|The Sad and Tragic Story of Poor, Little Timmy|
This is a story from The Tales of the Wishmistress's series, up on DA. There are 4 stories so far, they share common characters, but no background information is needed to understand them, each is made to stand on its own.
Now, there's something wrong with this one, I just don't know what.
Human beings are under the impression that they can control their lives and to some extent this is true. When you look at the bigger picture, it's the little details that kill us.
Once upon a time there was a sensitive, artistic young man called little Timmy. He lived with his divorced mother in a small, rat-hole apartment in the Big Bad City. Now, of course, little Timmy hated his unsatisfying life, his nagging parents and by extension the whole rotten, degraded world.
So one day he decided to off himself and after much thought, he climbed on top of the highest bridge. Once his primary objective attained, he sat down on the platform to catch his breath and wallow in self pity before jumping.
"Oh, what a horrid existence I am leading. I am hated by everyone. Look at me, dear heavens, stranded alone on this high bridge, away from any merciful soul who might lend a helping hand and a compassionate ear."
Little Timmy sighed painfully and heavy tears began spilling down his hollow cheeks. He wiped his incessantly running nose with the sleeve of his Nike turtle-neck, while dangling his feet over the threatening abyss. He hated that shirt; it reminded him of his long lost love, Janice, who had run away with the captain of the chess team, viciously breaking his heart.
Fury found again, little Timmy tore up at his breast, thus exposing his slackly, hairless yet masculine chest.
"Now why did you have to do a thing like that? Ruin a perfectly good shroud."
Little Timmy, startled, jumped high and hit his head on the iron bar above his head.
"Ow, you scared the shit out of me, man. Why didn't you tell me you were there?"
"Didn't you see me? I was behind you the whole time, kid. Besides, I got here first"
"I had no idea it mattered who got here first. What was I supposed to do? Look for other lunatics admiring the landscape?"
"Hey, you've got quite an attitude here. What's your problem, anyway? Underwear too stretchy?"
Little Timmy gently leaned his sweaty forehead on his bony knees.
"Do not mock me, sir. You have no idea of the wretched state I am in. My existential problems are very serious indeed."
"You talk funny. You sure you didn't crack your skull on that bar? I think I see some splattered grey goo."
Little Timmy looked disapprovingly at the chuckling creature, who lay straddled indecently all over the platform, holding the poles tightly in a fiery embrace.
"You, sir, have no heart", he said harshly.
"Did you come to that conclusion all by yourself, bub?"
Little Timmy averted his gaze from the insensitive fellow and sighed deeply. No one EVER understood him. So he began to think aloud, in a shrewd attempt to impress the unwanted companion with his pathetic pity story.
"I have so tried to fit in, dear sir. But alas, they have cruelly rejected me and scorned my emotions. They fled as if I were a putrid fish, whose rotten smell would slaughter the most valiant noses. Oooooh, I have shed SO many tears in my predicament, if only you knew, if only you could understand!"
"You gonna start pulling at your hair any time today, mate? Wuss!"
Little Timmy ignored the rude interruption and continued his monologue.
"The love of my life has forever left me, taking my soul, breaking my heart."
"Do I look like I care?"Gulp.
And indeed, the creature appeared most dispassionate; he gulped down huge pints of beer, while mercilessly picking his nose as if he was trying to poke a hole all the way to his brain.
"I have so tried to be the perfect gentleman, my dear sir. I wrote endless letters..."
"She must have been bored to death. I know I am." Chuckle. Gulp.
"...pouring my captured heart..."
"This is the lamest line I've ever heard."
"...in each and every word, comma or period. Yet she abandoned my soul to the cold winds of despair."
Little Timmy kept on rambling about his pain, sometimes chocking on the heavy smoke ejected straight toward his nostrils by his cloaked companion. During most of his one-man show, he kept his gaze firmly planted on his red Adidas trainers, much like all desperate, suicidal persons are supposed to. He would soften his voice at the end of every sentence, gently shaking his head to accentuate the obvious fact that life had knavishly fucked him over.
Every once in a while, little Timmy furtively peeked toward the dark corner, where the rude fellow had taken residence, seemingly with no intention to leave. The creature had abandoned his nose-picking activities, instead choosing to polish what seemed to be an elongated, rusty blade, a much more difficult activity that one might presume since it needed to keep one free hand to hold onto the platform.
Now this little Timmy found to be most intriguing and decided to interrupt his wailing in order to conduct further inquiries.
"What the fuck is that, man? A bent saber?"
"No, you ignoramus. It's a scythe."
"A SCYTHE. Don't they teach you anything at that fancy school of yours? I mean besides how to get your girl knocked up and then dump her like an asshole."
"That is a lie. A LIE. Wait a minute, how the hell do you know this?"
"I know many things."
"Puah! The transfer of information between us is purely miraculous. Talk about a lame line.Sheesh! Many things, my foot!"
"Such a smart ass you are. Yeah, yeah, keep laughing until your legs fall off. You'll choke on it soon, I tell you."
There was a short, yet intense moment of silence as the two eyed each other with utmost hatred. If they had been in a safer environment, they would have circled each other like rabid dogs, for sure.
Finally they came to a conclusion and started speaking both at once.
