#but like not enough that i can justify lying in bed like a dying victorian child

[fsouth-park-is-imaginative]

THE ANGELS ARE WATCHING CHAPTER 4: ROTTEN ON THE INSIDE

We are all candy covered on the outside Peel away the shell and we're rotten on the inside

We are all angry, angry on the inside Peel away the shell and we're frightened on the inside -lollirot

Her skin was purple in the light. A halo of light surrounded her like she was the Virgin Mary. The Bullet Hole, a bar famous for a shootout back in the seventies, was not very busy. I could hear the small chatter of the drinkers at tables. I chose, perhaps, the most depressing spot I could think of. The bartenders have a sense of humor, they joke about sex and death. The regulars go there because nobody they know will walk in on them drowning themselves in alcohol. Everyone comes in drunk, they leave close to alcohol poisoning. The alcoholics and sex fiends flock to the Bullet Hole to milk out the blood from each other, and the sorrow from themselves.

“So uh, what’s up with this place?” She asks.

“Its a fun place to get a drink at,” I say, “it’s called the Bullet Hole.”

“Why?”

“About ten ish years ago it was the site of a triple murder-suicide.”

“Gnarly. Why are we going into it?”

“Because it’s a fun place to get a drink at.” I repeat

“You sure? Because it looks like a place you’d go to because there are no kids within a ten mile radius.”

“Don’t worry you’re safe. I’ve been here tons of times. It’s just sad divorcees and old war veterans. They won’t bother you.”

“I’m not worried about that, I can handle myself.” She retorts.

“Of course you can, you’re what? Five feet in socks? Terrifying.” I joke. She rolls her eyes playfully.

“More like five foot one and a half inch, mister.”

“Oh, even scarier!”

“I am, yeah!”

“I could crush you by resting an arm on your head. You’re fragile like paper.”

“Am not.” She argues. I raise an arm and place in on her head like she’s a countertop.

“Huh, how’s the weather down there echidna?” I say in an aloof voice.

“Hey!” She laughs. I’m careful not to apply too much pressure.

“Hmmm I think I hear a voice, but it’s…. so low down…. I can barely hear from so far away…” I take my arm off her when she makes an annoyed noise.

“Shut up.” She says. And after a moment she continues. “Echidna?”

“Yeah, it’s uh,” I struggle to justify my reasoning. “A small animal.”

“Oh. Is it cute like I am?” She asks, teasingly.

“You’re cuter. Your junk isn’t on your chin.” She laughs

“Echidnas sound gross.”

“They are. They look like genitals with necrosis.”

“Yikes.”

“Yeah,” I hold open the door “shall we?” She nods and walks into the bar.

Each chapter part two

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Tonight he noticed how the women's eyes Passed from him to the strong men that were whole. How cold and late it is! Why don't they come And put him into bed? Why don't they come? -disabled, Wilfred Owen

“So you’re saying you’ve never heard of Oscar Wilde.” She states incredulously.

“Nope. Not a word. Why, is he an actor or something?” I ask. She shakes her head, fully astonished.

“No! He is only THE best writer in the entire WORLD” She says.

“Oh yeah? What did he write?”

“Many things! He wrote the picture of Dorian Grey, The decay of lying, the importance of being Earnest, a story about a nightingale and a rose…” she trails off. “You’ve seriously never heard of him?” I revel in her shock and subsequent attention.

“Nope. He any good?”

“Yes! He’s super good- he’s the most influential and important person ever. He is the most beautiful man-“

“Wait. Cuter than me?” I tease

“Well, no, I guess not. He kind of looked like a Columbine shooter, but that doesn’t matter. He’s beautiful purely by virtue of existence.” She says, as if she had memorized her lines ahead of time.

“By virtue of existence.” I echo. I had, in fact, heard of Oscar Wilde. I had read a  poem his a while ago, after I read the last few lines in bright yellow graffiti under a bridge.

“Yeah. Anyway, not to make you jealous or anything,” She laughs. I smile.

“Never.” I lied.

