Compunction
Fathomably Unfathomable
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- Thread starter Compunction
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GioTheSquid
1x1-er, queer-character player!
There was a stale smell in the air of fetted cigarette smoke, the source of which being a large glass ashtray overflowing with twisted butts. The latest addition still had one ghostly tendril stretching from it’s blackened end which clawed and curled through the air like the phantom hope of a smouldering dream. A man sat stoop on the floor between the couch and his coffee table. He and his lover had picked out this living room set together..he and his lover had spent many nights sitting right here, watching Lucille Ball and Ricky Ricardo’s antics on the oldies channel, smoking and drinking casually together. He and his lover had once occupied this space happily. The miserable lump of self-pity lifted his head, a boulder on a neck with sturdiness akin to string cheese heated in a fat child’s pocket.
His hands unsteady, he reached over to the mirror-tray he’d laid out where three uneven lines of freshly powdered coke lay in wait. There was a dusty outline left behind from where he’d already done one. Another soon followed. Breathing in the scent of his old demons, the raven-haired man with bloodshot eyes and no future searched his surroundings for more dullents. His hands found his sedatives and sleeping medication, both of which only having a few more tablets. He down the sleeping medication with a rattling gulp, chasing it with Jack to drown out his hesitation. He sedatives weren’t his..they belonged to John, his partner. And he would leave them there along with everything else he owned. Another wave of hiccuping sobs racked his body and he bit down hard on his knuckles to keep from screaming. Waking the neighbours was a big no-no, as they were the sort to keep their laws and noise levels at precisely the degree ordained acceptable by code enforcement, and there had already been an event or two Chandler’s savvy, smooth-talking partner had to smile their way out of.
Fuck it.
He got up then and threw the bottle, full-force against the wall, stumbling towards the entertainment centre where a sappy black and white melodrama was being played on mute. He grabbed either side of theri expensive television set and with a mighty heave tore in from the bolsters on the wall, the metal groaning in protest before giving it up by the fiberglass frame. He meant to fling it like a discuss, but the wires held it in place. John was a master of his craft, after all, an electrician by trade. Howling with rage he rammed the set full force into the wall, cracking the scream so the picture began to distort. Again and against he body slammed the television untill it finally went black. Still unable to remove it, he let it go and it fell with a jarring clamor, still hanging from the wall. It mocked him from it’s place there, swaying back and forth, destroyed, when suddenly the wall began to crack, the drywall peeling away as the weight of the set brought it down, cleaving the wallpaper pattern unevenly apart.
Another line of coke and half a bottle later, most of his home had been similarly destroyed, each room bearing memories that riggered worse and worse outbursts. No matter the degree of carnage and destruction, it didn’t make him feel any better. No matter what garbage he would littler the floor with, what sentiment he would cast out from their shared belongings, there was no catharsis. He felt hallow, broken.
When there was nothing left to destroy and he police hadn’t shown up at his door to respond to Cathy and her wanker husband’s shrill complaining, he sat inside his study with the mirror and what was left of his medicine cabinet. Antipsychotics and antidepressants which had been lying in wait for years would go down without much fight but...he heard that poisoning in this way often had a high survival rate, only you’d live like as a vegetable with tubes in every orifice just to keep you moist. The raven headed man struggled with the decision, wondering how it would be best to end it all when, as though struck by some electric current, clarity sharpened his mind. He went through the debris, digging like a bloodhound searching for survivors in the snowstorm of his life, gathering whatever he could. Ties? No...Electrical cord? No...What…? Jump rope?
He growled throatily and crossed the house to the kitchen, emptying the contents of the cabinet beneath the sink. Clorox and Pine Glow would make a creative chemical end, but he could barely stand the smell of either during their Sunday chores, so he didn’t imagine it would be so simple a task to down a cocktail made of it.
“HA!”
It was a bitter, aggressive sound.
His thin, shaking hands could barely keep it together as they found the length of thick rope that he and John had bought for camping but never used. It was still pristine, held together by a thick cardboard fasten with suggestive packaging and basic knot instructions.
Returning to the study with a directive, he could scarcely steady his hands to tie the knot which looked as though it would work best. He fumbled dumbly, cursing under his breath while his visin split and quaked. He felt like he could run a marathon, and the unspent energy had him rocking back and forth, tapping his feet and chewing his lips to the point of bleeding. When at last he finally got what looked to be a decent noose, he laid it out on the top of his piano and gave it a long, hard, considering look.
