FicWad

In a certain part of Africa was a man named Larry Filbert. This certain Larry Filbert lived within the same compound as Sophie’s daughter and had volunteered to baby sit the little girl as her mom took a trip to the states, hoping it would score him a few points of affection with Sophie; he was, the long run, that kind of person. Shallow.

The part no one knows about Larry Filbert is about a certain dark history with two southern loves, one a person and one an object. He grew up and lived most of his life in Georgia, under a different name that none of the other volunteers were aware of. His name, at the time, had been Louis Smitzer, and if he were to set foot in Georgia under that name, he would have been escorted to the nearest court and put on trial.

The trials would have been numerous with various amounts of law breaking; three accounts of public drunkenness, an enormous nineteen driving while intoxicated, ten accounts of driving with a suspended license, and one final charge of the attempted murder of Annie Smitzer. This man had a dark past, coated with the smell of alcohol and blood, but believes he can escape it - and eventually redeem himself. Hiding from the truth does not make it any less real, and there is no true redemption. Reap what you sow.

Something woke him up from a dreamless sleep in the early morning, penetrating the blissful darkness of a blank mind. He was instantly awake without realizing he was actually awake, grumbling about something but not even sure what, dimly wondering what had woken him up. Before he could jump out of bed there was a loud explosion, followed by urgent shouting and a short blare from a speaker system that had only one specific function that Larry knew. A function he had never hoped to hear. Larry was out of bed instantly only bothered to slip on the pajama bottoms that he kept hanging on the door handle of his bedroom door. He ran outside to the sight of panic, confusion, urgency, and fire.

The building on the far side of the compound had exploded, tearing a portion of the roof off and tossing it away from the rest of the camp. To make matters worse, the building was ablaze, lighting up the early morning like a lighthouse lighting the shores for ships, but the only ships one might attract in their specific location of Africa are pirates. Volunteers were running everywhere, some grabbing buckets and using the only river for miles, which was the reason the camp was even set up at the spot it was. Others had the small handheld flame extinguishers and were attempting to prevent the fire from spreading.

Larry froze, unsure of what to do as people shouted and ran; he was never one for decisions, alcohol had usually allowed him to have fun now and decide never. He would have stood there for awhile longer if a small, frightened voice had not spoken from behind him.

“Lawwy?” The voice was as quiet as a mouse and yet heard it through all the chaos. “What’s goin’ on?”

He could tell in her voice she was ready to cry, so he turned to face her and dropped down on one knee, eye level with her. He gently patted her forehead with a hand that had, years ago, bruised the eyes and throat of a beautiful young woman.

“Go back inside, Veversi. We’re handlin’ it, don’t ya worry, alrigh’?” He smiled for her, trying to keep her from becoming too upset.

He had blocked her view from most of the carnage outside, so the chaos hidden behind his back was mostly unknown to her. All she heard was the shouting. She slowly nodded her head and walked back inside. Larry stood at the door and watched her head down the hallway to her bedroom and close the door behind her. Then he shut the front door and started to move.



Matt slowly stumbled into his shower, his head feeling light but the rest of his body feeling like lead, especially his gut and heart. He felt as if any moment the alcohol he vacuumed up last night would make a guest appearance back up his throat. While the alcohol he ingested would account for the aches he felt, he knew why his heart felt so heavy, and he wanted to hide from it. His heart felt like it was ready to burst, but he has lived like that for years. His emotions were powerful enough to cause him physical pain; it was not uncommon for him to develop random aches that lasted for a week at a time. He knew that it was a sign of depression, but from past experience he knew only he could bring himself out of it.

He turned the water on for this shower and his gut revolted. He turned, threw open the toilet seat, got down on his knees, shut his eyes, and vomited. Tears stung at his shut eye and he felt himself vomit a second time. The taste was vile and nearly made him sick for a third time, but he violently suppressed the urge. He flushed the toilet and then simply sat down on his butt. A knock on the door let him know he was heard over the shower.

“Matt? You have five seconds before I walk in on there to check on you.” Bob called through the door.

“I’m alright, don’t worry,” Matt told him, getting up slowly and feeling the water with his hand. Nice and warm, ready for him. “Getting in the shower now.”

