Story I Am Working On Yes...this is copywrighted =)

[fw_Saint 0]

Why do the do this?Can't they leave me alone?I can't take thisPlease kill me.October 19, 2005Ft. Lauderdale, FL1:37 AM"Why is it so cold here", muttered a fading voice. Well, a raspy voice.The room was not very well lit, and it had a strong smell of...decay? Was that the word, he was not sure. He wasn't sure of anything. Who knew what would become of him. After his brothers death he went on a binge. Sitting on a mattress in the old Conwell house, surrounded by hypodermic needles, and bent spoons. Saint was shown shaking. Wrapped in a small sweater, you could see the sweat dripping down his face. The cold sweat that stained the mattress. There were at least 12 used condoms sitting on the floor, and a few porno magazines grounded into the floor. "Why is it so *BLEEP*ing cold?", hissed Saint as his eyes darted back and forth as the Heroin ran through his system.He knew what he did was wrong, but he could not help it. He needed something to escape. Finally, Saint fell asleep. Only to be filled with nightmares that have filled his head ever since Jakes death.December 23rd, 1999.Oakland Park12:42 AMThe night was so cold, so *darn* cold. I could have snapped my balls off in no problem. Jake and I were sitting at Oakland Park. We just dicking around, smoking some weed. You know, puff puff pass. We were having a good time. We had some Red Dog 20/20 and were just passin it off. It was a good time to get wasted. We were just getting ready to move, and it was our last time to get wasted in this hell hole. I just remember mostly, it was so cold that night. The weatherman did say it was going to be pretty *BLEEP*ing cold, but this was unreal. I don't really know if it was the weed, or what. But *BLEEP*, it was so *BLEEP*ing cold. We were talking about what we wanted to do when we got to New York. That's when it happened. A car sped around Maple and Main, and flew down the road to the entrance of the park. I didn't know whose car it was. I just remember Jake pulling out a Smith & Wessen .45 and yelling at me to run. I don't remember where he got the gun. He only got it the week before. Said he sold some good "stuff" to some guys down on the Ave. Then I started to run, I ran and hid like a little *BLEEP*. I should have stayed and fought. Instead I saw my brother get shot up, by a bunch of scum. When he was lying on the ground, after they drove away. I ran up to him and when he was looking at my with his glossy stare, he tried to say something."It...wa..s...n..t...supppose..d..t..o..end...th..i s...way", he spat. The blood was poruing now, out of the wound, and his mouth. "I'm...sorry...Steve".October 19, 2005Ft. Lauderdale, FL2:14 PMHe shot up faster than a bullet. He wiped the tears from his face and the sweat of off his brow. He through the soaking wet pillow across the room, and in his rage punched a hole through the wall. He screamed."I need more, I need to leave this", he muttered.He picked up a needle, plunged it into his arm, and in sweet surrender sunk into the soiled mattress. Falling into his dream world. He knew what he had become. He was a junkie, he had no money, and he had no body. He was going to rot here, sitting on a piss stained mattress covered in blood and semen. He just lay there and let the Heroin run through him. It seemed to fill every hole. He wanted to quit, but knew without it he would end up killing himself, or worse someone he loved. That's when it happened.October, 20 2005Ft. Lauderdale, FL 3:21 PMSaint pulled up to Jenny's house in his *BLEEP* Cavalier. God *darn*, '86. He walked to her door, he looked like *BLEEP*. Sitting in the Conwell house has done him no good. He looked like death itself, his skin was pale from the Heroin taking him over. His eyes were sunk into his head, and looked like never ending holes of Misanthropy. Jenny answered the door and invited him in. It was like walking into Sharon Tate's house. It was so...empty. There was a cough, and a TV. On the TV was a show Saint had never seen. Called....Eternal Storm from HATE Wrestling. That's when he saw him. The same guy. How could this be? Six years, and the police did *BLEEP*. Now the guys on *BLEEP*ing T.V?"*BLEEP*, I need to go. Now", Saint yelled as he ran out the door. Jenny never even said hello."