Dear Jonah [Chapter 6] (Part 2)

I have seriously spent SEVERAL days (more than a month) writing this episode... Well, part of that's cause I'm lazy, but still. I worked hard.
Part 2

Suddenly, my father doubled over in a disgusting, displeasing laughter. "Bahaha! It's my piss, you fuckin' retard!"

I kept my face an unreadable blank, though I had never been so repulsed in my life. Everything was a test with my father, and failing was much worse than any humiliation he could ever push me through. I don't feel. I can't feel. I told myself all the things I needed that would be sufficient enough for me to get through this. This could have been worse. I've been through worse.
But did that make it better?

Suddenly, my father's laughter sobered, and he stared at me, eyes raging with fire. "God, take a joke you prick!" I only stared straight back into his eyes. Or, at least, I pretended to. I had perfected the art of glassing my eyes over so that I was looking at them, rather than into them. He then snatched the cup from the spot in front of me, and spilled the rest of its contents all over me. It matted in my hair, trickled down the sides of my head and into my shirt, down my back, spreading like sweat.

"That oughta teach you to have a fuckin' sense of humor! Come'ere boy! You still ain't laughin'? Don'tcha enjoy my humor? I'll teach you to respect me and my authority, boy! Get here." He grabbed me by the wrist, and drug me over to the still open flame, snickering like he had an embarrassing secret he was keeping, and it was about to burst. "Put yo' hand on the stove," he said.

For the first time, I opened my mouth to protest, but when I looked over to my beckoning, menacing father, I snapped my jaw shut, and closed my eyes, and did as told, blocking out the raging, horrific pain. It smelled retched and awful, again like burning rubber. Somewhere between the searing and swearing inwardly, I had found myself wondering what it was like to be in a concentration camp. To be ripped away from your family, and forced to strip down to your bare skin, and shoved in a gas chamber. Or to become charcoal in a human oven. I weighed my options, and decided that although, both were slow deaths, I'd rather right now gradually suffocate as a foreign gas poisoned my lungs than burn alive, until I was nothing but ashes. Sometimes I thought about several different ways I could die, just so that I could compare the pains of suffering immensely once to the nightmare of torment every day. Maybe one day this pain would be the death of me.

Huffing and puffing like a rapid train, my father rushed over to me, frustrated that I hadn't given in to his game yet, and pressed my arm into the flame, from elbow to wrist. The flames licked at my skin, turning it black and bloody, literally boiling my blood. It was my biggest feat ever that I was able to hold back the cries of agony; amazing really. I didn't give a single word as the blazing flames broiled my skin.

"Damn, you just all set out to burst my fuckin' bubble, ain't you, you fucker?" There was a repeated clicking sound as he turned the dial on the stove until the gas-produced fire flickered off. My sigh of relief caught in my throat as the force of his hands against my chest threw me off my feet. As I fell to the ground, the crown of my head caught on the edge of the counter, creating a huge gash. Gravity was a fucking bitch as I landed on the kitchen floor, finally howling out my lungs as the linoleum melted into the open-wounded flesh on my arm. "That's right, scream, like the little pig you are! Squeal, boy! You pussy!" I tore my forearm away from the tile, which was ten thousand times more terrifying than any band aid anyone had ever had to rip off. I got one small glimpse of the linoleum welded into my grimy, bloody arm before the world began to dim. My hair felt damp, and I knew it was from the gash. As tears streamed from my tear ducts, I could still almost hear the grimace in my father's faint voice. "Cry, you fucker. That's right cry." There was a sharp pain in my abdomen, and I knew he had begun to kick me. With much force, he collided his foot repeatedly into my ribs, gut, and even once in the crotch, calling out foul names.

Suddenly, the pain vanished as I lost control of all senses entirely. I was envisioning swimming in the dark waves of the ocean. Only I wasn't really swimming, only floating awkwardly. Or sinking. There was a weight tied to my ankle, and I floated down through darkness. My lungs became pressured and my chest compressed, and I realized then that I wasn't swimming, or floating, or even sinking. I was drowning.
Death was an interesting sensation, after all. Not quite pleasurable, but almost. Like it was my time for this.

—
Please, Dear, God. Leave me good comments. :)
With Love, Carlie :D

Category:

Entertainment

Tags:

• Jick
• Joick
• Dear Jonah
• Chapter.6
• Part.2

[rhasxsroge]

i´ve been waiting soo long for this!!! and it´s fucking worth it : D

you´re a great writer pleasee!! post soon!! and moree!!

love you

[Aushie14]

omfg amazing!!!! joe's dad is a fuckin mental!!! im gonna say poor joee!!! =O moreeeeeeeeeeeee!!!!!

[jonasy878992]

Shit. That was fucking amazing! Freaking orgasm worthy. You are an amazing writer. Gah! I am in love with this story. And I would never say 'poor Joe'.