Sorry For The Disturbance, I Didn't Realise He Was Bleeding So Badly.

Sorry For The Disturbance, I Didn't Realise He Was Bleeding So Badly.

Status: Finished

Genre: Action and Adventure

Details

Status: Finished

Genre: Action and Adventure

Summary

After living a life which held no serious purpose, two security guards turn towards accelerated highs and public toilet thrills for entertainment. But as the pressure mounts and the drugs take their toll, new characters reveal themselves and blood begins to spill. Perhaps their lives will never be normal again, but at least they've lived.

Summary

After living a life which held no serious purpose, two security guards turn towards accelerated highs and public toilet thrills for entertainment. But as the pressure mounts and the drugs take their toll, new characters reveal themselves and blood begins to spill. Perhaps their lives will never be normal again, but at least they've lived.

Chapter1 (v.1) - Sorry For The Disturbance, I Didn't Realise He Was Bleeding So Badly.

Author Chapter Note

After living a life which held no serious purpose, two security guards turn towards accelerated highs and public toilet thrills for entertainment. But as the pressure mounts and the drugs take their toll, new characters reveal themselves and blood begins to spill. Perhaps their lives will never be normal again, but at least they've lived.

Chapter Content - ver.1

Submitted: May 27, 2012

Reads: 547

A A A | A A A

Chapter Content - ver.1

Submitted: May 27, 2012

A A A

A A A

 

Ugly drugs, public toilets and a weird fetish for a woman who cares for her fat husband far too much. Yes, welcome to security, and we’ll be happy to take your luggage.

 

Tumbling into the bath, I watched as his head was soon submerged, his thin smile bent by the water. As the impact made the water ripple across the basin, I glanced down at his head, cracking a slow laugh, scratching at both palms in a dazed frenzy. “That’s it, come on up.” I carelessly suggested, his naked body now isolated in the tub. “Come on up!” For a few seconds he lay there, the quivering of his unconscious state noticeable in the lack of bubbles, his oxygen soon running low. I knew I had to do something, and quick, or else he’d be resting under there for more than a few minutes. Clenching strands of his hair with my fist I pulled him fiercely upwards, swinging my wrist over and wringing him out, holding his helpless corpse in my grip. From there, I could only hit him on the back, give him a pound or two, just to get him back to a worthy state. You see, before this incident he had, or rather Tim had, too much to drink, and after an on-going saga between him and a white lion in a wild acid trip, he had lost. Soon after I found him underneath a urinal, hunched over, cubicles baron, nobody home. I can’t recollect why he chose the bathroom, perhaps the lion couldn’t get to him, but he was in a state to behold, muttering to himself and licking his lips fiendishly. There wasn’t much point in speaking to him, as I would only add to the abundance of voices pounding in his head, his inability to move only making himself more insecure. I couldn’t help but feel like a fucking stalker, watching over a man three years my junior looking as if he was about to shit himself, staring mindlessly at my feet. staring down at him, I smiled a little, staggering over and patting him on the head. “Tim...yes Tim. Just sit there, do that.” Silencing myself, I turned my back against him, looking over my shoulder and retrieving a small sealed bag with cocaine, sniffing it with complete ecstasy as I stepped over to the sink and began to form lines with the ridge of my hand, careful not to spill any over my suede trench coat. God knows what the fuck I was doing, and if anybody had the audacity to enter the filthy sanctum of a public restroom, they’d be completely immersed in the episode laid before them, a shambolic spectacle of two gentleman half naked, one incessantly hamming away at his skull with his fist covered in piss, the other turning to the door, a fiver wrapped up to his nostril. But that isn’t happening. In the realms of a civilized society when people know better than to use a government-facilitated lavatory, they’d know better than to step inside and risk a slit throat, pants down on a toilet, fresh bait for the next trespasser to enter.

