Slitman Agent 69
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Alone in her place of darkness she stares into the space. Alone in the room with the candles burning, creating shadows that dance on the ceiling. The winds and rains beat softly against the windows. She’s a true woman, long black hair, milk white skin, well formed breasts and no bra. Black lace gown and panties. From the distance a wolf calls. The blade crawls across her wrists, leaving thin marks that soon spout blood. She raises her hands above her head and lets the blood run down her arms. With this, the beautiful angel slips back into the bed and fades into darkness…..for eternity.
Well I met her in 9th or maybe 10th grade and from the first moment I saw her, I fell for her. I was in love. I guess it’s questionably unreasonable to say this but it was true, my heart belonged to her and she didn’t even know it yet. Over a period of time, I got to know her, her name was Page. We shared classes together and I got a chance to talk with her and really get to know her. I guess I wasn’t really much of a cute guy but this didn’t stop me. We flirted, or so I did anyway. I couldn’t help but smile and find myself somewhat relieved when she walked into that room. I needed to see her. This wasn’t any obsession by no means. I just really liked her and became attached. In the back of my head I always had this vain thought that maybe she thought the same way I did or even the possibility she liked me more than just friends. But I was crushed to find out one day that she had been asked out by some stud type kid, who in my opinion was a prick user or maybe this was jealousy talking? Who knows anyway. I knew this kid well enough to know what kind of guy he was. A slick talking phony.
Now, me and Page never hung out outside of school, Of course I’d see her in the mall sometimes. I just wished that maybe one day We could be there at the same time and I’m not talking about a run in, But like a date with this amazing girl I’ve come to love secretly. Like the guy I’m, I try to get people to see things my way. So I constantly bickered to her how much this, her boyfriend was such a dickhead. But I knew inside that it wouldn’t last. And they eventually broke up. I can’t help but wonder how far she went to make him happy. what she had to do and what he did to her. Thoughts and visions of him putting his hands on her body. He did not deserve such an angel. I always thought in my mind that I’d always be there for her and be the man she never had.
And in between her break ups, I felt a relief and at ease knowing maybe this time she’d notice me. We continued to hang out with the same group of friends. The company she gave me I would never trade back for anything, like all these times, it seemed so short lived. Time flew when I was with her. God only knows how much I loved her.
I myself Am a character. A very likable and humorous person. Full of energy and trust worthy. Honest is the word. True to my friends. My world was almost perfect till I found out once again she was involved with some jerk off dude, Greg. Unlike her last boyfriend, Greg came to the lunchroom where me and Page mostly talked and hung out. Greg would be so close with her, to the point where it was obscene. I felt rejected and left out. Greg would constantly and randomly come out of nowhere and make out with her. Right in front of me. This was ripping me up inside, To this day I still feel as if…’Why Are you doing this to me?’ But it was not my place to say, she lived her life the way she pleased. What could I say, what could I do? I stamped in my mind this was never to be. So for awhile I isolated myself from her, avoided her at all costs. I needed to get her out of my mind. Then the thoughts of Greg putting his hands on her made me enraged then massively depressed.
For countless nights I’d lay in bed, in my dark abyss. Suicidal thoughts running like mad. I’d do it but another side of me wouldn’t let me die for this one girl. It wasn’t till I didn’t see her in school that I got these feelings back, I was worried. I needed to see her. Later on, on a very sad note I found out that she had killed herself the night before. I was crushed. My whole world came crashing down in those brief moments. I fled school and walked, no point of destination. I Watched the cars whiz by me as I walked the sidewalks. For the first time in my life, I cried for her. Tears flowed from my eyes. I drowned out the world. The sound of car horns and shouting evaded me completely. I wanted to walk into the street and get smashed by the traffic. It wasn’t until someone grabbed me and threw me back. This was Draven Hunt, a tall, dark hair, green eyed fellow. He told me I needed help and was happy to offer his services, for he belonged to some group who dealt with teens and depression.
