Table Of ContentCopyright © 2010 by Kipp Poe Speicher
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Die Already
There seems to be a lot more darkness than there is light anymore. My life has
become very grim. Where do I even start without sounding like a lunatic? It was
the summer of my 8th year of life that I discovered I have what some may call a
gift; but to me it is a curse.
I went fishing—or what we thought was considered fishing—with my best
friend Rudy. My grandpa had given me a tackle box full of bobbers, weights,
and lures. The quiet creek we fished in had little silver fish that we later learned
is what you use as bait to catch real fish.
Needless to say we tried to catch those little fish with lures 2 times bigger than
them. What I caught on an 8 hook lure was a frog who got entangled in the
hooks. He looked so helpless. Every movement he made to break free dug
deeper into his entanglement. By the time I got close enough to help, his
underbelly was ripped open with his insides were falling out. We totally freaked
out. How was this thing still alive? We cut the line and ran home.
The following day we returned. To our amazement, the frog was half eaten
away with its upper torso speared with the hooks, and it was still looking up at
us blinking its eyes. Why would it not die?
Later on in life I found more of these weird things happening. Every fly that I
killed would be smashed and mangled but would not die. One day on my way to
school I hit a dog with my car and messed it up really bad. He was all over the
road, a smear of crimson, fur, and guts. I picked up what was left of him
sweltering in the morning sun. As I scraped his head up, his eyes looked up at
me. His tongue tried to lick me as his teeth and blood oozed from his mouth.
There was no reason in the world he would still be alive.
Later that night I went into the basement and emptied out an old toy box I had
as a child, discarding the old matchbox cars into a few shoeboxes. Then I placed
the remains of the dog into the toy box. Dragging the toy box out to the field, I
buried it in a shallow grave.
I should have put more effort into digging it deeper because even till this day I
can hear on soft and quiet summer days that damn dog whimpering in that grave
with years of growth over it.
This curse became more noticeable to me, so I have shut myself away from the
world when I can. What if I am out in public and someone is torn to shreds in a
car accident that I’m there? Would they, too, not die?
It’s been almost three years since I met Samantha. I was delivering cleaning
supplies to the local high school in town, and I had to report to the office. After
signing in I went to take the supplies to the warehouse when the fire drill went
off.
I was totally freaking out with everyone filling the halls and pushing their way
through. A young lady ahead of me was pushed back into me; I raised my hand
and placed it into the small of her back. I felt the warmth and softness of her
through her faded The Counting Crows concert shirt. She turned her head to look
up at me, and I was left breathless. Her sky blues eyes had me floating in them.
She reached around and took my hand into hers, and from that very moment,
she changed my life forever.
She never really understood why I still feared crowds. I just could not tell her
what a freak I was, so I gave her freedom to do what she wanted, and thankfully
she came around to visit.
Last evening brought violet skies as she came stumbling into my house. That
was when I heard the most horrid sound that will forever haunt my waking
moments and twilight. Samantha’s delicate body slapped against the steps,
falling viciously down into the dark and cold cellar. There she laid at the bottom
of my steps in the dark.
I flew down the steps knowing no matter what I did, I could never end what she
is experiencing. Her neck was broken and the skin was already starting to turn
shades of purple. Her head was facing up while her body was broken and
mangled, facing downward.
Her eyes flickered open and looked at me with confusion painted across her
face. She tried to speak, but all she could do was make a gasping noise as her
words looked for breath to form.
Taking her into my arms, I could smell the alcohol on her. Maybe that is what
was keeping her from feeling the pain. Blood was now leaving her body, muting
her gasp as it painted her lips with a dark crimson.
While giving her a hug, she was able to form words with the last bit of air I
pushed through her body. “Why am I still alive? Let me Die…,” her voice
nothing more than a gasp of whispers. Those words were my love’s last request
that I cannot fulfill.
Tears welled up in our eyes. Those eyes that I cherished—every moment that
I could look into and see them glow with a feeling of belonging and connecting
—now are filled with pain. No matter what I do, the smile has forever left her
eyes.
The morning comes and sunlight slowly creeps its way down the cellar steps.
She is still lying in the pool of blood, looking up at me grinding her teeth,
pleading with me to end the suffering.
What can be done? The heart was not beating, so even ripping open her now-
cold body would not solve the problem. She still lay there staring up at me,
wondering why I’m so fucking cruel.
