Thread: Xenas shorts... stories!! presents A Shitty Story

Ok so heres the dealy... i thought this would be a nice one to post here.. so please critique if you would, that is tell me if you like it or not and WHY you can tell me it blows and deserves to be pinned to a donkeys asshole but just tell me why pleaseie bad grammar storyline etc... and enjoy

A Shitty Story

A man was defecating on my England hotel room floor as I walked in. It was night and all the lights were off. He looked over half blinded, shielding his eyes from the bright glow surrounding me from the hallway. I could see he was wearing a white shirt with green paint splattered all over it, and no pants. I shut the door and said,” The bathrooms over there, buddy.”

It was All Hallows Evening, and I wondered if this was a trick or a threat. I don’t know how he got into my room either. He must have been friends with that shifty-eyed German bellboy downstairs.

He stood hunched over, his knees shaking as he held himself over an imaginary toilet. A long, stubborn turd tangled and then dropped with a long relieved sigh.

“Would you show some compassion and get me some towels?” he asked.
I picked up one of my undershirts lying on the ground and tossed it over.

The only light now was coming from the full moon hanging just outside our window, and it seemed as if its beaming oversized crater face was watching us.

“Have you ever seen a dead body before?” The man asks, tugging my shirt back and forth between his scrotum and buttocks.

I try to study his face but, like the whole room, it’s fractured in shadow, like a black and white photograph.
He nods his head towards the bathroom. I look over and see an arm caught in rigor mortis jutting out from the floor. “And… what’s that?” I ask.


“It’s an arm… but don’t worry the whole body is there too; it’s just inside the bathroom. Feel free to check it out. They look different when they’re dead. They change colors, like chameleons.”

I looked over at it again. It was turning a pale bluish green, almost yellow. He was right.

“Are you done then?” he asked me.

Was I done? Was I in the wrong room? “This isn’t real--this is just a dream, isn’t it?”

“Could be, but then whose is it?”

“I think its mine,” I said.

“How would you know?”

“Because… I just know, you know, because I’m thinking…”

“Yeah I know, because so am I,” he said. “Just because you're in a dream doesn't make it yours. But then again, it could be yours since I’m pretty sure I’m awake. I’m taking a shower. Leave the moon on when you go.”

I was pretty sure I was awake, too. I moved to the bed and rested against the headboard and flicked off my shoes. The T.V. turned on by itself, showing a black and white security tape of the man who shat on my floor—before he shits on my floor.

The man bursts into the room dancing with a woman. They looked fresh in love. After sharing a passionate kiss, the lady goes into the kitchen and out of frame. The man goes to the corner and rummages through my suitcase. He comes out with my saxophone and takes it into the kitchen.
Fuck it. It was a shitty sax anyway.

The room is empty and lonely looking. Thick lines of tracking fuzz flowed up the screen, and then the woman suddenly runs out of the kitchen and into the bathroom. I could see her mouth open and vibrating, most likely screaming for her life. The man ran after, sax raised high in the air like an axe ready to do some messy bludgeoning. “Good,” I said to the dead woman in the T.V. “Because you’ll be safe in there.”

A hand fell suddenly and limply into view, the same hand that was now turning strange rainbow-like colors in the bathroom. The man stepped out and went back into my suitcase. The T.V. turned off.
Damn it. Probably found my stash. A buzz reeled inside my head that needed to be suppressed. I needed something, anything, but by now the streets were probably lined with goblins and masked mad men begging for candy. The city had to be dry by now too; however, the room was starting to smell like a bad case of dysentery, and I knew a clown who lived around downtown who was bound to turn my frown upside-down. Who’s going downtown? Brown Clowns growing upside down?

Ah, that’s right never mind that, a passing case of severe amnesia I guess. So it was decided. I hit the streets and left the moon shining bright for my new friend.

When I came back the man was sitting on one of the beds holding a can of air freshener in his lap. He was staring at the T.V.; at the white fuzz of a non-existent channel. His hair was wet and was now wearing my shit stained undershirt he used to wipe himself with and still no pants. I was starting to contemplate letting him just have the shirt and maybe getting him some pants.

I threw myself on the adjacent bed and offered him some of my newly scored smoke.

“Hell no,” he said without taking his eyes off the glaring static. "I don't do that."

“Then you didn’t take my other stuff?”

“No, no yeah I did.” The man looked annoyed at this question and began spraying himself with the air freshener like it was bug spray. The aerosol fizzed out as he used the last spurts of mist on his uncovered crotch. After the last fizzed out, he gave the can a good shake and tried again, then chucked it across the room.

After a bad noise it went silent, his gaze back to the T.V.

“So, who’s the dead lady,” I finally asked.

“Your wife.”

“No shit,” I said, taking a long drag on my roach. I knew I recognized her from somewhere. Just going shopping for some shoes, huh? Serves the cunt right.

“And you know that green stuff on my shirt you thought was paint? It was blood—your wife’s. She was an alien… but I’m only assuming because of the green blood.”

“Nooo shit,” I said offering him the last of the blunt with an outstretched hand. “It’s good stuff, laced with troll urine, or something potent.”

“If you insist,” he said leaning over, carefully squeezing the delicate, glowing roach between his fingers. The man inhaled deeply. “You know, I didn’t want to kill her. All I wanted was to play a romantic song on the sax, but the wrenched thing was out of tune. She laughed and I got mad and swung at her. When she ran out screaming and making a scene, I wanted her face smashed; I wanted the damned tuba smashed. Then I had a grand idea: Why not smash two birds with one tuba?"

“...Absolutely,” I said.

He paused for a second, and then exhaled a sizable cloud that plumed into the hourglass figure of a woman.

“I couldn’t stop," he began again. "I just kept hitting her, and hitting her and… then the next thing I knew she was dead.” He went for another puff, but there was nothing left but crushed ash between his fingers. He twisted around and tossed the charred remains under his pillow.

The more I observed him, the more I began to notice something very familiar in this man; I knew him from somewhere. I didn't want to seem rude, but I needed to ask.

“Who am I? Oh, forgive me, I thought you knew,” he said. “I’m you… no I’m kidding, but no, really—I am, and along with your son, too…”

“No shit,” I said once again, taking another hit out of another roach I found in my hand.

Once the silence and steady scramble of the non-existent channel finally curtained the night into complete black, I wondered who was going to be on the other side, hopefully it was me… END...ING