Pleas and Carrots nosleep

I woke to the sounds of them fucking. It was unpleasant. Rolling out of bed, I told myself it must have been a bad dream and proceeded to dress for work. I barely had the stained and ragged pants above my knees when a loud rapping came at my chamber door.

“What...?” I grumbled under my breath, the lag of slumber still fogged my mind.

He entered with the manic, shit eating grin of a small child plastered across his face. It was the face that only I ever saw. To anyone else, it would seem horrifying. He grasped me in an aggressive and unreturned hug.

“Gimme a cigarette.” He pleaded with me.

“No.”

“Pleaaaaaaseeeeeee?” Came the childlike response that I had come to expect. I threw one over my shoulder and thundered down the stairs.

I woke to the sounds of them fucking. It was unpleasant, but at least I hadn't seen it.

I came home to the sight of them fucking. Did I mention just the sound was unpleasant? They were on the stairwell. I stepped over them, watching the young woman attempt to cover her face when Stacer refused to stop his animal thrusting. I looked at him, my glare saying everything I needed it to.

“I know you did this on purpose, ass.”

He winked at me and returned to his previous engagement.

I walked up to my room, lit a candle and sat down. The idea of killing them right then and there rushed into my forethought. Butchering them with a hatchet, just like in the old movies. The thought lingered momentarily and I would be a liar if I said I didn't entertain it.

It passed as quickly as it came, however, and I returned to the matter at hand. After a long, stressful day at the restaurant, all I wanted to do was sit in my chair.

My room was laid out thus: a large open floor covered in gristly, uncleaned carpet, an altar of sorts, laden with candles and a small shell for burning sage and incense, an unkempt twin-size bed with stained red sheets and finally a lush, plump arm chair, covered in years of cigarette burns, cum stains and otherwise unaccounted for fluids.

With all my heart I wanted to fall into my chair, light a cigarette and listen to the silence of my household. Unfortunately, Stacer had other ideas as the creaking of his bedsprings wafted through the ventilation system of our sumptuous apartment.

This girl he was fucking, Sarah or Sasha, something along those lines, wasn't the one he was fucking this morning. That much I could tell by the sheer difference in pitch of her moans. The slut, that I am sure she was, attempted to reproduce the perfect porn star vocabulary. The “Yes, yes! Oh oh oh! Oh baby! Fuck me harder!” was nearly convincing, though she hadn't quite mastered the art of covering up the shame associated with having sex with strangers, regardless of how charming they seemed over the internet.

As the flame from my lighter hit my cigarette, I strained to focus on the sounds of it crackling, releasing the artificial bliss from within its deadly innards. I stared at it for a moment, contemplating my reasons to continue the habit only briefly before the nicotine hit me. In that few seconds, that few fleeting moments, even heroin paled in comparison to the feeling of relief. I cracked my neck, another bad habit.

The release of chemicals in my brain, coupled with the assuaging of the tension in my neck triggered a series of minutes of blank thought, wherein the random noises of Stacer's newest conquest flitted in and out of my head. As the time passed, a sense of ease came over me. Homeostasis returned to my mental facilities as the stress of work melted away. The cigarette burned my fingers as I realized how long I'd been staring into the blank wall of my bedroom.

I heard Stacer cum. How could I not, he practically screamed into the air vent. Judging by the immediate slamming of doors and a single set of feet stomping down the stairs, Stacer’s façade had fallen.

A few seconds passed after the slamming of the front door and then it came. Tap tap tap.

“...What?” I responded after a moment of pause.

“Can I come iiiinnnn?” He said, the whine in his voice causing simultaneously the urge to vomit and a childlike need for companionship.

“I'm nak-” The words barely left my mouth and he swung the door open. He stood in my door way, pasty white cock swinging proudly between his legs; the odor of sex still clung to him, filling my nostrils. I covered myself and threw him a shirt, implying my desire for him to do the same. Don't get me wrong, I love Stacer's penis, but I was in no mood to entertain his nakedness.

