Twins

There was a set of twins once. David and Daniel. David was good and Daniel was bad.

In kindergarten, Daniel and his friends would throw wooden blocks across the room at the other children. When the teacher reprimanded him, David would smirk from the shadows.

Serves him right.

In middle school, Daniel and his friends would sneak into the girls’ locker room and watch them change. When they were caught, David would smirk from the shadows.

Serves him right.

In high school, Daniel would stay out all night with his friends. When his parents would yell at him, David would smirk from the shadows.

Serves him right.

In college, Daniel would get drunk with his buddies. The next day when he suffered from a hangover, David would smirk from the shadows.

Serves him right.

His whole life, whenever he went to the beach, Daniel would refuse to where sunscreen. When he died of skin cancer, David smirked from the shadows.

Serves him right.

Then David was alone. No friends. No Lovers. No Fun. Just cold, pale, and alone.

Serves him right.

-Cornelius

Ice Cream

I am walking down the street when I see a little boy enjoying an ice cream cone. He is a pleasant looking child, no more than 5 years old. He stands 4 feet 6 inches, with big, blue eyes and sandy colored hair. I find it odd that he is alone, and I smile to myself. Then he looks up at me. A blank expression.

As soon as our eyes meet, I stop walking. I cannot help but feel extremely uncomfortable. I can't pinpoint the feeling. Nausea? No. Nervousness? No. Do I know this kid from somewhere? No... It sort of reminds me of the feeling I got in my balls when I peered over the edge of the Grand Canyon last summer and saw my life flash before my eyes. Not pain. Just discomfort. Suddenly a feeling of sadness washes over me, flooding my body. I am literally staring at this kid. Standing over him and staring into him. Staring through him. I can't look away. Just as I begin weeping the feeling swerves off in another direction. The sadness turns to anger, then to hatred. Then to clarity. An answer. As if he shot the idea out of his eyes, and planted it directly into my forehead. Into my brain. I know what I must do.

I quickly stagger toward the boy and whip him in his stupid, little face with the back of my hand. The ice cream cone falls to the ground and the top scoop rolls off the sideway into a sewer drain. Of course he's crying. What a fucking loser. What has he ever fucking done with his sad, fucking life? Sit around and eat fucking ice cream? Ice Cream? Despicable. A sad excuse for a human being.

Now the sound of his sobbing is overwhelmingly offensive to my ears. Soul crushing. I hit him again. He starts to scream. A jackhammer next to my bed at 6 AM on a Sunday. That's exactly what it fucking sounds like.

I've had enough of this insignificant, little asshole's bull shit. I need to silence this kid.

I push him down and grab his ankles. His soft, little body is weightless. I hold him upside down by his legs, and whip him up behind the back of my head. I don't hesitate another moment. With all of my might, I pull him up and forward, over my head and forcefully slam him down into the sidewalk in front of me. There is a deafening crack when his skull shatters and the screaming stops. I continue to whip... Crack... his body... Crack... against the sidewalk... Crack... until his bones are nothing but dusty shards in the bottom of a human sack of bloody flesh... Thump... Now I'm finished.

I force the shitty, little bag of bones down the sewer drain. It gurgles and oozes with blood. The sound of flatulence. There is a wet slap when it hits the cement on the bottom of the man made precipice. It probably landed on that vanilla scoop. I laugh. I feel a sense of relief now. I'm going to have a great day. I continue to walk down the street.

-Cornelius

Evening Run

Jim left the house at 7 PM. The sun dipped below the horizon, replacing the orange hews with pale violet. Memories of the harsh day at the office faded in the first one hundred meters. He ran at a slow pace. He felt good. He always felt good on his evening runs. This evening the air felt particularly cool against his skin. Everything was still.

He turned on Bronson Canyon. As he ran, the houses and streetlamps gave way to dark groves of trees. A deepening of the breath, a quickening of the stride. He let his mind wander into familiar zones of uncertainty. He thought of his life. It was fine. He had always been some sort of successful. A good student. Always had a girl on his arm. Good at sports. Really good at running. All American in track. Great job. But there was something missing. A void. Something just wasn’t there. And with every step, it became clearer and clearer.
He had grown up on the outside.
He never got picked on.
He never acted in the school play.
He never had a “most embarrassing moment.”
He never got upset.
He never had anything to say at the party.
He was that guy. Oh yes, that guy. Wait, which guy? Oh yeah, I remember him. Never really knew him though. Did he talk? His life was dull.

Thoughts cranked through his head like celluloid through a projector. And then he saw it. Lights in the distance. A car? No, an SUV. It was close enough to see that now.

As the vehicle approached Jim contemplated suicide. He thought carefully about all the people he would hurt if he jumped in front of it. The list was shorter than he had predicted. He could almost read the headline, “Corporate Pawn Killed by SUV on Run.” Not too bad.

