|
|
EPARI
by
David Puretz |
 |
Semi
sits eating his mucky greasy cheese-coated pizza, slice, after
slice, after slice, after slice. Sheer bliss vibrates through
his body; his eyes are half closed and his nostrils flared open--breathing
in the aroma of nastiness emanating off of the slice of which
would be shoved into his mouth moments later. I was thinking
about making conversation with him, but I didn't want to disturb
the animal.
He's a tall
meaty sort of fellow- stylish with his up-to-date hairdo and
sideburns and full of character mainly because of his childish
word use and odd phraseology. As he passed me around the halls
and grounds he would always say "Tippy, tippy, tip,"
out the corner of his simpering lips while doing a comical jig.
"What's up Semi," I would murmur while pretending
to be amused by his antics. I would usually give him a slap
on the hand or a nice comradery-like handshake. As he would
dance off after he would give his so called "salutations,"
I would turn around and look at him and watch as he hot-stepped
away- danced away, not walked away, but danced- as if his only
concern regarded what was going to be served for dinner.
He is on slice number four,
and I wouldn't have been surprised if he had eaten two more
entire pies including the plate and plastic ware. My body is
sick from looking at his glittering, sauce-covered face, so
I get up from the table and walk back to my room.
I
walk through Corridor K, which encircles the reformatory (Corridor
L is a lot shorter of a walk than Corridor K, but I always enjoyed
the long walk after meals). My head gravitates toward the ground,
staring at my slow moving feet as they shuffle past one another,
scraping along the floor. Thoughts continuously run through
my head. I can always think the clearest after dinner. My after
dinner walk is one of my favorite times to contemplate about
my next movement... or my next chapter... or my next scene...
or even my next sentence.
Among
other things, I've spent many days just writing and thinking.
I spend many days just sitting on my bed- meditating or contemplating
about how I'm going to go about getting what I desire, what
I need, what I crave. I indite those contemplations upon little
yellow stickies which I carry around in my back pocket. These
are contemplations full of reflection and speculation... I dream,
fantasize, and document images and feelings adapted from the
mayhem around me, some of fiction, others of truth, others a
combination of both.
I
get back to my room, kick off my slippers and climb upon my
bed. I stare at all the little yellow stickies that I had placed
all along the wall next to my bed. My wall currently has about
forty-five stickies placed all over it, in no particular pattern,
just randomly placed up and down, left and right of the wall.
I have what some would call writers block.
Semi
strolls into the room with a look of utter satisfaction upon
his face and belly. He wouldn't really talk to me after meals;
he usually just climbed into bed and fell asleep, like an ape.
Though at this specific moment, he looks at me and says, "Daybed...shooo
schemey. Your shooo schemey."
"Why is that Semi,"
I say while still staring at the ceiling.
"You're
shtarbing yourshelf to make it look like youuur shick. You know
the shpeshial treatment for the shick...SHICK pashientsh."
I wanted to say, "actually
Semi, I just don't want to eat that hideous day-old crap they
serve us-especially after seeing you eat it." But I remain
silent. He falls asleep within minutes and I receive the pleasure
of listening to his snoring grunts and moans. I've learned to
live with him though- it's actually not that difficult once
you’re able to tune out the sound of his self-satisfactory
conversations with himself, his mammoth size, and his eardrum
breaking snores.
To compensate
for his obnoxious sleeping patterns, often times I would sleep
myself. Believe it or not, I became accustomed to the sound
of his snores; they became almost hypnotic in a way, putting
me into a state of comforted sleep.
Innocent
Semi. He stuffed his mother in the trunk of her car for weeks,
brought her food and water- she lived- yet he is the most innocent
man in Epari. Like himself, his only concerns are trapped within
the reformatory walls. As long as he is allowed to roam, eat
more than enough and sleep when he wants, he's harmonious. He
doesn't care- or maybe he doesn't know how to care- about anyone
or anything that has anything to do with the outside world.
Does he have other family? Probably not. Schooling? Probably
very little. Bitterness? None whatsoever. I have never seen
the man's lips become anything less than a straight line- having
a straight face wasn't even common- he was always smiling or
giggling about some minute sensory perception, or something
of even lesser value.