I guess it could be worse. We could be in Tim’s position. Ah yes, Tim’s position, his mind melting under the immeasurable heat of two pungent blotters, that hasty expression of delight and overwhelming curiosity of his new whimsical environment soon resulting in the pout of a fly trapped on the intricate web of a spider, a complete prisoner of his own mind. It’s crazy, isn’t it? How just a little absorbent paper can drive a sensible adult into frenzy, his world completely benign, content and care-free. Even now, he is fully submerged, and whether that is good or bad for him, depends on just how psychedelic he’s feeling.

The lines were about ready now, and from the background I heard a low gurgling sound from Tim, his face pressed heavy into his palms, cocking his elbows and lapping his tongue. Laughing, I straightened them out, the white powder falling atop each other like crystallised petals from a cherry blossom. Drawing my wallet from an inner coat pocket, I opened it to find cash receipts, quickly disposing of them in search of a rigid utensil that will gauge my appetite for the sickening lines atop the sink. I paused, and drew a tenner, which was not the fiver I had envisaged. Perhaps I was lucky, but in his distant paradise I couldn’t interrupt his conversation with a bear to ask where the fuck had I gained five extra pounds. Rolling it, aiming it close to the white grains, I held it deep to my nostril, the atmosphere more dense as I ran my whistling nose over the line, drawing in the drug in a clamour of grunts. I sighed; pulling my nose back, waiting for a cascade of emotive empowerment to hit me, knock me in the right direction. Quickly I turned to Tim, pulling a large grin and sniggering. “You should have seen it Tim, that line was...fuck man.” Tim looked up, focusing his dilated pupils on my contorted face, smiling widely and cackling. “Watch out” he retorted, “we could be in danger if you are seen with that face, they could put you in prison for looking so fucking ugly, right.” I looked at him, clenching my fist before pivoting, and another inhale through the nose resulting in the thick line’s movement from the sink to my nose. I felt completely alive, at one with my surroundings, but also frightened, the drug a chaotic fusion of the warmth of a hot shower and the shocking sensation when you’re called to stand up and recite in front of the class, only to find out that you couldn’t be fucked to study. Those were the feelings of the movement, an unhinged mix ready to blow. I was ready to freak.

He blew it though; he let off the spark which caused the bang. Him and his fucking mouth. I leaned over the sink, breathing heavily, the persistent moaning and bouts of laughter from Tim too much to bear. I knew that this was already considerably illegal, what wasn’t? It’s not as if we could turn back the clocks and revert back to the boring, typical desk job of monitoring security cameras and checking for false alarms. We were security men, the ones from the films who scan nine monitors, but also the ones that flicked from footage to footage, a fat donut in one hand, a Starbucks espresso in the other. But from the convoluted lunch-breaks of fifty co-workers bundled under thick smog and cigarette smoke, we were at the pinnacle of an ironic assault where the security attacks the secure; I just couldn’t handle the routine. So what better to do then to fuck it up by abusing narcotics, taking it one step further and screwing everything over by lying down in a pool of gunk and piss, cigarette butts and potent alcohol. Yes, this was the life, away from that shithole. Even though I reeked of concentrated piss, my appetite for adventure was gorged, and I was ready to call it quits and get back for some rest. Picking myself up, lying on the back wall under the second urinal I smiled at Tim, beckoning him silently. He looked at me, his face nonchalant and expressionless, his eye lids appearing to restrict the blood, causing his face to glow a bruised red. Fucking strange, to see him in that state. I’d seen him before drunk out of his head, prancing around and shouting loudly slamming his fist against a glass table, his wife stopping, glaring and quickly disengaging the social abnormality with a slap of the wrist and a quick bend to collect the Walkers he had spilt. She had a nice ass, but I couldn’t tell him that.

“Your woman.” I muttered, looking over to him and shuffling closer, pulling out a small Zippo lighter and flicking the wick. Tim looked at me bluntly, too out of his mind to see his contorted expression, or mine. I hesitated and began again. “Your woman, she has a nice ass.”

