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One-Shot Rasah

Rasah


There was me. This self-centred arrogant insensitive little human-being. The world was this weird place where everybody was stupid but I, life was boring, people were boring and I was the only thing this world would ever have that was worth any sacrifice or effort. The only person who ever understood me was my Godfather. Too bad that he was schizophrenic and hanged himself with a tie when I was six...

So I wouldn’t care about anything or anyone and nobody would care about me (my parents did). One day, when I was around thirteen, someone told me “I am better than you.” I couldn’t care less, if it weren’t for everyone agreeing with that guy. For once, my self-esteem wasn’t stable, so, I tried to kill myself… twice. But, after some thinking I got over it and all alone (my parents may have helped a bit) I pulled myself together; I stood up, cleaned my tears, cleaned my wrists and got a mask to shield me from any future human threat.

Music came, alcohol started the party and soon sex and drugs would shake me all night long. Every time empathy, love or any weird thing tried to peek through my mask I would just fuck something up and that would be enough to make it run away. Good old times, I had lots of fun during that time. But I started feeling too safe inside my mask; it was more fun when I stole a look outside, just to feel the thrill… What we can’t do is always what we want to do the most, right?

And one day, on a secret and insensible journey outside my mask I finally got caught, caught by that girl. The girl with the big brown eyes, the angel hair and the body of a goddess. She drove me insane with pleasure, got my conscience lost somewhere in the middle of that savage dance she did, somewhere in the middle of her screams (my parents were happy for me).

Oh god, she was good. She would fuck me like no one ever did before and we would have crazy nights and days everyday and night. And after some beer, doing some crack, smoking some pot and having lots of sex, I think we both caught that shitty love thing. At first it was funny, we were getting along quite well, things were going quite right, and it even was handy: we could share some CD’s, share some drugs and dealers, share some sexfriends… But I was no person to love… neither was she. We just didn’t know how to. As a result, we fought a lot; she even broke three of my ribs, once. And one day, I realised it just wouldn’t work anymore, not that I didn’t love her; I just didn’t really know how to do that the right way. So, I just fucked everything up again: beat up that guy she liked, fucked that guy she hated, said her some nasty stuff… That sort of thing (my parents were able to soften it).

She didn’t really go away, or leave me… She just… watched me trying to do so. I desperately tried to put my mask back on, but it wouldn’t fit, I still had that love shit with me! So, I destroyed myself slowly, fucked some chicks I shouldn’t, did some shit I shouldn’t have and in the end, when there was nothing left to fuck up, I fucked everything up with my parents.

And only now have I realised they were the only thing that knew how to love me.
 
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