Chapter 2
| The Story | The Authors |
|---|---|
| As Russel sat holding the onion, he thought to himself Why? Why do I have to be insane? It doesn't run in the family that I know of. There was uncle Larry, he was always kind of weird. But not insane, never insane. What do I do now? He looked at the doc helplessly. The doc looked back at him with sad eyes." Why the onion Russel?" She asked again. He simply shook his head and looked away. Tears in his eyes he handed the onion over. "What can I do doc? I don't want to be crazy. Why do I keep having these thoughts? Dr. Seus? A king who wears a brown coat? What's going on with me?" He lowered his eyes to the floor and sighed. Looking back up he saw his therapist looking at him with eyes full of pity. He couldn't voice what was on his mind. He didn't have to, his eyes said it all. As he stared she lowered herself to the floor beside him. | |
| russel closed his eyes and dreamed that he was in the beck video where beck is walking in the street and he wants to be beck and get hit by a car. russel is depressed and he starts to dig his therapist. | |
| Russel moaned; he could not escape it. Yawps and rhymings, the occasional hallucinatory perversion, the comings and goings, of his sane and insane selves, all tearing at the fabric of his reality; the noncontiguous life, the awareness of self fading in and out. It was unfair; why did *he*, the epitome of normalcy, have to be insane? All he ever strove to be in life was normal; where others dreamed of stardom, or of being permanently at the center of attention, or of saving the carrots, or of falling desperately in like, his only driving ambition was to be normal. And at that, he sometimes succeeded. If he could maintain his awareness, through the yawp tic and the rhyming Dr. Seuss voices, it might not be so bad, he could persevere through it (he had, in fact, done so in the past) but now -- now he was definitely blacking out during these episodes, and his life no longer seemed its own. He would come to in a closet with a peeled onion in his pants. He would find himself standing on a balcony off his building, smoking a ciggy and wondering whether the dream he'd had for breakfast was real, or whether the breakfast itself was the dream. Without continuity of awareness, was he even alive? What was even the point? | |
| The point...The Point de la Rue was where he met her. She was as beautiful as the full moon on a black summer night. Then dawn...and she was gone. Another dream, or was it his own twisted reality existing in his mind. | |
| Russel head in hands began to cry, bawl. He hadn't cried since he was 10 and his best firend had got hit by a train. But he cried now. Cried for his loss of sanity, for all he had thought he'd known and didn't, and he cried for her. Always for her. | |
| The girl who's hair streamed down her back to her waste, dark as midnight and soft as a pillow. The girl with the green eyes like an emerald caught in sunlight. The girl who had broken his heart. Yes it was her that he cried for now. Perhaps his sanity was nothing without her. He paused, his crying halted. Her name. He'd forgotten her name. He could see her delicate bone structure in detail, but her name elluded him. He jumped up and hurried to the shelf where her picyure was kept. Yes exactly as he'd remembered, every detail, but still when he tried to say her name his mind drew a blank. "NO!!" he cried in anguish. His sanity and now his memory too. It was too much he couldn't take this anymore. | |
| Spagetti? Corn chips, a buffet? Please tell me I'm just hungry he pleaded with himself. Please, not another hallucination, I can't take it | |
| "Oh shit." He said to himself. Now what was he talking about? He didn't want to be crazy, but right about now he was ready to drive himself to the loony bin personally. shit shit shit he murmured | |
| The man he had just killed stood up before him with a new look on his face. Hatred. Even worse yet, the gun he had placed in the dead man's hand to make the death look like a suicide was pointed directly at his head. "This isn't really happening," he thought to himself. Suddenly the newly resserected man pulled the trigger. "Fuck me!!!," he thought as it all went black. | |
| He felt disembodied, or at least, he felt what he had always imagined disembodiment would feel like. Just a kind of floating feeling, and as if his body wasn't quite where it was; this fluctuaty feeling that his back was behind his head and his feet up in his knees. I wonder, he wondered, am I really disembodied? Perhaps I'm dead. The thought did not fill him with anxiety; because if am I dead, after all, this ain't all that bad. Something else, though. What? Oh, yeah, I ought to be able to see my body below me, shouldn't I? But when he tried to turn over to look, he found that he could not. "Ah man!" He moved his mouth with all intentions of saying these words aloud, but no sound came; and yet, though he knew no sound had left his mouth, and none reached his ears, he experienced the sensation of hearing his voice from what seemed like inside him. "Where'd that come from?" he tried to say. Ah, his chest; that's where it was. "Damn! I wish I knew whether I was dead or not!" He again attempted to roll over and check below, but could not, and he began to have the sinking feeling that he might not be able to check for a long time, and also, that he knew the idea would plague him until he could check. Now, he knew, everything, absolutely everything possible, was going to irritate the hell out of him, and he wasn't going to be able to enjoy this weird floating disembodiment feeling. | |
