I like to hang out in houses that aren’t exactly finished. Some say it’s because I’m ’emo.’ Others give me frightened glances and then quickly lower their eyelids before my own shoot back. They think I don’t hear their whispers in the halls, catch their fearful expressions when I walk past; but I always do. The other day I was in my room, peeling the corner of a NIN poster back, and realized I was feeling a little chilly . . . and no, before you say it, it wasn’t just my cold heart. I needed some heat, a little excitement, a risk–and of course, a prize. So I slipped on my loafers and wandered into Northhaven–the quaint little subdivision being built a few miles down the road from me.
And there it was…a two-story McMansion under construction before me, with raindrop-splattered tarps and a material-strewn front lawn. I snickered to myself; this was just too easy. Crawling up onto a bulldozer on the left side of the house, I wiggled my way in through the open window. Brushing myself off, I surveyed my surroundings. It wasn’t long before I heard the voices of the very young little ones whom I’d overhead planning a trip here earlier that day. I cackled to myself and strode across the wooden planks of the upstairs bedroom, careful to avoid the unfinished sections of the house with exposed beams.
Following the giggles, I walked to the utmost back room and hide behind the large stone fireplace obstructing me from their view. I peeked out slowly and . . .
There they were: my prizes. Two of ’em–a little boy and his bitch, drinking vodka procured from their parents’ liquor cabinet, no doubt. I stood there silently for awhile and watched them pass the bitter drink back and forth between each other. Their faces twisted into grimaces as the burning heat flooded down their throats each into the pit of their stomachs. And my hands were struck with a sudden and distinct urge to rub together greedily.
Play time . . .
Baby, I’ll tell you all about what kinds of horrible things I made these two little songbirds do to one another with their pants off. Alice gave them a nice taste of what grown-up fun feels like . . . and then she added in some of her own sickness. Sitting on their faces, pissing down their throats. I stripped that little virgin bitch’s dignity and innocence away with her little boyfriend’s erect cock, and he wanted to cum inside of that cunt so bad, I bet he would’ve thanked me if I hadn’t had my fist rammed down his throat. When I was done with my game and the sky was growing dark outside . . . I stepped over the broken glass of the once-solid vodka bottle. Grabbing it along with my shoes, I strode back out the window, pouring liquid all the way.
. . . A bright orange spark flaring–I dropped the match. Flames. And then I walked away and left the dying screams behind me.
