Wasp in My Pocket

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Horror  |  House: Booksie Classic
A bullied boy, goes in the bath to escape in from all his nightmares and falls into a world of madness in his own subconscious.

Submitted: November 10, 2011

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Submitted: November 10, 2011

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Wasp in My Pocket

 

 

 

The tub with steaming hot water was my place to escape. Ears in the water drown out all the hellish screeches of the outside world, a place to think. My naked body touches the pleasantly warm water; taps running like steam engines. My body instantly gets goose bumps, steam rising to the lights. I close my eyes.

Earlier on that day, school was unexplainably painful. The teasing and bullying was much, much worse than it usually is, sticking it out was the hardest thing I have ever had to do. Gay jokes, personal abuse, the list is endless. My way to get away was in my own subconscious. The worst was when I used to be picked on in the changing rooms for being “wimpy” as the other boys said. I would forge notes and skip P.E and other physical lessons because I was scared.

 

Water seeped into my ear canal and suddenly the thoughts feelings and emotion went away, like I was in a coma. Nothing but my smooth body lay in the clear liquid that was Brain journal. I named it that; it is a place where I make good things happen in my cranium, where my brain can make up a land of wonder and fantasy. My eyes remain closed as a static screen popped up, like the ones you get on the television when the aerial is broken. It flickered and disappeared and a dark room with very Victorian furniture was set about in a particular order. Men, headless, in tuxedos with tails; top hats and monocles upon their invisible visage. Women in maid uniforms with curly, retro, hair and showgirl stockings. The maids had no eyes and held trays with their eyes upon it. A dark creature sat at the other side of the room on rouge looking chair, a cigarette was burning, a dim light shone on his face from the cigarette, I saw he had very smart, oiled back hair, black I think. He lit a lamp and the room seemed brighter. I saw him now, pinstripe suit, black leather gloves, and black patent shoes, with a black bowler hat. He took from upon his head the bowler hat which shadowed has face, like the dark side of the moon, to reveal a ghostly pale face with one white eye and one black eye, with black eye makeup all around his eye sockets covering his eyebrows. His lips were of a dark scarlet colour with a black outline. He stood in a very crooked way, almost deformed but every limb and feature was in proportion. He opened his mouth as if to speak but no words came out. A long awkward pause was amidst my feet; however I didn’t care much for the silence I didn’t feel any fear but was more intrigued. He or “it” was an interesting specimen of a human being (if he was human), “Your world is an ash tray with a cigarette burning away in your mind with the lipstick of a wench tartlet on the tab end” he muttered boldly in a monotonous but croakily deep voice. I stared just blankly, his unanimous words left me feeling odd, a kind of feeling like I was flying. He turned around and walked away, his feet were surprisingly light. I followed almost having to run.

 

We reached a long, straight but narrow corridor, with oak wood floors with crimson red carpet leading into the pitch blackness which lit up when we walked closely to our destination. On either side of us there were paintings, very irregular but somewhat intriguingly mystifying. The paintings consisted of men in corsets and high heels, women in suits. As we walked down they got much more obscure, consisting of gas masks; men and women and PVC suits. “Exquisite aren’t they?” He muttered “Err… yes” the pressure to answer was intense. “I think art is the only thing that's spiritual in the world. And I refuse to be forced to believe in other people's interpretations of God. I don't think anybody should be. No one person can own the copyright to what God means. Kind of narcotic isn’t it?” he said so loving and graciously like he really meant it. I didn’t answer; I could tell that he didn’t want me to answer. We came to halt at a large door with a large bolt on it. Three men stood outside of it two bald men in vicars clothing and an elderly man with a long white beard and moustache down to his chest, he was wearing a grey waistcoat and a dinner jacket with tails and smart uniform trousers also grey. He carried a large cane with an eye on top of it. “Ah, my good friend you want to see her? Very well.” The old man said boldly. He took out a large gold key and opened the lock. The eagerness and apprehension were killing me.

 

We came to room with an enchanting double bed with soft satin gold sheets and duck feathered pillows. In the corner of the room a headless man in a tuxedo was sat playing a sad ballad on a violin. Out from under the bed; he produced a suitcase and laid it upon the bed gently. *snap, snap* the locks opened in a snapping motion, he opened the case incredibly slow the suspense was unbearable! He moved slowly to the right and sat there from the suitcase was an astonishing looking woman. A Marilyn Monroe looking lady with black demy-waved hair, pale porcelain skin and red lipstick. She looked like a china doll so plain but yet so interesting and pretty. She wore upon her breast and torso a silk corset and fishnet stockings. I stared vacantly. She went over to the violinist, muttered words to him and he left. That moment she whistled a very loud tune and out of nowhere, two young boys came out in black bodysuits, both with white hair, blinded and muted, crawling on all fours like dogs and sat by her side licking and rubbing against her legs. In a strong American accent she said sternly “I am Lady Heather Sweet, the mistress of your subconscious, the weaver of dreams, and the dark twinkle in your eye when you sleep so soundly at night. We ARE your mind’s eye we see everything you do. So we have a proposition for you.” At that moment a cat with no hair ran into the room, sat on the man’s shoulder and began to speak in a very posh and articulate voice. “Hello Marilyn, Lady Heather. Ah I see this is the cretin wimp who you want to take, Ms Sweet.” “Yes Alois it is, now if you do not mind I was about to converse with this young man about a matter of importance.” “Yes, yes quite, I bid you good night” and with that he ran out of a red door in the back. “Right now, about that proposition”.