| "Russel, Russel, honey wake up. Do you always black out and have holusinations like this after you have sex?" the Dr. questioned. "You need more help than I thought. Oh well, I have an hour free tomorrow after lunch, stop by." | |
| Ohhhh, Russell thought, that's it. I had sex, with the Doc. Wow! Cool! Or did I? Come to think about it, where's *her* voice coming from? Still, he could not alter his position, which was flat on his back, seemingly floating. Why couldn't he turn over? Regardless of whether he was disembodied and floating, not disembodied and only felt like he was floating, or whatever, he ought to have been able to turn over, or at least determine why he couldn't turn over? For all I know, I'm heading down Foregarner Street, smoking another cigarette, on my way to a burger stop. Or having sex with the Doc again? Man! I wish I could remember my sexual experiences, Russel compained inwardly. "Doc, can you hear me? Did we really have sex?" Again, he experienced that weird sensation of his voice not leaving his mouth, not reaching his ears, so that he couldn't empirically say any sound had transpired, yet could feel his words seeming to exist in his chest, and to register in his brain just as if sound had occurred. I wonder if she can hear me? I wonder if she's still here, or there, or wherever. I wonder where, if anywhere, I am. I wonder if I'm still alive. His mind was beginning to race again, and he began to feel an overwhelmingly frustration born of physical, mental, and emotional helplessness. It really sucked not being able to to know what was real and what wasn't. It might almost be better to not realize that he couldn't tell. | |
| "Oh, Russell!" Doc whispered, her voice ejaculating into the static between his ears. "Russell, are you dreaming that we've had sex? Or am I dreaming that you're dreaming we've just had sex?" I exhaled, but no words would come. "Oh, Russell, this is ever so confusing, isn't it, dream lover?" | |
| "Oh, Russell!" Doc whispered, her voice ejaculating into the static between his ears. "Russell, are you dreaming that we've had sex? Or am I dreaming that you're dreaming we've just had sex?" I exhaled, but no words would come. "Oh, Russell, this is ever so confusing, isn't it, dream lover?" | |
| Russel looked at her, lust glowing in his eyes. But the lust soon turned to anger and he slapped Doc across the face hard. She flew to the floor and blood began to trickle from her mouth. He came at her again and attacked once more, bruising her eye and tearing her clothes. With all the strength she could muster, Doc threw her self at him. The both toppled over and she got the advantage. She started pulling his hair and scratching him, blood flowing from marks on his handsome face. With one final shove she escaped from him and ran out of the room, fleeing for her life. | |
| She ran out of the building trying not to think of the cuts and scrapes on her body. Then...... Doc woke up. It seemed she couldn't thinking about her ex-husband and the fight, she knew he would be at her again. She didn't know what to do, where she could hide. She went to check on her kids and then tried to go back to sleep not knowing what was in store for her the next morning. She woke up the next morning called for her kids and then started making breakfast. Her kids, Elizabeth and Jack hadn't gotton up at her call so she went into their rooms to wake them up. When she got into Elizabeth's room she found she wasn't in their so she figured she was sleeping with Jack since was only seven. She went into Jack's room and found they weren't in there. It had been two hours since she had found they were missing and she was sitting in the police office waiting for an answer to all of this . She had told them everything, even the stuff her husband had told her not to tell, the stuff about the fight. Little did she know that she might see her ex-husband very soon, very, very soon. | |
| this story stinks, please, submit a different story. | |
| not only does the story stink,but, the grammer and the spelling is pathetic | |
| so she took the story to the teacher and together they corrected what was wrogn with the story. Then they sent the story to the publisher and he loved what he had read and published her story for $500. I wish I could write like that. | |
| YOU PEOPLE ARE RUINING THE STORY. CAN WE GET BACK TO RUSSEL PLEASE! | |
| Russel lay flat on his back on the floor of the closet. Without getting up he said to the Doc. "I blacked out again didn't I?" "Yes she said sadly, you've been out for almost two hours. Hun, why didn't you tell me you were haveing these blackouts?" "I couldn't tell you, I didn't want to worry you." " Worry me?" the dodtor snorted. " The only thing I'm worried about is the fact that I can't have any more sex when you black out like that. I'd've had to sit here for two hours unsatisified, had i not taken care of the matter myself. Now the deal was bud, that you get your sessions free as long as I get my sex. Understand?" "Yeah and now about that session. I had the weirdest dream when I was out. I drempt that I was shot and couldn't move and was having this feeling of imbodiment." "Oh well," the doctor said breathlessly,"We can always take care of that feeling. I think I know how to put you right back into that body of yours" she said sexily. With that she crawled on top of him and prerceded to make passionate love to him. "oh oh, baby baby, deeper, oh yeah, oh" | |
