Journal Of A Desperate Man – Entry #2

Mrs Cline.

Her name is Sharon and she’s roughly the same age as me. I seem to remember something she told me, about how I went to school with her brother. I don’t recall it. Anyway, I call her Mrs Cline now to remind myself she’s married. There was an incident a few months back. She walked in on me trying to masturbate after a heavy night. I forced her to help. I’m unsure exactly what went on but I spent the rest of the day convinced her husband/police would be kicking the door in at any minute. Images of me, on the front page of the local paper, with the headline:


I fell asleep under the stairs and woke up the next morning to the sound of the vacuum and Mrs Cline singing Wake me up before you go-go. It’s never been mentioned since.

As soon as she entered the room and saw the look on my face, she reversed the vacuum and closed the door again. I peeled back the plaster on my wrist and picked at the semi-congealed blood. It was barely a cut.

I transferred my attention to the two brown packages. One was from Amazon. It could be anything. Ordered in an inebriated stupor. The other was much more important. I recognized it immediately. Perfectly wrapped in brown paper with twine Crisscrossing it and tied with a bow on top. It was this week’s drug supply from Silky.

It doesn’t matter how many times I receive these packages, I always get very excited. I was just about to pull on the string when Mrs Cline reentered the room. She was carrying a bloody Mary. She put it on the bedside table, without a word. She left the room. Then I heard the front door slam. I was alone. I took a sip and pulled on the twine.

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