'The Violence'

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Romance  |  House: Booksie Classic

'The Violence'
Created and Written by
Payton Gilbert

‘The Violence’












San Diego, California


Look at all these places, every little spot where memories linger, and a certain fever remains. High above the ground in ‘Lauxes Apartments’, the view of the morning’s sunrise is one of soother feeling when it’s shared. There were nights of home-cooked vegetables, nights of vibrant movies and warming cuddling. When a really good day came along, Jonathan Silman and the beautiful Trisha Avalleign would embrace each other’s warming arms and dance to music playing from the T.V., such as ‘Big River’ by Johnny Cash, or ‘Venus’ by the Shocking Blue, along with many others. The cabinet was rarely opened, but when it was, a tall bottle of red wine would make these bubbling hearts share the loose shoulders and fascinated eyes. Those days, however, are all but memories and cold reminders.

Gazing out the tall, silver building, the sweet memories return to pierce Trisha’s soft, delicate skin. This spacious apartment is only shared by one nowadays, for six months ago, a warm sunny day grew bleak. A quick run for vegetables from the grocery store went from peaceful to not so pleasant. The hand-in-hand love brewed all the way there and out with smiles wide stretched. However, the way back became littered with some terribly dressed and weed scented people, hippies. It was today of all days that this common sight decided to act on some instinct instead of circle-jerking with their dream catchers. It was a pack of them, maybe four or five, forming a circle around the two lovers. In trying to politely move forward and ignore the people of tree-hugging souls, they became aggressive. Knocking the grocery-packed bags out of his hand, Jonathan stepped back to protect his heart, who was unsure of what to do. After some pleading and even attempted bargaining, the herd moved in and began to beat Jonathan, causing cuts and bruises and clumps of blood to be released onto the concrete. Just when they let off, their marijuana-infested minds must have found humor in their action, as they proceeded to kick, punch, spit and shove the poor, injured man. Nearby police sirens were far too late, as all the men and women in blue arrived to was the fleeing of prancing hippies and a tear-filled woman holding a battered, lifeless man.

Thinking back to that piercing memory of black and death, the flood gates are open. The beautiful Trisha sits in her own delicate arms, embracing the warmth of her own body. Standing up, she leads herself into the bathroom, tossing her shirt and socks to the side. Pulling the shower nozzle and twisting it to a warmer temperature, Trisha slips herself inside and descends to the floor. The tears leaking from her eyes melt into the liquidity of the shower water. Moving her arm to the sensitive excitement of her genitals, Trisha slowly masturbates. As the fingers move and sensations travel, her head is thrown back in the name of pleasure. However, the tingling vibration only feels as good as the heart, which radiates a cold, plagued cloud.

The next morning, the glowing rays of a vibrant sun lights the vast city with flaming life. A commotion of civilians walking the streets mixes with the constant rumble of vehicular traffic. Beautiful creatures crawl the branches of trees, burrow into the dirt of the ground, or soar the cool breeze of the saturated blue sky. Nature blooms a vast array of gorgeous colors, illuminating the view more than the streetlights at night. Among these crowds is Trisha, acquiring a few vegetables and sauces at Whole Foods. Finding everything with ease, it is not long before she proceeds to the checkout and is on her way out the automatic doors. Taking a deep breath, Trisha embraces the warm sunshine and peaceful blend of nature and humanity. Turning the corner, she makes her way back to ‘Lauxes Apartments’ with a steady pace. Occasionally smiling out of respect to a few civilians, her path is mostly clear of others. As she nears the main road, a pack of hippies are walking towards her, talking amongst each other. Shivering her skin, locking her eyes, the young woman begins to feel some aggressive pinch all around her body. Keeping her head down, she walks all the way to the opposite side of the road just so she doesn’t have to be around those atrocities. Clenching the grocery bag, her head turns back and a cold, silent scowl is directed to the four pot-scented fuckers.

About four hours later, Trisha is high above the concrete and a sweet smell fills her room. A bowl of zucchini spaghetti in her lap, a personalized playlist of songs emerges from the T.V. in front of her in the living room. The strange feeling from the near encounter with the hippies still boils beneath her skin and blood. What a fucking disgrace to humanity and Earth itself, goddamn hippies. At this point, there is a distaste for those who even just partake in smoking weed. Her lips stretch to a smile while thinking these amusing thoughts, causing a shine in those crystal blue eyes. This is how reasoning begins for the hatred of an entire demographic of people. Whether people are straight or gay, normal, or transgender, even vegetarian, or carnivorous, it’s good to have diversity and freedom of choice. However, everyone hates something, and her something is the devil-worshiping, tree-hugging hippies. Her already present smile extends as the next song plays; ‘Therefore I Am’ by Billie Eilish.