 

The room materialized along with me to a place with dim purple lights. Two boys stood 30 yards away from me. They both wore the same outfit, consisting of, well polished, shiny, latex shorts clinging to their legs tightly. Both incredibly frail, with androgynous features, long lavender hair and platform boots. They stood in an odd way almost parallel to each other. They leant slightly backwards as if posing. One had very large headphones upon his ears. From the headphones, trickled small amounts of blood as if he had been deafened. The other wore a blacked out visor upon his eyes, which had a black liquid spilling down from his sockets. They both opened their mouths simultaneously and spoke in rhyme. “Lady Heather Sweet, will come and creep up inside your brain. Take you from behind, take control of your mind and blind you from what’s really true, the sun will shine bright upon your soul if you refuse Ms Sweet’s control.” “Boys, boys, boys… don’t scare away our guest now” a womanly deep voice came from the darkness. She came out into the dim purple light and looked directly at me. She wore a translucent; mesh black gown with nothing underneath. Her hair was big back combed and curly. Upon her head she wore an oversized fascinator hat which laid on a slant. “I am Miss Ophidian Reptilia, Mistress of this zone that your feet stand upon.” She said very proudly. “What is this place?” I asked nervously. I realised that Miss Ophidian had a snake’s fork tongue and hissed when she spoke. “This, pretty boy, is the very bottom of your subconscious, the darkest part of your mind and soul. The Twilight Zone!” she said this with such passionate animosity. The aura this woman was producing was a very motherly and caring aura. “Who are those two?” I questioned with more confidence now after feeling the motherliness of this woman. “These babies? Oh. These two are my adopted sons; they were from the Ralphylian Tespin River down to the North. They were river born, and are both are hermaphrodites. They are both very childlike and lookout for each other. The poor things were abandoned when they were young and I happened to pass by and take them under my wing.” The twins spoke in rhyme simultaneously again “Mother loves us, Mother is great, she doesn’t believe in violence or hate.” “What’s wrong with you know their… eyes and ears?” I questioned again. “You should know this is your subconscious, I will tell you anyway. Ms Sweet happened. She has a sick and twisted hobby. She likes to modify boy’s bodies, you know like her “dogs” as she calls them, the two boys in the body suits, both blinded so they can’t escape.” I looked in disgust is this really what my mind dreams? I don’t know who I am anymore. The three stood there as I wallowed in self-pity. The twins took me by the hand and led me to a house. It was magnificent a huge mansion house lit up by the stars and green moon in the violet sky. We walked through the door. Inside the place was amazingly steam-punk, there was a humongous clock down the hall way; you could see the sharply polished brass cogs and screws sat in there so snugly; there were some huge stairs with golden rails. One of the boys took me by the hand and laid me down on a bed. I closed my eyes.

 

A black room.

 

Nothingness. Dank smell of black. Taste of death. Static sound in my ears. Where am I? A bitter, chilling feeling made my heart rate go up massive amounts. I call out “is anybody there!” no answer. “Is anybody there!!!” a cold soulless voice made the hairs on the back of my neck prick up. “We don't want you and We don't need you, don't bother to resist, or I'll beat you, it’s not your fault that you're always wrong, the weak ones are there to justify the strong”. Those cold words, spine chilling, heart wrenching. Deadly. “I like to play with my victims” the voice came about again whispering into my ear “I’m your personal Jesus, it's all relative to the size of your steeple, you can't see the forest for the trees, and you can't smell your own death get on your knees!!!” He spoke these words in a creepy voice until the very end when it screams like a banshee and I fall to my knees, tears streaming. Out of the blackness came the man I met before, Marilyn his name was, he spoke once more “The worms will live in every host, It’s hard to pick which one to eat the most.” With that he threw his hand into my chest and took out my heart and ate it, his gold teeth sank into it like an uncooked steak. I saw it all happen, an outer-body experience. A blind flash of light flew into my eyes and faded out; my body flew itself like a jack-in-the-box and bolted up right out of the water, heart pounding, chest pains, blood spilling from my nose and mouth. I tuck my knees into my chest and cry softly rocking like a mad-man in a strait jacket. I knew I had to go back into the deep and put things right for the sake of me not losing my mind and it ending…Badly.

 

Black eyes red lipstick,

Bruises from hell and the brick,

I had left the bath all wrinkly and moist,

Scars and grazes,

Lots of abrasions,

Because I went back to school,

That day,

She was there again,

The Wasp in My Pocket.

 

 

 

 

 


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