“What'd you call her?” I asked, knowingly.

“Jessica... again...” He said, bashful for only a moment. He lit a cigarette, his token Marlboro Smooths. Stacer was the only straight man alive, as far as I was aware, that smoked the after-dinner mint flavored smokes. The smell of burning paper and peppermint filled my room with such listless delight, triggering in my mind the desire to smoke another.

He sat his naked butt on the corner of my bed, covering his front piece with the shirt I'd given him.

“Any plans for tomorrow night?” He asked, a hint of curiosity in his voice, “It's your night, you know.”

“Ah, I'd almost forgotten.” I replied absentmindedly, cracking my neck once again. “I haven't been myself lately, it has been far too long since I’ve had anyone over for dinner.” I flashed him a smile and he returned with a short, almost sinister chuckle.

“Well, I’ll make sure to be out of your hair.” He said, tossing something at me as he got off the bed. I caught it instinctively, not thinking that he would have thrown an opened blade at me. I sliced my finger and yelled a curse at him, invoking only laughter on his part.

“I buy you a present and all I get is an F-bomb.” He said, winking as he closed the door.

I bled only a little, but it was enough to get a taste. The metallic flavor spread across my tongue and I cursed Stacer again.

“You little fuck!” I yelled across the hall, “You conniving little shit.” He only winked, closing his door to my cursing, leaving me with a craving beyond any I can describe. It was inevitable.

"Chop, Chop, Chop!" I yelled from behind the kitchen window. My day had gone by in a blur of fancy steaks and over priced pasta. The restaurant had begun to die down in its last hour or so of business and I had taken to preparing the next day's vegetables. I flourished my new knife at the other preppers and chased them out of the kitchen. Everyone loved me because I was, as they described, "kooky".

I took it as an insult, but smiled my "kooky" smile none the less. I chopped vigorously at the food before me, sliding it all into a bucket of marinade as my cutting board filled up.

The last apprentice in the kitchen pulled out a cigarette and waved it at me, "I'll be right back, Felix." Said the young man as he took his leave.

"Finally." I muttered to myself, wiping the sweet sweat from my brow. I licked my fingers, noticing the lack of salt in my fluids. Standing behind the grill was exhausting, but worth it. It hadn't taken me very long to fall in love with the food industry. The fast pace, the late hours, the extreme lack of sociality. It made life seem worth living for a moment. Not to mention, I was incredibly successful. Who wouldn't be after twenty years of being forced to come up with different recipes to satiate their parents' hunger?

I leaned my head back.

"CARROTS!" came a voice long buried in my memory, "FUCKING CARROTS!?" Smack.

I shuddered, touching my cheek, "HOW MANY TIMES TO I HAVE TO TELL YOU, I FUCKING HATE CARROTS!"

Sizzle.

I touched my stomach, my arms. I traced the burn scars.

"Hahahah!" The wicked, high pitched laughter from the dining room. "Give it to him, Denny!" The goading that came from the wine soaked bitch who had the audacity to call herself a mother. I could feel the brown spittle from my father's dipspit sprinkling on my face. I moved to wipe my forehead and snapped out of it. As I looked around, I grew rather thankful that the kitchen was empty.

"Damn… it has been too long." I repeated to myself, checking my smartphone to see if I had any new messages.

I finished the last of the vegetables and slid them into the bucket next to me. I patted at my apron and pulled out a small flask. I unscrewed it quickly and gave it a fierce sniff. I nearly gagged on the smell, a very twisted smile crossing my face.

"I can't believe they eat this shit." I said, rigorously shaking the flask in the hopes that the sediment at the bottom would reincorporate into the vile mixture. As I tipped the open end of the flask over the bucket of vegetables, eventually a thick brown liquid came slowly dripping out of it. I mixed the vegetables up one last time and dropped them off near the refrigerator.

I reached into my pocket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. As I walked out of the back door, I tossed my apron at a passing bus boy, not bothering to speak to him. I lit the cigarette and joined my apprentice for the final drags of his smoke. After a good twelve hours, I was finally alone.

