Flash Fiction: The Discarded Notebook

I’ve been wanting to write something but not sure what to write or how to write it. By this I mean carefree without hardly any editing or careful planning with some editing. I chose the prior and fair warning there are swear words and some adult content. If the threat of violence or ghosts is a trigger for you, this is not the flash fiction story for you. I will be sure to write something less dreary in the future.

Pisaries Creator

I came across this notebook filled with pages of written words.  Actually, they weren't so much words, but pieces of jumbled messes from someone absolutely messed up in the head.  When I say messed up, I mean in every sense of the word.  You must take every letter and capitalize each one to get the full effect of this person's demise.  Whoever this person was, I imagine him to belong to one of the top 10% of the fucked up group.  There is not a chance in hell this person was in the top 10% of his class.  Frankly, I'm not even sure if it was a him.  I imagine whomever this person was to be someone halfway between man and an alien. If anything, it was probably some kind of experiment dropped onto Earth that failed miserably.  Neither the alien scientists or whoever adopted what was left of him wanted him anymore and it ended up dead.  Okay, maybe not dead but missing some valuable claim to whatever its name was.  No one would put up with this crap for any length period of time. 

When I flipped the first page because it was blank, certain words popped out.  Most of them were swear words.  Let me give your the condensed version.  You'll thank me for it.  For every time I saw the word "fuck" or "shit" or "cunt" or "asshole" or "bitch" or "fag," I'd be rich.  We lived in uncertain times before but if I got a nickel for every swear word and demeaning reference to certain groups, I'd be rich.  It started with the sentence, "Public enemy number one, two, three, all the way to one hundred would be everyone who has ever fucked me over."  Mind you he wrote out every number up to one hundred.  He went on about how his third grade teacher fucked him over by not letting him go to the bathroom.  It resulted in him taking a shit in the classroom and the kids laughing at him.  He never forgave the teacher and got his payback.  She had a daughter and he did bad things to her, at least on paper.  It included raping her over and over until she took her own life.  He went on about how he dreamed about doing this for ten years and didn't care if he got caught.  It was a compulsion that took over his brain.  He phrased it a different way.  His exact words, "When the demon appears, I must obey."

The next few pages went on and on about different people who betrayed him over the years. When I got through this and to a brand new entry, I was on page twenty.  It was here things took a different turn.  It wasn't any better than before but it wasn't worse either.  It was more of the same but something had changed inside him.  The way he wrote his letters were not so harsh. The cheap ink had not poisoned the next page so much.  Something within him had triggered a change and I think it was this: after all the complaining about his life and the people who wronged him, he came to understand that his life was exactly what he wanted it to be.  He wanted it to be miserable, terrible, and dark.  From the moment he was born, the evil he had built around him had not kept him safe but dangerous.  He realized he didn't give any fucks to what people had to offer him.  He didn't want the help.  He didn't want to hear how much he mattered to those around him.  The ones who faked caring about him couldn't have cared less about his future.  He was a throwaway and anyone who read how he felt about society wouldn't give two shits about him.  He was someone you wanted dead because he didn't contribute anything to society.  He was not only a pathetic loser but someone who took up precious space and wasted everyone's time and yet, I kept reading.

Several weeks passed when I was done knowing all I could from the notebook over dates with my coffee at the kitchen table.  When I heard noises while reading the last page, I finally felt a presence near me. This gift was something passed down from my mother.  She had it and so did her mother.  I wanted to live my life in peace, unlike this man, alien, or a combination but it would not let me be.  It hasn't found a way to stay for very long.  It comes and goes.  There must be more between us than this.  I wake up from naps and feel it near my face. When I brew a pot of coffee, I'm certain it whispers to me. It has to be correct and yet, I don't remember ever having a child.

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