| "Get off me you horrendous cow", the doctor cried. You squashed my banana! With that, she rolled off, and the doc took his midday snack from his pocket. "now what am I to do with this?", he mumbled, looking at the now mangled banana. Then a sinister look came across his face, and he turned to her. | |
| he said "lets make a banana milksake. all we need is some ice>" Okay i'll go get some from the store. | |
| Unbeknownst to Russel, an aghast look had fallen across his usually all too credulous face. Was the Doc intentionally messing with his mind? For the first time in several days, he felt a clarity descend upon him. For the moment, at least, he felt that he could discern insane fantasy from hard core reality. How long would this moment last? He couldn't be certain. He felt with absolute doubtlessness that whatever mental disease now afflicted him, causing hallucinogenic blackouts, among other derangement side effects, was . . . contagious. The Doc was a sneaky woman, demanding sex in return for free therapy (and even that probably was the by-product of the contagion of madness that began to overtake her, gradually, obviously enough, immediately upon first coming into contact with him in her office on that fateful day back when); sex bartering aside, she otherwise had shown only the best intentions on his behalf. That a purpose-driven nymphomaniac such as the Doc would suddenly break off the sex, just as she was getting the buzz and thrill burning up through her, was outside the realm of reasonable possibility, even if she actually were intentionally trying to mess with him (and that really was outside of question, too) by pretending she was a man complaining that he was mangling her (his) banana. (Although, he had to admit he did see an angry man lift off of him there in the throes of passion; but it had quickly re-morphed back into the female Doc he knew -- and that's when the clarity struck him.) Therefore, Russel, using a solid line of inductive logic, determined that the Doc also had gone insane, and felt, for the moment, solidly in tune with reality. How long would it last? He needed something, some device to help himself stay sane, some kind of reminder, a sanity trigger; maybe a notebook? No, that wouldn't work; he write in it when he was insane, too. But what?! What could he do? The Doc obviously couldn't be much help at this point. But . . . | |
| Russel still hadn't thought of a way to keep his new found clarity intact when he heard the front door open. The doc must have returned with the ice. Suddenly he stopped. She was singing. Alanis Morrisette....."would you forgive me Love if I danced in your shower, would you forgive me Love if I layed in your bed, would you forgive me Love if I stayed all afternoon..." | |
| He stepped back screaming,"Psycho!!!!" She had already been in his shower. He was so scared. Suddenly her eyes turned red and her horns sprouted from her head. It was the devil!! Russell was shockes. "I'm Lareeka. You're my next lover." She put a spell on him and they fucked all night long. | |
| Russell then realized............"Im not gay!" | |
| this is to all the lonley people............where do they all come from | |
| Unfortunately, Russel, thought, I have a new problem. First off, he could not be sure Doc/Lareeka has definitely been fucking me, and me fucking her. But, he thought, it makes sense -- it would account for my intermittent insanity, and even for my sanity during insane episodes. The Doc simply is a succubus. And, he had to admit, if that's all it was, he was quite happy to be her plaything. Knowing he probably was normal was good enough for Russel. He'd always wanted to be normal, and always striven to *be* normal; but seeming normal to everyone else seemed less important compared to the pleasure of losing himself to sex with the demon woman. Nothing else now seemed particularly important. He felt that the insanity episodes now would no longer cause him the stress they had been causing him; and that would make all the difference in the world. That was all fine and well; his new problem, though, was moving like a regular, normal person, when he now, despite all knowledge counter to it, could not shake off the illusion that he had become a hen. Here he was, fucking Doc Lareeta, and feeling quite a good deal of pleasure from it, and yet, felt fully convinced that he was a hen, and a discordant rendition of a Beatles song was playing in his head, too. Was Doc Lareeta doing that to him, as well? Or, was it possible that sometimes the insanity was truly insanity and other times the mindfucking of Doc Lareeta? Arrrgh! he thought. Or maybe he said it aloud, who knew? he doubted Lareeta cared one way or another -- although he suddenly realized he was catching himself seeing the Doc differently, and seized with doubts concerning her motives and tendencies, now that he knew she was a demon woman. Now I'm not going to be able to stop worrying about this until I get some answers; Russel grimaced at the thought. The Doc smiled, thinking Russel in ecstasy. | |
| "Well, Doc," Russel blurted, "I think I got it all figured out. I won't be needing your services anymore." Doc Lareeta placed her finger on Russel's lips. "Shhh..." She licked at his eyeball, but he managed to shut his lid just in a nick of time. Why did she do that? he wondered. "Uh, but I won't mind continuing to render my end of the bargain," he said. "And I don't mind continuing to be insane if that means I get to be your love slave." Doc Lareeta continued pounding away down below and moaning gutterally. "But maybe we should have a little talk?" he asked. | |