For the rest of that evening I talked with Draven about everything that was going on in my life. He explained to me his motto which was ‘There’s someone who always has it worse than you’ I guess he was right too. But I lost the only woman I had ever loved. I had never even gotten the chance to tell her everything I had to say to her. I never even kissed her. I teared up again. Draven told me with time I’d heal and feel better. In the mean time, he invited me to his Group he called ‘The Circle of Friends’
I fought the feelings that had hidden inside me, dark thoughts, anger, ready to explode but I kept it all under control. I’ve become very irritable and negative with everything in my life after Page’s death. I didn’t even attend her funeral. Not even her ex boy friends went which made me even more enraged with myself. In a way I felt as if I betrayed her. I’d go one for another couple weeks feeling guilty and massively disturbed. I kept a journal like this one but it only lasted for a week, I didn’t have the energy to write about her.
I slept almost constantly and stayed alone. My parents thought that maybe I was using drugs or something. I had never discussed Page with my parents or anyone else. I didn’t even have a picture of her. In time I forgot what she looked like but the pain and love always remained with me.
It’s been some time since Page left me, around 6 months. I feel myself growing stronger, moving on. I left the past alone and concentrated on my future. I’ve had a chance of meeting some pretty cool girls but none were or could ever measure up to Page, this made me handicapped. I could no longer hold a relationship with any girl, god knows how I’ve tried but the feelings I’ve had and ability to love was gone. My heart was lead.
I started joining in on the meetings Draven held at the basement of some coffee shop. ‘The Circle of Friends’ was quite some set up. It reminded me of an AA meeting but everyone there was either chronically depressed or suicidal. A lot, most surprisingly acted and looked like normal people. One guy, Joe Marshall the 3rd I’ve come to befriend. Joe was such a crazy guy, full of energy and humor, he didn’t show any signs of depression or suicidal ambition. But all the same he attended the meetings and every now and then he would speak. I knew he was perfectly fine, well mentally anyway but for his physical appearance, Joe was just too skinny, his bones were clearly visible through his shirt. Joe had some rare form of cancer.
Others like Mary Donahue were suicidal and mostly old. I think their problem was that they spent too much time alone in a shut in house filled with smelly cats. After awhile that kind of thing will get to, you’ll either become schitzy or in her case suicidal. All the same I’ve come to love these people as if they were my family.
It was the regulars at the meeting, same discussions. Same coffee the was kept out to long, some donuts from the bakery from across the street which Mrs. Donahue provided so generously. The only thing out of the ordinary was the new guy who was brought in and introduced to the group. He was Marvin Banes, a stocky man, wearing a long winter jacket. He sat down at the back, took off his gloves and hat, slipped some
coffee and observed the group’s activities.
Later in the evening, Joe went up to speak for the first time in weeks. So everyone paid close attention. Joe got really emotional about his illness and almost cried out loud but he choked it back. It really was sad seeing Joe go on like this. Then out of nowhere shots rang out. Joe was the first to go down. He keeled over with blood coming from his mouth and landed across the podium. The place exploded with frenzied screams. I stayed back and saw the man called Marvin withdrawal back with his gun. I glanced back at Joe who was dead without a doubt and back again to Marvin. All at once a tidal wave of emotions gave way. All my feelings of lost returned and at the same time faded. Rage boiled and anger erupted. My blood turned to acid and my hands clinched. A primal roar blasted out of my lungs and I dove for Marvin. He didn’t even see it coming for at the last second he looked back at me and tried to defend himself. My arms wrapped around his neck, I had him in a headlock and with all my feelings in effect, I gave it a harsh jerk. Marvin’s neck snapped like a twig. Everything in the room went silent, sounds were smothered, the only thing I heard was my heart hammering. The room went black. It seemed I was standing there with this man’s lifeless body for eternity. The world was on pause. Then as fast as it came, it went and life was restored.
In 5 minutes, the place swarmed with cops and news reporters. I was question but I could only think about Joe. He was gone now. He fought so long and hard with his cancer and wanted only to live and it was all ended in a matter of moments. I went home that night and thought. The club after that was shut down and ‘The Circle of Friends’ moved elsewhere. I never really heard from Draven and the crew since that night. I was now submerged in a world of work and art. I had to keep busy for fear if I stopped I’d slip away into depression thinking about all that I lost. Time once again past me by. I once again was anti social and I regret it, I missed out on a lot of great things. Friends, great girls and parties. I’m now 25 and it’s been years since I’ve lost both my best friend Joe and my love Page. I work now painting, I guess I’ve always had a hidden talent for painting. The catch was that I only painted morbid and abstract things. Most of my work is dark and gothic which I think portrays the life I live.