"Hey mate, you're pretty alright when you don't talk funny."
"Yeah, if you say so, I guess I am."
"Why do you do that anyways?"
"I don't really know, it just happens."
"You mean like an itch?"
"Sort of, yeah. But I've noticed that it makes me look interesting and the girls dig it."
"I don't get it, then. Why do you want to jump off the bridge?"
"I dunno. Seems like a good idea. I'm so depressed, bored with everything."
"That sounds quite reasonable. Well, what are you waiting for? I ain't gonna stop you."
"I got cold feet."
"What do you expect? You keep dangling them in the wind."
"Was that supposed to be funny?"
"Whoa, don't get your panties in a twist. Look, I'm kinda growing fond of you! You're different from your kind. How about we make a deal?"
Little Timmy eyed the creature suspiciously. Never trust a stranger, they say. It might be a dope dealer or god forbid, even a cop! He decided to treat the issue with caution and poise, both polished by his perfect education.
"What kind of deal? And don't try to pull a fast one on me cause I'm not as dumb as I look."
"Simple, mate! I'll help you with yours if you help me with mine."
"I'm gonna kill you. With this scythe here. Nice, clean and painless. Hurts less than a flue-shot. I'm a professional, you know."
If this were your ordinary story, little Timmy would have been scared shitless.
"What do I have to do in return? Nothing illegal, I hope."
"Aw, no. Just help me down this bridge."
"I can't get down on my own."
"Does it really matter?"
"I seem to have developed a fear of heights."
"Man, that's insane. How awful it must have been for you, stranded all the way up here."
"It was, thank you for caring. You're a really swell youngling."
"But how the hell did you get up here in the first place? And why?"
"I was on my break after a long day's work and I just wanted to drink a pint and relax a little, far from the smell. Your kind reeks, no offense."
"And all of a sudden, I couldn't get down. I've been stuck here for three days. Weird, huh?"
"Yeah, really weird."
Little Timmy, his heart filled with pity, helped the poor creature put its feet back on the ground.
"It was really nice meeting you", said little Timmy extending his hand.
"Same here, mate. I'm almost sorry I got to finish you.But I'll do it with love."
"Okay, let's do this.The longer we put it off, the harder it will be. My suggestion is that you get on your knees, head high. I'll get a good angle and it'll be a less likely that I miss."
"I don't wanna make a mess. Stains come out so damn hard."
Little Timmy started laughing.
"Dear sir, you are indeed a most enjoyable company. Your sense of humor is most original. I haven't laughed so hard in days. Here, take my hand and let's part ways as friends."
The creature looked little Timmy straight in the eyes and raised its scythe, preparing to strike.
"Hey man, put that thing down. You'll get one of us hurt if you keep swinging it like a mad monkey."
"Who are you calling a monkey, bub? I told you I'm a professional."
For the first time in his life, little Timmy experienced the acrid, foul stench of extreme panic. He had been told so many times by his beloved parents to stay away from strange people and weirdos. And now he was all alone on the high bridge with a raving lunatic armed with a rusty blade.
"A promise is a promise. Now snap into position, I hate mess."
Little Timmy decided to make a run for it.
"You leave me be, you maniac, you. Oh, how you have deceived my kind nature with your sweet words. Oh, how.."
Always look around when you cross the street, they say. People drive like crazy these days.You'd better watch out!
The creature approached little Timmy's severed upper body, idly swinging its scythe. It circled the remains carefully so as not to step into the increasing pool of blood and sully its shoes.
Little Timmy had been so preoccupied to deliver his ending speech that he had failed in getting himself properly killed by the speeding harvester.
He lay now in a most horrendous agony.
From time to time, he went quiet to catch painful breaths, then swiftly returned to his shrilly wailing.
Meanwhile, the creature had found a pleasant spot on the edge of the road where it sat calmly, smoking its pipe and desperately trying to shove its cloak through the ears.
"Keep it down, mate, will you? My head hurts. I have a few minutes left from my break and I intend to thoroughly enjoy them."
"Call 911! Call 911! For the love of God, help me! Can't you see I'm dying?"
"There's nothing they can do, mate. Your legs are riding all the way to New Orleans."
Poor little Timmy lay alone, bathing in his own fluids, cursing his unlucky existence and the evil stranger.
"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! Your words are nothing but horrid lies. LIEEEEEEAAAAAAAaaaAAAAAAAAAA. I am still breathing, I am still living. You know not what you say."
"Have patience, kid! And stop that annoying howling."
"Kill me now, noble stranger. Have mercy!"
"Can't! I'm on my break, didn't I tell you that?"
"But you said before..."
"Before we had a thing going on. Now you're just a messy, whiny half-body! I'm on my break. I have rights too, you know! Wait until I'm finished."
After a while, the creature got up, slung its scythe on the shoulder and prepared to go back to the city.
"Damn! My break is over! And I have so much work to do!"
"What are you doing? Don't leave me here like this. You said..."
"Listen, kid. I feel for you, but I ain't getting my shoes dirty. Sorry!"
Poor, poor little Timmy! What a sad, tragic life he has! Gone are the days he was physically able to end his own existence.
There's a lesson to be learned here: never trust a stranger to do your job for you. It seems that for the people who talk funny, death always takes a break.
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