He stepped into the loud, pounding water and slid the curtain closed. He turned his back to the nozzle, crossed his arms over his body and gripping the opposite shoulders and simply let the water wash over him. He closed his eyes and forced himself to think of nothing but emptiness, but the pain in his heart remained, not allowing him a moments peace.

After a few minutes of simply allowing the water to wash over him, he opened his eyes and saw It. It just sat there, mocking him, calling him weak, calling him a coward. It filled his head and his eyes would not move. It was like a banshee, whispering to him everything he did not want to hear. He could almost believe he heard a voice. The ache in his heart seemed to manifest and grow, spreading like a plague to his entire body. His knees felt weak and he thought he was going to faint. The entire time, it just sat there, telling him how bad of a person he was, and at the same time promising him it could take away all the pain… forever. What is the point of suffering so much? There is no end to that foggy road, you are a fool for believe there is.

He let go of his shoulder with his right hand, reached out, but then pulled it back as if he was burned. No, he thought. I wont. I can’t be that selfish. I can’t.

The picture of Veversi once again flashed into his head. The beautiful little girl, and named after someone Matt had known who had taken her own life what seemed like a lifetime ago. How dare Sophie use that name. Another flare of pain was sent rocketing through his body. His left knee shook and threatened to give out.

I’m going to get through his. I’m going to get through his.

Bullshit, the voice of It declared, dark and devious, vile and disgusting. You’re weak. There’s no point in lying anymore. You wont have to lie with me. I can make everything go away. I can make the hurt, and the pain, and the guilt… I can make it all go away, forever. You wont have to deal with people being so cruel. You wont be hurt anymore. I promise you. Everything will be better.

Matt once again extended his hand towards It, slowly, his thoughts a tangled web of ideas and feelings. His fingers brushed it and then he took it in the palm of his hand. The water was barely felt on his skin, and the sound was no longer painful. He promised he would never try it again.

Too selfish, he told himself. I won’t.

Everyone’s first responsibility is to themselves, fool. You’re not the selfish one here, but everyone who wants you to stay here, unhappy and in pain. Fuck those selfish pricks and make yourself feel better, forever.

He tightened his grip on the razor blade in his hand and shook his head, water spraying on the walls and the curtains. He put the blade back and ignored it.

Man up, he thought to himself. You’re a lot better off than a lot of others out there. Get some damn perspective.

He gave himself a few minutes to wash his hair and body and then stepped out on his rug and stood there dripping. His head was still spinning, and he was still feeling. He once again felt the water slowly slip down his body. He felt the pain of a headache, and it felt like his heart was broken, but he was alive. He was cared about.

She fucking cheated on you! The razor seemed to spit the phrase into his head.

He grabbed it from its perch on the wall of his shower stall and threw it against his mirror, shattering the plastic of the handle and the protector covering the blades. They went flying and he felt a sharp sting of precise, deep pain on his lower right arm as the door swung open. He cursed himself and grabbed the towel hanging off the rack and covered his lower body as the two walked in.

“What happened?” Bob asked at the same time Mary questioned, “Are you alright?”

“Don’t come any closer, there’s two more razor blades somewhere on the floor,” Matt told them quickly through gritted teeth. He had his back mostly to them, beads of water running down his shoulder blades to the towel wrapped around his waist. His right arm was obscured from view with his body.

He opened his eyes to see what was causing the pain and winced when he saw it. One of the three blades of his shaving razor had bounced off the mirror and decided to seek it’s vengeance by tearing a deep line three inches up his arm before sticking itself in place. Blood was flooding down his arm.

Bob and Mary looked around and spotted the shattered plastic everywhere. They were unsure of what to make of this scene. Shattered plastic, razor blades, and Matt’s personality, a very bad duo if there ever was one. Bob quickly noticed the way Matt was guarding himself. He had seen it once before.

“Matt,” Bob said quietly, concerned. “Show me your arm.”

“Leave, both of you,” Matt grunted, seeming to be oblivious to what Bob had said. “I need to clean up.”

Blood had flown down his arm in a small river, finally reaching the tips of his fingers and then falling to the white tiles. The first few spatters hit the floor with wet plopping noises.

Mary felt suddenly cold and remembered her brother for a moment before pushing the painful memory behind the bolted door where it belonged and locking it again. She knew she needed to be here for Matt, not go on a trip about her brother. Not now.

