Saved by the Bell
"Sometimes I'm not so sure about love," Skittery mused. His eyes twitched towards the knife lying beside him.
"Yes," Racetrack replied. "But riddle me this, Romeo...is your self imposed castration really the answer?"
The rusty iron bed was set up directly across from the dingy kitchen unit. Roped around the metal rungs were jagged, silver stars attached to a crinkly sort of wire. They were poking into Racetrack's back, and making him itch. Skittery stood at the sink, clad in nothing but a pair of torn jeans, the zipper at the front already half open.
"Yes," Skittery said, grabbing the knife from the counter top. "Yes it is."
"No it's not,"
"Yes it is,"
"No it's not,"
"Yes it is!"
"Put down the knife, Skittery," Racetrack said, lowering his voice slightly. He watched his roommate. Skittery watched him. They both watched each other until Skittery's mouth twisted up into a sneer and he tossed the knife into the sink.
"You're one sick fuck," Racetrack told him, as he lowered his head to his notebook once more.
Skittery pushed himself off from the counter and began to pace across the room. There were two doors facing him. One led to the washroom. One led to the room where they kept the washing and drying machine. There was no bedroom.
That's why Racetrack and Skittery always opted to take the girl back to her place.
"It's the only way," Skittery said over his shoulder to his roommate. "The only way to live deprived of this sick, incestuous motherhood."
"It's not your motherhood that I'm worried about, it's your manhood," Racetrack replied, without even looking up.
"Those two are so intricately related," Skittery shot back, running a slender hand through his wiry hair that seemed to stick up at every angle. Racetrack always told him that he could be the height of post apocalyptic fashion. The Nuclear Bomb, by Nathan Strange. The Mushroom Cloud, by Nathan Strange.
"So prove it," Racetrack challenged, lowering his book and focusing his clear, dark eyes on his friend. "Again, riddle me this...how is it that manhood and motherhood are so intricately related? And don't even start on that Dionysian versus Apollonian thing...that was last week."
Skittery stared at his friend through narrowed eyes, before lifting his chin up and spinning on his heel, his classic preemptive move to a good pacing session.
"Then I believe that I'll go with Oedipus, this week," he replied. Racetrack delicately raised one hand, palm up.
"Maestro..." he acknowledged.
"You are familiar with the legend of Oedipus?" Skittery questioned. Racetrack rolled his eyes.
"I could recite the legend of Oedipus at the drop of a hat."
"Good," Skittery shot back. "Then you will agree that it is a fine example of what I stand for, and why I have been sharpening that knife for the past three months?"
Racetrack squinched his lips over to the side of his face, feeling the raw flesh on the inside scrape against his teeth.
"When is Natalie coming over?" He asked.
"Four thirty. But that's beside the point," Skittery told him. "Oedipus is the classic example of mother-love mother-hate. In fleeing from his mother, he runs straight into her arms. In trying to escape his destiny, he only encourages it."
"What does that have to do with..."
"It's the perfect example!" Skittery snapped, his voice overriding the questions of his roommate. "The very prophecies made in it echo the same way that men...all men...feel about women!"
"Here we go," Racetrack murmured under his breath.
"These hormones!" Skittery's fists clenched, and he pounded at a Guns 'n' Roses poster with surprising strength. "Testosterone! Adrenaline! They have only been given to me so I may proceed to break at the defenses of women any way I can, to somehow escape the own confines of my mind! Of my mother!"
"Because in being born of a woman, you can never escape them?" Racetrack finished for him.
"Exactly!" Skittery turned to his roommate with helpless eyes. "Women are a paradox, a mystery...their magic is internal and impenetrable!"
"Not as impenetrable as you think..." Racetrack muttered. Skittery quirked an eyebrow.
"Excuse me?"
"Nothing," Racetrack quickly ammended. Skittery gave him the hairy eyeball for a few more moments, before performing an instant replay.
"Women are a paradox, a mystery...their magic is internal and impenetrable! And I can't stand it!"
