MiniKirk

(Author Note: Something I'm working on. What do you think? Where am I spot on, and where can I improve? Thanks for reading!
-The Doc)


Killer Clowns in Women's Clothing
By Dustin Rojas





They say childhood is the best time of your life. Yeah, right. Bullshit. For me at least. My childhood was anything but. My parents wanted a little girl. Instead, they got me. I was obviously a boy. My parents weren’t happy at all. This fact was not lost on me. When I was growing up, I wasn’t allowed to wear pants. I wasn’t allowed G.I. Joes. As far as my parents were concerned, I was a girl. This didn’t make going to school very fun.
My entire life, I was taunted. Put down. Beat up. The teachers turned a blind eye. They couldn’t handle anyone different. Not that I could help it. I didn’t have a choice, after all. No one understood that. When I finally graduated, and moved to college, I got my first set of men’s clothes. But I noticed I didn’t feel comfortable in them. I found that I actually preferred wearing women’s clothing.
College wasn’t that great though. Classes were too hard, and the friends I made weren’t the best of influences on me. It started off all right. I would go to class. Go to the library, and do my homework. Then it was back to the dorm to get stoned and drunk. Just beer and weed. At first. My roommates loved me though. They thought I was a hoot. It was my job.
See, I got a job working at a Circus-themed diner, waiting tables in a clown costume. No big deal, I knew how to do my own make-up, and my bosses let me wear a dress. They thought it was funny. Great, works for me. Let them laugh. I’d been laughed at my entire life. I was used to it. That doesn’t mean that it didn’t bother me. Just that I’d learned to ignore it. I didn’t work too much, four days a week, five hours a day. That’s it. What else does a college student need?
But at the dorm, they loved me. Or so I thought. I’d get home, sometimes just from class, sometimes from work. My roommates would be in the room, partying it up. They’d always have beer and pot. So I started to party with them. They’d ask me to do something gay. Or to dance. Or to put on my work costume and make-up and otherwise entertain them. Usually, I was too fucked up to care. Not always though. One weekend, after work, my roommates and their friends were drunk.
They tackled me. Held me down. And raped me. It was around then that my life started to go right to hell. I started drinking constantly, and doing any drug I could get my hands on. I stopped going to class. I quit my job. I just hung out in the dorm room all day, getting fucked up. My roommates, they stopped being quite so nice to me. Or maybe they’d never been nice to me, and I had only just then really realized that. I started to make plans.
I had money saved up, from my job. I closed out my bank account, and took the money I had to the ghetto. I figured, I get my drugs in the area, perhaps I could get a gun too. I started with my weed dealers. When they didn’t know anything, I tried the tweakers next door. They usually had someone around who had a gun. Maybe they’d know where I could get one. Besides, they had some pretty good speed.
I bought some tweak from them, and smoked it with them. Sometime during this, they got me a gun. Nothing special, just a little snub-nose .38. Three days later I went back to my dorm. Crashed out. My grades came. I was flunking out. On academic probation. I tried going back to class, but it didn’t work out. I couldn’t stand my classes and found that I needed to be fucked up just to attend. My teachers, they were stupid. My peers? I hated them. I had come to hate everyone.
Over the next semester, I would sporadically go to class. But I didn’t normally leave my room, unless I needed drugs. It was sometime before mid-terms that I ran out of money. I needed cash. But how to get it? I had a plan. Grabbed my gun, and robbed my roomies. They didn’t have a lot. Two bucks between the three of them. I was pissed. I wanted a fix. Something hard, and speedy. Did I say wanted? No. I meant needed. I shot them. Then left the room. Never came back.
I still needed more money. It wasn’t a very big town. Just a stupid little college town. I got in my car and drove around. Finally finding myself at the home of a dealer/pimp, and his whore. They wouldn’t let me in. So I forced my way. I shot him point-blank in the throat. Then I fucked his whore. She didn’t want me to, but I did anyways. A commercial on the TV, for some brand of rum or another gave me an idea.
I got into my car, and brought out my work costume. Went back inside. “Borrowed” some of the whore’s make-up to make myself up. I looked like a clown. The whore was in the kitchen, sobbing to herself. She wouldn’t shut up. The entire time I was changing, she kept crying. It was bothering me. So I took out the gun. Pressed it into her mouth. Told her to suck it like she sucked my dick. Then I pulled the trigger. The back wall was spattered with the red of her blood.
I spent another few hours there, playing with their bodies. Putting them into various poses. But I had to get going. The clock on the VCR read 1:10, and if I was going to go through with my plan, then I needed to move soon. I went into the back, and broke a window. Left through that. Got into my car and drove to the local Booze and Gas. The cashier, when she saw me, made some smart-ass comment or another. I wanted none of it. I pulled out the gun. Told her to open the register. And the safe.
Shakily, she did. She looked about my age. Before I pulled the gun, she looked like a bitch. After? Well, who the fuck is going to act big when you got a gun in your face? She emptied the register, and the safe. Almost six grand. Before I left, I shot her in the face. Let the bitch die. Loaded with money, I found my way to my dealers. Got my fix.
I left, feeling like I still had something to do. I drove around aimlessly for three hours, trying to figure out just what I hadn’t done. Dawn was breaking as I found myself pulling into my parent’s driveway. The door was locked, but I had keys. Let myself in. My parents were sitting at the kitchen table. They looked up, surprised. I waved the gun at them. Threatened them. I wasn’t worried about running out of ammo. I reloaded before I went inside.
My father lunged at me, like he was going to stop me. I shot him in the chest. He crumpled. My mother? Eh whatever. I grabbed her and threw her to the ground. Next to her husband. I kicked him in the face and forced him to watch, as I shoved the barrel of the gun up his wife’s ass. Made sure he was watching when I pulled the trigger. She screamed in pain. I only laughed. But I didn’t like the sound of her scream.
It could alert the cops. So I got up, and stomped on her throat. She asphyxiated before the EMTs could get there. I hadn’t noticed my father moving. I was too busy stomping on mother’s throat. He got all the way to the phone. Must have dialed 911, because shortly after I shot him the cops arrived. So did a couple of ambulances. Neither parent survived. The cops arrested me. I’m writing this from prison, and while I might be incarcerated, I’ve never felt more free.

Danky 420

wow
im to stoned
a nice story

cj117

A story of vengeance and hatred. Take a pill and get your fix.
Story of the world today! How contemporary

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MiniKirk

All fiction is, is nothing more than a reflection of the world we currently live in. Revenge, hatred and fear are the flavors of the month, and drugs are the topping of choice, at least where I live they are.
-The Doc