Ashes Ashes part I

Moving to the secluded area out by the lake four states away from both our fucked up families was the best thing we could've done for ourselves.  The toxicity had gotten overwhelming, the family drama nauseating.  We knew no one would ever visit, and that's how we liked it.  We were happy in our own little world out here.  Nothing lasts forever, though.  Sure, we'd joked about it aplenty.  "You know, I could chop you up and bury you out here and no one would ever find you," I'd jokingly said more than once.  She'd just laugh and agree, and everything would be okay.  I picked up work pretty easily when we relocated, and we decided she'd stay home and take care of pretty much everything.  First, she tried to respond with, "well I could do the same to you."  Then, "I guess your boss would wonder where you were, though."  Now, I know for most people, "jokes" like this would make one question the relationship, but we were, well, a little different.  You know, saw things with a twist.  One of the things we noticed when we first met was our shared off-kilter sense of humor.  

We kept to ourselves, didn't care to meet any neighbors or make friends, and life went on.  At first everything was good, we managed to put a bit in savings, and we'd settled into a nice quiet existence.  Then I got careless while moving some equipment, you know, trying to be all macho in front of the younger co-workers and all.  Then the baby came along.  Ordinarily that'd be fine, but with the mounting out-of-pocket shit, my physical therapy and whatnot, and being out of work for so many weeks well, things just kind of piled up.  

Mmm, Poppycock

 I suppose the worst part was his screams.  God, he was so fucking annoying, like a little kid who skinned his knee on the playground.  Big brother thought he could force me to scratch his back the way dad made us do his, but I wasn't having it.

I was trying to enjoy munching on the container of Poppycock that was typically reserved for the best-behaved of us, but since my brother and I were the only ones home and our father was out on one of his benders and likely wouldn't be back for another day or so, I decided to grab it from where it was hidden behind the flour and sugar up in the cupboard and claim it for my own.  The screaming had subsided for a bit, but I guess he thought dad might be home, so he started up again.  His fingernails lay in a grisly pile on the bathroom floor where I left them.  Why should I have to clean up his mess?  I'm the one who did all the work, what with having to find a decent pair of pliers, tie him down and all.  He even gave me a few bruises in the process.  It wasn't as bad as when I cut his dick off.  Oh, he'd made fun of me one too many times.  Told all his asshole friends my uncut little cock looked like a baby elephant trunk.  

You know, Poppycock sure blows Crunch 'n Munch and Cracker Jack out of the water, what with the thick caramel coating, the pecans and all.  This shit's delicious. Anyway, back to his dick.  So enough is enough, I thought, and when he was asleep I rolled over, sat on his chest so he couldn't move, and used mom's pinking shears to cut it off.  They sure were pink after that, let me tell you.  I'd be willing to bet he'd never make fun of my pecker ever again.  The screams came again, and he was really getting on my nerves.  It was almost as godawful as when I started slicing across his fucking forehead.  All I wanted was his scalp.  I had no intention of taking off his whole head or anything.  "What do you thing I am, some kind of animal?" I said as he groggily opened his eyes and realized what I was doing.  I'd put some of dad's pills in a spoon, crushed them up and put them in his Kool-Aid at snack time, so he was out like a light.  For a while, anyway.  Up til then I'd only imagined what it would sound like, so when I started pulling the hair and skin back over his noggin' the tearing sound almost made me gag.  It kind of came off in pieces, and I got bored and ended up leaving jagged parts attached by these weird little strings of meat and blood and stuff.  It was kind of gross, if you ask me. The whole point was to embarrass him like he did me when dad cut my hair funny 'cause he was drunk.  I had to go to school like that, and boy was I fuming.  "Not gonna make fun of me again, are 'ya?"  I said.  I got no response because I think he passed back out or something.  

Anyway, as I sat back and gave brief consideration to cleaning up the smears, splats and drips all over the place by now, I polished off the whole can of Poppycock.  I know, I know, you're thinking, "Boy, this guy's got no self control.  You'd think he'd save some for later."  I guess this is why mom used to say we couldn't keep stuff like this in the house.