User:Orian57/12 Days of Cristmas/Day Five
Oh sure. Be with me first thing in the morning will you? Lying bastards. Six hours I waited by my car. Six cold hours filled with hail, and drunken abuse from passing cars – even the occasional sex offer (and I was scolded for not waiting at a restroom).
The current traffic means I have to add another hour to my journey time. Maybe Gerry will be worried about me. I mean that is if he’s not working.
Some time passes far too slowly for my liking. I can feel my innards clench every time a police car flashes behind me; I am still fleeing after all.
You can’t even run away properly, sixteen hours out and you’re not even home yet. Maybe I should stop looking so guilty. They might breathalyse me and you know how unreliable those tests are. You might get sent to prison and you’ll get raped for drink driving. No don’t be so silly, David, nobody gets sent to prison for drink driving. You’ll just get a fine and some points on your licence – Oh no! I can’t get points on my licence that will spoil my perfect record. If I get points on my licence there will be nothing to stop me going completely off the rails! Before I know it I’ll be swerving to hit cats – oh Schnookums!
Now I’m stuck behind a pair of coffin dodging slugs. Yeah so I’m all for driving ten – or even fifteen miles under the speed limit, but going this slow on a motor way is taking the piss!
I rev up the engine and step on the gas as I pull out from behind the beetle. The milometer creeps passed sixty-five. I’m almost speeding! Shit maybe I could go all the way – speed right past those limits, that’ll teach the law. Although maybe speeding is allowed when you overtake. I can’t remember – who cares? It’ll feel like I’m breaking the law.
The speedometer continues to creep up as I zoom past the other car. Sixty-nine, Seventy – Am I really gonna do this with a body in the boot? – Seventy-one – two - too late now! – three! – Ha-ha fuck you world! I’m speeding I am fucking speeding – look at me dad I have a lust for speed! Argh! Shit!
“Promise me you’ll never be that stupid again, David you almost got yourself killed.” I demand of myself as I walk to the bins holding my, now damp, anti-Santa sack filled with a dead cat spewing juices out of every orifice.
“David, mate.” It’s Daryl. He’s not really my friend – he’s black and scary – we just go though the motions. And shit, he’s a witness now, maybe I’ll have to kill him too. Could I really kill a black person. It might be a hate crime.
“D-Daryl.” I smile.
“Were you not planning on inviting me to this party of yours then?”
“What party?”
“Come on don’t be like that – your party!” He points up to my flat. My Christmas lights are hanging out of them and a disco is clearly present.
A drunken man leans out of the window screaming obscenities. He unzips and before I realise it he’s urinating on me. My mouth is open and everything!
Cat in hand with Daryl in tow, I run up to my flat and rap on my door. It opens moments later.
“Why is there a party in my flat Jerry?” I ask a total stranger. Bastard! I’ve told him only one of us can open the door in case it’s a delivery.
I push past the strange transvestite and into my flat to find Gerry.
It’s a fetish ball. My flat is a fetish ball. Every conceivable kink is present: A man with a ball gag in his mouth and bound wrists and ankles is bunny hopping through the kitchen, knocking over my coffee jar as another man in a hood whips him and laughs; one guy screams in the sling as a group do unspeakable things to his anus; A man begins to sniff my shoes like a dog and I freeze. On the other end of the leash a man smiles.
“He likes you.”
Revolted I kick out.
After apologising I see Gerry on the couch, I’m unsure if he’s watching Jumanji or the two men dressed in nappies wrestling on the Twister mat. I wonder distractedly – hopefully – that that is where the smell is coming from. At least that will be one less pile of shit to clean that up.
“Jerry, who are these people!?”
He begins to point at and name them in turn. “Kash, he works in finance; Floorie, floor manager; Cook, he works in the cante—”
“Yes but why are they in my house? Dressed like that?” I single out a man wearing green balloons.
“Oh. Mopper. He likes to pretend he’s grapes, you know?”
“No I don’t know. Now I want them OUT! OUT!”
I storm into my room stressed and tired.
A few moments later I return to pick up the dead cat. Terrified of what they might do to it.
The party prattles on for another several hours as I toss and turn in my bed until I just can’t take it anymore.
I decide to take control. This is my house and nobody is going have a party in it. I storm into the room in my stripy pyjamas.
“RIGHT GET OUT OF MY FLAT! NOW!” I bellow, taking authority. I feel really powerful. First the living room then The World.
And they laugh. Their laughter causes a breeze that really shouldn’t be that breezy. Except for the split groin in my pyjama bottoms.
“Exhibitionist!” one man yells, his eureka moment. “I knew we were missing something.” they all laugh off my herculian moment and return to their talking.
“Oh come on mate, lighten up.” Gerry smiles. “This party is in your honour after all.”
“What do you mean 'in my honour'?”
“Well I thought you died.”
“You what?”
“You were home late. You’re never home late.”
“Oh.” I’m actually quite moved. “Well. I’m not dead. Maybe we could just watch an episode of CSI instead?”
“With popcorn?”
“And beef jerky.”
“Alright guys, fuck off home now. Party’s over.” he says clapping his hands together casually. They all make moves to leave.
“But it’s just getting going!” One of the nappied men complain.
“Go home before your daddy calls the police.” Gerry says.
Huh. I wish I had a daddy that cared that much about me...