I take another sip of alcohol. I have a higher tolerance, I’ve been drinking since fourteen. The little miss love of my life hadn’t drank a drop before her birthday last month. I’m in the clear, she’s slurring her words. She laughs.

“Anyway, isn’t he beautiful?” She says. The alcohol is making her brain fuzzy, and I slip something into her drink while she isn’t looking.

“The one that looks like a columbine shooter?” I ask, teasing.

“Yeah. Him. I don’t like school shootings, I don’t like murder. It’s morally wrong and makes me feel all icky. But I’d love to watch something die at some point. I want to be there to see the light leave their eyes. Death intrigues me.” She says.

I chuckle darkly, looking away at the dirt-caked floors and cockroaches.

“You might just get your wish.” I say dryly.

“What? Oh, look! Fire!” She points over at the corner, where indeed, there was a fire. It was very small, but in the minds of several drunks, it rivaled the twin towers. Several patrons ran out screaming, while others seemed to have caught the suicide train and stayed in their seats, sobbing for the flames to take them. I flinched, imagining my blackened skin curling like paper under the deceptively beautiful golden flames.

“Fuck.” I say. I grab her hands and lead her out the door. There are three exits, I use the one with less frantic drunk people going through it. She laughs

“Fire! Fire! Fire!” She claps, laughing like she’d just heard the funniest joke in the world.

“Yeah, fire. Fire.” I echo.

I hope she’s not a necrophiliac.

The fire was instantly squashed out, apparently it happens a lot there. The owner of the Bullet Hole came out in the cool night air and addressed the crowd of disgruntled drunks and divorcees.

“Listen,” he said, old hoarse voice full of annoyance. “Apparently one of you drunk idiots decided it would be a good idea to start a fire in a cup of alcohol, despite the fact that there is a strict no lighter policy in the bar.” He pointed at a sign outside the door. Sure enough, there was a picture of a lighter with a cross over it. “If nobody listens to the signs, what’s the point of them? I’ve got THIRTY FUCKING TWO SIGNS OVER THE ENTIRE JOINT” he starts yelling. “SO FOR THE LOVE OF GOD. STOP LIGHTING THINGS ON FIRE.”and with that, he took a deep breath, let it out, and went inside the bar. The door locked and the fluorescent open sign turned off. I turn to Alice.

“You okay?” I say. She nods.

“Fire is scary. But it’s also… hot. Fire is the whore of agony! I love it! I love it! I love it!” She starts laughing again. I shake my head.

“It’ll start to kick in soon.” I say.

“What?”

“Yeah. And you’ll run, right? Because you’re afraid? It’ll happen. It’s the chemicals in your brain. Thirty minutes in.”

“You’re funny.” She said.

I took out my phone. 8:17. The day was blue with the setting sun. The night sky gets dark early now. I look at her. Her face looks loopy. Her hair is tangled. She’s got dark circles under her eyes. She looks like someone that got tuberculosis in the Victorian era. She looks like someone thought her dying form was so beautiful they put her picture in every newspaper to commemorate the tragic beauty. She looks like if Simonetta Vespucci was born in the 20th century, and people treated her the same. She looks like people treat her like she isn’t a person, she’s just that beautiful.  I don’t, I know that she’s alive. I know that she has thoughts and feelings. I know that she’s so intelligent she could look like absolute shit and it wouldn’t matter. I know her. I know her. I know her. And if I wrote a book about our love I would write her name over and over again for the prologue.

Alice. Alice. Alice.

She looks alarmed.

“Have you decided I want to kill you? I don’t. That’s just the drugs” I say, “and you can be afraid all you want. But I’ll keep you safe. I’ll keep you safe forever.”

“I-uh-“ she stammers, award of the sudden danger I possess to her. That’ll be a side effect of the drug, I assume. Intense fear. She takes off running and I stay back to watch her suddenly retreating from. I’ll give her a head start.

#the angels are watching #no trigger warnings #kenny mccormick #alice #tw drugs #hows that #yandere #chapter 4 #simonetta vespucci #oscar wilde