Which ended in a round of vomitting.
Knees suddenly floor bound, his hands grasping at the rounded edges of a small wastebasket, he lost some of the vices he’d crammed low in his body in an attempt to poison himself. Everything was burning and judging by the sweat beading on his face, he was experiencing some kind of fever. Typical...His body, nearly drug immune from years of unchecked substance abuse, was fighting back,s taving off the end. Last time this had happened it had won and he’d woken up in the arms of that adulterous bastard en route to hospital.
Not this time.
Gathering all his strength and struggling to coordinate himself, he used the piano seat to bring himself higher to the ceiling, securing the rope there and hooking the noose about his throat, tightening it in a gesture which reminded him of preparing for PTA meetings and all the ritual leading up to selecting the perfect tie.
But that was far behind him.
Everything was far behind him. Every pain and woe he had ever known, and every bitter dissapointment of the world, it was all about to dissapear. His mother would be shocked to find her son died the cowar’d death, and his boyfriend at best might show some remorse for his actions prior to, but he wouldn’t shoulder blame. Chandler had been fighting this battle for far too long, and now, he was going to end it.
He just..wished he had someone to say goodbye to. Someone to hear his last words or witness something of his life...someone he genuinely thought would mourn him.
A friend.
His eyes, which had been shut tight against the visions the drugs conjured to his mind suddenly widened, and in a moment, he was transported back thirty years in time to a place he’d long forgotten.
A ten year old boy sat sulking in the corner of his room, his arms wrapped tight around his kneews, holding them close to his chest. His face was hot with livid tears and he wore a defiant frown that no one could witness. His walls were barren, his art and various posters having just been striped, and his toys were gone form their shelves. His radio had been taken, his scooter as well, and all of the books he posessed apart from his bible and the reaidng matrial mandated by the school remained. Those fuckers..they’d even taken his stuffed dinosaur, Melvin from his bed, all before leaving him to think about what he’d done.
And jsut what had he done? Well, what he’d been caught doing he’d been doing for a week. It was the same routine..every night he would arise from bed, brush his teeth and go to school. Every day the teachers of his special needs classes would be torn between recommending him to advanced placement classes or mental institutions and he would come home, his parents inspecting his bag for any signs of shenanigans or individuality. He would come home, practice piano, watch an hour of television - under supervision - get shit, showered, shaved, and tucked into bed where, instead of bedtime stories, he was given a roster of pills in little white cups. These pills before had been something his fearful mind could not fight being given, but with double digits came a certain willfulness his parents didn’t know he had. He’d been keeping his pills beneath his tongue, spitting them into the air vent beneath his bed when his parents left then, throwing the covers around himself, he would wander to his closet where his good friend would be waiting.
But not this time. This time, while at school, while his mother had been cleaning his already pristine room, she had the unfortunate luck to pass her vacuum over the vent beneath the bed. Something clattered noisily in the chamber and when she bent down to inspect it, she saw the tiny yellow circle, just barely disintegrating on the edges, trapped in a dusty fluff coat. One of her son’s Valium….
The night he had come home to a beating from his father and had been forced to look one while they stripped his only place of privacy and creation away, sealing off everything non-essential in black pags for the trash pickup. Everything that was too expensive to get rid of would go in the attic where the boy was forbidden to go since the last time they’d caught him playing with his ‘friend’ among the cob-webbed rafters.
“You see this son? This is what happens when you disobey your parents.” his father had said, squeaking the boy’s shoulders so hard the bones threatened to snap. “Now you get in there and think about what you’ve done.”
And that’s what he was doing.
Thinking.
Thinking about all the trouble he was in.
Thinking about how unfair it was.
How FUCKED it was that he was in trouble at all!
Fresh tears rolled down his already sunken cheeks. His face had lost it’s pallor over the past few days, too many behavioral hiccups costing him meals sporadically. Today would be no different..his stomach groaned nosily as it tried it’s best to eat itself, but he blinked away the pain and curled inward.
He could feel him there.
Standing nearby.
The one thing his parents couldn’t take away, no matter how hard they tried…
Because he wasn’t real.
Because unlike books and toys and a child’s hope for freedom, they couldn’t destroy it.
He could feel his comforting presence and it soothed some of the anger.
“What a bunch of fuckers.” his friend had said, cutting through the silence.
