How I should have died
I am a monster pretty much in every possible definition of the term. If you needed a trigger warning, there it is. Of course I wasn't born so, no one ever is. We are made monsters by the shit life does to us. It's never fair, there is no justice. And the good guys do not win at the end because there are no good guys. I guess most people are grey. Some a lighter shade and others, the vast majority are oscillating between neutral grey and darker shades of it. I like that metaphor: it's clean, almost pretty. There's no prettiness in my life. It broke when I was thirteen and I have been making it everybody's problem since then. My name, my birth name is John Poe, one letter away from the name given to unidentified victims of homicides. I have given myself another name, cooler, a tad immature but I was young at the time and it stuck. Before we do this, you have to accept that demons exist, not figuratively. Also not in the restrictive Christian sense of the terminology, demons have nothing to do with any of the imaginary deities humanity has created to placate its inabilities to make sense of the brutality of the world we are on. They live in a universe one hairs breath from ours and if you are unlucky enough to find yourself in the liminal space theirs and ours meet, well, you get to meet them. That was me, running away from some bully I'd just kicked in the nuts who had had the courage to get some buddies of his to come after me. I had been thirteen the week before. I got to the park just before rain started bucketing down and took shelter in a rundown semi abandoned warehouse for landscape and gardening tools and products. I shuffled aimlessly on the dusty concrete floor when out of nowhere a hand grabbed me by the throat. It had nine talon ending fingers. I counted the marks it left on the sides of my neck, three opposable thumbs and six fingers. The furred and scaled forearm stopped about a meter from my face in mid air. It squeezed hard and my vision turned pink, the buzzing of my blood in my ears was all I could listen to but the face that appeared some two meters above the ground turned that very blood to ice. It is hard to describe the geography of their faces, it is not like ours. Although the fangs protruding from what must have been the lips of the mouth were obvious. Two clusters of odd size eyes on each side of a muzzle between a pig’s snout and a koala’s. A second hand grabbed my left leg and I would have given everything to have been beaten up by the school’s bullies instead. When it stepped out of the riff most of the body made no sense to me except one very specific thing: it had an enormous very erect penis looking appendage, four arms and two legs. To my mind killing horror he was quickly followed by a second creature of different shapes and specificities but roughly similar height and girth and collapsing my reason was the vision of the third creature. You guessed it, they raped me. To be more specific because the term rape sounds to me as if it referes to something profoundly human, they used me as a sex toy, the three of them. I cannot say if it is magic, powers or physic bending capacities from their world but they did things to me, with me that should not have been possible, not the least being keeping me aware of it all, awake and conscious for five days, feeling every second of it. They were disturbed, not by someone trying to get inside the warehouse but by a presence. I felt it. I felt their fear of it. They left me there to die. They'd used me, I was nothing to them. I had no more importance than the used condom tossed by the car window at a drive in cinema. The thing is I guess I wasn’t supposed to survive this. It took five more days for some city council gardener to find my body, thirst and hunger should have been enough to kill me, but no. Something was changing me. The many fluids they had pumped inside my body to a flurry of yapping orgasmic sounds as their talons and claws cut my skin and tore my muscles were turning me into something else. All this time I remained conscious, fully aware of what was happening,.. perfectly attuned to the searing pains and horrendous burning inside and outside of my body. Ten days of brutal violation and its consequences. The hospital made it somehow worse in their inept attempts at helping me. The stitches would not keep the cuts closed, the disinfectants brought out more green blueish puss, the discharges from my ass confused them, the hacking cough produced black veined mucus with sparkling pink filaments and the explosive retching a goo none of them could make ends or tails of. They tried to put me in an artificial coma when I began articulating that I wanted them to stop and let me die. It failed too. I spent a month there, never slept. The pain, the pains oscillated between making my throat bleed with screams and full body muscles spasms but somehow my vitals were, ok, I guess. Finally they gave me a pouch of painkillers and reluctantly told me to come back if it became unbearable. The drive home was harrowing, my mother and my father not saying a word, the only sound being me grinding my teeth and breathing shallowly.
When finally I could sleep I relived the rape’s gruesomest moment in my nightmares screaming at the top of my lungs. One month later my father was killed in a car crash, they claimed it was an accident but I found in his desk paper bin printed copies of his life insurance with passages underlined in wobbly crayon about suicide forfeiting the whole thing and an exclamation mark near the passage about accidental car crashes being eligible. I know he committed suicide. Knowing his son had been raped and he had been able to do nothing to prevent it and listening to my screams nights after nights will do that to a spineless father. At no point at the hospital, or once I was back home did he try to speak to me. I don’t think he said one single word to me before he drove his car into the river. The life insurance was split in two, two third for my mother and one for me placed in a trust administered by a courtier to be used to finance university and later, once I'd graduated the rest would be released to me directly to use as I saw fit. My mother worked for a tech company, some stupid hours starting around noon and finishing whenever she was done. The commute was long so she was barely ever home, never at night and slept most of the day with sleeping pills. Two weeks after the insurance was paid I realized that I had not eaten for almost a month, did not feel it. No hunger, no appetite and also no… I was about to say no body loss but I could see my body changing every morning in the bathroom mirror and I hated it so much I found myself shouting at my own reflection to ‘change back’ until it did. for all intent and purposes I was looking exactly like the myself everybody was used to except when i slept, making myself look back like myself is a morning routine I never got used to.
