Leslie Blackwell Leslie Blackwell
Recommendations: 21

You gave a reason why you hated the dog - but preceded this by stating you did not have any reason for why you hated things. The barking wasn't a reason for killing it, it was an excuse.

Leslie Blackwell Leslie Blackwell
Recommendations: 21

The flying vodka bottle must have been some sort of hint they cared if you disappeared or not. Okay so we now have the barking dog and abusive parents to blame for your eventual jouney to solitary

Leslie Blackwell Leslie Blackwell
Recommendations: 21

A fellow employee sometimes approaches me with ways on how I can improve the way I do things and I get upset and yell at him/her. How dare they suggest there might be a better way of doing something and have the cheek to pass that information onto me?

Leslie Blackwell Leslie Blackwell
Recommendations: 21

read the above for self evident answers

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Alex Makridakis Alex Makridakis
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The Dance *REDUX*


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She had a friend.

This writing contains explicit content and is only for adults. You have been warned.

Ages ago, I made The Dance. While it seemed to be generally liked, myself and other took issue with some aspects of it. It always bothered me, so I decided to fix it.


Explicit content warning: Murder, implied torture, implied animal cruelty, implied rape, psychopathy. It's not as bad as it sounds, but if you can't tolerate that kind of thing, you probably won't like this.


I know I'm not a good person. Some might call me a monster. It's not true, I'm just a person, same as you, same as your parents, same as your neighbours. I just have different priorities, different ideas of what the perfect life is. That's how I wound up killing dozens, how I ended up in the hole. Solitary Confinement. My paradise.


I'm getting ahead of myself. I'm sure you lovely people would like to hear my life story first, if you excuse my presumptuousness. Let me just start by saying that I'm a pretty bad person. Ever since I was a kid I just... hated. I didn't hate anything in particular, I just hated everything for no reason. Hell, I don't remember much of my childhood, but I still remember my first kill. That fucking dog, man. It just didn't know when to be quiet, it didn't know its place. I think that's what I hated the most, things that didn't know their rightful place in this world. A dog is so much less than a human, what right does it have to inconvenience us? 1 comment


So I devised a plan. I snuck into the neighbour's backyard when they left for a holiday to god-knows-where. They had some friend of the family come to feed the mongrel twice daily. So in the night, just before the asscrack of dawn, I stole the dog. Made it look like the babysitter or whatever you would call her had left the door open. I went missing for a whole day, my parents never really cared when I just disappeared. I still got the same greeting if I was gone for two hours or for two months. A bottle of vodka aimed right at my head. 1 comment


I took the dog to an old quarry where I was sure I wouldn’t be disturbed. I did... things... to it. Terrible things. I don't regret them one bit, in fact, I loved every second. For the first time in my life, I felt truly alive. By the end of it, the dog was skinless, gutless, and hanging from a tree. I wish I could have left it like that, I really do. Hell, I wish I could have put it back where I found it. Maybe on their bed. I might have been fucked in the head, but I wasn't an idiot. I buried the dog in as deep a hole as I could manage, or as deep as I could be bothered.


Whenever I could get my hands on one, I would torture an animal. Rabbits, dogs, cats, lizards, birds, doesn't matter, they were all expendable, they all looked the same. But it got old fast. At the time I didn't know why, but looking back I think it might have been because they were so much lesser than me. Any idiot can flay a cat, but it takes real skill, real fight, to down something that can fight back. I was bored.


In high school I picked up a new hobby.  I loved nothing more than a good fight, didn't matter if I won or lost. It was win-win for me. If I won, I got to mess someone up, prove I was better than them, prove that I had more of a right to live. If I lost, I still enjoyed the thrill, the adrenaline, the struggle, I still felt ALIVE. I deserved it anyway. I'm sure that what’s left of my neighbour's pets would agree.


Anyway, I dropped out. Well, dropped out isn't quite the right term. There was this one student. Big and strong, some kind of gang leader. I could never beat him. Every time we fought, again and again, he would knock me down. That's the only way you could get me to lose, knock me out cold. So one day, I turned up with a knife. You know what the funny part is? He still won. But I ended up getting expelled for that stunt. I never saw that guy again. I think, in a way, he might have been the only human being I actually cared about.


So I left my house at 16 and hit the streets, got into drugs, lost my virginity. Rape, obviously. I always creeped the girls out. Can't imagine why. So a girlfriend was out of the question. In hindsight it was a stupid idea. At the time I wasn't up to killing people, too afraid of the consequences. What a goddamn fool I was. So I let her live. Someone up there must like me, because nothing ever happened, I got away scot-free. I don’t really remember the details, it wasn’t very important to me.