 

Things got aggressive after that. Shit what was I thinking, I was telling this guy that I had assessed his wife’s ass and actually rated it. Maybe he’s too out of it to hear, I heard when you’re on psychedelic drugs you are zoned out, in the Matrix, completely void of any life around you aside the arcadium your mind has forged. Maybe we was wrestling antelopes and covered in snakes, unable to move, but soon after I confessed, he looked over to me and blushed. “Oh My.” He retorted, “Oh my, my...shit, wait, what?” I paused, and then knocked him over the shoulder, a small measure of blood falling from my nose to his cuff, Tim soon looking downwards and wiping the blood on his face, wiping the dry tears from his eyes. From a lack of concentrated, and the knowledge of the Public Toilet Standard, I’d have never guessed the conclusion to our episode would be dragging Tim’s head from the depths of a cold bath, dabbing his slanted face with a soapy flannel. Well I could. This was the typical scene from the movies; two newcomers entering the wonderful sanctuary of the drugs emporium, only to be wiping shit off the naked body of a fat bloke with a wife who has a nice ass. Perhaps it may have been better to have lost my wits, running crazily out into the open, shouting dazed syllables and hoping someone might sympathise with my doped up condition. It could work, but in this ransacked world of mayhem I’d probably be labelled as a normal civilian with a tendency to froth at the mouth near new people.

 

 



No sir, we will not be taking them up the stairs, those cases are yours. Besides, you’ve got two packs of condoms, a blank notepad and scotch; you’re too young for us!

 

The situation only got worse. Aside from the paralytic fits Tim was now experiencing, floundering on the ground, tossing his body over the ground, unable to control his symptoms. I knew at that point he’d taken far more powerful drugs which simply exacerbated his predicament, sending him into a malign abyss, holding the bottom of my pin-striped suit and begging to not be dragged in. I was too full of coke, too out of body to see that his brain was grilled, his state the result of a cataclysmic shit-mix of unknown chemicals and, most likely, the paralysing fear that he’ll lose that nice ass if he’s found drenched in urine.

I, however, could assess the situation. I had the ability, the cognitive responses, the senses about me; I felt like a superior being. I could feel the fear settling in, knowing that we were susceptible and that I would soon lose the very tenner I loaded the cocaine, but I didn’t care. Reaching over to the mass on the ground, I stepped over Tim, holding him up and sitting him down on the urinal, watching as he smiled, raised a thumb then sank back, letting the cold sensation of trickling water massage his back.

Now things were under control and in the final moment I could release the grip over my tenner, leaning forward over the sink once more. “Fuck” I thought to myself, “Why the fuck am I in this mess with him?” I slammed my fist against the desk, looking up to bear witness to a hunched baboon in my reflection, the acid beginning to set in. If I took the same death-sentence as he did, surely we’d both be dead and buried by dawn. The public toilets are safe at dawn. The baboon was a coarse brown, its hair soaked in what looked to be spores of angel dust, those shitty pound-a-piece candies which were so ridiculously artificial you could feel the Taiwanese import duty on your tongue. It’s eyes glared back, looking as if it were going to jump out of the screen, or at least make an attempt to walk in that steady hanging motion like that equally frightening psychotic love-child from The Ring. As the mongrels head rose, his nose was almost a florescent pink, one half completely covered in puss and blood, torn open and slowing regurgitating a bubbling acid. Suddenly, I felt scared, fucking crazed. That was not a normal sign, and it had becoming increasingly rare to see a visage, even an epiphany, of bodily harm. Drowsy, frozen in that shocked state my hands shook, the baboon copying my emotions, his demeaning black eyes hollow and loathing, as if a sentinel, a lost guardian. I had lost control, and I was completely permeable, nothing but a bundle of human fibres and pints of blood, a peel back for a real human being. Too right i was fucking losing it! I couldn’t help but swagger over to Tim, shake his poor, cupped hands and bring him up onto ground level, shouting in his ear, unaware of exact how frustrated I sounded. “Tim...mate Tim, we need to go, I’m bleeding. Fuck it man, something is happening, something is happening!” At once I began to feel burdened, carrying the dreadful weight of a nightmare trip. I gasped, Tim shuddering. Collecting myself, and the additional pieces crumbling off my body in what I can only describe as the mental torture, we rushed out of what felt like a labyrinth, leaving behind blotter paper and two mouldy sugar cubes, Tim scurrying closely behind; two deranged guinea pigs looking to pass the test the lab rats couldn’t.

