Read The Devil's Monologue Online
Authors: Kimberly Fuller
Tags: #hell, #bully, #devil, #afterlife, #3 years later, #h a carter
The Devil's Monologue
Monologue
3 Years Later
By Kimberly
Fuller
No part of this publication may be
reproduced,
stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted
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or by any means, electronic, mechanical,
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or otherwise, without written permission of
the publisher.
Copyright
© 2013 by
Kimberly Fuller
All rights reserved. Published by Kimberly
Fuller
First Edition, 2013
Printed in the U. S. A.
Series
H. A. Carter
The Devil's
Monologue
Monologue
3 Years Later
By Kimberly
Fuller
This installment is
dedicated to all the bullies
in the world (you know who
you are),
who give us hope that for
every wrong.....
there has to be a
right......
Declaration"
I have shed more tears than
droplets fall from the sky
My well is empty, I can no
longer cry
Do not digress
Pain still
resides
Crushing, gripping,
constant restricting
Never lifting
I push. I shove. I kick
down that door
I can't let this win
anymore
Out, out damn spot of
sorrow
I want you gone, today, not
tomorrow
Leave me and set me
free
I'm over this hurtful
menagerie
I want still to cry, I
really do
But I will not cry for
you
how much sugar coating you try to dip it in, or how much booze you
drown it in, the painful choking sensation never subsides or goes
away. I've choked down my share of humble pie these days, being
left with nothing but a mouthful of bitter resentment and shame.
Not exactly a tasty treat in my book. Admitting you are wrong is
often the most freeing and damning act of humanity one can conquer.
Even after all I've been though, I do still like to think I have
some humanity left. Even the bad guy has his moments, doesn't
he?
I could be wrong though. You frequently
have to be wrong in order to realize what is right. Sometimes that
realization comes too late, and more often than not comes at a
great price. Mine, was the ultimate price. But, after what I did, I
guess I deserve it. Maybe...
Looking back I try to remember where it all
began. Just how does one become the proverbially “bad guy”? I'm not
the result of some crazy experiment gone wrong or an evil alien
hell bent on destroying the world. I was just a boy trying to turn
into a man. So where did I turn “bad”? For one, I never got caught
or got in trouble, even when I was blatantly at fault. That was
solely because of the Old Man. Everyone respected him, therefore
everyone respected me. They just did what I said, without
question.
Almost everyone, anyway.
I guess this was the reason I developed
such a Napoleon complex, minus the short stature. It didn't exactly
earn me any cool points, but I had power. Power sometimes brings
out the worst in people.
I was so arrogant my own father became
disgusted by my very presence. Praise turned into resentment as he
watched me begin the life he had always wanted for himself. It
wasn't the life I wanted, but if it got the things I craved, I
choked it down. You know, humble pie, and all. But, it never
mattered what I wanted anyway. As long as it kept the Old Man off
my ass, I did what he wanted. I became who he wanted to be. Sort
of, anyway.
The Old Man was the
biggest hard ass I ever knew. He'd never admit to anyone but me
what a disappointment he thought I was, or how I turned into such a
failure in his eyes. I bet they could tell though. Secrets don't
stay buried forever in small towns like Stillwater. Especially
after the Old Man started paying attention to what
he
was doing
more than me, p
raising
him,
comparing the two of us like we were
actual...n
o matter. What mattered was that
Ma saw it too. She couldn't handle the Old Man's secrets sometimes,
and of course there were all of the “special” kept secrets about
him and that
whore
we were never allowed to speak of. It was all just the
beginning to a tragic end. I just didn't know it.
go downhill. Everyone around me thought I was perfect, maybe a
little flawed on the inside, but perfect on the outside
nonetheless. During that time, I wasn't exactly considered a
scholar. I wasn't stupid, despite what some people thought, I just
didn't give a fuck about teachers telling me what to do. I mean,
really? Who did they think they were anyway? I ended up paying for
that mindset though.
Women were another complicated matter. The
only ones I seemed to be able to keep around worth a shit were the
ones I paid, or coerced, of sorts. The one I wanted didn't exactly
want me, leaving me swimming in uncharted emotional waters. I just
couldn't get through to her like all the rest. She was
just...different. She made me feel flawed through all of my
apparent perfection. Sometimes I think a part of me even hated
her.
My most noticeable actual flaw, however,
was my new found unsteadiness on and off the field. I had become a
rotten apple that hadn't even fallen from the tree yet. Drinking
became my favorite past time, and whiskey was my best friend.
Sadly, the booze was starting to take it's toll on my balance and
left my hands shaky and uncoordinated. Not something that will gain
you a football scholarship no matter how much of a show boat you
were on the field. The Old Man was sure pissed about that turn of
events. He threw me against the wall that night. Even after he
found out I had taken one his bottles of Johnnie he kept hidden
from my mom the night before the game, he still couldn't put any
blame on himself. I'll never forget how he screamed in my face
saying how much he didn't want me to end up like him. He was right.