He wanted to cry, but he laughed instead. It was the most spontaneous thought he had ever had.

The SUV charged forward. It seemed to speed up the closer it got.
The last lap.
400 meters.
200 meters.
100 meters.
And as Jim started for the middle of the road, the unthinkable occurred.
The SUV swerved, and for a brief moment Jim saw something silhouetted in the headlights. A small animal. And before he could duck, it hit him like a water balloon. Literally, like a water balloon. He slowed to a stop.

A skunk had been running across the road, at the very moment of Jim’s attempted suicide. The SUV hit the skunk with such force, that one of the front tires, while applying over 2 tons of pressure to the abdomen, forcefully severed the bladder and propelled it through the air. It connected with Jim’s face and burst on contact. Like a water balloon.

The SUV continued on its course, and for a moment Jim wanted to call out. But he continued running. When he got home he couldn’t differentiate between the sweat and the skunk urine that soaked his clothes. He had quickly gotten used to what was at first an unbearable smell. After his shower it seemed ever less noticeable and when he woke the next day for work it seemed to be gone. Back to normal.

At work he was made fun of and became somewhat upset.
He had a story to tell at the party.
He had a “most embarrassing moment.”
A student adapted his story into a play at the local high school.
The skunk had not only saved his life, but it had improved the overall quality of his life. 1 year later Jim set out on his evening run. The air was cool and still. He turned down Bronson Canyon as he always had, when an SUV swerved out of control and hit him.
Jim was pronounced dead on the scene.

-Cornelius

Jenny

About seventeen years ago Jenny Grigsby saw her first signs of puberty. She had been taking a bath when she noticed three little hairs sprouting from in between her thigh and pelvis. She was instantly filled with a bittersweet excitement. It felt strange to be on the brink of adulthood. She didn't fancy herself ready to leave the youthful stage in her life that she had recently become so accustomed to.

The following year proved even more difficult for Jenny. Her body had grown awkwardly and pimples had surfaced on her face. Her first uncomfortable experiences with menstruation, and the mood swings that resulted often lead to thoughts of suicide. Sometimes the thoughts were so violent and unbearable that she would lock herself in the attic after school and weep until it was time for bed.

On Sundays, while at church, she found it hard to concentrate on the sermon. Her eyes would often wander to rest on the handsome Thomas Jacobs, who at the age 17 was a whole five years her senior. He was dashingly handsome. Tall, with blue eyes and dark brown hair. On occasion their eyes would meet, causing a rush of warmth to consume her. The feeling would start in her cheeks, and work its way down through the rest of her body, until it became so powerful and so drastically pleasurable that she would have to tighten her abdominal muscles to suppress her excitement.

At home her fantastic thoughts of Thomas were thwarted when she saw her reflection in the mirror. Unlike most girls her age, who, for no reason at all, were less than satisfied with their physical appearance, Jenny was not attractive in the least.

While riding her bike home from school one sunny afternoon, her head swirling with thoughts of Thomas, Jenny hit a particularly rough patch of road that set the bicycle bouncing beneath her. Between the deep thoughts of Thomas and the heavy vibrations of the bicycle seat on her pubis she felt the all too familiar feeling of warmth become hot inside her. The feeling didn't start in her face this time, but rather in between her legs. The hot pressure built up and up until, like a volcano, she erupted with a tiny cry of pleasure, almost losing control of her bicycle.

From that day forth, Jenny smiled more often, her trips to the attic were no longer filled with tears, and she was somewhat able to maintain a level of calm around Thomas.

One evening in early spring, Jenny found herself face to face with Thomas at the county fair. In between pitches at the Dime Toss, Thomas had turned to Jenny for another ten cents. She obliged with a smile, barley able to contain her feelings. After he won, Thomas gave the small teddy bear prize to the beautiful girl standing next to him. They kissed briefly, and then disappeared into the far corner of the field where the lights from the fair couldn't reach.

Jenny didn't see Thomas after that. He wasn't in Church the following Sunday and soon it was known, throughout the town, the he had run away to enlist in the war. Jenny was heartbroken. The only man she had ever loved was gone from her life. Though she was now able to concentrate on the sermon, she longed for the chance to see those blue eyes staring back at her again.

It wasn't long before Jenny started noticing other boys – closer in age but still unattainable. One afternoon, behind the barn, Jenny and her friend Donald Harris, decided to kiss. Donald was a homely child, and Jenny didn't find him any more attractive than Thomas Jacobs had found her. But he had been nice to her in recent years, and Jenny figured it wouldn't be too bad, as long as she closed her eyes.

For the next few weeks Donald and Jenny met up every afternoon for kissing sessions. Every time they went a little further. Jenny had no reservations when Donald asked to see her newly developed breasts. She even let him touch them. When they started kissing again she couldn't ignore the intriguing lump that had formed in Donald's trousers.

