Laugh of a Child
Of all the places to lose consciousness in an alien home, Pierce would surely land in the bathroom. The smell of stale piss and vomit rose from the ground around him. Struggling, his hands groped for something he could use to drag himself into a hunched sitting position. His brain pounded within his skull. He caught his head in his hands and, breathing heavily, calmed the nausea that flailed about with his every movement. Images of the night flashed through his head. Travis doing his drunken blue-moon chicken dance. Brief lip-contact with a close lady-friend who's name seemed to dance about just out of reach. And then Joshua. Sorrow would have over taken him had a strong shiver not pulled him back to the present. Pierce now realized that he was half naked and, more importantly, the room was absolutely freezing. Scanning the floor around him he spied his now grimy shirt. Pulling it over his head, the offensive cologne of liquor and smoke filled his senses causing his stomach to give a forceful lurch. Exhausted, he fell back to the floor. He closed his eyes and prayed for a relief that he knew wouldnít come for some hours. Darkness came and went. Memories of the party blended with those of the past he'd done so well to repress. A painful knot swelled in his throat and, again, he wished he could just cry and get it over with. At last, he heaved himself upright and, using the toilet for leverage, got himself to his feet. He swayed dangerously as he shuffled to the edge of the stairs. Slowly making his descent, he hefted all of his weight into the railing, praying not to pitch down the twenty-something steps to what would surely leave him lacerated and concussed. Upon reaching the ground floor, Pierce was able to see just how immense the party had been. Picking his way across the body-strewn floor, he spotted Travis cuddled up with the girl who just might have been the woman who had planted a kiss on his lips just some hours prior. Stepping over a man (William, was it?) he pulled the door open and stepped out into the cold.
A bag filled with the remains of a greasy cheeseburger and cold fries made its new home on the floor amongst the cigarette butts and assorted candy wrappers to which Pierce paid no attention. His eyes were fixed on the face reflected in front of him. He couldn't recognize himself in it. There was something wrong with the eyes, they were cold and gray, slight creases forming at the edges of his heavy eyelids. The nose seemed too wide, the mouth too rigid. A new sore on his lip drew his attention. He couldnít help but smile at the fact he'd contracted herpes. There was the man he knew. The one who always seemed to find the humor in his own misfortunes. A pain in his lungs erupted, forcing an uncontrollable fit of coughing to burst forth. Mumbling his apologies to his poor lungs, he gently placed another clean, pristine cigarette between his lips. Closing his eyes, he let the gentle buzz brush through him, feeling the sinful night wash off of his being. Five-hundred chemicals, he'd been told. Whispers of lung cancer and shortened life-spans. He'd heard it all and, in all honesty, hoped they were right. Anything to lose the memory of Joshua. And then, before he could suppress it, it sprung on him.
Pierce put his hand to his brow, shading his eyes from the glaring sun as he made his way down the sidewalk. Joshua had rushed up ahead of him, his eyes filled with joy. Pierce had promised him a week before that he would take him to the mall to pick out a few toys for a late birthday celebration and to apologize for missing the actual party. A laugh burst forth and he jokingly hollered that Joshua should take pity on the old man who would surely find himself requiring a cane in the near future. Joshua craned his head back at me, beaming at the ironic statement. At this point, he was caught halfway between sidewalks. Halfway between worlds.
Pierce flicked the butt of his cigarette to the ground, bouncing off the discarded bag before joining its brethren on the floor. Another fit of coughing shook his shoulders, he rolled down his window and shot a wad of saliva to the ground. It had been three years and still he felt the void. Fishing another cigarette from its resting place, he considered going back home. He'd call in sick to work, pneumonia. His mother was a miracle worker, a psychiatrist and, though the physicist in him scorned her false-science, he'd never needed one more. She had gotten him to stop wetting the bed at the age of six just by getting him to spill his feelings about a bully whoíd been giving him troubles. Perhaps she could fix his suicidal thoughts and, while she's at it, his dependency on toxins. A cold snicker dribbled from his throat at the thought. Cigarettes had become more of a life style than an addiction for him. The idea that carcinogens were being absorbed into his bloodstream, the numbing effects of the nicotine, the fact it made him reek of ash. He liked the ugliness to it more than anything. The white-trash vibe that dripped out of his every pour, that pushed any possibility of love or close friendship right out the window.
His eyes flicked open, sweat had collected in his sheets. Sitting up, he rubbed his eyes before letting his hands drop. There he sat for hours on end, slouching with his hands resting on his bare thighs. The nightmare had returned and, this time, it played all the way through.
Pierce shouted out in jest that Joshua should slow his pace and have mercy on Pierceís elderly qualities. Joshua turned back to laugh at the silliness of a twenty-two year old who required a cane to walk. And then the truck. Why wouldn't the nightmare end? He never wanted to see it. Not again.
The truck slammed into the six-year old, leaving a spatter of blood on the hood. Joshua's limp body skittered across the concrete, leaving trails of crimson every where the body touched ground. A scream flew from Pierce's lips as he sprinted to the boy. He bent over his brother, tears blurring his vision. Skin and flesh had been scraped away revealing slivers of white bone, his skull was split open, bits of gray matter that could only be his brotherís brain flecked across the pavement and floated in his blood. Worst of all that haunted him, even when he slept, was not his injuries, but his face. There, stuck for eternity, was the look of genuine innocence. Blissful peace. Infinite love. The face of child-like laughter.
Sorry for the lack of yiff and furry-ness. Wrote this for english. Got good reviews. Figured someone out there might like it. But still, I think this'll mean more to me than anyone else out there.
Also, I apologize if I actually should've labeled this adult for gore.