I didn't want to end up like him, but I didn't want to live his
dreams either. The Old Man put all his chips on me getting into
college football and being the great success he wasn't. He didn't
even know I hated that fucking game.
I hated a lot of things
back then. I hated school. I hated football. I hated
him.
and start making my own rules. Ones that didn't include what the
Old Man had to say. I was prepared to do whatever it took to get
the hell out of Dodge right after graduation.
I admit I used to be quite the manipulator
myself. Now that I think about it, I don't even know if I really
gave a shit about anyone else during that time. People were just my
tools to get the things that I wanted. If I had to step on a few
toes, then so be it. If I had to break those toes on the way, who
cares! They'd recover. They'd get over it. Everyone gets over it
with time, right?
I had no idea then that
some people don't get over it. Some people lack that ability to see
an asshole for what he's worth and just ignore him. Some people
don't know how to move on without the pain. Looking back, I wish I
had just been ignored by some people. Perhaps, my humble pie
consumption would have meant more to me had I been on the receiving
end of shit more often. Perhaps, I would have changed sooner
instead of being forced to change in the darkness of
Hell
.
I'm not even sure if I really have changed or if
I'm just becoming used to the constant flow of remembrance. I
actually kind of like remembering. Beats the crap out of the
alternative.
the way I behaved to other people. It wasn't that I was picked on
in school because I was usually the bully. It wasn't that I had a
rough childhood filled with sad sob stories to tell Oprah. Granted,
the Old Man did have a firm hand and a few choice words when he was
drunk, but it wasn't anything I couldn't shove under the rug. I
wasn't the loner or the outcast. Hell, I wasn't even the fat kid.
That's the sad part, I had everything anyone could ask for, and
threw it all away for greed and jealousy. I lost my parent's
respect and didn't blink an eye because I thought I didn't need
them anyway. I did unspeakable things to the girl I thought I loved
and smiled the next day because I had finally gotten from her what
I wanted. Worst of all, I tortured my own flesh and blood on a
daily basis just to ease my own insecurities. None of those things
mattered. It wasn't until I lost my soul that I even considered
what I had become. Just another cruel monster.
I want to say, I changed it all in the nick
of time. I want to say, I made a difference right when it counted.
I want to say these things, but I know now that saying them doesn't
make them real. The true hard painful pill of it all, is that I did
nothing until I had lost everything. I choked down that bitter pill
with an ocean of solemn disgrace, and saw myself for the first
time. That moment, was the morning I woke up and realized I was
dead.
on me. Pain has become almost a sweet pleasure. It helps to replace
the longing for any of the old human vices I used to crave. It also
helps to cover up the resentment that constantly tore at my heart
when I was living. At least in Hell I don't have to deal with
anyone's bullshit. I don't have to live up to anyone's standards.
No more being the bad ass king of the jerks down here. Here, I'm
just a washed up drop in Satan's piss bucket of monsters. Such an
overwhelming sensation of superiority mixed with the realization
that you are shit on the devil's boot. Half the time I don't know
whether to laugh or puke.
I often wonder if others
down here feel the same way. I wonder if
he
feels the same way. Yes, there
are those times that I feel insane and scream to repent, hating
beyond hate at the things I've done. Those times that I know for
sure I've gone off the deep end and become completely bat shit
crazy. Those times are what hurts the most. I don't deny the things
I've done to deserve being locked in Hell. I know I'm a piece of
shit and there is no redemption for me.
recovery is acceptance, right? I learned that when the Old Man
joined AA for the hundredth time. Every time we'd go through a few
glorious months of, “I'm sorry”, and “I'll never do it again”. Who
the fuck was he ever kidding? Drunken Bastard. I both loved and
hated that man more than anyone. For a good chunk of my life he was
my every reason for living and my every reason to commit suicide.
No one could build me up or hurt me more than him. The things I did
to make him happy...
The Old Man certainly knew
the key to nonchalant motivation, whether it be for good or evil or
somewhere strangely in between. Ugh, there's that guilty heavy
horse shit suffocating me yet again.
Jacky, you sick son of a bitch, how could you have done that
to another human being?
My mind plays
stabbing games at my heart and soul. I wish I could get it through
my thick skull that I'm already dead and no one cares what I've
done. That's a plus to being in Hell, you know
.
No one cares what I do, what I
say, what I think. I have no more reasons or motivations for being
anything other than what stares grimly back at me in my cracked
mirror.
Just you and me, Jack,
I say to my reflection. Just us and an eternity
of reliving the past.