I got a job, but that didn't turn out so well. I was a bag boy in a grocery store. I wouldn’t wish such a fate on my worst enemy. In doing menial labour for the benefit of strangers, you are surrendering to them. They already own you, and you didn’t do a thing to fight for yourself. At the time, my pride wasn’t a strong as it is now, so I did the work, got paid, made ends meet. One day I bag this jackass's grocery bag, and the cunt has the nerve to tell me that I did it wrong. Something about how you don't put shit on top of bread in the some bag. I wasn't really listening. I mean, I can't really help it if I get a little mad when some CUNT COMES UP IN MY FACE AND TELLS ME HOW TO DO MY FUCKING JOB! IS THAT FAIR!? I JUST FUCKING... I JUST... 1 comment


I mean, he was just so far beneath me. Like an ant to the Colossus. He should have been THANKFUL that I was bothering to even acknowledge him. So I crushed him like a vengeful God.
I grabbed the ant by his pudgy little neck. It was the weirdest feeling. His flabby folds were almost dipping over my hands, it was disgusting, it was sweaty, but at the same time it reminded me of the first time I destroyed a life. Of that dog hanging from the tree, the time where I had total control. It was like the next step in my evolution. I felt like I was ascending, and I knew I couldn't stop at just giving the fat bastard a sore neck. So I tackled him to the floor, and I pulled a knife. Carved a mouth right on his neck, ear to ear. That was the single greatest, most ecstatic moment of my life. The best part was the blood. It danced for me, like I let out some expensive foreign dancer from a cage. That's really the only way I can describe it. The blood danced. It danced all over the floor. It danced all over the cash register. It danced all over the people in the line. Best of all, it danced all over me.


I was in truly grateful to be alive.
Then some guards came to take me down. I managed to get a few of them before they kicked my head to the ground and handcuffed me. It was all kind of fuzzy, I don't even remember what it was like to kill those guards. I mean, take a big heroin hit, and you're not gonna notice a joint. Next thing I knew, I was in court. I'm sure some time passed between getting my ass handed to me by mall cops and then, but I was still coming down from that amazing, eye opening life experience. The court was a complete waste of time, obviously. I was in jail for life before you could say "we don't do the death penalty in this state".


The funny thing is, prison was a major upgrade from the outside. Free food, free bed. We even got colour TV. My favourite show was Seinfeld, that shit was... well... incredible. It's amazing how some people just see things so differently, but then when you think about it, it's so obvious. Just blows my mind. It must sound silly, but I just don’t know how to describe it. So I spend about a year or two in that cell, I dunno. I stopped counting time even before my outburst. But I still managed to have a kind of sense of how much time passed. My point of reference was, and always will be, my moment of enlightenment in the grocery store. AD and BC, Awakening Day and Before Cultivation. That was the one thing I was really missing from outside. Well, nothing I could do about it, I guess. I get that they can't let some sick fuck like me out in the open, causing all kinds of problems.


There was this one guy next to my cell. They called him "Jimmy Knuckles".  Some kind of crime boss or something, I didn't care. Everyone always respected him so much, on account of all his connections. He actually managed to pull off gaining weight in a goddamn prison. Says something about the integrity of the wonderful members of the staff in this joint. Now, here's the problem, what exactly had he been doing recently? Just sitting on his ass watching TV. Watching Seinfeld. I... really didn't like that. Seinfeld was MY show. As far as I'm concerned, he should have asked PERMISSION to watch my show. Some people just don't respect ANYTHING! IT'S LIKE HE DOESN'T EVEN KNOW IT'S WRONG!


I hated him so much. So, so much. More than anything. It was a burning, painful sort of hate. It gave me purpose. It gave me a reason to fight.


In the basketball courts, I saw him alone. Sure there was a crowd, but no one too close. I started walking over to him. Then I started running. Before I knew it, I was flying straight at him. I tackled him to the ground. The guards say I beat him to death with my bare hands. That's not what happened. I slaughtered him. I pushed my fingers into his eyes, I bit his nose off, I punched him until I couldn’t punch anymore, I slammed his head against the concrete until it cracked like an egg and the yolk came flowing out.


It was pretty good, but nothing danced for me. God I wish I could go back to that moment. All the colours just seem muted everywhere but in that vivid memory.


Obviously, the warden didn't approve. 15 years in the hole, he said. Solitary confinement, if you prefer the technical terms. Now I'll be damned if the hole didn't have the dullest colour pallet on God's green earth. I hope you like black.


But it wasn't so bad in there, really. Funnily enough, the food was actually better in the hole, mostly on account of there being a lack of rude individuals spitting in your soup. Kind of peaceful, really. But you know what the best part is? When you can't see too well for too long, you start seeing things that aren't there. When you can't hear anything, you start hearing things that aren't there. I’ll tell you what I saw, what I heard, what I experienced. I saw me. I saw the fat fuck from the grocery store. I saw a fountain of blood, staining the world with the evidence of my defining moment. My 15 minutes of fame. The dance. Day in and day out I saw the dance. You'd think I'd get bored of it, but it just got better every time I saw it. Just thinking about everything it is.  I mean, just think of what's actually in blood. Red cells, white cells, platelets, plasma, all on a microscopic scale, totally invisible. When you think about all the little invisible pieces coming together just for me... It just gives me this nice feeling. Like everything is right in the world.


