I think this place to hide in it (Short story)

A Story by Sean C Stucki

This is a story I wrote about what happened last Friday night at a friends house.

I think this place to hide in it

I think this place to hide in it
(Short story)
Written: 3/31/2018

A boy with enrapturing white eyes sitting in lotus on a dark dank floor. Rectitude among his face painted deacons, all stare into the camera as he power raps. The octagon he sat within whirled around like a washing machine with darks & whites thrown into one. I took a hit of the soda then lifted my laptop and turned it to show my brother what I was witnessing as Buck played a key-stroke in Mario golf.
“What the f**k is going on in this? He looks like the white xxxtentacion with white skulls dangling from the ends of his blonde braids.”
My brother hit a 36, almost having the 18 holes completed. He looked over to the screen I was holding up and he stared for a moment. He looked down then gave a concerned chuckle.
“Do you think I should get going? Haha.” Buck asked as he chuckled again. Before I could answer he said: “Uhh… I’m gonna get going. Gotta prepare my lunch for work tomorrow morning.”
Before walking him out I had him trail over to my laptop and make buzzing sounds while I had my finger on the record button. I’d been working on a demo LP lately and have been creating the most experimental techniques of my underground career. We shared a few more laughs then I proceeded to walk him out.
Dan had sent me a text message about driving off from his father’s gig at a culinary hipster joint. While on the ride home, he & his girlfriend stopped by a local smoke shop & bought a bong for the flowery night.
“Yea man yea! Come over!”
Took off my red shirt with the bible verse to throw on a cleaner shirt, slid my shoes onto my feet after maneuvering past the mind field of dirty laundry & headed out the door with my phone, wallet & keys. Normally, when the clock strikes 10 pm the party’s over but with this Friday night I had to do something to break the monotony. Rolled down all the windows once pulling out off the complex and blasted the band ‘Orgy’ for the 1, 000 time.
I can never become ill off listening to ‘Punk static paranoia’ even in 2018. I have plainly abided inside the aura I call this hot circle of dust. The whirlwinds that help my car travel from the top of Tucson to the saggy bottom. My lack of singing in the car, new songs allows Orgy to be played again & again but I don’t know if it’s because I’m lazy or just tolerate the same old songs.

Pg. 2

After sliding past the last red light, the little canary chirped inside my thoughts:
‘Turn back, it’s too late’
What am I doing? It’s 10:11 p.m. this is now my bedtime. These are the proper, responsible, anti-climax days that reside. Anyways, I pulled the car into the dirt driveway and turned the music off on my 2 dollar stereo system. The smell in the dark air was faint. Pearl like with a hint of stillness. The scent you breathe in that makes you watch your back. Lurking danger from the edges maybe from a posse of pigs or a pride or coyotes covered in stealth. I puffed out my chest and walked up to Dan’s front door then opened it.
BARK! BARK! BARK! BARK! BARK! BARK! BARK! BARK! BARK! BARK! BARK! BARK!
“SHUT UP!” A yell came roaring.
I peered inside as a hand brushed the pit-bulls off. 2 of them scampered to their resting area while one barked incessantly as it ran with its tail between its legs. The door opened like an old timey black & white horror set.
It was “L”
“L” or levitite held the door as a pillar of smoke surrounded his half shadowed complexion. He took a hit with the side of his lips off a small pipe as he stared at me then blew the smoke out to the side. His sister may have delegated him to be the one to let me in but he is a man that works off his own will. He turned around then walked to his room. I followed up until the kitchen and saw Dan & his girlfriend “Amor, the older sister of L” sitting on the dog couch watching some t.v. show.
Dan was standing next to his lying woman with eyes the colors of dark pomegranate roses. He began:
“Heeeeeeeeeyyyyyyy man! We’re sitting here having a good time lighting off roaches cutting some rugs before you got into thinking about food challenges. You like challenges? 100 burgers in 7 minutes what the hell oh and KingMan with the sporty glasses and jacket and fine tipped crocodile leather shoes fighting British illuminati hitmenachos in the frying pan with motzurellacheezeeworkwastheshitsthe whoozlrinhnuirobhuqvairhneauiy87493 6y14bhuighne293u4h89234hgfoi34njg9j zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.”
‘Ya?” I asked.
The competitive eater on the screen, whom I’ve sent my second book to, was devouring an ungodly portioned meal. “L” walked out and sat down next to his sister. He stretched out and laid with his head against the dirty arm rest then pressing the soles of his feet against his sister’s thigh.

