REGRET

I sort of regret choosing Regret as this month’s writing topic. I tried to draw back on past experiences I’d like to forget while plotting a story, and doing that now, when I’m waiting for the results of a major exam, has not been good for me (why didn’t I study harder? Why didn’t I go to that class?)

And I did say I would stay away from fantasy themes the last entry, but this story was too good to resist!! My imagination is hard-wired to fantasy themes somehow, don’t know why.

This story is seriously the most graphic I’ve ever written, and will be quite explicit. Some of you may get rather offended at it. Sex and violence abound. Very bad language: F-bombs fall like the rain. But there is good reason for it, don’t worry. This story is definitely rated 18-PL.

THE LAST PARTY


“What the fuck do you mean we’re out of booze?”

I was about to throw a fit. Fucking goddamn. Stupid, stupid stupid!!!! I had just bought FIVE bottles of Jack Daniel the other bloody day! Wrote my name across on fucking labels Soraya forced me to fucking buy and put them on my bloody shelf!! What else did they want me to do, install a bloody perimeter fence around the fucking fridge and hire a bloody sniper there?

“Whoa, chill, Mark,” Kumar said. God knows how much weed he took last night. Dude was higher than a mountaineering giraffe. He was sprawled out on his couch, in his underwear, an old pair of green boxers. Bloody threadbare they were, the only things hole-y in this place. (Hahaha! Look at that, I made a fucking joke. No sense of humour my hairy ass.) “Some of Vi’s friends took them yesterday. They, like, really needed some beer. And I didn’t want to let them go out, you know what kind of stuff’s out there at night-“

“So you let them drink my FUCKING booze??? God damn it, Kumar, did it ever enter your thick skull to TELL me first???? I spent the last cash my old man left me on those!!!! I wanted some booze for the beer pong tonight!!!! How FUCKING STUPID can you be????? BLOODY INCONSIDERATE ASSHOLE!!!”

I was in destructive mode again, fueled by my lack of sleep, and the God-only-knew-what stuff I snorted yesterday. I’m a real bastard when I’m like this. Especially because my first impulse is to smash stuff.

Per-chiank went the vase on Kumar’s table. Plunk went the chair as I smashed it. Chiiiannnnk! went the window glass as I drove my fist into it. Fuck fuck fuck oh shit
went me as I withdrew my bleeding fist covered in shards.

“Dude, Benny’s coming back soon,” Kumar said as I walked to the cupboard for bandages. His apartment was full of medical supplies. We had stocked up on tons of bandages and stuff after Vi’s disastrous experiments with S&M the last month. I had TOLD her it was a bad idea, but would she fucking listen? Oh no. Stubborn, that girl. I don’t see anything wrong with inviting those hobos to join us! I don’t see whats wrong with having ‘magnalroxate’ as a bloody safeword! I don’t see whats wrong with not cauterizing the poker just once! Hell, her fucking shrill voice, her know-it-all look-at-me-I’m-a-bleeding-Chem-grad-from-University-of-Bitchopia attitude. Why the fuck we put up with her, I don’t know.

It was just as I was wrapping my poor damaged flesh up that the front door opened. And guess who strolled in, big shit-eating grin on his face, whiskey bottles in one hand, shopping bag in the other?

Bloody Benny De Souza.

He took off his face mask, and tossed it aside, sighing. “Man! It’s a hellhole out there!” he exclaimed, and shrugged in an exaggerated fashion, causing Kumar to laugh. This, predictably pissed me off.

“Well, speak of the devil!” Kumar said.

“No need,” Benny said. “That’s all everyone’s been doing lately.”

The two of them started laughing. I had to force myself not to smash both their skulls together. Bloody fuck hell. Why does everyone say Benny is the funny one of the group? I don’t get his fucking jokes, and all he does is steal them from the motherfucking Simpsons anyway. And when I make jokes, everyone gives me a sad, patronizing look, as if I’m a retard who just soiled his pants.

“Dudes, we shall all rejoice and be motherfucking glad,” Benny said as he walked to the table. “And giveth thanks unto Benny the Awesome. For he hast brought back booze, and a crapload of coke as well.”

“You have coke?” I was astounded. “But how?” We had exhausted our supply a month ago, after our bloody dealer shot himself in the face. Vi said she had seen it coming for quite a while. The guy had lost it big time after his wife went.