However, if you thought we were fucked then, it wasn’t until Tim began to create friction, that uneasy feel between two passersby. That’s when things really began to heat up. As we approached the exit, stepping over the psychedelic manifestation of broken bones and crying souls weeping at our ankles, I looked down at my wrist, flicking the flecks of skin of my body, uncaring to the subtle issue that my body was actually dissolving in this nightmare.

Was I dreaming? Was this some fantasy for which we could all look back and thin “Oh shit, I can’t remember how this started”? – Because I sure as hell can’t.

Whatever it was, this old fucker wouldn’t let us out of the public toilets, and Tim did not feel safe in an environment which featured rotting carcasses on the floor tiles and blood on the walls. We were fucking frightened, and this wouldn’t stop us from making our way through the closed grasp of an elderly captor. 


 

Perhaps you’re mistaken, we sell ceramic knives. Yes, they are deadly, but you are a strange old batty fellow and we want to go home now. The public toilets are shit around here.

Well damn, I need to elaborate here. This old guy, the gentlemen who decided to tuck us in and cage us out like wild animals was in fact a lunatic. Yes, he was one of those die-hard American cadets who were patriotic by nature; equating to some old fucker who thought that he could be the hero. I mean, that might drop well, Ex-Army Old Boy Spies on Sedated Security, but was his ten minutes of fame and possibly a British Bravery Award enough to stand in the way between us and freedom? No, he was simply another obstacle, another test. This old coot was the type who had been permanently against the Age of Hippies, the Age of Peace. I mean, we weren’t fucking freedom fighters by any means; our job is to make sure no-one gets in. That’s the almighty objective. However, this guy was the type to despise anything that is not a constitutional right, and what’s more, he wore that bright flag like he wore his heart on his sleeve and a gun on his belt. He was dangerous, but being docile and utterly cast into the world of smack, we were at the mercy of whatever would happen. It just so happens that the event caused for us to be nearer the door, or some old bugger could have walked in to find a gentleman stinking of urine shouting “You’re like a cuddly bear!” unhesitant in quickening his pace and falling right into aching barrel of a cold revolver.

But he came at the right time, if we can call it that. Shortly after I had dislodged the note from my nostril, he had moved out from the underpass, eager to listen into the conversation. Perhaps he found it of greater suspicion when there was a lack of any talk, any movement, any drunken giggles and paralytic seizures. Before long he had advanced to the wall of the urine, listening through the thin walls of a public restroom to hear talk of dragons, piss and a baboon. Sounds like a wild party, but this poor bastard knew what was going on, he knew about the drugs. He was not going to be easy to fool. And so, still immersed in the dismal realms of an acid-infused high, we followed the passage out, completely unaware of the scout behind the opening, his gun level to his nose and his body held to the white plaster, taking care to avoid detection. Let’s face it, we weren’t going to detect an old man with a gun, it just did not seem logical to assume, but maybe it was also the drugs, who knows.

The time for action grew closer, and the grandpa was most likely experienced the greatest mental high for the past fifty years, more so in the fact that he was in an abysmally obese condition and overwhelmed with sweat. Despite this, ever the deluded individuals we carelessly strode out of the restroom, out of the sanctuary and into the wild. Tim immediately looked round to me as we walked out, dropping his eyelids and gazing over in my direction. Perhaps I should have taken that as a hint, but I can’t help but to see the guy as a complete basket case in his condition, the choked pistol held to his head within seconds, the click of the loading a mental implosion, my instant reaction to scream out. Of course, Tim didn’t have the slightest idea as to whether a loaded pistol was bound to his temple, but this wasn’t some common father of three and grandfather to four who envisaged acid as a trip to Willy Wonka’s Chocolate Factory; he wasn’t taking home an everlasting gobstopper.

