hor·ror
ˈhôrər
noun
1.
an intense feeling of fear, shock, or disgust.
"children screamed in horror"
synonyms: terror, fear, fright, alarm, panic; More
2.
informal
a bad or mischievous person, especially a child.
"that little horror Zach was around"
synonyms: rascal, devil, imp, monkey; More
F. Scott Fitzgerald once wrote, "Let me tell you about the rich. They are very different from you and me."
When I first came across those words I was a college freshman. The fact I made it to college was a bit of a miracle. From the age of five years old on I was physically abused by my mother. My father had left us to have love children with a sixteen year old girl. When my father left things spiraled out of control. First and foremost he was the sole means of support and within a couple of weeks we were on welfare. Further my father apparently had acted as a counter-balance against my mothers hitherto unexposed sadistic tendencies.
I remember when he was leaving. Five year old me grabbed on to his ankle with all my might bawling as if the apocalypse were at hand. He stood there smoking a cigarette looking at me oddly. When it was down to the filter he dropped it on the floor and ground it out with his shoe. Then he said, "Don't worry. You'll run out of tears soon..."
And then he was gone for good.
It didn't take long before the beatings began. According to my mother I was just like my father and apparently that was deserving of beating upon beating; each one more ingenious than the last. Hammers, knives, belts, scalding water; apparently all was fair in post-divorce displaced aggression.
I soon abandoned all hope when I saw nobody would help me. Growing up in The Bronx in the 1970s was a far cry from the politically correct world we Americans dwell in today. At best everyone, including my own grandparents, turned a blind eye to third degree child abuse. At worst some vaginal discharge of a cunt stain would exclaim, "You should obey and respect your mother."
Lest you think I am some whiny middle aged edgelord (that's the phrase you youngsters are fond of nowadays; yes?) I won't go into further detail. I long ago accepted that I would never get a witness and that justice only meant, "just us" and by us I mean me, myself and I. But fate stepped in to a lend a fickle finger as it is sometimes wont to do. In this case fate was a mafia capo named Louie Castiglione (name changed to protect a very great man because... RESPECT).
In the ninth grade I had become close friends Robert Castiglione. We had bonded in junior high school over a love of boxing and a girl named Johnna Cameron. She was a Canadian brunette with the best ass in the school and this was in the golden age of designer jeans so yeah; she had that Jordache look.
At any rate one day Bobby was over at my house after a game of pick up baseball and I offered him a plate of Fried Chicken I found in the fridge. Hell, his Mom had stuffed me so many times how could I not? Well Bobby excused himself to go to the bathroom and that's when my mother came home.
She stormed right past me and opened the refrigerator door.
"You ate the motherfucking chicken?!?!?!?!"
I still remember the foam that ejaculated from her pinched face like a latte gone amok.
And without a further word she was upon me. Pulling my hair, punching my face, bellowing, "THAT! FUCKING! CHICKEN! WAS! FOR! DINNER! YOU! DEVIL! SCUM! FUCK! FACE!"
"What the fuck?!?!?!?!"
My psycho Mom turned to see a shocked and bewildered stranger with his jaw agape staring at my mother as she pause from her ground and pound assault. This was the first time I had invited Bobby to my crummy apartment and I only did it because my mother was supposed to be gone until late that day. But as fate would have it she was fired from yet another crummy waitress job and she had come home in rare form.
Now Bobby was a big fourteen year old. He had to shave every other day and he could already bench 160lbs multiple times. I on the other hand was only starting to feel the full onslaught of puberty and was still short and skinny.
I looked up to see my mothers eyes go in and out of focus and I knew her addled brain had calculated the pros and cons of attacking Bobby as well then quickly thought better of it.
"Get out of my house! Danny is punished and has no more privileges!"
A fleck of foam dripped down upon my face.
Then something happened that changed my life forever.
Bobby's normally grinning face grew cold as a Siberian whore's left tit.
He marched straight to her and grabbed her sweater in his big right hand and lifted her off me with one arm.
"How dare you-"
Then he threw her against the wall as if her were passing a basketball.
"Lady... your fuckin' crackers."
Then he picked me up and marched me out of the apartment down the block and all the way to his house. His face remained cold and he didn't say a word. When we got to his house his mom gave us hot chocolate and cookies.
"Ma. Can I talk to you? In private?"
"Sure Bobby."
I sat alone at that kitchen table blowing on my hot chocolate trying not to cry and wanting to crawl under a rock. From the other room I heard his mother shriek, "She what?!?!?!!? No. You did the right thing. Wait'll your father gets home."
When they came back into the kitchen I stood up looking at my shoes and said, "Thanks for the hot chocolate but I should be getting home now..."
"SIT DOWN!"
I obeyed.
"Look me in the eye Danny."
I did as I was told.
"You. Are. Home."
"But-"
"Whatsamatta. You no hear so good? I said, "YOU. ARE. HOME. Joey, go bring the other bed into your room and I'll be in to make it up nice."
It took all I had not to cry.
Late that night Joey's dad came home and a little while later called me into the living room for a sit down.
"Kid. It's come to my attention that you got a little problem. Now you friends with my boy and his mother told me he got real upset. That means his mother got real upset. So now I'm real upset. Unnerstand?"