“Homeless guy, bumped into him on the way to Valentine’s,” Benny said, revealing the contents of his bag. “Stabbed him in the face, took it off him. Grade A gen-nu-wine coke. Guy screamed like crazy. Damn he had powerful lungs. Would have been a great opera singer.”

‘You stabbed a guy?” Kumar was jolted out of his comfortable numbness. “Seriously?”

“Yeah, it was kinda cool,” Benny said. “Wicked awesome. Hey, we’re screwed anyway. If you’re going to drown, might as well suffocate in a hundred feet of water, instead of ten.”

“And it impressed the chick I was with. Damn, she got so wet when I did that. Like a great lake. You should give her a try. Name’s Shu Lian, costs 50 bucks or a bottle of booze. Tell her you’re a friend of mine, you get a discount on handjobs.”


I left those two, and retreated to my room for a while. Tried to take a nap, but couldn’t fucking sleep. Kumar’s apartment was beginning to stink. We hadn’t cleaned it in two months, and cockroaches were starting to crawl over the place. Not that I was that concerned: the rats would probably eat them. Those damn rodents were beginning to get desperate nowadays. Benny woke up one day too find one of them chewing on his big toe. And if the rats can bear the taste of him, they’ll eat anything.

(Ha ha ha! You see! Another bloody joke! I’m Robin fucking Williams here. These idiots just don’t appreciate my comedy skills.)

I lazed for a while, before deciding to go see Soraya.

I passed Vi’s room on the way: there were three socks tied to her doorknob. Damn, the bitch got lucky again last night. How she does it I don’t know, she has a face like a howler monkey who ran into barb wire.

It was dark in Soraya’s room. The only illumination came from the brave rays of sunlight that managed to penetrate the thick curtains on her window. Alcohol: I could smell it in the air. Which was a bad sign: Soraya had the tolerance of a fucking infant.

She was lying on her bed, naked. It made me horny just to see the sight: that girl was seventeen kinds of beautiful. Toned lower body. Long legs, strong from her ballet experience. Small yet perky breasts. And don’t get me started on her ass. She was the kind of girl the poets would have written epic poetry about in ancient fucking times.

The only part of her I could not see was her face. Soraya had an odd way of sleeping. She covered her face with a pillow, as if she was smothering herself. Said it kept the noises from disturbing her.

She stirred as I went up to her, and slowly eased herself up. Ah, Soraya. Her makeup was all gone, all smudged on her pillow, perhaps. Her long hair was tangled and there was a cut on her right cheek, probably from yesterday’s drunken shenanigans.

“Hey gorgeous,” I said. “How you feeling?”

“Alright,” she said. She smiled, covering her breasts with her pillow, in faux modesty. She knew that always drove me wild. “Though my head is aching like crazy. How long did I pass out for?”

“Don’t know. I left the party after Vi suggested the bukkake. I may be a messed up pervy shit, but some things even I won’t do.”

We chatted for a while, mostly filling each other in on what we had blacked out on during yesterday’s Rapturous Celebration, and what we would do tonight. Soraya seemed happy when I told her we were having beer pong. She was damn good at that. Athletic, my girl is. A real gamer.

We partied every night. Until we all died. Or the world ended. Whichever came first.

Halfway during the conversation, however, she suddenly looked sad, and I asked her what the matter was.

Soraya confessed she had dreamt about her family again the previous night. It fucking killed her, she said, the fact that she was the only one left here. She missed them, she said. Missed them so much.

“Do you think we’re doing the right thing, Mark,” she said. “Keeping up this lifestyle?”

“I don’t know, Soraya. I think its too late to think about that now.”

“What if Kenny was right? What if we can still change our fates? All we need to do is-“

“Don’t mention that bastards’ name,” I snarled. “He can go screw himself, or get one of those priests to do it. When they’re not raping kids. Kenny fucking walked out on us. Gave in to the pressure of those bloody Repenters, turned his back on us to save his skin..he’s dead to me. Fucking dead.”

“I know what you mean,” Soraya said. “I still can’t believe what he did. But I miss my family, so much. And sometimes I wonder if this is worth it.”

She sighed. “I find myself wishing I could turn back time, nowadays. Maybe do a few things differently the second time around. Cuss less. Be nicer to people. Give more to charity. I don’t know. Anything to escape this fate.”