| Suddenly Russel sat bolt uprght in bed. That was the weirdest dream he'd ever had in his life. His psychiatrist a demon from hell? Right and he was really Prince Charles. His therapist was no where near evil, hell his psychiatrist wasn't even a girl. How strange of him to dream he had some sort of sex bargain with a lady doctor. His doctor was a 67 year old man with a wife and two kids, not someone he'd want to have a sexual relationship with. How crazy. It must've been longer since he'd had sex than he thought. No now wait a minute...That was when it hit him. All the events of the evening before came rushing back to him. His fight with his girl, the bar, spilling his guts to...his psychiatrist...going back to his place....of shit. For the first time he noticed the person laying beside him in the bed. It wasn't a demon lover, it was worse....it was his MALE psychiatrist. So it hadn't been so long since he'd had sex after all. In fact he'd had some just last night. Some wild, passionate, demon sex with his psychiatrist. Oh it was sick. It was disgusting. He couldn't believe he'd done something so repulsive. | |
| "So, I guess I'm going to have to kill you," he murmured, half to the slumbering psychiatrist with whom the sex had been so surreal, half to himself. "Let's see," he continued, "what would be the best approach. Something quick and painless for both of us." He strained his brain but no ideas would come. Hell, he thought, I used to make lists of ways to kill a person when I was a kid just to take up time. Now, when I most need one of those ideas, I can't think of one. The doctor snorted and cleared his throat, and rolled over on his stomach, the lavender sheets sliding down off his back to reveal a flat, sagging rear, and, yes, an open, and very large, pinkish-purple hairless rectum. Russel felt his stomach turning, and a violent shudder wracked his frame. "Doctor?" he said. "Are you awake?" His voice came out strangely strangled. | |
| "Arb garb, hmm, sksk . . ." the doctor said. Louder, Russel repeated his question. "Russel." It wasn't quite a statement of fact, and it wasn't exactly a question. "That's right,Doc, " Russel said, "Russel." His voice wasn't unfriendly; in fact, it had in a sort of controlled pleasantry that a perceptive listener might have realized sounded like veiled frenzy. I'm sure that you, reader, are all too familiar with such a tone. The doctor, who had extensive psychiatric training, rolled over into a sitting position, his back to the wall, and pulled his sheet over him, all in a single awkward motion (not unlike this single awkward sentence). Deftly, he asked, "Russel, what am I doing here?" "I was just wondering about ways to kill people," Russel replied, all too casually. "I used to think of ways all the time as a kid, just to pass idle time, but right now to my consummate bewilderment, I cannot think of one. What do you suppose that means?" The doctor, not falling into Russel's clearly demented game, said, "Hmm. Interesting." His eyes were remarkably bloodshot. "But, don't you wonder what I'm doing here, too?" "What are you doing here, Doc?" Russel asked, sounding genuinely curious. "I don't know," answered the doctor, patiently, "I was hoping you could tell me." "And why are you naked?" Russel asked, pointedly. | |
| "Because", said Doc, "I never pick my nose fully clothed". And with that, Miss America rushed into the room, squealing "Omigawd, I broke a nail on that tray of gingerbread Gingrich cookies!". | |
| Russel didn't know whether to chuckle at the Doc's comment or goggle at Miss America, who also wore no clothing. So, he did both. "So, why is the maid naked?" the doctor asked. Russel thought, and thought hard. Why indeed, he wondered. Clearly, Doc was trying to take advantage of an unusual situation to distract him from his current purpose. The thing that bothered him most, however, was that he could not figure out how the doctor had somehow mentally uncovered his motives. "Of course, you know that any chance of us forgetting all this and pretending it never happened--whatever it was that did happen--disappeared with the entrance of this lovely young woman into our room." "Is that so?" said the doctor, raising an eyebrow. "And what did happen, Russel? And what effect on whatever happened does Lareeka have, anyway?" Ah, Russel thought, I see what he's trying to do. And actually, it was worth considering. Perhaps he should kill the Miss America maid instead. No, that wouldn't work. He would rather kill the doctor. Ah, no, he realized all at once, actually now I'm going to have to kill both of them. And he couldn't even think of a good way to kill the doc when the doc was still asleep and vulnerable. Oh, the complications were mounting like ants! | |
| He jumped on a snake!! | |
| Russel ran far far away and kissed the princess since he was in China and she was in Spain. | |
| And he fed her tea and oranges that came all the way from China, and she sang the song Suzanne while she sucked the pulp from the oranges. They had nothing to say to each other any more, or ever, but they sat complete in their silent love. And she cried when he sang to her the old songs, the songs she'd never heard for real, and they cried for the lost days, and for the pretend world they were living. | |
| But I'm a realist, and even those things we like the best must end. Otherwise, how will we know what we don't like? | |