can't move. And it's getting louder. His mouth isn't even moving, I bet. Just coming out. Like voice-boxes in those toy dolls. The electronic, tinny words. Through the lips, the lips. There is a small smile. Lidded eyes, gills and webs. Something wrong. Misplaced. –momma. momma wont you smile please? wont you hold me please? – I grit my teeth, hold the screams inside. Keep em shut, latched. I listen to Bill breathe all night long. iii. The TV blares. Anything to fill the emptiness. It’s just me and the beast now, 9-to-5, like a regular job and mine is to sit still and not pay attention; keep staring at the screen, the pretty colours. I sit and watch cartoons all day – don’t deal with the fucking white elephant in the room they say, look away, but what if you are the damn thing? There’s no escape. Cartoon Network always helps, sending soothing waves through my skin, in my blood and down, down into the creature’s gullet. My eyes widen at that thought. Could be that the monster likes this stuff, that its even now switching little levers, running insensitive, cunning hands all through my body; fixing me to its pleasure and now I’m drunk on this silliness and all it can do is giggle and laugh and have a mighty fine time of it. Inside me. I tremble. My fingers clench tight on the remote. Above and about, the clock and fan continue their constant love affair, clicktickclicktickclickticking all the damn time. The sun is sullen today; hiding behind banks of gray but the heat is worse, smothering and thick like a wet blanket sluicing onto the skin. The house breathes with me, but it seems so small, the walls so close and I want to push out, to punch and to kick at it. The remote shakes. A lone fly buzzes madly in the air, twisting about in a dizzying schizophrenic choreography. What’s it got to be so happy about anyway? The room is spinning to the beat. I change the channel. Nothing . Don’t breathe, don’t blink, don’t even think – absolute stillness. Click, tick, buzz, breathe. I struggle for air. So thick and warm and moist, like custard and I’m just another maggot-mouth sucking and slurping hard at it. Do you need an air conditioner? It gets awfully hot here in this, the sunniest state of all and by god all but the righteous will fry, why haven’t you heard the word? The good Word? The salesman is wearing a brown suit, and an old fashioned cowboy hat; his head is tilted to the side, eyes staring right at me as his smile splits open his face, pushing the cracks in his skin wider and wider, until it’s a wonder there’s any skin left to show. His gold tooth sparkles. If you haven’t, friend, well I’ll tell you what it’s saying right now - It’s saying to get your behind here right now and buy yourself a brand spanking new, delightful channel. The man stops, frowns. You know, ah, you got to – he doesn’t look so confident anymore, sweat glistens down his cheek and he looks to the side, out of the screen. His mouth opens gold and white teeth sparkling, pink tongue peeking out on the brink – change the channel, love, he says. He comes close to the screen, eyes so black and small, with a little spittle flecked on his lips. Change the fucking channel! he screams. A kick in the gut knocks me out of a daze and I look up, the clock swinging in and out of my vision. Click, tick, click, tick, buzz. I’m gonna kill that fly; smash its little head to pulp. Just once I get up. My eyes flicker. There’s a news program on. Another hooker dead. Another kick in the gut; this one pushes a moan out with it. I clutch my stomach and now, it really goes for it – punching and kicking and I’m doubled over, remote spinning out of my hands to clatter on the floor – the moans are constant, a running susurrus of pain. A metallic copper taste spoils my tastebuds and I fall to my knees. Scrabbling for the remote, choking on my own blood. Temples throbbing with the pounding rhythm of pain. No air to breathe, only the red, sticky kind. I spit, flinging a hand out onto the remote in a desperate bid for survival. My palm slams onto the remote and the TV switches off. I get one look at my own gaping, bloody mouth before darkness crashes in.

So, I don't know how much more criticism you guys want on this piece, but I'll put in whatever I have. I haven't read through all the other posts, so I may end up repeating things, and I apologize if that happens.

I. Little Things

The monster is an insidious little fucker; already got its grubby little paws in me, trying to get my heart but I won’t let it.

To me, the swearing stuck out, here. I don't know why, but the beginning, the sentences before that didn't seem like they'd be accompanied by swear words. <_<; I dunno, I suppose it's up to you, but maybe a more descriptive word instead of 'fucker'? xD Also, I really like the 'trying to get my heart', because it has multiple meanings and I can see both of them coming through in this piece so far.

That credit belongs to the goddamn doubly damned heat, the constant never-ending reminder of just how close we are to hell.

Love the second half of this, don't like the 'damn damn damn damn'. xD It seems silly, actually, and I don't know that you want that ruining the tone of this piece.

I can almost see the flames licking at my gross little toes.

'Little', here, comes off as kind of a term of endearment. My cute little toes. Something like that. Might want to consider rephrasing.

It isn’t just the sun, I think, glancing at the clock with its tiny, almost missed ticking – click, tick, click, tick it goes, as the clock and fan dance lazy circles around my head – its Bill too.

No, no, no. Please take out the clicking and ticking in the middle of this sentence unless you REALLY want it there. It's distracting and makes it even more hard for the reader to try to figure out what 'it' is (which never comes, is vague, so we need that much more help keeping on task).

Outside, the sun blazes a sadistic gold, turning the world into a furnace. The occasional car grunts pass. Though I keep my eyes on Bugs Bunny, my ears are perked up and I listen, just waiting for what I know is coming, any minute now; as inevitable and indomitable as the heat

The clicking and ticking somehow seem slower and thicker for each minute that passes.

A dog barks once, twice, in a running chorus.

At first, I was going to be like 'omg, please stop repeating everything. it's getting so old.' Then I realize, that may be what you were going for. The repetition gives a dragging feeling to the whole piece, which I think is what the character is feeling anyways, and the fact that you translated that into the reader is fantastic. Keep it, because it adds that feeling, however unconsciously the reader will feel it.

Thin words. Hisses, full of tongue and throat. So soft, it’s almost missed. Comes up through my fingers in slight, tiny transmissions. I listen real close, focusing in on it until it’s the only sound in the whole room. Words as small as fleas. Those parted, unformed lips, spelling out the first, gnawing words.

Mmm, I really like this part, especially with the use of the word 'transmissions', because it adds to that 'alien' sort of description. However, the broken up sentences make it really hard to figure out that that's what the narrator is talking about -- some speaking/message coming up to her from her stomach. If you smooth it out a bit, though I know that's not really your style, it will make it a lot easier to read. C:

Through the lips, the lips. There is a small smile. Lidded eyes, gills and webs.

Something wrong.

Misplaced.

Eww. Maybe it's coming from the smoother style in the first part, but this choppy stuff is kind of ruining the flow now. >__< How would it come through the lips if it wasn't? How would we know there was a smile? And what is all this about wrong/misplaced? Why is it so important that it needs its own line? Even if it were important, it will garner that attention even when connected to the rest of the prose. I don't like the way it sticks out here.

Above and about, the clock and fan continue their constant love affair, clicktickclicktickclickticking all the damn time.

<3 This was so good. xD My favorite part of the piece, so far.

No air to breathe, only the red, sticky kind.

And I liked that as well. There are some good, simple images in here that I just attach myself to with love.

II. Overall

I really admire the way you can get the feelings across using the form of the words, not just the words themselves. I also like the characterization here, and though I would say I'd like some that is not based on the baby, that suffocating feelings goes so well with the message that I wouldn't want you the mess that up. On to the next half.

PM me if you have any questions. C:

-Hannah-

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