(In the song)

“…I’m not your friend, or anything, damn,

You think that you’re the man,

I think, therefore, I am…”

Some strange tingle flows down her body and swirls her brain. A few bubbling thoughts and ideas burst in that mind of hers, though not exactly sure of what it is. Looking down at a slightly wrinkled piece of blank notebook paper, she picks up the pen next to it and quickly jots down in the heat of passion;

It’s the sound of cries and screams being what you hear

But its approach to your life and comfort being what you fear

It’s not a face to forget or an item you can repair

This presence lasts forever; the VIOLENCE IN THE AIR

The next day, Trisha overlooks the isles of a nearby JC Penney, holding her managerial position. Gazing around, the sight of numerous types of people entering the store brings a nice diversity to the workplace. There are stray heterosexual men and women, gay and lesbian couples, interracial couples, and even visibly transgender people coming in to look around and shop. Taking a minute to help a young woman find a skirt, she points to the back right corner of the store and helps her along. Walking back to her desk, Trisha’s head turns to see two hippies calmly entering the store. As they stroll over to the formal section, she composes herself and follows them in. Sifting through cotton dress shirts, Trisha approaches them with a devilish smile.


“What are you two doing?”

Hippie 1

“Oh, hello. We were just looking for some nicer dress shirts… My brother is getting married- “


“Looks like you’re attempting to steal. Attempted shoplifting can get you in some major trouble. For Christ’s sake, you two look homeless.”

As Trisha crosses her arms, the hippies look at each other with hesitation and with concern. The second hippie takes the shirt from the other and sets the hook back onto the rack.


“I don’t give a fuck about your brother or his wedding. I don’t give a fuck about you or your little abomination friend. However, I do give a fuck about my store, which you’ll have to leave now. Would not want to get security involved, now, would we?”

With a stone-cold scowl and squinted eyes, the two hippies step away from the formal section and leave the store. Trisha grows a smirk on her silky skin and a pleasurable tingle leaks from her head to her fingertips. That satisfaction lasts for the remainder of her shift up until she leaves for the day. On the streetlight-illuminated walk home, the solitary company makes way for thoughts, memories, and a past of warmer hearts. Jonathan… his sweet smile, that soothing comfort in his arms, the reassurance of tranquility after a rough day… it’s missing now. The cuddling during a movie, dancing to the music, and the surprise date nights, it’s never going to happen again, not with him. Five years of a relationship and it was only improving, until it was taken away. All the activities, no matter how layered and planned, or sudden and adventurous, intimate, or sexual, all of it means something with him. Taking a deep breath, the clouding sadness, loneliness, and missing light in a dark life fills her soul at the next inhale. It’s not long before she reaches her apartment and travels to the higher level where her room overlooks San Diego. Once inside, Trisha sets her purse on the kitchen counter, rubbing her shoulder and leaning on the silver and black granite countertop. Glancing up to the cabinet in front of her face, she reaches up to open it, revealing a giant bottle of partially consumed red wine. Her and Jonathan would share a drink every so often, when there were things left to celebrate.

Grabbing the bottle of wine and closing the cabinet, Trisha slips her converse off and pulls the cork off with her teeth. Spitting it on the ground, she takes a few little gulps of that smooth, red liquid. Now to the living room, she raises her arms to slip the shirt off her body and to the floor. Reaching for the remote, the intoxicated woman turns the T.V. on and plays one of her selected playlists on shuffle. About thirty seconds later, she raises the bottle to consume a few more gulps worth of good feeling, while ‘One Piece at a Time’ by Johnny Cash fills the air.


(In the song)

“… I’d get it one piece at a time, and it wouldn’t cost me a dime

You’ll know it’s me when I come through your town

I’m gonna ride around in style, I’m gonna drive everybody wild

‘Cause I’ll have the only one there is around…”

Taking another drink, the smiling woman lets her shoulders loose and moves with elegance as she dances around the living room. As the smooth moves proceed, she removes more articles of clothing, now only in her socks, black and white cheekster cotton underwear, and sports bra. Swaying and tapping her feet, Trisha migrates to her bedroom, easing onto the bed as to not spill the alcohol still in her hand. Carefully taking another drink and setting it on the nightstand, she looks up to the ceiling with a growing smirk. Moving her left arm down her body, Trisha closes her eyes as she begins to masturbate. Within the blackness of her closed eyes and wandering of her drunken mind; visions of gruesome murders, nails digging into skin, hickeys being exchanged between lovers, battered and dismembered bodies, and an imaginary Jonathan having sex with her all fills the attentive space. The wild mix of visions and imagination all contribute to an amazing experience and intensify the sexual sensation even more. The more creative and pain-inflicting thoughts that circle her mind, the better her bodily instrument feels. The blood, the gashes, screaming and torture, thoughtful and chaotic, it all seems so very strange, yet so delicate. One particular word could describe the flaming desire, the light in the shadows, the ripple in the waves, the breath in cold air, the shivers of excitement: the violence.

