Brendan Kills
Brendan murders the nigger bitch. That's what he calls it when he beats Serena at tennis, on his Wii. “Die bitch,” he says, and swipes his controller.
“What?” he says. “We can say that shit now, we got a black president.”
I know it should bother me, him using that word. I watch him pant and curse and jab the remote, the violence of him, the stink. Brendan beats his Wii. It tents my pants. I'm not a nigger bitch, I'm just another teenage white boy like Brendan, but sometimes Brendan calls me one, and these are my favorite times. “Burn bitch,” Brendan says, and drives his cigarette's lit tip into my lower back until I buck and thrash. Brendan keeps his hair in a box. It isn't a special hand-carved heirloom or anything, it's just a beat-up cardboard box, like the kind they use to ship envelopes. The hair is from last year, when we were freshmen, when Brendan cut off his ponytail. He keeps it coiled, braided and banded. He bends me onto my knees, and he binds my hands behind my back, and then he stuffs the braid inside my mouth while he grinds the cigarettes into my ass, my thighs, my shoulders. Then I suck him off until he shoots and I swallow.
Brendan hates how much he likes it when I suck him. He says he only does it because we're in high school, and high school girls are prudes, but I can tell he wants it, it wouldn't be the same with a girl. This is Brendan's shame, the boy thing. My shame is everything else. I think sometimes I should stop, but then I hear Brendan curse and I smell him, and I get so hard I think I'll explode into pieces tiny enough to fit in Brendan's box. And when I think about this, Brendan carrying me around forever and ever, in pieces, pressed up against his braid, I feel tingly and warm.
“What?” he says. “We can say that shit now, we got a black president.”
I know it should bother me, him using that word. I watch him pant and curse and jab the remote, the violence of him, the stink. Brendan beats his Wii. It tents my pants. I'm not a nigger bitch, I'm just another teenage white boy like Brendan, but sometimes Brendan calls me one, and these are my favorite times. “Burn bitch,” Brendan says, and drives his cigarette's lit tip into my lower back until I buck and thrash. Brendan keeps his hair in a box. It isn't a special hand-carved heirloom or anything, it's just a beat-up cardboard box, like the kind they use to ship envelopes. The hair is from last year, when we were freshmen, when Brendan cut off his ponytail. He keeps it coiled, braided and banded. He bends me onto my knees, and he binds my hands behind my back, and then he stuffs the braid inside my mouth while he grinds the cigarettes into my ass, my thighs, my shoulders. Then I suck him off until he shoots and I swallow.
Brendan hates how much he likes it when I suck him. He says he only does it because we're in high school, and high school girls are prudes, but I can tell he wants it, it wouldn't be the same with a girl. This is Brendan's shame, the boy thing. My shame is everything else. I think sometimes I should stop, but then I hear Brendan curse and I smell him, and I get so hard I think I'll explode into pieces tiny enough to fit in Brendan's box. And when I think about this, Brendan carrying me around forever and ever, in pieces, pressed up against his braid, I feel tingly and warm.
|
7
favs |
1508 views
17 comments |
352 words
All rights reserved. |
Author's Note
appeared in decomP December 2009
Other stories by Tim Jones-Yelvington
Tags
This story has no tags.
Comments
You must
log in
to post comments.
Wow. Harrowing, haunting. Brilliant.
The writing is very effective, Tim. I like this piece.
Extremely edgy, well written and so telling of the characters.
this is so good, Tim.
It takes a lot of risks but they pay off in the end. Good piece.
Great story, disturbing, both sadist and all too willing victim.
Yes, disturbing and scary, but most of all, well written and effective. The ending is brilliant.
I remember this one from Zoe (hat office?). This may have been the last hattish story I read from you.
Glad to see it was in a fine journal like decomP.
Ha, I think this is the story that made me suggest reading Adam Haslett, right? Glad you liked that book.
Thanks everyone!
I really tried to play with acoustics in this. I wanted that tension btwn gorgeous language and violent content that produces an intense affective experience or whatever. I hope that comes across.
Erlewine, Haslett has a new novel, I heard.
Love the ending. Way to creep me out at 8:06 am!
Jones-Yelvington, you are correct. It's called "Union Atlantic"...may have to check it out.
Indeed, yes, the acoustics tension came across. "He keeps it coiled, braided and banded." - excellent sentence with language i admired, followed by another beatific sentence full of ugly violence
"My shame is everything else" this about sums up this piece for me. What a great line to describe the characters desire for Brendan within a violent context. this piece is great!
great work, I remember this one well...
It does indeed come across, Tim. This kind of writing takes courage and talent. You've got both.
Thanks all.
Love the menace here.