And so here our threesome stood, a coaxed old man with the tendency to shiver unimaginable amounts under pressure, a brainless defiant and a maniac with half a nose; all witnessing what could be the death of young Timothy.

The middle part before shit really hit the fan; Timmy and his tiger friends, the ape villager and adventure mountain.

And so while we each peered into the face of another, completely entranced by the clumsy nature of the scene, this isolated period of time was the moment of life or death. Due to the rifle locked into the curvature of his torso, the coot was restless, but at ease with his frontal position and single barrel. At this point I realised the drool covering the side of my shirt, the point where Tim had been sucking the cloth, moving down to my sleeve to sniff the last fragments of coke. But there was no time to wipe the damp off, to cater for the lump of primitive mass that was humping my leg. I had a cold shrew clinging to me, completely susceptible, unknown to the fact that we were three seconds away from death. I felt the shift of power immediately, but I felt the gravity hit me more so, the power balance completely redirecting the buzz, the transparency of my dazed trip soon a mesh, unequivocal to the dark figure limping towards me, ready to puncture my lungs and pull apart my rib cage with a click of a trigger. I could understand my fear, but I could feel the hands stretching against my legs, the trip causing me to panic further, it was as if I was sinking into hell and that little fucker Tim was pulling me under.

But what Tim was thinking was far more fantastic, far more unreal. Before this event we had experienced, Tim was the hard-lined tough guy, the one who would actually go out of his way to catch the trespasser in the building who was just looking for a toilet to use. He claimed that it was part of his job, and that it made his day interesting, but he was morally correct with his head in the right place; he wasn’t afraid to admit to himself that he had played life by the book. There wasn’t a time in his life where he would step out of the bounds, screw the rules for a sense of entertainment or pleasure. He wasn’t the type to steal money from the banker in Monopoly, yet as his best friend I’d be willing to go the full length. But in spite of our differences, we made a good team. I guess that team lasted further than expected, but in the depths of his hellish cauldron we were in; Tim had stepped over his limit, stamped on it then let it suffocate indefinitely. Tim was completely fucked, understandably wasted, and unable to move his butch limbs from the floor. That was the reality, however. Under the surface of that morally straight-jacketed character there lay an Adonis figure that was being dragged by the flow of nature.

Tim awoke, roughly at the time at which was he seated in a cesspit of piss, to the sound of violent buzzing. He shook, raised his eyelids, and as I turned to him he was completely entranced. My appearance remained the same, completely still, looking into the mirror and smiling triumphantly as I began searching for the roll. And so for young Timothy this was not a new experience, but rather a drunken dream, a mistake that would soon correct itself. And so he turned to me, gurgling in reality, but majestically announcing his intentions under his deluded state. Obviously I doused him with water from the tap to calm him, help him stay alive.

No, for him this was a declaration of war. He was angry, completely puzzled by my arrogance. In his eyes I was firmly attached to the mirror. But like most fresh meat in their ignorance, he hadn’t prepared himself for the negative consequences. I turned round to him, my head suddenly snapping in his direction. He could see no whites in my eyes, a soul completely deserting my body. He looked flushed, pale and broken, but decided that despite the tranquil nature of his trip, he’d overpower. He picked himself up and looked at me, my mouth widening, the lips to a grin, spreading across my face until it has split through my cheeks. Like an iron gate, a drawbridge, my mouth opened, the bottom lip sinking down into my chin, until the entire bottom half of my mouth was black nothingness. The buzzing returned to him, forcing him to slap himself uncontrollably, haunted by these incessant parasites, gnawing at his body. He hadn’t seen them, but as the sound raised, he held his hands to his ears, falling back into the corner, watching the black hole which has swallowed my facial expression, a large cohort of wasps flying out from the jaw line, 


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