“I wouldn’t change anything,” I replied. “Even if I had the chance.” I paused. “Wait, maybe one fucking thing. I’d have bought that Best of Metallica CD before that fucking angel blew his fucking trumpet. Who knew it would be so hard to find after the apocalypse started?”

Soraya smiled. “That’s all you’d change?”

“Yup.” I kissed her softly on the lips. I brushed her long fringe aside as I did so, ignoring the slight burning sensation on my hand that came from brushing against the large numerals 666, inscribed on her forehead. The same mark that adorned my right hand. “No regrets, baby. No regrets at all.”

We made out for a while, before I continued speaking. “I’m actually pretty happy with my life, as screwed up as it is. I made it with my own choices, and I’m pretty damn proud of how I ended up. Religion, doing good..thats alright for some people. Not for me though.”

“Besides,” I laughed. “If I hadn’t turned to a life of crime, decided to jack that car that day..well, I certainly wouldn’t have met you wouldn’t I?”

“What are the odds we both wanted to steal that exact same Evo at that exact same day?” Soraya laughed as she recalled the memory. Fucking damn. Her laugh was the most beautiful thing in the fucking universe. Like fucking fairy bells.

“Doesn’t matter where I am, baby. As long as you’re there, that place is heaven to me.”

“You are so fucking corny. Holy hell, what was I THINKING when I fell for you????”

We talked for a while more, before Soraya wrapped herself in a sheet, and we went out on a balcony, grabbing our face masks as we did so.

Kumar had got the apartment cheap because of its shitty view: his place faced an industrial lot, next door to a landfill. The only reasons we had gone out on the balcony in the past, before the apocalypse, were for the odd grill, and to sneak a peek at the hot blonde expatriate who lived in the flat opposite, who showered with her windows open.

Now, its view of the dying city was exquisite. Kuala Lumpur had been fucking ravaged after the tribulation. Its streets, once teeming with vehicles trapped in its perpetual traffic jams, were now littered with the bodies of the dead; suicides as well as the murdered and the plague-ridden. Military groups, trying desperately to maintain order, patrolled the streets, clashing with rioters and looters, doing their best to put out fires. The members of the fanatical Repentance Brigade preached on corners and broke into houses to baptize, always bellowing their fucking slogans: ‘There are Always Second Chances”, “Never Too Late’, and so on. Most of the city’s familiar skyline, including the Twin Towers, were gone, piles of rubble now: a consequence of the Horsemen’s devastating ride.

In the sky, the stars were falling. Great streaks of fiery silver, rushing to earth, zig-zagging against the scarlet sky. It was almost beautiful.

Me and Soraya knew that pretty as it was, it was not a good sign. Some more fucked up shit would come out of this, that was for certain. The last time a star had fallen, the Wormwood incident, the seas had been poisoned, cutting off major sea routes and ensuring we would not be eating sushi for a long, long time. Soraya had almost committed suicide at this news.

It was all in the Bible, this stuff, it seemed, in the very last book. Which I thought was a fucking bad idea: if you’re going to fuck things up for everyone, the least you could do is put your Agenda of Fucking Stuff Up in the very first book of your anthology, so your followers know where they’re headed from the fucking start. No need to force yourself through pages of descriptions of how to build Noah’s Arks of the Covenant and learning who begat who! Just get to the part with all the pain and the trumpeting angels, fucking please!

Plus, I don’t know. Religion just isn’t fucking for me I guess. Seriously, nice to do good and all, but to side with a big deity who will serve you with seventeen hundred kinds of agony just because you disagree with him? No thank you. I’d rather live my life according to how I please.

Yes, I’m in for a lot of suffering in the long run. But I’ve suffered my entire life as it is, from the moment I was fucking born, thanks to my fucking father. I’ve woken up everyday for the past few months, my entire body aching from the ravages of booze and drugs and wild sex and whatever knows. I’ve endured Kumar’s cooking. Bring on eternal torment: I’ve spent my whole life preparing for it.

And as long as I got my girl Soraya, my friends Kumar and Vi and even fucking Benny, a bottle of Absolut and some hip-hop on the stereo..I don’t care how fucked up the world gets.

I’ll just keep on partying till it goes up in flames.