*BLEEP* drugs, they are my past. I need them no more, after he is under me I will finally have my revenge. He needs to be hurt as bad as me."Saint finally showed up to the bus station. Saint ran as fast as he could. He ran to the ticket window."I need a ticket to New York. It needs to leave soon.", Saint said, gasping for breath.And that is how this story of Sex, Drugs, Bruises, and Blood began. It's all up to him now.I?ve been to hell?Now I?m trying to get homeOctober 21, 2005Somewhere in the Eastern StatesI don?t have a watch?.Dear Diary, It was really a site to see. A Crackhead, a N***a, and red neck couple from down in god knows where all riding the same bus. This was no *BLEEP*in? Greyhound. I thought the roof was going to fall off. I think we lost the muffler somewhere in Georgia. This redneck will not shut the *BLEEP* up. He just keeps talking about football, I tried to tell him I don?t give a *BLEEP*. He started to get a little bit violent, so I let him go. I have not shot up since last night at the Conwell house. The tracks in my arms are starting to turn purple. I better quit Drugs now if I want to get into Titanium Wrestling. Well, I?m going to try and shut the *BLEEP*er up. So, I may write again.He?s had that journal since he could remember. His mom gave it too him? No, maybe it was his dad. Who cares, they don?t talk to him any way. He has no family, the only family he has is Jenny. She is just a *BLEEP* who can take down some *BLEEP*. He only goes to her when he needs food, sex, or to watch T.V. He?s still shaking, he needs it so bad. Why won?t he just do it? Who cares, if he doesn?t get in big deal. He will just wait outside anyway for him. That?s when he will get him. That?s when he started falling asleep.No?stop?don?t let me sleep! I will do anything just let me stay awake! I DON?T WANT TO GO BACK!December 23rd, 1999.Oakland Park12:42 AMI can?t believe I just sat there. The flashing lights looked like they were singing to me. I just remember them picking Jake up, blood still flowing from his mouth. I was holding his hand. It went cold an hour ago. I had to let the weed get out of his system. I was still a little bit buzzed because I kept smoking. I told them it just happened, they knew right away thought. They could see that ice started to form around his eyes were it is most damp. They put him on the stretcher and put him in the Ambulance. I got in behind them, mostly staying quite. I just sat there and thought, I wanted to know who did this. I remember seeing my brother hanging out with him before. I think we may have sold him some weed. Why did this have to happen to me?October, 21 2005Somewhere in mid-eastern statesI just asked that redneck?6:15 pmThe sky was lined with pink and purple. The sun was just starting to sink behind the clouds as Saint was slowly coming back to reality. He awoke to find himself on the bus alone. They were sitting in the Parking lot of a McDonalds. Was he hungry? Or did he want to wait until he got to New York? The people have finally come out of McDonalds.?God Damnit, I wish these fat asses would hurry up.?, Saint mumbles to himself.Finally, one by one the people start to climb onto the bus. The driver starts the bus and makes his way onto the road. Once again, the Redneck is talking his **bottom** off.?God *darn*, We whomped on so ?ard! ?Ell Yeah we did! I mean, dey was like, BAM, and number 53 flew back no less dan three feet!?, He was so full of emotion. He was actually yelling.?Dude, shut the *BLEEP* up. No one gives two shits and a *BLEEP* so why don you sit your inbred **bottom** down and chill for a little bit.?, Saint finally said. He was so god *darn* sick of this guy.?Hey, ya little *BLEEP*. Don?t you be telling me what to do. I will break you in half, you understand??, he yelled. Spraying spit like it was nothing.?Will you just shut up? Actually, I don?t understand. I can?t understand one *darn* word you are saying, I don?t think anyone here does. Well, maybe your sister?wife?cousin? Whatever she is. She probably understand.?, Saint yelled. Exhausted by this point.?I don?t like the tone of your voice, maybe I should tell this driver to pull over a minute and we will see who is so tough.?, he spat back.?Go ahead and tell him to pull over, butch!?, Saint yelled. Standing up and getting in the guys face.Get yourself readyYou are going to fight...damnit I said get readyLets get this movingOctober 21, 2005North Carolina6:32 p.m.Is he really going to fight? Why did he feel like he had to, he felt like he has been disrespected in the worst way. He didn't want to fight. I don?t want to fight. God damnit, why did he pull the bus over? The brakes hissed like two snakes ready to constrict me."Lets do this, fairy." The redneck hissed, just like the brakes.That?s ones thing you never want to do. Fight a drug addict. He has not shot up in two...no...three whole days. He is now shaking, he is ready to explode. The door creaks open and Saint steps out into the setting sun. The redneck steps out of the door, and cracks his big, bulky, sweaty neck."You ready", he said. His voice getting meaner by the second."You don?t want to fight me", Saint protested, "Please"."Don?t try to get out of it!", exclaimed the Redneck.That?s when it went down. The redneck ran at Saint, fist slicing through the air. The fist crashed into Saint cheek, sending him to the ground. He tried to roll over but couldn't. So, he just moved backwards. Crawling