I
wake about two hours before the bell rings in the morning. It
is still dark. Semi's snores still circulate throughout the
room. I sort through my stickies. I write new ones and I disregard
old ones which have lost value. I am developing an idea where
my protagonist's wings get caught in an evil net in the sea-
he is dragged into the depths, yet his abnormal lung capacity
keeps him alive. He is brought into an underworld where he faces
demons and rogues and brutes-- all in all, it eventually leads
to his demise.
I had
already written three other pieces, none published. I am hoping
to hit it big with the one I am working on, and then get the
others published in the aftermath.
The
bell rings and then the buzzer buzzes and then all of our doors
are suddenly unlocked, allowing us to roam free throughout the
compound. Semi rolls out of bed and starts snickering. "Hi
Daybed... Hehehe...Hi Daybed." He stares at me and my papers
and my books and my millions of stickies, laughing at me, mocking
the very idea of brain stimulation itself, mocking emotionally
painstaking articulations and their documentation. "Whatsh
the point?" he most likely thinks to himself. He'd rather
just be bored than think.
I
think that this place is a writer’s dream house and one
must be silly to not take note of this fact. 175 clinically
distraught psychopaths including myself roaming around freely.
What could be more tantalizing and thought-provoking than observing
175 psychos? College? Ha!
*
I walk down to the
center and eat my usual cereal and toast with jelly. I sit next
to Woog. We never really talk much to each other but we definitely
enjoy each other's warmth when eating. He would always eat with
his face down at his food, not willing to look up unless he
heard gun shots or something.
"Did
Semi rape ya yet?" Woog murmurs with his eyes still immersed
in the cereal bowl. He looks as if he asked his Frosted Flakes
if Semi had raped them...if Semi had raped each individual flake.
But in reality, the question was directed towards me.
We, at the Epari Correctional
Facility are just crazies with the potential to get better and
eventually get out. There hadn't been a reported rape at Epari
in six years. He speaks quietly to his cereal again. "There's
word spreading 'round here that Semi had raped a few of the
poor, mindless ones- some of the ones that would have been too
helpless to bring the matter up with Dr. Peterson. And Mihos...
Mihos tells me that Semi fucks them poor fuckers up so bad that
they get so scared they don't tell nobody. He ties em to the
bed with ripped up bed sheets, beats the shit out of ‘em,
and rapes ‘em."
"What the hell are you talking
about Woog? Mihos told you that?" I place my hand under
his chin and raise his head up so that he can look me in the
eye. He gets extremely nervous and bubbles out his words in
no particular order.
"You...God, umm...listen..."
"I'm listening."
"Mihos... Mihos told me
that... Semi moved in with you... cause he wants to fuck."
I pause...then smile at him. "Oh is that so." I push
Woog's head back down at his cereal and give him a pat on the
head. "Thanks for breakfast buddy."
I
get back to the room and sit at my bed and stare out the window.
I can't help but to think about what Woog said to me today at
breakfast and... rejoice... about the fact that my plan worked.
I try to write, but
nervousness and anxiety have taken me over. I walk outside and
smoke some cigarettes. I walk over to Stevo and sit with him
atop the picnic bench. I light his cigarette for him. I smoke
mine. We make small chat about this and that. "What do
you think about Semi?" I ask.
"Semi?" he
belches out with his deep cigarette-scratchy voice. "Poor
guy. I don't know much about him. Whenever I see him, it looks
like he had just snorted crack or something though."
"Yea, I'm roomed with him."
"For real?"
"For real."
"How is that?"
"We
don't really talk that much... but listen to this- Woog told
me this morning that Semi wants to fuck me."
"Oh
don't listen to what that motherfucker says. He's a born again
Christian- you know all those faggots are fucking liars."
I remain silent.
Stevo exhales his cigarette smoke then speaks again: "That's
fucking weird shit though. I've always just sort of seen him
as asexual. Ha. He."
"That's what I thought too,
man. I'm starting to doubt myself now though. I just hope he
doesn't try anything. I don't want to have to kill him."
I leave Stevo and go my own way. My heart begins racing. I can't
stop thinking about Semi. I can't stop thinking about him. I
can't stop thinking about Semi. I can't stop thinking about
his innocence. He must have a huge mother fucking cock. Fucking
Semi would be like fucking a horse for fuck sake, I say to myself
with a smile.