I slowly crossed the parking lot, lackadaisically strolling towards my faithful old Mustang. I slid down the smooth leather seating as I reached for my phone. My inbox was full of new emails, mostly spam, but one stuck out in particular. I clicked on the email, titled "Nice Cock". I smiled as I read the message out loud.

“Hey man, Married bi guy here, lookin to ride that nice cock of yours. Hit me back if you're interested. Here's a pic.”

Without even looking at the attached photo, I clicked reply and shot the man a quick "Affirmative". I straightened up in my chair and started the sleek red chick magnet. I raced off in the direction of my apartment, and before I even made it up the stairs I had the man on his way. As I walked up the stairs I started to think about recipes for my dinner. I wanted carrots. Something with lots and lots of carrots. As my foot hit the final step I froze.

"I don't give a shit that you like carrots! OR that they're good for your eyes, you piece of shit!" The drunken ramble returned to my head. "The next time you feed me a goddamn carrot, I’ll make you regret it." Little did the young me know, dad was quite serious. I vaguely remembered my father storming up the stairs into my room with an unpeeled carrot.

"You think that shit is FUNNY?" He screamed, smacking the smile off of his son's face. “I'LL SHOW YOU FUNNY!" Another punch and then… something different. He spit in my face. The infuriated man threw me across the bed and ripped my pants down.

"You like that, you fucking faggot?" father whispered in my ear.

He was so close. The stink of booze on his breath. For as long as I live, I’ll never forget spitting back in his face. It probably wasn’t the best idea at the time, but it’s my fondest memory of dear old dad.

I snapped out of it. Making sure Stacer was nowhere to be found, I opened the refrigerator and quickly threw a pot of stew onto the back burner. I pulled out a bag of meat and plopped it on the counter. Precisely chopping the meat into small bits, my heart began to race as I heard guest ascending the stairs. Something caught my eye in the pile of meat, something non-food-esque. I rinsed off the small piece of metal and chuckled.

"I guess that's what you get for cheating, fucker." I said, that kooky smile crossing my face as I set it on the counter.

On the kitchen table was a roll of thick plastic, with nothing but a letter signed “Love, Stacer”.

The touch of the plastic reminded me of my last days at home. The cold plastic of the dog house.

"At least they gave me this..." I remembered wrapping myself up in the cold plastic. After a week of my mother's cooking, father finally decided to let me back in the house. In the often sweet tone of abusive fathers, he beckoned for me to come back to the kitchen. As the starved husk of teenage me walked up the stairs, I noticed a bead of sweat dripping from my father's face. I reached up to wipe it off and put my finger in my mouth.

"What the fuck, kid." I remembered father saying, before he reared back and smacked me in the face. I hadn’t even crossed the threshold before that asshole left me with what would certainly be another black eye.

That was it. For the first time, that smile crept on to my face. I remember the choking of a dying woman, vomiting on her own blood. The look of surprise on my father’s face when I plunged the knife into his belly. The exciting bark of my father’s dog as I fed the mutt pieces of his owner. My parents lay, or more correctly, were strewn about on the kitchen floor. Frankly, I remembered thinking that tasted pretty damn good as I finished eating my dad’s heart.

A knock at the door. I walked over to the double locked door, peering into the peephole. "Fuck…" I said, noting the skin color of my new friend, "He's a damn Asian."

I said disappointed, unlocking the door and inviting the man into my apartment.

"Your kind don't pair well with carrots." I said, ushering him into my home. He looked around before turning towards me. The bat behind the door was useful as I bludgeoned the look of confusion off of his face.

I drug the body of the unconscious man into the kitchen, rolling him over on to the plastic.

"Whatever happened to foreplay?" I laughed to myself, pulling my new knife from the holster on my belt.

"Chop, chop, chop…" I smiled, making sure to pull the wedding ring off this one's hand first.

Submitted July 24, 2016 at 07:19PM by Mr_Minot http://ift.tt/2a2hyGT nosleep