I looked at my shoes.
He came over and put his gorilla arm around my little shoulders.
"Hey kid. Don't worry. The Castigliones know how to solve problems. Unnerstand."
I just nodded.
"Okay. That's enough for today. You go to sleep."
After that I was unofficially adopted. They treated me great but to be honest I always felt like an imposition no matter how nice they were to me. And I was always ashamed. And then after high school graduation Bobby got hit by a drunk driver on his way to an after-Prom party and died instantly. I would have gladly taken a Costco palette of beatings to trade places with him.
"You gonna go to college and stay here during your breaks and summers. I'll get you a job in construction so don't you worry about nothin'," Louie said. Even if I wanted to, which I didn't, you just didn't argue with Louie Castiglione. Or Mrs. Castiglione for that matter.
Time passed and I graduated college and entered the construction business. By accident I ended up learning software development and Louie's help I started a company in the late 90's that we sold for a lot of money. Then I started another company and during the real estate boom of the 2000's I made a killing. And then I sold that company just before the crash. At 45 I now had more money than I could ever hope to spend.
I traveled the Europe for a year aimless and single and then ended up living in Bangkok for a couple of years. Somehow I felt empty inside. I was rudderless. Purposeless. I had all this knowledge. All these skills and I was just living the hedonistic lifestyle and drinking way too much.
And then it hit me. It hit me like a cinder block dropped from a height by a drunken Ukrainian construction worker. (BTW I am Ukrainian so don't go there.) I was getting of the BTS Skytrain when I saw the dirtiest, cutest, saddest little Thai girl at the foot of the steps holding a big plastic cup that held but a few coins. Everyone was just ignoring her five year old plight of living on a sidewalk as a beggar.
That night after polishing off a fifth of Johnnie Walker Blue I opened my laptop as my girlfriend Kanyatti snored quietly in the bedroom. Then I did something odd. I googled my mother. After nearly 35 years without contact other than toxic remembrances I was curious what became of her.
It took a little digging but I had almost 20 years of experience as a software engineer so finding the cunt was well within my skill set. Once I found who she had married and had her new name the rest came in a flood. She had married a DEA agent who then became a Fed prosecutor. He had gone into private practice and apparently made millions. Her step-daughter's marriage was in the society pages of the NY Times online. It was held in St. Martin. And she? She had opened a day care center and was the director after 20 years as a public school teacher.
And then I found the pictures. Same pinched face. It was unmistakable to the trained eye. The dark side was strong in her. She had infiltrated high society and was spreading he evil like a pox behind a facade of respectability. I passed out at dawn at my desk, my laptop still open and an unfinished glass of whisky in my hand.
I awoke with the taste of evil in my mouth. I washed it out with what remained of my scotch. I got into the shower and then went down to the gym to work out and do a few laps in the rooftop pool of my condo. When I came back to the apartment Kanyatti had already left for her job as an architect and I opened the fridge to realize I was beer-less.
I showered and shaved and put on a pair of white pants and a button down shirt. I stuffed a few thousand baht in my wallet and grabbed my keys and got on the BTS Skytrain at the Asok station. I had bought an all day pass and had no idea where I was bound.
I found myself at the National Stadium an hour later when a funny thing happened. I was standing on the corner eating a mango slice when a lady that was older than Moses and had more wrinkles than a prune factory sauntered up to me and grabbed my hand in a grip that put a vice to shame.
In perfect English she said, "You will be a champion of justice. You will seek retribution. Turn their evil against them. And then the darkness will give."
Well it took a while for my plan to coalesce. And maybe it was my connections to some less than Kosher people in NYC. Maybe it was my deep pockets. Hell, maybe it was my love for the UFC. But before I knew it I had purchased a 20,000 square foot warehouse in a suburban industrial park.
The rest was child's play. First I hacked child services' database. I would need product. Then I hired some Thai people who had helped me situate their comfortably. They had no problem getting on board once I gave them my elevator pitch.
"Two loathsome child abusers fight to the death in a cage match after receiving adequate training."
As a prudent businessman I knew to start out small. But you would be amazed how easy it is to kidnap a bitch. A little planning, a blacked out van, a contingency plan; and we're in business. I used Guantanamo as a blueprint for an efficient methodology for storing product. The Thais provided the training. If they didn't train they didn't eat. That fucking simple. They trained. Amazing what hunger can do.
It took a few months to train the first batch. But finally one Halloween night I was ready to unveil my proof of concept. I called up Louie and a few potential investors. Louie had been on board from the get go. Five minutes into the first death match I had five million pledged. Of course there were questions.
"What about the Feds. They'll trace the stream."
"We'll only train here. The actual fights will be held in international waters."
"That'll help with waste disposal, huh?"
"That's the plan...."
So what I'm really asking is how many of youse would part with your valuable bitcoin to watch proven child abusers duke it out in a cage on a swanky yacht to the bitter?
I'm also interested in promoters, developers, investors and trainers. I'm thinking along the lines of profit sharing for those who are committed to the ultimate game.
PS- This is dedicated to you Mom. I'll be seeing you with a bucket of KFC... handy....
Submitted February 17, 2016 at 03:52AM by EmptyMarlowe http://ift.tt/1onXMLI nosleep
No comments:
Post a Comment