Without meaning to the boy burst into a fit of laughter that was still more crying than giggling. He had to clasp his hands around his mouth to keep his precious moment of good humour a secret from those villains he called mom and dad.
At least he always had him..at least he always had…
“Juno…”
The man looked down at the floorboards as the features of his study came back into view.
How long had it been since he’d said that name aloud? Years...just...years.
His eyelids brimming with tears, he floated his first step over the emptiness of open air, utterly alone.
His hands unsteady, he reached over to the mirror-tray he’d laid out where three uneven lines of freshly powdered coke lay in wait. There was a dusty outline left behind from where he’d already done one. Another soon followed. Breathing in the scent of his old demons, the raven-haired man with bloodshot eyes and no future searched his surroundings for more dullents. His hands found his sedatives and sleeping medication, both of which only having a few more tablets. He down the sleeping medication with a rattling gulp, chasing it with Jack to drown out his hesitation. He sedatives weren’t his..they belonged to John, his partner. And he would leave them there along with everything else he owned. Another wave of hiccuping sobs racked his body and he bit down hard on his knuckles to keep from screaming. Waking the neighbours was a big no-no, as they were the sort to keep their laws and noise levels at precisely the degree ordained acceptable by code enforcement, and there had already been an event or two Chandler’s savvy, smooth-talking partner had to smile their way out of.
Fuck it.
He got up then and threw the bottle, full-force against the wall, stumbling towards the entertainment centre where a sappy black and white melodrama was being played on mute. He grabbed either side of theri expensive television set and with a mighty heave tore in from the bolsters on the wall, the metal groaning in protest before giving it up by the fiberglass frame. He meant to fling it like a discuss, but the wires held it in place. John was a master of his craft, after all, an electrician by trade. Howling with rage he rammed the set full force into the wall, cracking the scream so the picture began to distort. Again and against he body slammed the television untill it finally went black. Still unable to remove it, he let it go and it fell with a jarring clamor, still hanging from the wall. It mocked him from it’s place there, swaying back and forth, destroyed, when suddenly the wall began to crack, the drywall peeling away as the weight of the set brought it down, cleaving the wallpaper pattern unevenly apart.
Another line of coke and half a bottle later, most of his home had been similarly destroyed, each room bearing memories that riggered worse and worse outbursts. No matter the degree of carnage and destruction, it didn’t make him feel any better. No matter what garbage he would littler the floor with, what sentiment he would cast out from their shared belongings, there was no catharsis. He felt hallow, broken.
When there was nothing left to destroy and he police hadn’t shown up at his door to respond to Cathy and her wanker husband’s shrill complaining, he sat inside his study with the mirror and what was left of his medicine cabinet. Antipsychotics and antidepressants which had been lying in wait for years would go down without much fight but...he heard that poisoning in this way often had a high survival rate, only you’d live like as a vegetable with tubes in every orifice just to keep you moist. The raven headed man struggled with the decision, wondering how it would be best to end it all when, as though struck by some electric current, clarity sharpened his mind. He went through the debris, digging like a bloodhound searching for survivors in the snowstorm of his life, gathering whatever he could. Ties? No...Electrical cord? No...What…? Jump rope?
He growled throatily and crossed the house to the kitchen, emptying the contents of the cabinet beneath the sink. Clorox and Pine Glow would make a creative chemical end, but he could barely stand the smell of either during their Sunday chores, so he didn’t imagine it would be so simple a task to down a cocktail made of it.
“HA!”
It was a bitter, aggressive sound.
His thin, shaking hands could barely keep it together as they found the length of thick rope that he and John had bought for camping but never used. It was still pristine, held together by a thick cardboard fasten with suggestive packaging and basic knot instructions.
Returning to the study with a directive, he could scarcely steady his hands to tie the knot which looked as though it would work best. He fumbled dumbly, cursing under his breath while his visin split and quaked. He felt like he could run a marathon, and the unspent energy had him rocking back and forth, tapping his feet and chewing his lips to the point of bleeding. When at last he finally got what looked to be a decent noose, he laid it out on the top of his piano and gave it a long, hard, considering look.
Which ended in a round of vomitting.
Knees suddenly floor bound, his hands grasping at the rounded edges of a small wastebasket, he lost some of the vices he’d crammed low in his body in an attempt to poison himself. Everything was burning and judging by the sweat beading on his face, he was experiencing some kind of fever. Typical...His body, nearly drug immune from years of unchecked substance abuse, was fighting back,s taving off the end. Last time this had happened it had won and he’d woken up in the arms of that adulterous bastard en route to hospital.
