Author's notes: Any Carnage fans besides myself out there? Ever wonder about how he grew up? How many people he's killed and how he did it? Ever want more details about his parents or about "that incident" his high school principal mentioned to Peter Parker? I sure do! And because there's nothing official out there, I thought "What the hell! I'll do it!" So I've taken lots and lots o' information from the actual comics to come up with this. Most of it should be accurate. If it's not, tell me what isn't and I'll fix it right up. As much of a fan I am, I still don't have enough money to go out and buy and read every single thing he's appeared in (Oh I wish I could!) so be patient…
Now, ladies and gents, I present my second monstrous creation. Have fun an' don't be afraid to loose yer mind along the way.
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"You really are a lazy, spoiled child!"
I had learned by then to numb most of my emotions, because I had learned, for the most part, not to listen and not to talk. Though there were still some things that rattled my cage.
Family's a funny thing. They're all supposed to love and help each other. The model American family goes to church, picnics, flies kites of pretty spring days, says "howdy-do!" to friendly neighbors across the street as they're holding their morning coffee, waving their kids off to school…
The clincher is this: There are so many folks in this world who are so mind-numbingly ignorant that they actually believe it's possible. They come home, get yelled at n' punched and wonder why their family ain't normal. But it is normal! It's the real American way.
No one can sit back and be so blissfully happy and one-sided. It's the mosquitoes of the world that make you angry, getting so fucking annoyed at them that you just wanna squish 'em all. No one in the world hasn't had a thought like that and if they say they haven't, they lie.
You don't act on those instincts. Law keeps you constantly under lock n' key. It's when you ignore law and "act out" that you're really free. I learned that one day and had never felt so good…
My granny, the one on my father's side, was a fat bag of ever-rippling flesh. She was obnoxious, disgusting, smelled like ass, and had one of those screeching voices like nails on a chalkboard that'd make yer blood freeze. If she wasn't so annoying I might have actually left her alone… but she was a mosquito, and like all pests, she had to be exterminated.
"You really are a lazy, spoiled child, Cletus!" that was her favorite phrase. She ended every fucking lecture like that, every story, "No wonder your poor mother can't put up with you."
I had learned not to listen.
She would have her little moments of violent outbursts and wake me up to jab at me with the end of her cane. She never did any damage, of course. Your humble narrator's much too great to ever be bruised by a moldy old dinosaur.
She would tell me stories when she was bored. It was always the same story about that crazy, Brit nanny with an umbrella. She'd put her own spin on it, telling me to be good or else she'd come through the window at night to pluck out my eyeballs. Used to terrify me, but after that incident when I put shards of glass in her cat's food and nothing happened, it was just another annoying thing she did.
I always reflect on that day 'cause it was kind of a "re-birth" for me. Mom didn't wanna have to keep an eye on me and Dad was at work so they dumped me at Granny's. She didn't know I was there for most of the day. I usually stayed in the guestroom. The house was full of empty rooms 'cause no one in their right mind would wanna share a place with a fat-assed, ancient bitch like her.
Yeah, the guestroom was for her collection. Ever try to sleep in a room full of dolls just staring at you with those creepy blank expressions, smiling? It's enough to drive a small boy with red hair and captivating features crazy! HA!
Mom had already stoked the fire when she blamed me for the dog's sudden appearance in the oven. First of all, she left that damn thing open! Second, there was a huge fucking hunk of meat in it! If that ain't a solid death trap, I dunno what is, and I'm practically an expert. I should thank her, though. I learned some of the best ways to make something look like a suicide.
So anyways, she roughed me up a bit and sent me sailing to Granny's where I was oogled at by her cutsie-poo figurines.
"What're you lookin' at?"
Her porcelain face was so smug! That bitch! She was laughing at me!
"You think that's funny, huh? Wanna know what I think is funny? Oh it's great! You'd love it!"
My hand reached up and smacked the figure onto the ground from where It stood on the dresser. It didn't break yet, but it was only that more satisfying when I stepped on its face and smashed it.
It felt good to destroy. It felt fine, but I wanted more. I wanted the figures to be real. I wanted to watch them cry and squirm.
I took another, and instead of pushing it off the shelf, I picked it up and threw it down. It shattered at my feet.
"See? Hilarious!"
Before I could realize what I was doing, the room was a wreck. I had flung the door open, marched right out, and continued to shred those figures and spill their remains along the staircase where I walked.
Then I heard another door open and shut. I stopped and dropped what was left.
"Shit!" and I ran up the rest of the stairs and into the dark bathroom just in time for Granny to stroll on by.
I heard her feet stop at the top of the stairs and her sharp in-take of breath, "My hummels!"
She seemed to care so much about those lifeless statues! I didn't matter at all, did I? Why should she matter to me? Why should anyone at all matter to me?
Then it hit my like a bag of bricks: a horrible, glorious revelation. I could do it… watch her squirm… and cry out… The last thing she'd ever see would be me at the top of those stairs, laughing and having a grand ol' time as she tumbled all the way down to hell.
I slithered out from my bathroom sanctuary and crept up right behind her…
"Let's see you fly, Granny!" I felt my mouth tighten into a wide grin, "Flap them big fat arms!" and I shoved her forward.
She teetered for a moment, then I saw it all in slow motion. First, she did what I had craved and shouted, then she began to fall, did fall, rolling over the remains of her precious little figurines, the sound of her bones snapping like frail twigs, and finally a big "thud" once she landed on the floor.
I laughed, watching her eyes glaze over.
Dad came to pick me up only five minutes later. He found me bowed over the body and silent. He assumed she slipped, so did the authorities. He never blamed me even when my mom did. For some strange reason, even through all the times he's dislocated my jaw, the guy actually liked me.
They kept saying how horrible it must have been for me. Yeah, right! I had to wait a whole five hours before Mom came back with dinner!