like and inside out spider. The redneck was pursuing Saint like a German Shepard. Saint finally stood up, he swung as hard as he could. He felt the cold, sweaty flesh of the man face. As soon as he felt the resistance of the face, it was gone. He knew it...he broke his jaw. Saint looked at the man, his jaw was broken so bad that he could not keep his mouth shut. Saint smiled wickedly. Saint started to punch the man multiple times in the nose, finally feeling it break...shatter if you will. Why did he like this so much? Beaten and bloody, the man stood up to get on the bus. Saint was about to get on when the driver said,"I'm sorry, son. You can't get on this bus. You are too much of a liability; you picked the fight with that man. Now I have to drive him to the hospital.""Are you *BLEEP*ing kidding me? I just spend two *BLEEP*ing days on the bus...hell...where the *BLEEP* am I?", Saint questioned.Before he could even know what was happening the bus pulled away. He was alone in god knows where with no *BLEEP*ing money at all. This cannot be good at all. He shrugged and started walking. I?m so *BLEEP*ed?. Saint started walking; he came upon a small, dirty looking town. There was filth in the streets and it smelled like piss. He could barely stand the smell, but yet he kept walking. He saw a girl walking down the street, she was carrying a messenger bag. He walked up to her.?You know where I can find a white pony?? he asked her.?Just follow the yellow brick road.? she replied. She sounded like someone stabbed her in the throat. She didn?t have a voice, it was like a sick whisper.He had no *BLEEP*ing idea what Follow the yellow brick road mean. What the hell was she talking about? He knew he was close to getting some blow, but then he wasn?t sure. He never shot up, or downed some lines with anyone besides himself. Would he be able to control himself? Would they like him? Or would they kill him, like Jake?Jake?December 23rd, 1999.Oakland Park12:42 AMI sat there in the hospital in a state of denial. He can?t be dead. He just can?t. The tears were freely falling down my face. Cutting me like the razors they are. He is the last *BLEEP*ing person I have. I looked up to him, he got himself killed. Should I kill myself, this isn?t the first time I thought this. I have nothing to live for, nothing. That n***er took it all away. I will find him, and when I do?I won?t be the one dead. I know I won?t.October 21, 2005North Carolina6:32 PMFollow the yellow brick road?he had no idea what that meant. He wanted to know so bad though, he wanted to be able to find where he could shoot up. His veins were calling to him, he wanted to feel the laceration of the needle piercing his skin. He loved that feeling. He wanted it so bad right now, why did he need it? Why did he like his skin blue? Why did he want the needle to slip so bad, and go into his arm. Why was all this necessary? None of this was needed. After five minutes of walking down the road, he looked at an alley way. On first wall he looked at, there was one yellow brick. Follow the yellow brick road he though to himself. So he turned down the alley way. At the end he saw another yellow brick. So he turned right, and there was a big metal door. He banged on the door, and it slowly opened. There was a man standing there. He looked down on Saint and just looked at him.?I followed the yellow brick road,? Saint said. Knowing that was the password to get in. ?Welcome.? The man said. In a mono-tone voice.Saint walked in, he was shocked. Yet filled with an ecstasy so great, he had no idea what to do. There was a table with everything imaginable. Pills, Blunts, Joints, a mound of cocaine, and a bottle filled with liquid heroin. There was a box full of hypodermic needles. He sat at the table, and got a dollar bill out of his pocket. He grabbed a mirror off of the table, and a razor, and cut a line. He smiled, put the dollar into his nose, plugged his other nostril, and killed the whole line. He looked up, tears in his eyes, he put his head back, and shook his long, disgusting hair. That?s when he felt it. The cold, the un-explainable cold. It was just warm ten seconds ago. He grabbed a needle, filled it with the drug, and plunged it into his arm.He missed that feeling so much. As he slowly pushed the needle in, he loved the feeling of lacerated skin. He thought nothing of it; he knew the drug was working. He remembered what Jake had said. It takes eight seconds to get to your brain. Saint sat there, and sank into the chair. Slowly slipping to the ground, in his own little world.Would he ever get out of here? Would he ever get to HATE Wrestling?

[OpaQue 15]

What is the title of your story?

[fw_Saint 0]

I'm acually not sure. I was thinking "Disgust is Contagious" or just "Saint". I can't really decide.

[wassie 0]

dont you think saint is a little bit towards saint-michael...