But all good things must come to an end. My term was up. They let me back out into the real world.
There was some kind of hearing and an interview, but I wasn't paying attention. It was just all too much. Remember how I said that the hole had a shitty colour scheme? Well it turns out that black really grew on me. All these other colours was just confusing white noise. And the noise... THIS NOISE!! IT'S TOO GODDAMN FUCKING LOUD!!! I JUST... I JUST...


I miss my home. I miss all the dancing. I miss the food. Where did my life go so wrong? 1 comment


...


Sorry for being such a bad narrator, but as you can imagine, I was scared and confused. They just put me on a bus back to society. Well, they tried to. The second I looked up and saw the sky I threw up all over my tacky donated suit. I don't remember the sky being so deep.
It was the weirdest thing. My legs went all wobbly and the next thing I knew I was just sitting on the dirt. I had to look down to keep myself from REALLY messing up my suit. Suddenly I had a whole new appreciation for the ground. It wasn't just something for my feet to stand on, it was like an anchor keeping me down, keeping me safe. Then I had the bright idea of looking up again. It's insane, it's just this endless... up-ness. It didn’t seem real. I couldn’t fathom that I had spent most of my life under this… impossible emptiness. I had this strange thought that the clouds were like nets to catch me if I started falling up. The thought of what it would be like to miss the clouds and fall endlessly into the sky make me heave all over my suit. Again. Good thing it was a rental.


Turns out I had a bit of money in the bank from this whole investment banking thing. I don't pretend to understand how it works, all I know is I had enough money for an apartment. I hated it. It had these white walls that I wasn't allowed to paint black. I wasn't allowed to paint anything at all, actually. It was all so bright, like I had to squint all the time. I probably should have been a bit more concerned with this potential helping of neuroses but at the time I just couldn't stop thinking about the hole. My hole. Hole sweet hole.


I don't know how much more of this I could take. I can't even go outside without a hat with a comically oversized brim. The sun just wouldn't stop burning, searing, like it was actually hostile. And why in God's name do they turn on all these fucking lights outside every night? Even they were too bright, I couldn't sleep.


Within three days of getting out, I knew I needed back in.


Do you know how easy it is to get a gun in this country? I mean, it's almost like there's someone at the top who really gets me. Bless. The really funny part is that ammo is by far and away more expensive than the actual gun, which I suppose makes sense. Though I suppose it might be more fun without the ammo.


What is "it" exactly? Well, ladies and gentlemen, it's my next show! First and last screening to be held at the local bank! Bring the family, maybe you'll help me break a record!
I decided to hold off for a bit. Comedy Central was airing a Seinfeld marathon. 24 hours of nothing but Seinfeld. I think that's probably my only regret, the fact that I didn't get to watch more TV. Who knows what else I was missing? But then again, nothing could top the dance, and if all goes according to plan, my life's gonna be nothing but dancing, dancing, dancing from here to the grave.


Before I knew it, I was at the bank. I suppose that my mind just skipped over the less important stuff. After all, this is my big moment, the part where the valiant hero restores order to his world. I walk up to the teller. He asks me if I would like to make a deposit. I repress the urge to crack jokes about depositing bullets, wouldn’t want to ruin the mood.


God, if there’s one thing I remember about that day, it’s how unbelievably loud the gunshots were.
Of course, everyone screamed. That was a mistake, I wasn’t much of a fan of noise those days, back when there were things to hear. In hindsight, maybe I should have brought a knife. I empty out all 13 rounds into the crowd, reload, and start over. Two clips was all I could afford. I threw down my gun, took a seat, called the cops myself, and put my hands behind my head.


Even when you plead guilty, court still takes too fucking long. First the judge tells you what you did, like you don't know, then he asks if you did it. Fun fact: turns out I only killed 8 out of 28. To be fair, I haven't had much practice. Obviously, I pleaded guilty, and he went on into this speech about the rights it waving by pleading guilty blah blah shit no one cares about. He even held a mini interview to see if I really understood what I was saying. It was like a game show, where the host always asks if it's your final answer just to add to the drama.


After two hours of doing absolutely nothing in court, they finally put me in jail. And of course, within two hours of getting in the slammer, I shanked an inmate to death. No hard feelings this time, just business. Just for good measure I offed a couple of other inmates too. It wasn't hard. I think it's just because I had a better motivation to fight. They were trying to protect their pathetic, meaningless lives, while I was fighting for my home. I was answering my own special call of duty.


The guards, my angels of mercy, beat me down with their clubs. The clubs had a beautiful black sheen to them, it reminded me of home. My heroes took me down the straight and narrow path to my home. Time just seemed to stand still. Everything was so goddamned beautiful. They threw me rather roughly into my own little slice of heaven.


They closed the door, never to be opened again.


In the darkness, I see the dance in a clarity I had almost forgotten.


It feels good to be home again.


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