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i guess i gotta put up or shut up

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as none of  you know, in my spare time i pretend to be a writer.  i figured since many of you seem like literary types why not share that "gift" of mine with you and prove my worth to post on here.

so here's a short story i'm in the midst of working on.  it's the first one i've written "seriously" since like, the 6th grade.  no, not really.  but it's the first one i've done in years.  keep in mind it's a first draft and it's going under the knife soon enough.  but until then, enjoy.




The Horror

            The bus turned the corner and pulled to a stop.  The doors opened and he stepped off after the fat, old woman strapped to her scooter.  He despised her in her infinite weight, no doubt brought upon herself after years of eating out of garbage cans.  He would punch her in the throat if he cared or wasn’t such a pussy.

            He checked the time.  Shit.  The connecting bus had just come.  It would be about another half hour until the next one.  He turned around.  The fat, old woman was behind him, her rolls of fat rippling as she wheezed in and out rhythmically, hypnotically.  That fucking cunt.  Who the fuck did she think she was riding his bus and taking up his space.  He sat fixated, watching her enormous, sweaty tits rise and fall.  Rise and fall.  Rise and fall.

            He was hungry.

            It hit him like a bullet, clawing and slashing at his stomach.  He suddenly remembered it had been at least two days since he had eaten anything off any consequence.  He looked around; searching for somewhere he could sate the gnawing ugliness now within him.  And then, there it was.  Glowing like some neon oasis – a burger joint.

            Instantly, he was overwhelmed with the desire to go over and eat to his heart’s content.  But the bus.  What if it came?  What if?  He checked his watch.  20 minutes.  Was it enough time?  What if?

            It was at that moment someone passed by, hamburger in hand in all its greasy, grotesque glory.  He couldn’t take it.  He ran.

            It was overwhelming.  His body thrust and twisted with each step forward, awkwardly following the stench of commercially over-processed meat.   His mind began to fill with images of chewing.  And swallowing.  French fries.   A large stack of napkins he would throw away.  Because he could.

            He stepped up to the threshold and his arm moved up to the door.  His fingertips touched and he pushed with what little strength he had.  He walked past the 2nd set of doors and slowly stepped up to the counter.  His mouth began to open.  Silence.

What the fuck am I doing here?  His mind went blank.  Can I help you?


Her eyes burned holes in him. 

“I’m going to need a minute.” He mouthed.

He stepped backwards and looked up, going over the menu.  If he wanted, he could get a hamburger, a cheeseburger, a hamburger with two patties, a double cheeseburger, a chicken breast, or a vegetarian hamburger.  All of it with bacon, if he felt like it.  With french fries or onion rings.  His choice.

He ordered.  With fries of course.  And a Sprite.  Maybe iced tea?  Root beer?  No, Sprite is fine.

2 minutes.  Soda.  He checked his watch.  5 minutes.  Fries, no burger.  6 minutes.  He was beginning to lose faith in capitalism.  8 minutes.  Fucking Christ. 

            10 minutes later, it came.  Tomatoes, pickles, hot peppers, more tomatoes, and one more pickle.  He picked up his tray and sat down next to the soda machine.  He checked his watch again.  There would be no time to enjoy this nauseating feast.  He shoved it in as quickly as possible, taking large, disgusting bites, gasping and snorting as he swallowed, washing it down with a fistful of fries. 

            He checked his watch again.  Record fucking time.  Inhaling the last of his pop, he got up from his seat and dumped the contents in the trash.  Now high on the contents of his stomach, he quickly dashed outside.  The grease pumped through his veins, and he felt powerful.  Machine legs moved in unison with machine arms.  Steel cracked the pavement.  Somewhere in Brazil a butterfly flapped its wings. 

            It was only once he reached the bus stop that he realized he needlessly rushed through his number 6 with Sprite.  It was going to be another 10 minutes.  Oh well.  He looked around and then began to walk.  Why not?  It was a good afternoon.  It was a little hotter than he would have liked, but after the winter, it was a nice change. 

            Past the next stop.  He had time, so he kept walking.  Today, he was unstoppable. 

            Finally, he reached the bridge by his old job.  He felt something was horribly wrong.  His stomach began to knot and twist.  Fear and panic filled every fiber of his being.  He began to pray to God as he ran across a busy intersection.  Oh God.  Oh sweet Christ.  Anything but this.  He leapt up a grassy incline uncomfortably.  Maybe he could make it after all. 

            He reached the top.  Yes.  Almost there. 

            And then it happened.  He stopped and resigned to the fact that despite all of his education and breeding, he could not win against nature.  Civilization was inevitably doomed.  Humanity would eventually be choked out.  The words echoed in his mind a thousand times: 

            “I am going to shit my pants.” 

            He doubled over, his bowels letting loose with full force, his jeans filling with feces.  He cursed the fast food chain he had eaten at only minutes ago.  Those motherfucking motherfuckers!  They had fucked him - and done it on purpose.  It was that fucking whore at the counter.  That bitch probably hates everyone. 

            Just then, he felt his stomach convulse.  He looked over to the restaurant he had tried to reach earlier.  Oh fuck it.  What’s the point? 

            Once more, his ass exploded and once more his jeans swelled under the pressure.  He’d shit his pants twice in one day.  This was a new low.

            So, what now?  He thought of asking to use the restaurant’s bathroom.  Impossible.  Even if they didn’t notice the long brown stain now running down his pants, surely they would notice the stench of decaying fecal matter.

Worse still, he was now stranded.  There would be no way he could possibly hope to get on the bus.  Packed in like sardines, it would only be a matter of moments before his outing as that disgusting motherfucker on the bus who shit his pants.

He stood there under the hot sun, the brown mass squishing between his ass cheeks.  He felt sub-human.  He would have thrown up, but there was nothing left in his stomach.  Truly, this was a moment of absolute desperation.