The next day, a strange calmness and boiling excitement rumbles Trisha’s brain as she walks the city streets. For weeks, this cycle occurs, the cycle so warming and at the same time reckless. After a hangover, a few pills of Advil are consumed before and during her shifts at work. When one is in charge and simply oversees a crew, she doesn’t need to explain why a morning of sluggish movements and a pulsing brain is followed by strengthened focus and anticipated nights. The unpredictability of these nights and the ever so changing frequency of these occurrences makes the times they happen even more intense and exciting. One day off work, the night before allowed for some extra alcohol to be consumed and the later hours of the darkness to result in smiling delusions. Out in town this morning, a strange calmness and rumbling excitement tingles her brain and bubbles in her veins. The rather soothing mood her mind rests in is just what this warm summer day makes enjoyable. After stopping by a café, Trisha walks the streets with a fresh hot vanilla cappuccino. Taking a sip, she looks up for a moment at the astoundingly beautiful colors of the sky and its meeting landscape. Closing her eyes to the painting of a sight, a piece of spontaneous poetry writes itself in the lines of her mind;

The world, as it seems

It’s one of a softer bite, but sure to bleed

The eyes stare and mouths frown

The one who holds the most is one of which is crowned

You let loose, but its grip will tighten

The one that is free is one of extreme violence

Turning down the next street, Trisha stops cold in her place at the sight of hippies smoking joints and listening to garbage 70s dogshit music. The whole alley smells of cigarettes, marijuana, incense, and trash. One of them looks over to her, then following, the other eyes in her direction as well. Blood boiling and stare intensifying, the sight in front of her shakes her mind and tingles those fingertips. Turning around, an oncoming hippie bumps into her, causing Trisha to clench her teeth. Hippies in front and behind her, there is no choice but to breach these trapped corners.

As if instinctive to her own survival, Trisha grabs the hippie she bumped into and jabs him in the stomach. The others startled, Trisha points focus on the one cowering on the ground. Punching him twice in the jaw and once in the neck, the man on the ground struggles to catch his breath. She then reaches for his throat, digging her nails into his neck, fiercely pushing her fingers in between his veins. Blood oozing from the cuts in his skin, Trisha grows a smile brighter than the sun on shimmering water. The sound of footsteps nearing, she takes this moment to look at the pain pulsating in the poor devil-worshiper’s eyes. One of the other hippies now approached, his leg comes up and kicks Trisha on the side of her face, knocking her to the ground. Tasting the bittersweet trickle of iron in her mouth, a rather intense pleasure rises within, turning her on immensely. Picking herself up, she shoves the three standing hippies to the dirty ground and the one that kicked her is punched into a pile of trash. Looking to the downed hippie, a smile crosses her lips as she raises her foot and forces it down on his face. Crushing in his right cheekbone and squeezing that eye from its socket entirely, his eye now dangles by a few connected juicy cords with a river of blood surrounding.

A few hours later, up in the warmth of ‘Lauxes Apartments’, Trisha lies on her bed. Looking to the details in her ceiling, the young woman’s mind wanders. Dirt, specks of gravel, and a little sweat still on her clothes and hands, she lifts them up to see the damage done earlier. Bringing them to her face, she softly slides her fingers down her cheeks, down her neck, all the way down her chest and to her waist. Removing her pants, she slips them off her legs and throws them to the ground. Her shirt coming afterwards, it too is tossed to the side. A warming smile coating her face, Trisha hurriedly leaps out of the bed and moves into the kitchen. Returning with her bottle of red wine, she slips herself back onto the bed, recalling how badly she beat the hippies just hours ago. It felt incredible to make the scum of the earth bleed by these hands. Raising the bottle to her mouth, she smiles and gulps a few glasses worth of delicious red happiness. Setting it on the nightstand, she proceeds to remove her undergarments and pulls the blanket up to her chest. She begins to think about how that hippie in the alley kicked her, making her mouth bleed. She thinks about how good it felt, tasting the silky blood of her own pain.

You can’t spell violence without the letters of love



The End



‘The Violence’


Created and Written by

Payton Gilbert

Submitted: December 28, 2020

© Copyright 2021 Payton Gilbert. All rights reserved.

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