Dolorez's blog

critiquecircle.com I'm on takes forever to upload stories (well, not really, only two weeks or so, but I don't have two weeks). This is Chapter 23 where the killer is waiting for the victim (Kiira) after he'd gained access to the apertment and eaten the noodles she had prepared for her dead mother (Old Bitch). I need to know if the chopsticks scene is realistic. If you pick up any grammatical errors, well, I guess that's a bonus for me.

Well? Don't just sit there like a fucken statue. Get started, I haven't got all day:

I am the first to arrive
and there's blood on my hands
as I pull to side
and slip the car into 'N'.

"Why are you even here? Why did you bother? I mean, who invited you?" asked the dolled-up woman with the big blond hair. She tapped her foot and started waving her 'I-told-you-before-not to-come-here-finger' at me. It looked like a piece of dry wood.

I stepped out of the artificial glow of the convenience store lights and threw my sports bag over my shoulder. It was drizzling. Further down the road I saw Kiira and her four friends disappearing into one of the bigger shopping malls in the area. They had their bags over their heads and their school shoes clack-clacked as they sprinted up the stairs, giggling.

The elderly woman was holding a bottle of mayonnaise in her hand. There was no price, but she could tell that the mayo was of the superior kind, a different white.

Dirkie was being all…stubborn as I dragged his ass over the living room tiles, the blood on the side of his shirt lubricating the way. He was kicking and screaming. I placed my foot on his throat and glanced up the stairs to see if the bathroom door was still closed. It was, which only meant that Harry was brushing his teeth for the second time, probably thinking he was going to fuck me.
I entered the kitchen and slammed Dirkie's head into the door frame. I thought it would shut him up, well, it did for a few seconds, but then he started making these pathetic grunting noises.

I took off my jeans, folded them up and put them back in the wardrobe, as you do.
The running shower reminded me that I needed to pee. I reached for the can of beer I’d smuggled out of the club.
Harry was taking a shower.

“Hey, Dolorez! You have two toothbrushes in here! Can I use one?!” he shouted.

I was dumbstruck.
I cleared my throat.

'Winchester?' nodded I.

He nodded as if he was witnessing a premonition; as if he'd seen it all before, even before witnessing said forewarning.
"Winchester," he repeated.

I didn't have much to do today. I chose to ignore the newspaper in its suburban box, and decided to 'weed' the garden (with a bit of weed, of course).

It took longer than expected.

The smell of darkness always gets me down. As soon as the lights go out, that old 'silver moon beam'* shines through the dirty curtains and blinds me (almost in such a way as that viscious blinding light that flashed for exactly seven seconds when Jesus realized that {with a very slow shake of the head}:[Hey!

I don’t know.
I have no idea how I came to be. At this point. Here, and now.
There was a time, you know, when I was capable of making breakfast for four.
These days? Nah. Why bother?
Everything is so easy.
“Toast? *ping*. Ah, there’s your toast! Butter? Get it your fucken self.”
Christ, I’ve started opening my own wine.
Great invention, the bottle opener.

(the guy whose wife got blind in a bizarre incident)

D: Welcome back, ladies & gentlemen. I trust you've had a relaxing break from my rambles - wherever you are! Tonight. Tonight. A tragic story. Put your hands together for Peter McKinley!

*applause (and occasional annoying whistle)
D stands up and shakes hands ever so politely with Mister McKinley.

I pulled into the parking lot of the recommended club to the heavy beat of a Chemical Brothers climax.

'Hand brake up. Blaupunkt off. Keys out of the ignition. Good. Money - Teddy's money - in purse. Check. Tennis shoes for dancing. Sorted. Knife. Of course.'

I handed Lucinda her E and winked; I know how she loves them.

"Jesus, D. It's Monday. I don't think I can do it tonight." She stared into her empty glass.

"Well give it back, then. I'm going dancing." I must've sounded convincing (not that I wanted to), because she slipped the foil wrapped pill back over the bar counter.

"This thing? In my hand?...Sorry, I thought you were referring to the fat man next to me for a second. It's a switchblade," I said in a hushed voice.

The Thirsty Camel was busy as usual, but unusually noisy for such a fine establishment.

"Why on Earth are you carrying a flick knife, Dolorez? It's Monday. We are having drinks. Can I just have a quiet drink or two. God!"

I like prostitutes, I really do.
I admire them.

This girl I spoke to the other day, Kiki, she called herself, came up to me and asked me if I wanted to, you know...have lesbian sex with her.
So I went. To her Sea Point apartment.
It wasn't bad for a prostitute's apartment; it was fucken stunning!
Kiki had turned it into a kind of an art gallery for street kids.