Monday finally decided to show its ugly face, and Dom welcomed its ghoulish grin as a relief from a weekend wrought with unrelieved sexual frustration and drama. While belligerently stumbling down the halls of Streamwood High, he lifted his head just long enough to see Tara distracted with someone else. Didn’t know who it was and didn’t care. He wanted to be left alone in a puddle of built up angst, and the fact that Tara was torturing some other poor bastard was a good start. He walked past her without being noticed and dragged his squeaking Converses down the linoleum halls till he reached Algebra. Slamming his head down on his desk with a smack, Dom closed his eyes, hoping to catch up on the precious sleep that utter turmoil had robbed him of throughout the weekend. Kids always sleep much better when someone is trying to teach them something.
There wasn’t any sleep to be had, though. Cursed images coursed through his head in a steady stream of bloody entrails and semen. Like A Clockwork Orange, where that guy had the things holding his eyes open while he was force fed brutal images of rabbits raping a puppy, Dom too was being force-fed the results of the savageness of nature and human kind. A malicious omnipresent being was skull-fucking him, ejaculating into his frontal lobe.
Besides the gruesome carnage, which Dom believed he could deal with, various images of vegetable girl would occasionally interject themselves between acts of bestial-necrophilia and homoerotic-cannibalism. He wasn’t so sure he could deal with that. One moment, she was lying peacefully in Tara’s bed in a sundress with one strap hanging off of her shoulder, staring at him from behind sleepy eyes, then her image quickly left and was replaced by a gorilla donkey-punching a dead monkey. “That’s better,” he thought to himself. Then, she came back, and the blood in Dom’s body slowly made its way to his penis where it bore an erection. At least, he was hoping she was the reason for his erection. He knew it would’ve given him good reason to be concerned if a dead monkey was getting him hard. Although, he figured it was hard to tell since the dead monkey did look like it was enjoying getting donkey-punched.
For some reason getting wood while thinking about vegetable girl felt like getting hard looking at naked pictures of his cousin. But he knew it would’ve been better off to masturbate to naked pictures of his cousin than to let this tragedy invade his brain. “At least my cousin has bigger tits,” he mumbled to himself hoping afterward that nobody had heard that out of context. Well, even in context it would’ve been difficult to explain. It would be best just to kill anyone who had heard him, bury them in Bode Woods somewhere. He tried to bring back the comfort of gruesome images to his mind and push her out, but she mercilessly eliminated them like a five-foot-four Charles Bronson with long hair and perky tits. It was too damn easy for her.
Annoyed, he opened his eyes but kept his head down, staring at a sliver of light that reflected off of the top of his desk. Someone told him that you could smell a storm coming. Probably one of those southern sayings that his mother had thought to impart to him. Occasionally, his dialect would fall into southern speak depending on his company. If he was around it enough, he would be stuck talking like he was from Alabama for days, confusing the hell out of everyone, including himself. Anyway, yeah, so, you can smell a storm coming. He speculated if the same could be said of shit-storms. After a lot of thinking, he came to the conclusion that you can only smell it after you’ve already stepped in it.
Irritated by his mind’s fascination with vegetable girl, he started bouncing his forehead off of his desk, bludgeoning himself in the hopes of making a hole big enough to let the images escape. He didn’t think there was any reason for enthrallment; he had definitely seen better-looking girls, and most of them never even tried to puke on him. At first, he thought it was because the only hands to touch his dick at the party were his own, but he knew, unlike most days of his life, this time it wasn’t his dick that was the problem. Remembering when she called him her “guardian angel” caused his stomach to spasm, pushing bile to the back of his tongue, reminding him of the first time he snorted heroin. After projectile vomiting all over the side of his Bronco, warmth pulsed from his head, pushing itself down until it touched his toes. Not knowing that when you snort heroin, it’s best to find a place to sit as quickly as possible, his knees buckled and he slammed his forehead against the passenger side mirror and knocked himself out. After waking up face down in a pool of blood-vomit milkshake, Dom put his heroin days behind him. After careful consideration, he realized vegetable girl’s words had the same effect on him, compounded with an erection that could hammer a nail through mahogany.
Nauseated and aroused, he didn’t wait for the bell to ring and bolted out of class, holding his book bag in front of him in a Navy-Seal-stealth-like attempt to hide the fact that he was looking for a good time. Mr. Tack knew by now it was best not to ask too many questions and continued teaching the Pythagorean theorem to a class of kids that would much rather be doing something that would force Mr. Tack to question his belief in god.
The first recluse of the newly damned is seclusion. Keep yourself from the rest of them. Don’t let their sin soak into your skin. Dom was doing an admirable job of avoiding confrontations with them for approximately twenty-six hours and twenty-two minutes and thirty seconds before one of the sinners hit him square in the nuts. And, with a baseball-bat-like erection, he regarded getting hit in the berries not dissimilar from having his dick split by an iron boot.
Caving, falling to the linoleum floor in a lifeless heap, he tightened his lips to keep the vomit that had erupted into his mouth from spewing out. A savage perpetrator fell on the linoleum in front of him with a smack. “Poor guy must’ve really hurt his knee on my nuts,” Dom thought in-between blinding flashes of searing pain. His eyes quickly blurred with tears, which made him briefly wonder if anybody would mind if he started to cry. The crippled young man only hoped that, when the haze cleared, whoever hit him in the scrotum would be a ravenous monster thirty for blood and organs so that it would just devour him completely and get it over with. Unfortunately, he was sure that the blurry form was human and unlikely bloodthirsty. But it was still a bastard nonetheless.
After his tear ducts were spent and the blurry forms in his sights began to coalesce into form, he noticed an auburn-colored mane of hair whipping from one side to the other in confusion, and connected to the whipping form was vegetable girl, fully awake and seeking ball-crunching vengeance. Apparently, vegetable girl’s hair was auburn when it wasn’t soaked in greasy sweat. He thought about how etiquette would require him to say “hi” and to politely thank her for cracking his testicles into fragments, but he was afraid he would only inconvenience her further by puking blood all over her face.
She stopped, flipping her head around in confusion, and stared at him wildly like she was going to say something like “Watch where you’re going!” or just call him a dick, but she didn’t. Instead, she smiled like a puppy that had just shit on the carpet.
Dom jumped up so quick that he almost fell on top of her. With bruised nuts and a still waning erection, he didn’t think it would be a good idea to slam his body on top of hers and get arrested for attempted rape. When he finally steadied, he tried to say something witty like ‘I’ll take this as a thank you for saving your life?’ but all that came out was “I’ll take this…” before some of the vomit that had filled his mouth moved into his lungs, choking him like a bastard. Dom threw his hand around his mouth to keep from throwing chunks all over the smiling girl. Uncontrollably, he twisted around and stumbled away as he gagged and coughed. As he ran away, he noticed a warm wet sensation in his crotch. Unsure if it was bloody semen or piss, he didn’t bother to stop and check.