When You Don't Believe
by Ajay Nair
I told you that I have homicidal urges that alternate with ones of the suicidal kind. You flicked an imaginary speck of dust from your fat, fleshy forefinger with your ultra-flexible, wimpy thumb.
I leaned forward - the skin of your couch sticking to my elevating ass - and whispered dire predictions in a voice borrowed from a desperate Bob Dylan. The predictions revolved around a gory end for someone, anyone, maybe me? You stared at the door behind me and then at the clock; your boredom flashing in front of me like a big, red, lurid neon sign that buzzed with limp electricity.
I stood up and told you that my hard-earned money deserved the respect of a few minutes' worth of at least pretend-belief. I told you that my mind was sick - sick like a cat that swallowed a rotting fetus. You stood up too, but to remind me that my time was up and that you will see me again the next week, and could I please ask your assistant to come in for a minute.
The accumulated anger that was bubbling inside me channeled into a retributive fist that smashed into your mouth, knocking all but three of your teeth out. The teeth sprayed out onto the mauve-tiled floor, along with blood, but I ignored the blood. It was the disembodied, distributed grin that the teeth arrayed themselves into which made my day.
When I walked out, I could hear you whimpering softly which was so far removed from the crying of a new-born baby that it made me laugh. I told your assistant to go in for a minute.
I leaned forward - the skin of your couch sticking to my elevating ass - and whispered dire predictions in a voice borrowed from a desperate Bob Dylan. The predictions revolved around a gory end for someone, anyone, maybe me? You stared at the door behind me and then at the clock; your boredom flashing in front of me like a big, red, lurid neon sign that buzzed with limp electricity.
I stood up and told you that my hard-earned money deserved the respect of a few minutes' worth of at least pretend-belief. I told you that my mind was sick - sick like a cat that swallowed a rotting fetus. You stood up too, but to remind me that my time was up and that you will see me again the next week, and could I please ask your assistant to come in for a minute.
The accumulated anger that was bubbling inside me channeled into a retributive fist that smashed into your mouth, knocking all but three of your teeth out. The teeth sprayed out onto the mauve-tiled floor, along with blood, but I ignored the blood. It was the disembodied, distributed grin that the teeth arrayed themselves into which made my day.
When I walked out, I could hear you whimpering softly which was so far removed from the crying of a new-born baby that it made me laugh. I told your assistant to go in for a minute.
|
1
fav |
1314 views
10 comments |
277 words
|
Author's Note
A bit of anger here, I guess.
Other stories by Ajay Nair
Tags
Comments
You must
log in
to post comments.
wow. this sudden turn from frustration to anger made me think of the film "Falling Down".
to read the smash hurt in my teeth.
Thanks for the read, Dorothee!
wow, this IS angry. at the same time, the POV suggests that the narrator is in a lot of control, which makes it bearable and made me hope all this happened in his head. in the ally-mc-beal kind of way. i like it! loved the image of the self-arranging teeth.
I like Finnegan's implication that this is an imagined scenario, and I do like the teeth arrangement.
It probably is closer however to near reality when a "breakthrough" goes terribly wrong.
Nice insight into the narrator's mind and the only question the reader has is if he is a reliable narrator.
"You flicked an imaginary speck of dust from your fat, fleshy forefinger with your ultra-flexible, wimpy thumb." The hard edge to this piece works well. Straight forward. I like it. Good work.
Thanks Finnegan. I guess there is a fine line between what happens in the narrator's head and what's real.
Thanks Susan and Sam, for the read and he feedback.
this is scary, hardboiled, really handles the violence well. I also adore angry therapy stories. I love this.
"When I walked out, I could hear you whimpering softly which was so far removed from the crying of a new-born baby that it made me laugh."
- this line is so very intriguing. I love how mysterious this feels. I could read this over and over - the contrasts make it so rich - it is nearly a tiny micro in and of itself.
Thanks Meg! I struggle with violence usually - mainly because I risk going overboard. The line you picked out is my favorite and had to say exactly that!