The room was quiet, with only a faint hum of roadwork’s coming from the freeway. The toxic stench of stale cigarettes and incense caused Jim to gag and cover his mouth with his t-shirt. The bunk bed was full of magazines, books, and junk that had no purpose. The floor was strewn with dirty underwear, empty beer cans, and half full take-away boxes. He lifted a slice of pizza and eyed it in disgust, ‘Hmmm, pepperoni and penicillin’ he whispered, as he placed it carefully on top of the overflowing pedal bin. In all his years serving as a Marine in hell holes around the world, Jim had never seen filth quite like this.
Jim moved to the window and tried to lift the sash. His barrel like arms strained and heaved, but it had been stuck fast when his son Jacob had painted the room black a few years ago. He stood back from the window, with the sound of potato chips breaking beneath his feet. ‘How can anyone live like this?’ he mumbled, while scratching his arms and neck roughly.
The black walls were covered with posters of bands that wore make up and angled fringes that covered half their faces. They had names like ‘Don’t look down’, or ‘Kids that cut’. They disgusted him, and he stared at them through hate filled eyes. They were the ones who had kidnapped his strong and healthy boy, and turned him into a weak minded little prick.
‘Why can’t he play baseball or something, like a normal kid’ he spat while rummaging through Jacob’s chest of drawers. Jim found a Playboy magazine which made him smile, ‘at least he ain’t no f*g’ he chuckled while flicking through its contents. He placed the magazine back in the drawers and found a small notebook which he opened. It was completely blank except for a small poem written in calligraphy.
LIFE SUCKS:
Pop’s never at home
Can’t reach on the phone
With a w***e, drunk in bed
Crying alone, my Mom is dead.
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