Drunk commies
30-12-2004, 20:47
Andy woke up dead again. He'd been dead for about sixteen years now. At first when he tried to tell people about it they'd locked him up in the institution. Andy hated that place. It was noisy. It lacked the dignity that the dead deserve. Andy had Cotard's syndrome. He knew he was dead. He could smell the stench of decay emanating from his body. Could feel the maggots squirming through his flesh. Yet he woke up. Every morning at 7:15 like clockwork he took his pills (a precaution against the dreaded institution), showered, brushed his teeth, and went on with his day. Nobody beleived him when he told them about the misfortunes that had befallen him. How his liver had been removed and replaced with a fistfull of straw, how his blood was gone now, replaced by unknown malevolent people with Karo and food coloring. Only Dr. Wier ever listened, and then only to try to convince Andrew that he was crazy.
Andrew had the day off from his part time job at (where else) the cematary. That job plus the help of some sympathetic family paid enough to get by. Today he would go to the mall. He would visit Amanda. Even the dead have friends. She worked at the coffee shop. She was nice. Amanda never commented on the smell of putrefaction even though Andrew knew that it must be pretty bad. Amanda had a boyfriend that she lived with. Dante. Dante wasn't as nice. He sometimes made fun of Andrew, but he was honest. Once Andrew asked Dante whether he could pick up the smell of death on him. Dante laughed and said he could.
Andrew boarded the 609 bus to the mall. He sat as far away from the other passengers as possible and tried to be inconspicuous. They didn't seem to notice him at all. That was good. When he got to the mall he made his way directly to the coffe shop. Amanda wasn't there. Barry, the manager, was making the coffee. Andrew ordered a double espresso, strong enough to wake the dead. Coffe was good. Sometimes a strong cup of cofee could almost make it seem like the pills had worn off. Andy asked Barry Why Amanda wasn't working. "Beats me" Barry said. "She was on the schedule and she didn't even call out sick." As Andrew walked around the mall he thought about this. Amanda wasn't one to miss work. She was responsible. He would pay her a visit. See if she was OK.
Andy walked past the security guards on his way to the bus stop. One of them made a face as he walked past. Security guards and cops were like Dante. They were honest, blunt. Andrew knew that they sensed he wasn't normal. This time Andy took the 607 bus. It went by the highway. It stopped at the motel where Amanda and Dante lived. Andrew liked the motel room. It was small, dark, it reminded him of a tomb. It was no place for normal people like Dante and Amanda though. Andrew walked up to room 14. Amanda's room.
He heard someone moving inside and he knocked on the door. The sounds of moving stopped. Andrew knocked again and waited. He had the patience of the dead. Still no answer. Andrew knocked again and this time Dante cracked the door open a little. "Wha chu want?" Andrew answered "Is Amanda home?" "No" replied Dante, "She at work." Andrew may have been dead but he wasn't stupid. He knew something was wrong. Rather than waste time arguning he pushed hard on the door. Dante was strong, but Andrew was a big guy. He managed to push the door wide enough to slip through.
There she was. On the floor. Her face was bloody, bruised. There were more bruises on her neck. She wasn't breathing. Before the thought could form in Andrew's head he knew Amanda was dead. Before any words could form on his lips he was hit. Dante had punched him hard on the side of the head and Andrew, taken completely by surprise, had fallen next to the chair. He grabbed the chair and tried to keep it between himself and Dante. Dante grabbed the chair and pulled, inadvertantly helping Andrew to his feet. They struggled, the chair dropped and forgotten. Andrew felt a sharp pain in the side of his chest and a knife had suddenly appeared in Dante's hand. Andrew threw a hook, just like in the boxing ring, his legs pushing off, his hips twisting, all his strength and weight in the punch. Dante fell. Andrew stomped down on him. Again and again and again Andrew stomped. Dante wasn't moving. His chest looked funny and there was blood in his mouth and nose. Andrew felt funny too. The next thing he knew he was lying face up in the dirty, dark little tomb. Andrew knew he would never wake up dead again.
Andrew had the day off from his part time job at (where else) the cematary. That job plus the help of some sympathetic family paid enough to get by. Today he would go to the mall. He would visit Amanda. Even the dead have friends. She worked at the coffee shop. She was nice. Amanda never commented on the smell of putrefaction even though Andrew knew that it must be pretty bad. Amanda had a boyfriend that she lived with. Dante. Dante wasn't as nice. He sometimes made fun of Andrew, but he was honest. Once Andrew asked Dante whether he could pick up the smell of death on him. Dante laughed and said he could.
Andrew boarded the 609 bus to the mall. He sat as far away from the other passengers as possible and tried to be inconspicuous. They didn't seem to notice him at all. That was good. When he got to the mall he made his way directly to the coffe shop. Amanda wasn't there. Barry, the manager, was making the coffee. Andrew ordered a double espresso, strong enough to wake the dead. Coffe was good. Sometimes a strong cup of cofee could almost make it seem like the pills had worn off. Andy asked Barry Why Amanda wasn't working. "Beats me" Barry said. "She was on the schedule and she didn't even call out sick." As Andrew walked around the mall he thought about this. Amanda wasn't one to miss work. She was responsible. He would pay her a visit. See if she was OK.
Andy walked past the security guards on his way to the bus stop. One of them made a face as he walked past. Security guards and cops were like Dante. They were honest, blunt. Andrew knew that they sensed he wasn't normal. This time Andy took the 607 bus. It went by the highway. It stopped at the motel where Amanda and Dante lived. Andrew liked the motel room. It was small, dark, it reminded him of a tomb. It was no place for normal people like Dante and Amanda though. Andrew walked up to room 14. Amanda's room.
He heard someone moving inside and he knocked on the door. The sounds of moving stopped. Andrew knocked again and waited. He had the patience of the dead. Still no answer. Andrew knocked again and this time Dante cracked the door open a little. "Wha chu want?" Andrew answered "Is Amanda home?" "No" replied Dante, "She at work." Andrew may have been dead but he wasn't stupid. He knew something was wrong. Rather than waste time arguning he pushed hard on the door. Dante was strong, but Andrew was a big guy. He managed to push the door wide enough to slip through.
There she was. On the floor. Her face was bloody, bruised. There were more bruises on her neck. She wasn't breathing. Before the thought could form in Andrew's head he knew Amanda was dead. Before any words could form on his lips he was hit. Dante had punched him hard on the side of the head and Andrew, taken completely by surprise, had fallen next to the chair. He grabbed the chair and tried to keep it between himself and Dante. Dante grabbed the chair and pulled, inadvertantly helping Andrew to his feet. They struggled, the chair dropped and forgotten. Andrew felt a sharp pain in the side of his chest and a knife had suddenly appeared in Dante's hand. Andrew threw a hook, just like in the boxing ring, his legs pushing off, his hips twisting, all his strength and weight in the punch. Dante fell. Andrew stomped down on him. Again and again and again Andrew stomped. Dante wasn't moving. His chest looked funny and there was blood in his mouth and nose. Andrew felt funny too. The next thing he knew he was lying face up in the dirty, dark little tomb. Andrew knew he would never wake up dead again.