Calling the authorities would not help the matter. They would put me away
either way. They will come looking for her. My only hope is that maybe my own
death will bring peace to the ones I have left in this tortured state of in-between.
Climbing the steps, the warmth of the sunlight caresses my skin. In the
kitchen I take a bottle of wine off the rack. The dark lavender color of the glass
creates flashes of illumination across the walls as the rays filter through the
liquid.
I grab the corkscrew off the counter top and head back down to the darkness
of the cellar. Popping the cork brings attention to my arrival. Samantha’s teeth
start grinding, and she struggles to open her mouth with her bloated purple
tongue that flops out.
As I splash droplets of wine on her tongue, she laps it up, given only a
moment of satisfaction. Taking a swig myself, I let the flavor coat my taste buds
with the fruits and nectars that gave their life to live on in a taste for us to enjoy.
The corkscrew enters my vein as I twist and shove it deeper into my arm. It
probes deeper looking like something alive under my skin, creating ripples as it
dives deeper in.
Looking down, her eyes start to flicker and look inquisitive at me. I bend
over, kiss her forehead, grab the corkscrew, and rip it from my flesh. Blood
sprays from the open gape in my arm.
The sound of the blood drips on the floor mixing with her pool of blood start
to become a hollow sound and more distant as my vision begins to blur with the
colors separating and creating a halo around the objects that are bathed in
sunlight. My body stiffens and a bitter cold sets in and I black out…
Fuck! It did not work! I am still here, and as I lay stiff on her chest, unable to
move, I hear her grinding away at her teeth, pleading and wishing to die already.
Entire story can be viewed at author's blog:
http://talkaboutafterhours.blogspot.com/2010/10/something-quite-perverse.html
Years later, grown from playing make-believe to playing games of sport, Jeff
moved into the nice neighborhood of Maple Sap with his mother and father.
Weary and very bored with the grueling task of carrying boxes and furniture into
the new home, Jeff was later expected to assist his father in bringing items down
into the crawlspace. Not terribly damp, the storage area had the smell of dirty,
wet rocks that crunched when crawled through. The unflattering light of exposed
bulbs that hung from the 4-foot ceiling revealed that the crawlspace reached
through the entire area of the home. And in the orderly, meticulous habits of
Father, Jeff was required to neatly store the items and boxes at the far wall.
Upon returning from storing the last box, Jeff crawled over a 6 foot region of
rocks that felt softer and produced the sound as if hollow. In Jeff's imagination,
he believed that a hole had been dug in the ground, something was buried, and
the rocks now covered whatever that mysterious object was. But why tell
Father? What if it was something unique and valuable? Perhaps it was a treasure
that Jeff could enjoy all to himself. He waited in a longing fantasy for a time
when Mother and Father were gone so that he could return to the hollow region
and uncover the mystery.
It would be nearly the entire summer before Jeff found himself alone. Although
Father worked throughout the week, Mother was temporarily laid off from her
job as the company was experiencing a lag in growth. This enabled her to settle
in the new home and get acquainted with the neighborhood.
Finally, one Sunday afternoon, Mother and Father announced that they would
go to the store and return in a couple of hours. They felt confident that Jeff could
be left alone. Besides that, he would need to become accustomed to spending
time alone as Mother would soon return to work.
Every child knows in their stalking of parents that an occasional, quick return
home for forgotten money or coupons is possible. Jeff sat in the living room
chair, motionless for several minutes, until he could intuit that the embarking of
Mother and Father was in solid motion. Then he excitedly ran into the garage
where a shovel was obtained, then brought it into the kitchen closet where the
crawlspace entry was located.
Unflattering lights were flashed on. The boy crawled through the damp smell
of crunchy rocks as he pulled the shovel along his journey until reaching the area
of hollow ground. And after a few minutes of digging rocks, he uncovered
something that was both intriguing and disappointing. It was an old, wooden
trunk which definitely peaked his interest. But it was sealed with a padlock; what
could he do now? Jeff pulled at the rusty lock and hit it with a shovel, but did not
have the strength to break it open. What in the world could have been locked and
buried beneath the floor of a crawlspace? Was there treasure? Was there a sack
full of money hiding from a bank robbery?
Father once lost the key to the tool shed back at the old house. And as Jeff
recalled, a large cutting tool that Father called "bolt cutters" had been used to
snap the padlock open. Yes, of course; the very bolt cutters that now hung on the
