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It was around two hours before the count down when it all came to me. I saw myself disorientated in the midst of a barbaric celebration. All the commotion couldn’t bother me for I kept myself busy glaring, concentrated and amused by the flickering of a strobe light. Standing next to me was an overweight brute dressed up in a white shirt and a tie, looking like he had something to do with the Gainesville murders.



A couple of minutes passed before picking myself up, walking as straight as I could, bumping off walls and other solid objects I could hold on too. Big rough hands immediately grab hold of my sides, maneuvering me onto a chair by a dirty, wet bar stand full of scattered different sized glasses. He asked ’How are you doing?’. ’Sobering up’, I answered though my eyes stated the opposite.

Karl was a traditional Nazi look-alike guy whom I always respected.

We met each other three years ago at a biker bar called Flamingo: a small room with a few tables and pricey liquor. It closed down a year after due to the fact that it was only frequented by sleazy young tourists and a bunch of old timers recalling, what they described as ‘’their days on the road’’.

From there onwards we started running into each other as he thoroughly educated me about Hitler’s ambitions and such.



‘Would you like another one?’, and there we sat downing vodka shooters, accompanied by his partner whose named I can never remember. Soon after, they wouldn’t stop making out and the more they did, the more I drank realizing how useless I may really be.



Just when you think matters can’t get worse, a skeleton from a locked closet shows up. This skeleton identifies herself as Jessica, my ex-girlfriend’s notorious, pot smoking two-timing friend. And just like good friends do, she wanted everything my girlfriend had which included me.

Christa: my ex, was a typical walking contradiction in a black gown and a half painted face covered by long stiff black hair which carried a foul stench of a burning corpse. My relationship with her lasted around seven months of horrid insanity, two of which were spent under the same roof before I found out that she was literally psychotic in all the wrong ways.



It’s been a little over two years since I buried Christa, Jessica and all the lying, drugs, frantic calls, threatening letters and paranoia that came with it.



Despite all that I still found myself cornered, taking Jessica’s cheap acid even though it was perfectly clear how capable she was of doing much worse than her former friend.



I woke up to the sound of a screaming woman in agony, leaning over a bed…’It’s just an alarm clock’. In front of me was a huge wooden case filled with books regarding obituaries, mortuaries and cooking books. A door creaked open and out came a red head, nicely curved women. She smiled as if she knows me just as I noticed I’m not anywhere I recognize.



A sinister laugh pierced its way through my Armour, finding myself back in that sodding corner. Everyone was moving slower. Flames start coming out of nowhere as the music dies out. Jessica is holding me.. ‘damn, I’m next’, ’leave me alone’. ‘I can see what’s going on, you all are plotting to kill me’. This is not me I uttered. It’s just the drug, but what if this is the real me and the other Brandon is just a mere illusion?



I ran out to the balcony, gasping for air. Jessica followed me like a ball to a chain and tried to soothe me. ‘Calm down Brandon’, ‘calm the fuck down’, ’It’s gonna be alright’ she said and I believe her, I think she believes herself too.



Her skin felt soft and somewhat silky. Small hands came around my back as she perfectly took off my shirt. I could still see the bookcase behind her. Her red eyes blossomed as my fingers ran inside her and for the briefest of moments: I’m drunk and for a second I’m also in love.



Her Skin feels different, harder and brittle. Shit, I’m touching Jessica. I got worried. Toying with a psycho is as good as killing one; there are consequences to look forward too.

The fire dies down and in the background, people are cheering on the count down.

No one seemed to be looking as I steamed back inside hoping to wake up from this mess that I seem to have gotten myself into.



Karl came over, greeting me with some Jack Daniels. I didn’t fancy drinking more, All I wanted to do was to get out of there without attracting any attention to myself.

I sat near him for quite a while. My head felt like someone just drilled through it and took out all the organs just for proof.



A tall blond sat beside me and whispered some gibberish in my ear. I smiled pretending to have understood her. She introduced herself as Desirea. We started talking and I explained how I would not be speaking to her if I wasn’t this drunk. And for some reason, the more she talked the more drinks she gave me. I was aware that drinking more isn’t probably the best thing to do but I didn’t care at the time.

Fetishes came along during our discussion and I confessed my thing for platforms, especially knee high just like the one she was wearing..



Soon after that she asked me to go somewhere with her and I found myself going up to her hotel room in the La Vallette Resort: A place filled with snobs owning 2 sports cars and a country club membership. In other words, It’s an expensive piece of shit that I could never afford!



It was a small room with two beds, yellow paint and four paintings that looked like a four year olds scribbling.

Just as I was crossing the border between bad drug experience to tolerable one she offered some drink that was suppose to cure my head pains. After exceeding the drinking limit for about six times in less then five hours you tend to find yourself desperate. So I took it.



I collapsed onto the bed trying to keep my eyes open. Her voice kept going further and further away from me as she repeated ‘do you like me?’, ‘pain and pleasure right?’, ‘I love scars…..do you?’



My eyes got even heavier as my vision was getting blurred by the second and the last thing I had on my mind was kinky foreplay with a twenty-nine year old Boca girl.

I passed out for a few minutes…Waking up to the smell of my own blood.

She wasn’t the person I last looked at before sleeping. Her face was similar to it but her smile seemed different. I struggled and simply said ‘I don’t feel like doing this shit, fuck off’’

It’s surreal, but nothing is a cliché once it’s happening to you!



I looked at her pomegranate red nails as she scratched me hard enough making my chest look like a row of open sewer pipes gushing waste. Bites hard enough to break nutshells and bruises so dark I would not be needing my eye-liner for the next couple of days!



My weak jagged scream came out just as she forced her self into me while grabbing a piercing which I happened to pierce two days ago. My Face was dead and emotionless.



I could hear a lullaby, surrounded by children cheering in a park; one could simply smell their happiness. Such innocence….They all looked familiar. A single tear came down wetting my face. I spotted a small little boy. He seemed to be alone waiting for his father to pick him up and even though he knew that his father wouldn’t, he still smiled.



Desire smiled.

Her face expression made it obvious for one to notice that happiness and joy filled up inside her. And for the briefest of seconds nothing mattered……..