THE CULT
The Room was packed with people. Tons of people. White and blacks, Young and old. In the middle was a rather large table and on it laid 16 knives. 34 Ft of rope, Bins and bottles of pills. a crate of razors, complete with 2 hammers.
On the ceiling a large counter clock, it looked more like a score board. It lit up and everyone went silent as the dead. It read 12 minutes. The floor was covered in a white tarp. Everyone looked to the clock as if it were to release a bomb. Then all at once a loud buzzer went off. The crowd raced for the tables and grabbed what they could with the time they had. Immediately men grabbed knives and rammed them deep within there chests, some went till atlas 6 knives were impaled in them. Others grabbed rope, noosed up and climbed the ladders that were set up along the walls and jumped. Necks cracked and lots of people gurgled on their own blood. One fat man was hoarding razors into his mouth, trying to swallow the steel teeth, as they went down they slit the man’s throat wide open, as for the razors that actually got down they ripped and shredded his stomach.
As for the women their choice was mostly pills and other drugs. One shouted ‘Come on girls! That’s not the way to go! Grab a hammer’ and with that she smashed her own head in. She fell to the ground, convulsed a little and died. The women cheered! And took a her advice and began to strike each other in the head. The blood got so thick, people were swimming in one another’s blood bath. Bodies hung from the ceiling, some still alive. On the floor men gripped knives that were spouting blood. In the middle of it all, a circle of women were singing and holding hands while their wrists sprayed blood from the razors wounds. It Satan himself could have seen this, he would have been most definitely amused.
In 12 minutes flat, A 160 people were now dead and it wasn’t natural by no means. The crew came out and torched the whole place. All remains were lost. Nothing happened here. As far as the families could tell, the plane in which carried all these people has gone down in the ocean. No argument was made.
It wasn’t till I heard about it on TV that I knew about the Mass suicide in Ilony. Over a 100 had been killed, knives and razors were found. The big cover up was some bullshit story about a plane crash but it was investigated. No one went to trial because for the fact that there was no trace back on who might have organized such a heinous crime. I thought it was pretty bizarre myself. Then about another month later the same thing occurred but this time the body count was much higher and the bodies were found in Richmond. For over a span of 12 weeks it was investigated and still nothing.
As for my life, I did what I did best, paint. I could care less if some crazy fuckers got slaughter as long as it wasn’t on my time. These events inspired me for my next portrait, entitled ‘For the Masses’. Now you would probably wonder who’d buy these paintings and the answer is simple, a rich fucker with too much money and spare time, so he collected this kind of thing. He was Richard Bankerman. He had his own gallery of morbid art work, he had bought my last 5 portraits and I now found myself working for him.
One day I expressed to him I was out of it, I was done painting such things. My problem was I was too negative for my own good. I really wanted to change so I told him I was done selling my work for profit. I would feel like a pussy if I told him the truth so i just said I lost inspiration and had a painters block. Richard was too damn charming, he flashed his cash at me but I held firm. At last he let out a sigh and shook his head at me. ‘Do I not take care of you? Haven’t I always been generous and all I ask for in return are some paintings?’
I still refused but he got up and ushered me into another room, His private movie theater at home. He sat me down in one of chairs, he got up in front and spoke..’You need inspiration dear boy?! I have just the thing, watch!’
He departed into the booth and I remained. A film rolled and too my shock of surprise it was the most god awful thing I have ever seen. To me at first it looked like a homemade video shot at a party, but then the people started killing themselves. Mass suicide, Was this a sick joke? It had to be fake. But the screams and blood looked so real. I began to get sick so I pleaded with him to turn it off. So he did and he handed me a envelope of cash. This man could not take no for an answer. I asked him were he had required this vile film and he only took out more money and bought my silence.
Well I now agreed that my life had been a freak show from the start. Pain and suffering was my life I had chose to live. That very night I got smashed on some really costly vine from the extra money I was given. I didn’t even put my full effort into the painting and yet it came out like the morbid masterpiece it was expected to be.
By the end of that week, Richard Bankerman received his painting in the mail along with a letter, in it was written a simple message……Everything dies….and I’m free now…..So long.
Written by Phil Stevens 2000
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