I go back
to the room and see Semi drawing. I stare at him and ponder
about the fact that I've blamed him in the past, but I wasn't
sure if I could pull this off though. I've managed to make some
people believe that Semi is a rapist, some, like Mihos and Woog,
believe it so much, that they are worried for MY well being.
It is ironic in a way.
Semi gets up and starts for the door.
"Where you going
Semi?"
"Dinner, Daybed."
"Hold on,
I'm coming."
We walk to dinner. Semi foxtrots it, and I stare at his foxtrotting.
We sit down. We eat. He eats. I nibble. I go back early taking
a tray and an apple for the road. I take the short route, Corridor
C, and enter the room. I lie atop my bed. My eyes are fixated
on the wall.
Semi dances
into the room a couple minutes later. He says nothing. He lies
in bed. Falls asleep. I stare at my ceiling. Thinking. Thinking.
Hours pass. Hours.
I
take my sheet off of my bed. I rip it into four different strips.
Luckily for me, Semi was sleeping on his side. His hands were
curled together and his legs were sifted apart. His snores echo
through out the room. I listen to his snores.
It
is time. I crawl down from top bunk and slowly and cautiously
I tie each hand to the bedpost. I tie the legs together and
then tie them to the other end of the bedpost. I place duct
tape over his mouth. I begin unbuckling his pants. Slowly. Slowly.
Slowly. I pull them down accompanied by his underwear. Slowly.
Slowly. Slowly. If there was any pause in his sleeping pattern,
any odd sound differing from his usual snores, I would stop
what I was doing, and wait until it felt right again.
I had his pants and underwear
down. I was right! He does have a monstrous penis. It seems
bigger than my arm. I smile. Its time I say to myself again.
I begin whispering in Semi's ear: "I am going to fuck you,
you fucking crazy bastard. I 'm going to rip you up you fucking
bitch. You bitch ass motherfucker. You fucking bitch. You slut.
You whore."
Semi
opens his eyes. He sees himself in his predicament. He stares
at me. Straight face. No frown, no smile, just a straight face.
A confused face.
I call
him a fucker and hit him repeatedly over the head with the tray.
I stop suddenly and put more tape around his mouth. I wrap it
around his head a couple of times. No sound could ever get out
of that. "Fuck you Semi," I burp out while attacking
him again. I pull my pants down and get behind him in bed. I
was ready. I push it in. I push it further and further in. He's
crying.
He is squirming
like a little sally. I keep fucking him. I fuck him over and
over. I cum in my hands and wash away the evidence. I brace
myself. I pull my pants up. I take some deep breaths. I steady
myself and rip the tape off of his mouth. I untie one of his
arms. I figure that Semi would be able to untie himself with
one arm free, but I am wrong: he just sort of pants heavily
with sweat and drool dripping down upon his shirt and bed. I
untie the other arm. Yet, with both hands free, he still doesn't
untie his legs. With one hand he cups his testicles and penis,
and with the other, he rubs his head.
I untie his legs. Semi remains in a state of stupefaction.
"Hit me you fucking
fuck," I say to him. "Get up hit me!" He doesn't
budge. That confused fucker. I punch him in the face. I punch
him in the face again. He pushes me back with his head to the
ground. "That's it, you fucking monkey, you low life, you
piece of shit," I say while punching him a third time.
"HIT ME!!" As I throw punch number four, something
finally triggers deep down within him; he jumps out of bed and
rips me to the ground as if I was a piece of celery. He punches
me over and over and over again. He cuffs me in the face and
neck and head repeatedly. Things get blurry.
I wake up with Dr. Peterson staring me down. Pains rush through
my body as if I was struck by lightning.
"It's
okay, Dave, Semi is gone now. It’s over."
"What's
going on?" I shriek.
"Don't worry, he’s
gone now. He is away. He has been moved to the Berenstein Facility."
"What did he do to me? What did he do to meee!" I
scream.
Dr. Peterson comforts me and sits with me for long hours at
a time.
It takes about two weeks to recover. I move back to my room.
I am assigned a new roommate. I start writing new stickies and
I throw away the old ones. |
|
|
