Hardware: Difference between revisions
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Fuck it; you get the picture.
That is (perhaps was) my
I
I could see that…twinkle in each of their eyes and I am embarrassed to say that I could hear that…that…aggressive moaning in the upstairs bedroom down the hallway from my own and it sounded like love. But do you know what else I heard? Crying. And that crying had become the result of her undeserved beatings.
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Now I will refuse to call my own mother a stupid bitch, but I will definitely imply it—you see, she…married Harrison Jones. You can see my mother in her wedding photo with an artificial smile and excess makeup to incognito her bruises.
And so I worked…nothing strenuous; I remained a tracker of miscellaneous business inquiries and remained stationed upon this computer of which I am typing on at this very moment and occasionally I swept the hard and smooth floors and eliminated its clouds of dust and various nuts and bolts.
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And one night, after the store had closed for the day, You missed a spot! Oh, goddammit son! (I am not your fucking son) Right there, clean that shit up, and he used his hand to point a flexed finger with a yellowed fingernail. And then he used that same hand to…to…hit me.
If you ever see me smile (which will probably never happen again), you will notice a vast gap located within the left of my mouth. I watched my teeth evacuate from my gums with so much perception that I could count them…I watched two of my teeth repel from my
My jaw had been severely strained upon its hinges and my mouth had quickly become a container for a mouthful of blood—I spat the blood onto the floor of which my teeth had resided upon and created a derogatory stain upon my
My head was struck with the same hand that had equipped his wedding ring and my neck was whipped in its opposing direction. I collapsed upon the floor with my ears ringing and my vision deteriorating…I heard the muffled voice of my stepfather say
But I
I eventually discovered that my stepfather had fallen asleep as he sat slouched upon his chair with an immensely overpowering drowsiness. I stepped inside his office and glared at the sleeping Harrison Jones, thinking about how he was…was…a fucking asshole.
I noticed that his wallet had fallen from his back pocket. It rested in idle existence upon the floor, and I carefully and cautiously retrieved it, and then I opened it. The only aspect of my interest was for the wallet-sized photograph encased within a transparent plastic and concealed beneath a buttoned flap of leather. The photograph was of my stepfather and…and…another woman—her mouth was open and her tongue was suggestively extended upon my
I briefly rummaged through the hardware store and obtained a coil of rope. Then I anxiously returned to my stepfather and refused myself to experience hesitation as I wrapped the roping around my sleeping stepfather; I knotted and tightened it with enough constriction that it may have been capable of eliminating his circulation. And then I relocated his desk against a wall and delicately shifted his chair towards the center of his office. The final result was of my sleeping stepfather being bound to his chair within the core of the spacious chamber.
I wielded some garden shears and smirked at my stepfather as I approached him with the horrifically oversized pair of scissors…I carefully opened the pruners and situated his finger between the blades…the edges of the shears were impatiently gripping his left
I clamped the garden shears together and they uttered a satisfying chop as the blades collided with the bone of my
My stepfather screamed at me every goddamned day…but I had never heard him scream in pain…and it was so…so…satisfying.
I watched my stepfather as he struggled against the roping, shouting things like What the fuck is wrong with you you fucking sonofabitch
I powered up the electric string trimmer and drained the sounds of his pathetic screams…I held the viciously spinning rotary inches from my
But to hell with the gardening supplies—I returned to my stepfather with a fucking power saw.
Regardless of my part-time job here at
The cord was strained as its extension continued to consume the current of electricity that powered the circular saw…my
The incredible speed of the blade gave it the pleasant appearance of a stationary disk with a perfectly smooth edge…but the horrid reality was five thousand RPMs of a jagged serration tipped with carbide upon each point of the fatal metal. I brought the circular saw to a steepened angle near my
But then I gradually increased the inclination until contact was made between the circular saw and his chin…the flesh upon his lower jaw became the property of the saw as it was tore from his face in a revealing scene of blood of which progressed as the jagged edges corroded his jawbone and ripped it from its hinges. His tongue was immediately severed into oblivion as it disintegrated into additional blood of which spurted across his office walls and ceiling due to the morbidly disgusting incision.
The circular saw remained in operation as the rapidly rotating blade eliminated the upper row of my
Harrison Jones remained constrained and constricted as nearly seventy-five percent of his face had been obliterated into a bloody conversion…the only aspect of his face that continued to function was his remaining eyeball…it had become glassed with blood and tears of agony, focusing upon me with fury. I returned to my stepfather with a nail gun.
The nail gun was a piece of hardware of which was cordless, pneumatic, and fully loaded with a magazine containing two-inch rods of pointed steel. I held it a mere millimeter from my
A compressed blast of air propelled a nail into his eye socket, its speed appeared to be that of a bullet with equivalent effects. The final implement of my
His head snapped backwards and allowed the loose peelings of flesh to dangle from his face…the amount of blood was irrationalized as it poured from the severe wounds…and it is still emptying itself as his deceased body continues to be restrained by the roping as his neck rests upon the back of the chair…the cracked hole within the back of his skull continues to provide the floors with a splatter of trickling blood and my guilt continues to enhance my feelings with an inception of sorrowful regret.
And now I
{{by|Shane Chowdhury}}
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