Day 231 – Choices – Short Story

We all make them, sometimes, we make the wrong ones, other times, it’s right. But, really, who is to say what you chose was wrong, is it the way society makes you interpret what you did, or is it something bigger? Is it the base morals you’re given when you are a child that turn what you do as an adult into right and wrongs?

I really don’t know, all I do know is some people might see my choices as mistakes, a path I started down that was fraught with disaster after disaster, a journey that turned me into something unworthy of drawing breath, and so on. But, for me the choices were clear, precise, and at all times, right for me.

Where do I start? How do I tell you my story and why should you listen, why you should consider that maybe, I, in my own way, have been correct in all the choices I’ve made, that society, the haunted, dark bitch she is, who labeled me a worm, a disgusting villainous being, is in fact, the villain, the cruel and unjust mother-fucker who casts her judgment like a porn star sprays his jizz, all over life’s arse hole.

I’ll tell you about the first, because, I think, it’s important, it’s detrimental to my story, it in a way shaped who I am today, and why, I keep doing what I do.

Don’t start thinking you know me, before I start, I’m no wanna be superhero, no gung-ho nut case taking down criminals, upholding liberty and everyone’s right to be given a chance. I’m not any of those things, my first kill, the one I keep revisiting over and over in my head while I masturbate, was Wendy Hilton, she lived next door to me as I was growing up, she was, when we were younger, a trusted friend, and, the first girl who touched my cock.

But, as the years went on, and we grew older, Wendy matured, became popular with all the boys, and I, fell to the way side. Now, it wasn’t jealousy that made me do it, once again, don’t jump the gun, don’t try to presume what I did, I did because I wanted her attention, and she wasn’t a slut, so take that off the list as well.

It was September, or sometime around September, it could’ve been October, but really it  doesn’t matter when it was, all you need to know is that I’d come home to visit the folks, they were old, and always complained I never visited. So, I arranged time off work and planned to stay for a week, maybe more.

Wendy, who I found out, had married local fuck face Steve Gall, I mean Steve Gall, seriously, any one but Steve FUCKING Gall, and they were staying with her parents, because Steve had recently lost his job and Wendy had to take up a position at the local Macca’s to support both of them. I heard them arguing the first night I was there, and then, the same thing happened the second, then the third, fourth and fifth, I swear, every night, they argued, smashed shit, then, either Steve would storm out, or they would fuck. I saw them on the fifth night, going at it, and Steve saw me, the dirty fucker smiled, so, I smiled back, then he started really giving it to her, I guess knowing someone was watching turned him on.

A few hours later, I was outside having a smoke, and he called out to me from the other side of the fence, we started having one of those awkward conversation, you know, those ones that are buffers for the real one. It took a while for him to finally get around to what he wanted to talk about, and, well I was a bit surprised, seemed he really liked to the idea of someone watching, so much so that he was still horny, and was hoping, maybe, I could watch him take Wendy again, but this time, he was hoping I’d play with myself as well, so he knew I was enjoying it to.

I told him to fuck off, that he was a fucking weirdo, and there was no way I was doing anything like that, he smiled, nodded his head, and told me it’s my loss, but he was still going to bang her again tonight, so, if I wanted a repeat, I knew where to look.

I could see the disappointment in his face fifteen minutes later, as he stuffed his semi-hard cock into Wendy, overeager to burn the wick at both ends, annoyed that I wasn’t watching, but, what he didn’t know was I was, not from across the yard, like before. This time I’d quietly made my way into their house, and was in the same room as them both, watching as he thrust her face into the pillow as he pounded his cock in to her, that’s when I struck, and drove the axe into the back of his head, then, while she was still unaware, bashed Wendy’s in as well.

So, that’s it, that’s how it all started, and now, for reasons unknown to myself, that’s what I do, so, don’t judge me, don’t look down on me, what I do is because, somewhere, deep inside, I kinda like it.

END

Published by

Matthew Tonks

People are surprised when reading Matthew’s stories that he’s a sane forty something year old, happily married, father of one, employed full time and dream of dark disturbing things that any sane person would never even contemplate thinking of. But it's true, he’s toyed with writing for most of his adult life, but has always found the peg a writer must fit into is not the shape he wished to be. His writing can be described as lamenting, long, concussive (yes it smashes you in the head), compulsive, and stuffed with rhythmic communication and violence, let’s not forget the violence. His own opinion on his writing is this, “You see, I don't just want the words to seep into your mind, but into your soul, showing you images of blood and beauty through, volatile language, violence, sex, love and sin. My muse takes different shapes, and every now and then you can see her shining her wicked smile in some of my stories, tempting you with her promises, but ripping your heart out instead.” So have a look, and take a seat in my wayward ride, as you join me while I purge through, this twisted road of madness.

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