"what is that?" she asked

"that's what happens," he replied, smiling sheepishly.

And as more clothes started falling to the floor the door opened suddenly. Jenny's mother stood there in shock. Everything was still for a moment, until Jenny's mother closed her mouth and turned from the door with a blank expression. Donald and Jenny exchanged glances of fear as they listened to the footsteps walk down the hallway. Moments later, Donald ran from the house as fast as he could, and Jenny threw her clothes back on. For the better part of the next hour she sat on her bed in silence, afraid to confront her mother about the situation that had just taken place.

In the car ride Jenny's mother did not speak. The Church was cold and dark when they arrived. And after ten Our Father's and ten Hail Mary’s they left in silence. Jenny did not speak with her mother for another month after that. Nor did she speak with any boys.

In the following years Jenny lead a life separate from the rest. She moved from the countryside to the big city and rented a one-room apartment. She made a handful of friends in college that she tried to relate to. They would stay up all night talking about the world and philosophical subjects, and she would humor them with her faux-intellectual banter. She never quite felt complete. She dated a few guys, but nothing ever stuck. All her relationships would end in frustration, or they would just fizzle out.

It was a full moon the night Jenny was raped. Fall was in the air. It was a cool, damp night that ended one of the last hot days of the Indian summer.

On her way home Jenny walked briskly through the park... She had always heard stories of people getting mugged. One of her friends was violently confronted one night and managed to get out of it by throwing a pocket of change in the mugger’s face and then running away. Jenny didn't have any change in her pocket this evening but she had never felt threatened walking through the park alone.

"Just puff up your chest, lift your shoulders, and tuck your hair back," one of her female friends had once said. "The more you look like a man the less trouble you'll get... the student handbook says it reduces your chances of being robbed by 70%."

That was nearly 10 years ago.

Most of her college friends had moved away, gotten married, and even had children that were in grade school by now. But Jenny? Jenny still lived in the same one-room apartment that she had begun renting her freshman year.

She was almost across the park. Her mind completely dwelling on the awful date she had left 30 minutes beforehand. Time to masturbate. The only form of sex she had ever experienced. The only thing she really ever needed in life... why settle for a shitty guy when she can do a perfect job herself…. And it's not like any guys even liked her. The only reason Robert took her out tonight was because she helped him with a project at work. He was mildly handsome, and she was interested, but it would surely never amount to anything. At 29 years old she was used to that.

And that's when it happened. Like a pillowcase filled with sand being shot out of a canon it hit her. He hit her. 200lbs of man.

The only contact she had had with a man until now was Donald, and that happened 15 years ago. She felt the strength of her attacker pushing her down onto the grass. She wanted to scream, she wanted to struggle, but she was so overwhelmed with the presence of a man that she could hardly breath, or even move. So, she lay there and let him take her. He ripped through her pants with ease – a brand new power suit she had bought for work – but she didn't care. He entered her forcefully but with precision. She could tell he was a man that knew exactly what he wanted and exactly how to get it. Confidence.

She could feel his member fill the void inside her - a void that had loomed inside her since the first time she had laid eyes on Thomas Jacobs in church. She wanted to turn around and look her attacker in the face. But each hit kept her looking forward. Fists to the back of her head were like sensual kisses. Her heart beat faster now. She could feel the warmth build inside her with every thrust. A feeling she had only been able to create by herself until now. Now it was real. This is real. She closed her eyes and felt the warmth build to an unbearable heat inside her. She looked straight at the car headlights on the distant street – a cascading river shimmering in a sunset. The soft moonlight on the grass in front of her was the most beautiful, perfect shade of green. And as the heat reached her toes and fingertips she felt her attacker release his seed inside her. Working off his fully erect, fully pulsating shaft, she arched her back and pressed against him writhing up and down until the heat in her body exploded beyond all expectation. Simultaneous orgasms. Perfect. Beautiful. She let out a barely audible sigh of satisfaction and smiled.

The attacker was surprised. He had never felt a woman this wet after a rape before and it was a turnoff. He quickly stood up lifted his trousers and ran off.

Jenny watched him run from the scene, his muscular legs pounding the pavement, and then he was gone. The stars in the sky shown a little brighter. The air a little sweeter.

As she stood up, and adjusted herself for the rest of the walk home, she tripped slightly on something. In the moonlight she could see it was a wallet and bent down to pick it up.

Thomas Jacobs had raped her. Sweetly. He stood 6’ 3” with dark brown hair and blue eyes. He wasn’t as attractive as she remembered him but it was probably just a bad photo. Tomorrow she would call him and ask him to dinner.

For the first time in her life Jenny Grigsby felt complete.

-Cornelius