“Matt?” Mary asked. “C’mon now, hon. Let me see.”

He turned his gaze to look at them both. They could tell that he was in pain that he thought he was hiding. He shook his head from side to side, as if it would make what he was about to show them any less than what it really is. He moved his arm into view.

Mary gasped an image flashed through her mind like a long dead ghost before disappearing once gain. Bob was taken by surprise. The cut appeared bad, the blood was only making it look worse.

“Matt,” Bob said, “get in my damn car. I’m driving you to the hospital. Don’t you dare say no.”



She was dozing off on his chest, listening to his heartbeat returning to normal. They were together on a plush couch, tangled together under a single blanket. He had his arms around her, keeping her close, gently running his hands up and down her relaxed body that was covered with sweat like an early morning lawn is covered with dew.

“I love you,” he whispered in her ear. “Forever, I’ll love you.”

Her lips broke into a smile, creating dimples in her cheeks. She snuggled even closer to him, kissing his chest a single time. “I love you, too. Forever and ever.”

It grew quiet for the two as they started to doze into dreams, slowly becoming less and less aware of their surroundings. Before they became completely oblivious, however, the silence was shattered by a ringing.

She felt him shift from his position half beneath and half beside her and instantly grew frantic and did not want him to leave. She was unable to pinpoint why but she simply did not want him to go, and questioning the fear was lower on the list of things to do than convincing him not to move. “Don’t, Hon, let the machine get it.”

“I’ve been waiting for a call all day, Love. I’ll be right back, I promise.”

She held on to him and he gently cupped her chin and made her look at him. He kissed her softly and smiled at her. “I’ll be right back, I promise, the phone is only in the other room.”

She knew she could do nothing to change his mind; when he set himself to do something he would not stop for anything. She reluctantly stopped trying to convince him and simply let him go. The phone had finished it’s second burst of rings by the time he was on his feet and took a left to the hallway. Halfway down it, he would take another left into the room where the phone sat. She could easily guess what he was hoping for: a call about a book he was finishing. The prospect of him finding a publisher for his book was exciting; it would make him happier than he already was.

She laid there, alone, needing him to come back to her and take his rightful place under the blanket with her once again. The phone just started the forth burst of rings when he must have grabbed it, for the phone was suddenly silent. The silence seemed to be contagious, however, and spanned from the phone to the entire house to the world. Everything seemed to become still and absolutely silent, as if time had stopped for everything but her. Even the air seemed to become heavy.

“Hon?” she called out, breaking the silence like an axe shatters glass. “Matt?”

There was no response and she quickly became terrified, casting back the blanket and running down the hallway after him. She entered the room where they kept the phone he had answered but he was nowhere in sight. The phone was on the carpet, resting there quietly. She reached down to grab it and it came back to life, blaring loudly and making her jump. Her hand shook as she reached out for the phone.

As she brought it up to her ear she pressed the green phone key to answer the call and, putting her pride to good use, managed to say, “Hello?” without a shred of any evidence she was currently about to crack under stress.

The phone crackled like dry wood in a roaring fire, but she heard the voice. The words sounded far away in the phone, as if shouted down a long hallway before they reached the receiver, but all the same, she heard it. The brutal, single line:

“You were his life, I doubt it now.”

Everything started to melt and she remembered everything. The walls began to look like a watercolor painting with too much water. They flowed and merged with the carpet that made up the floor; the pictures that had been hanging were no more than blobs of color. She looked at the phone in her hand and it looked like one of the melted clocks in Deli’s The Persistence of Memory.

Sophie woke up to the ringing of her cell phone, drenched in sweat and terrified. Her hand shot out to answer her phone and she brought it to her ear.

“Hello?” She asked, hiding all emotion. Pride is everything. Pride, pride, pride.

“Sophie?

“Larry?” She responded, startled and curious.

“I ‘ave sum bad news, Ah’m really sorry Ah got to be the one to tell ya this, I wish I didn’t ‘ave tah, but, you need to know.”

This isn’t how it’s supposed to go, she thought. It isn’t fair.

The glories of the real world are simply nothing more than gold painted rip-offs of the ‘real thing’. The real thing is nothing more than a fabrication told to the children of the world in order to give them hope in a hopeless world.