Not this time.
Gathering all his strength and struggling to coordinate himself, he used the piano seat to bring himself higher to the ceiling, securing the rope there and hooking the noose about his throat, tightening it in a gesture which reminded him of preparing for PTA meetings and all the ritual leading up to selecting the perfect tie.
But that was far behind him.
Everything was far behind him. Every pain and woe he had ever known, and every bitter dissapointment of the world, it was all about to dissapear. His mother would be shocked to find her son died the cowar’d death, and his boyfriend at best might show some remorse for his actions prior to, but he wouldn’t shoulder blame. Chandler had been fighting this battle for far too long, and now, he was going to end it.
He just..wished he had someone to say goodbye to. Someone to hear his last words or witness something of his life...someone he genuinely thought would mourn him.
A friend.
His eyes, which had been shut tight against the visions the drugs conjured to his mind suddenly widened, and in a moment, he was transported back thirty years in time to a place he’d long forgotten.
A ten year old boy sat sulking in the corner of his room, his arms wrapped tight around his kneews, holding them close to his chest. His face was hot with livid tears and he wore a defiant frown that no one could witness. His walls were barren, his art and various posters having just been striped, and his toys were gone form their shelves. His radio had been taken, his scooter as well, and all of the books he posessed apart from his bible and the reaidng matrial mandated by the school remained. Those fuckers..they’d even taken his stuffed dinosaur, Melvin from his bed, all before leaving him to think about what he’d done.
And jsut what had he done? Well, what he’d been caught doing he’d been doing for a week. It was the same routine..every night he would arise from bed, brush his teeth and go to school. Every day the teachers of his special needs classes would be torn between recommending him to advanced placement classes or mental institutions and he would come home, his parents inspecting his bag for any signs of shenanigans or individuality. He would come home, practice piano, watch an hour of television - under supervision - get shit, showered, shaved, and tucked into bed where, instead of bedtime stories, he was given a roster of pills in little white cups. These pills before had been something his fearful mind could not fight being given, but with double digits came a certain willfulness his parents didn’t know he had. He’d been keeping his pills beneath his tongue, spitting them into the air vent beneath his bed when his parents left then, throwing the covers around himself, he would wander to his closet where his good friend would be waiting.
But not this time. This time, while at school, while his mother had been cleaning his already pristine room, she had the unfortunate luck to pass her vacuum over the vent beneath the bed. Something clattered noisily in the chamber and when she bent down to inspect it, she saw the tiny yellow circle, just barely disintegrating on the edges, trapped in a dusty fluff coat. One of her son’s Valium….
The night he had come home to a beating from his father and had been forced to look one while they stripped his only place of privacy and creation away, sealing off everything non-essential in black pags for the trash pickup. Everything that was too expensive to get rid of would go in the attic where the boy was forbidden to go since the last time they’d caught him playing with his ‘friend’ among the cob-webbed rafters.
“You see this son? This is what happens when you disobey your parents.” his father had said, squeaking the boy’s shoulders so hard the bones threatened to snap. “Now you get in there and think about what you’ve done.”
And that’s what he was doing.
Thinking.
Thinking about all the trouble he was in.
Thinking about how unfair it was.
How FUCKED it was that he was in trouble at all!
Fresh tears rolled down his already sunken cheeks. His face had lost it’s pallor over the past few days, too many behavioral hiccups costing him meals sporadically. Today would be no different..his stomach groaned nosily as it tried it’s best to eat itself, but he blinked away the pain and curled inward.
He could feel him there.
Standing nearby.
The one thing his parents couldn’t take away, no matter how hard they tried…
Because he wasn’t real.
Because unlike books and toys and a child’s hope for freedom, they couldn’t destroy it.
He could feel his comforting presence and it soothed some of the anger.
“What a bunch of fuckers.” his friend had said, cutting through the silence.
Without meaning to the boy burst into a fit of laughter that was still more crying than giggling. He had to clasp his hands around his mouth to keep his precious moment of good humour a secret from those villains he called mom and dad.
At least he always had him..at least he always had…
“Juno…”
The man looked down at the floorboards as the features of his study came back into view.
How long had it been since he’d said that name aloud? Years...just...years.
His eyelids brimming with tears, he floated his first step over the emptiness of open air, utterly alone.