pg. 3

A big smile radiated like lollipop rainbows as he stared at the gladiator. Mind you, the mute was on.
I noticed the glass bong with green words running across the corner of my eye. I made my way to the kitchen side table where the devil’s holy grail stood undefiant. The king piece in marijuana chess.
“Wow! This looks like the one I use to own that smacked up against the black-top during my move 2 years back.”
This instrument appealed to all of our sensibilities and remainders of. The counter attack to life’s crooked forward punch.
“Yea!” Dan yelled then followed by giggling like a tit mouse.
“Can I hit it?”
‘Yea!”
I struggled with sucking after lighting which is a strange occurrence because sucking is the only act I’ve mastered. Attempted 2 more times without success. I turned my face then walked over and sat down at the empty dining room table. Amor got up, picked the bong up, then placed it in front of me and said:
“Place your lips around this dick, sucka, and I’ll tell you when to stop breathing in.”
I wrapped my lips around the transparent shaft then lit that son of a b***h and yes, it was a son of a b***h *bang bang*
“Keep going! Keep going!”
My lungs we’re almost full until I felt a tiny ember hit my uvula. Blew out hard & coughed frantically.
“Now you off that cuckoo s**t, son!” Amor yelled as she threw up unknown gang signs. I slowly became transfixed, inattentive, spiraling into a parlous condition. I began smacking my lips and tongue with the taste of cotton mouth. Predicted every word & movement the competitive eater on t.v. made. I then heard police sirens in my head. Imagining being walked into a holding cell then raped by multi-time violent offenders. I slammed my hands on the table then got up. No one had noticed.
“You’re really creative when your high and we’re BOTH REALLY HIGH!” Dan yelled as he disappeared into the shadows of the hallway then reappeared with a wad of paper and an electric led pencil.
“This is a wand and this is a concrete slab, burn magic into it.” He said.

pg. 4

I grabbed the electric pencil with such anxious strength I thought I was going to break it in half.
“Isn’t this pencil more durable? I feel like I’m gonna break it.”
‘Then quit squeezing it so hard.” Dan replied as he sprinkled cheese on some nacho chips. I still have those lyrics written on a piece of paper somewhere inside the confines. The song I wrote is called:
‘ Smoke Jager Bombs ‘
With some of the lyrics here I’m presenting on the page:
“Praying like a rock star,
Own it like God’s guitar,
Shooting like a fleeting star,
Pray like a rock star.”

Dan walked over & looked at what had spilled out of my mind. He smiled & said:
“Alright man alright! I like it! You wanna go record this?”
He looked to have 3 sets of mouths all talking in different directions. Stood up again, said yes, but then stood in one space. I couldn’t get my legs to move towards the spare bedroom/recording studio. So instead, I walked without bending my knees over to the couch and sat down on one of the dogs. Andy tried jumping when I plopped on her out of fright but she’s an old dog. She moved a couple inches then laid back down next to my arm. Amor was frantically pressing buttons on the remote after hitting the bong 4 or 5 more times. She was sweating.
“Sean, uhm. I don’t want you to be mad. Are you angry? I can’t tell from over here. You’re disappointed because I’m boring and I ain’t boring m**********r. Your boring. You’re not disappointed in either me or the movie? Are you?”
I lifted the small nacho bowl from the table that sat next to my lyrics before stumbling over to the couch. Slowly moved my head to look at her.
“The only thing I’m worried about is chewing properly.”
At some point after that I got up and stumbled to the opposing spare bedroom. Completely lost track of time. I stumbled over crashing into the bed frame. Fell immediately asleep then woke up 5 hours later to caress the wall next to the door. I won’t be having this problem a second time. Just gotta lay off hitting the bong so hard & next time I won’t still be high the next morning driving away from their house driving 10 below the speed limit out of paranoia.