YE OLDE SCRIBLETS

Assignment #5

Uncomfortable Character

Presented By: Isadora Porkpie

A Hundred Leather Jackets

 

"He's gonna get up any minute now...any minute."  I've been saying that sentence over and over and over and over in my head for the past two hours.  I'll just wait in this corner until they come back.  God my head hurts like a motherfucker!  When are they coming back?  I need my fucking fix!  Those fuckers better not have left me or I swear to god I will fucking kill them.  How did all this shit happen to me?  How did I even end up in this run-down shit hole?  He's totally dead.  I can't believe I sucked that guy's dick last night.  Now he's dead.  Dead dick.  What was his name again?  I don't fucking remember.  It's way too cold to remember. 

 

That stupid bitch took my coat.  "I'll bring it right back."  She said.  Fucking cock sucking slut!  She knew I spent two hundred bucks on it.  That's like five guys I had to fuck to be able to buy it!  I had felt like we were sisters at first.  When I was new to the streets, she held my hand, let me wear her sexy skirts, said I was beautiful...Fuck, I even let her touch me!  Fucking dyke!  Now she has my favorite leather coat!  I'll kill her!  God, I feel sick.  When was the last time I ate anything?  Cold pizza, two days ago.  It'd be funny if that guy's name was Richard.  He had a huge dick.  Dead dick with the now useless huge dick. 

 

Maybe I should call my real sister, Grace.  I haven't spoken to anyone in my family for almost two years now.  They probably think I'm dead.  I wish I was dead right now.  I need a fix so fucking bad.  Then I'd be able to figure out what to do about this dead guy.  Maybe if I tried to go over and wake him up.  He's gotta be dead Georgie stabbed him pretty bad.  There's blood everywhere.  What could I tell Grace if I did call her?  "Hey could you come by pick me up at the crack house on Third Avenue and help me with this dead guy...oh yeah and could you bring me a jacket?"  What a fucking nightmare!  I feel like I'm in a bad movie.  I used to have it so together.  I was on my way to college.  I was going to be a lawyer.  That seems like a lifetime ago.  Actually more like a whole other life.  A past life.

 

I used to play the piano.  I wonder if I could still play.  I used to play every Christmas morning.  I feel like throwing up.  Why did Georgie have to stab that guy for?  Fucking angry pimps.  He seemed pretty nice.  I remember something about him not having enough money for something last night.  I've seen him around here and there.  We were all so fucking high last night and my mind was going a million miles a minute.  I think they were arguing about Star Wars.  That guy liked the newer ones and Georgie lost it.  Oh my god, that guy got killed over liking Jar Jar.  What a fucking shame. 

 

If those fuckers don't come back in another hour I'm leaving!  I just feel bad about leaving this guy alone.  I also feel like if I stand up I may either vomit or my head may explode.  I would try and call somebody from a pay phone but all my fucking change is in that god damn coat.  I'm way too sick to be fucking or sucking someone's dick right now and the only guy around is fucking dead.  Fuck I just want some fucking french fries!  Maybe dead dick has some money on him.  I'll just check his pockets.

 

Eeeew!  I've never touched a dead guy before.  I feel like such a creep.  What if the cops show up and see me here with this dead stabbed guy?  Shit, I didn't think of that!  Fuck!  Fuck!  Fuck!  One more fucking hour and that's it.  Georgie has always pissed me off!  I wonder how many other people he's stabbed to death.  How did I end up hanging out with these fucking losers?  I need to stop smoking and shooting up all this shit.  I will soon I promise.  And when I'm all clean I can go back to my family.  What would I tell them?  Maybe I can say that I was knocked out and had amnesia and was taken into the country and forced to live with a weird religious cult and that I just recently remembered who I was and escaped! 

 

Man, that dead asshole didn't have a dime on him.  Why am I even thinking that they are coming back for me?  All those fuckers care about are themselves.  Those selfish bastards are probably eating a feast at Denny's or something.  If I don't get that jacket back I will fucking kill that whore!  I can see the headline now.  "Crack whore kills crack whore sister over leather jacket!"  I wish there was a TV in here.  One that worked at least.  It's getting dark.  I wonder if I could build a little campfire.  I used to be a Girl Scout and we learned how to do shit like that.  What I wouldn't give for a fucking Samoa or a Tagalong cookie right now! 

 

I remember smoking my first joint and thinking I was the most rebellious kid ever!  I remember hiding out in my sister's bathroom while she tried to sober me up before my parents came home.  It's strange my family ain't all that bad.  Pretty nice as family's go.  So, sometimes I wonder what I was running away from.  It looks like it's going to snow.  I need one more fucking fix and then I can deal with all of this shit!  Maybe I have enough energy to just suck one dick.  Then I can get my shit and then pull it together.  Maybe I'll even check myself in, get some help.  I wish I could just keep doing this but live at home.  What a fucking stupid thought!!  I miss my dad.

I feel so fucking cheap in this get up right now!  But whenever I'm riding high I always feel so fucking hot.  Guys think I'm the shit.  When I'm dressed like this they want it so bad.  But right now I feel like shit.  I haven't taken a shower in three days.  I just want to sit on the couch and watch cartoons. 

 

A few months ago I tried to get clean and it hurt so fucking bad.  I couldn't take puking my guts out and sweating like a fucking maniac.  Way too fucking hard.  I don't want to go through that shit again.  I wish I could just take a magical pill and BAM!  At least that cunt didn't take my boots.  These boots are fucking hot.  Guys always drive up to me first when I'm on the streets.  Maybe that bitch started getting jealous of me.  I just wish that dead guy would wake up. 

 

Maybe I'll just move out of this town altogether.  Find a new place of my own.  A new place where I don't need a fucked-up killer pimp like Georgie.  I could make enough money to rent my own apartment.  Run my own little whore-house outta my own pad.  Paint my walls pink and lay around watching cartoons and eating Girl Scout cookies whenever the fuck I wanted.  Then I could buy a hundred leather jackets.