"You can't stand it?" Racetrack echoed.
"It's despicable!"
"It's despicable?"
"And it's despicable that I find it despicable!" Skittery roared. "Despicable that I...a representation of all men...must go round and round in circles...must be enslaved to the concept of tradgedy and climax...must be thrown at the feet of women no matter how hard I try to escape...must expose myself to the Dionysian horrors with every carress, every kiss, every orgasmic..."
"Hey, hey, hey!" Racetrack interrupted, sternly pointing a pencil at him. "What did I say about Dionysus?"
"You don't understand!" Skittery moaned. "Every time these thoughts occur to me, there's this awful, primal, pulsing feeling in the pit of my stomach...some archaic, primitive person inside that truly believes the only way to strike back at woman is to strike back at the core..."
"What, you mean like rape and shit?" Racetrack raised an eyebrow.
"Yes, I mean like rape and shit," Skittery said, clasping his hands in prayer and pressing the fingertips against his mouth.
"It's five to four thirty," Racetrack noted. "Maybe we should start cleaning up..."
"It's gone on far too long!" Skittery sprung up to the counter again, pulling himself upright and grabbing at the knife from the rusty pits of the double sink. "Far too long indeed!"
"No!" Racetrack exclaimed, leaning forwards and reaching one hand out, fingers spread and palm pressed flat.
"Yes! It's the only way!"
"Put down the knife!"
"No longer will I be a slave to the inevitable hamartia!"
"Put down the knife!"
"This terrible and dramatic climax will no longer apply to me!" Skittery said, smacking the flat of the knife against his chest. "No longer will I be restless and alone, no longer will I leave woman with a little less of me left! This is the final option!"
"Skittery!"
Skittery transferred the knife into his right hand and threateningly hooked his fingers in the waistband of his pants. Racetrack threw the book to the other side of the room and pushed himself off the bed, ready to leap across the tiny flat and reverse his roommates mad ideas by force.
And then the doorbell rang.
-o-
Start with the line: "Sometimes I'm not so sure about love."
and end with the line: "And then the doorbell rang."
Include the line: "pit of my stomach"
-o-
This is the funnest thing I have ever written in my life.
And it just occurred to me that the theme of Skittery having no penis is disturbingly present in my later stories.
Falco Conlon - Ooh, wouldn't that girl getting hit by a truck be so deliciously satisfying? Thanks very much, Falco. You're the awesommest.
Eagle Higgins-Conlon - Higgins Conlon? What's this? You've nabbed both of them? Well, at least I can still have my secret affairs with Racetrack...ha haaaa! I just wanted to give Skittery a really wacky fortune cookie. Thanks for the review!
Jacky Higgins - God, there are people at my school like Vanessa. I can't stand them. You gotta wonder how they can even think that way. As for the fortune, I have no idea what it was all about. That's basically why I left it up to reader interpretation.
Legally Red - Skittery is so awesome! I can never get enough of him. Vanessa is the amalgamation of everything I hate in people, so I'm glad I'm not the only one that thinks she's a bitch.
Rumor - Heh heh. That first chapter always confuses people. Basically, Jack paid Snitch money to kill Racetrack. And I'm glad you enjoyed the overall image, that's what I was going for. As for the second chapter, thanks tons of much. Spot, to me, will always be a jerk. Whoop. By "bitch" I meant sort of like a whooping boy, because Vanessa really has him outdone when it comes to the other meaning. And yes! More soon indeed! -motions-
The Good Girl - Blatant pimping time! ß
started by the great Kez, and continued by many! It's really fun, hope to see you there!
Iikaspeck - I'm glad you liked it. Aww...that's where we differ. I love Chinese food. Especially rice. Oh sweet Jesus, RICE. Pfft. I always think that my work is never as good as others when I'm writing, so don't judge yourself too harshly. If you're posting, drop me a line, 'cuz I'd love to drop by and read stuff. I like reading.