I Am The Local Atheist

by Warwick Stubbs

  A couple of bottles smashed on the driveway.

  Tinsdale’s shoulders flexed backwards. “I’m not putting up with this shit. Get out of the way.”

  I moved quickly as he opened the door and went outside grabbing an empty bottle from the trash. “Who da fuck do you cunts think you are coming here and yelling shit and smashing bottles on my driveway?”

  I peeked my head around the door frame and watched him smash the passenger-side mirror with his own fist, knocking it off the hinges and leaving it dangling by the wires; and then reaching through the window with the same hand and grabbing the male passenger in the front seat by the collar and pulling him halfway through the window before yelling “You gonna fucking clean up this fuckin’ mess you made cunt?” The empty bottle was wavering precariously next to the passenger’s face.

  While the girls in the back were yelling at him to leave their friend alone, the driver was out of his seat and running around the vehicle with his fist clenched, but by the time he got within range, Tinsdale had let go of the passenger, dropped the bottle, and had walked right into the driver, picking him up and slamming him down on the ground.

  “So you gonna clean up this mess then? Huh?” He put a foot on the man’s head. “Huh?”

  As he struggled the driver gasped “Just tell your flatmate to never…”

  “I got a better idea fuckwit. How about you and your friends never come anywhere near my house again?” Tinsdale looked at the cowering faces in the vehicle. “And you better pass the message on to any other dumb fucks you know who might be getting the same idea. Got that?”

  The faces nodded.

  Tinsdale released the face under his foot. “Now piss off!”

  The driver made his way back to his seat and as the car started up and pulled out of the driveway, Tinsdale picked up his bottle and gave it a well directed throw that landed on the side of the car smashing and scattering across the road as they drove away.

  Tinsdale returned inside, head held high, swagging in smug satisfaction.

  “Thanks,” I said tentatively.

  “Shut the fuck up! That shit better never happen again. I don’t ask people to share this flat because I think they’re going to cause trouble for me, got that?”

  “Got it.”

  I couldn’t help smiling as he walked away from me and the thought of those fanatics driving away having bit off more than they had asked for.

  I think I’m going to like living here.

  Chronicle the fourth

  It didn’t take long to realise how much of a rip-off Vodafone was. Every ‘good’ deal was attached to a core plan which had you paying a set fee of no less than $10 a month with an additional cost associated with the ‘add on’ deal. I checked their website and found that even if I only wanted to add on 100 txts for one month at $5.95, my total bill goes up to $25.95 per month. I recently put $20 on my phone and already it has run out after only about a week or so. What a shit deal.

  Martin did warn me when I got back from buying the phone off one of his friends who was selling it cheap – somewhat convenient that he should tell me after and not before, I thought! He basically pointed out that I would eventually have to change to Telecom if I thought that I would be making more txts than what my $20 is getting me.

  I now realise that all evil is housed in Vodafone (hello!! Did you not see what colour they associate themselves with???) while Telecom remains a gentler minion and servant to the Dark Lord, caught between the sympathy for humanity and still needing to please the Master. Yes, while Vodafone preys on the foolish by depleting their bank accounts, thus forcing them into continual labour to appease their addiction and to satisfy the hunger of a society in need of bodies to grind the wheel of urbanisation, Telecom takes the simpler route and creates an addiction based on ‘value for money’, all the time watching as many young adults in need of instant communication feed a giant force that paves a way to hell with the appearance of ‘freedom’, ‘value’ and pretty little catch-phrases that create such a sense of security that not even driving in the pitch-black of night can stop one of the followers from txting a message and bringing fate that much closer to hurling all his passengers into the abyss that is Satan’s final grip.

  A Chronicle from the Distant Past

  Right from the outset I had practically admitted and owned up to the fact that I was taking advantage of her – well, at least I did after I’d already got her into bed with me (that, surprisingly enough, wasn’t the hardest part). So she knew what I was up to. But she wanted to be close to someone just as much as I wanted to be inside her, and I knew that I could have what I wanted if I was willing to give her what she wanted.

  I almost had it. I was this close [*indicates with thumb and finger*]! But something had to get in the way didn’t it? Or should I say, something had to interrupt!

  Evil of all evils.

  Tears streamed from her eyes puffed and red, sobbing mouth and trembling lips caught the tears but made no effort to hold them; they fell to her chin and eventually let go of that dangerous ledge, falling into the dark abyss that was her arms lying so pale in her lap. And every time a light flashed that private place beyond the stage, the cubicle of seats and tables where the surrounding nightclub was being ignored in favour of bottles of half finished RTDs, I saw the ‘little girl’ with snivelling nose who so desperately wanted to be happy and so far away from all this pain that she was feeling.

  I could point my finger and name the cause even as he sat far away pretending to be oblivious to her pain, as though the bands that crushed conversations were the only thing worth keeping his eyes on.

  But she wasn’t a thing.

  I knew this. And despite knowing this, I still couldn’t go beyond trivialising her feelings and reducing her physical body to something that I wanted a much closer connection to. Maybe that too, is what he felt, over there, watching the bands as though he could only dream of being a part of something so worthy of people’s attention.

  I wanted her attention, her warmth, her sweat; her hair on my chest, her lips on my neck, her breasts against my skin, my cock inside her pussy – nothing else. Just to be a part of this person who I had met only moments ago and had been so willing in her drunken state to pour her heart out to me, David, the sympathetic listener; the guy who would console her in the harsh glare of red and pink lights and conversation killing noise.

  I asked her if she wanted to leave now, but she had come to have a good time, so through all her tears she ordered more drinks.

  She did her best to smile as the drinks arrived in front of her, she did her best to choke them down as though they were the only thing that could pull her away from this ledge so dark and cold; I lent her my hand as something living to clasp a hold of, all the while knowing that she would soon be just as willing to embrace me in the hugs she gave away so freely. And each drink, each shot amidst reflecting lights and crashes of sound, brought her closer to my desperate desire so bored by the nightlife, so stressed by day-time responsibility, so enamoured by beauty that offered an escape.

  But when the sobbing became too much, and the tears seemed impossible to control, she accepted my promise of safety far away from all this, and I helped her to stand and carried her weight beside me as though that would have been too much for her own legs to carry. But I was doing it all for myself, not for her legs, not to be considerate or to ‘help’. I wanted nothing but to feel myself inside her.

  I took her to my car, I drove her to my house; I said I didn’t think that she should be alone. I helped her out of my car, walked her into the house and into my bedroom where she collapsed under the weight of her own sorrow. I convinced her to stay, as though being alone would be the end of her and let her climb into my bed with her dress still on.

  “It’s not all about Steve, y’ know.”

  I didn’t even know Steve, and I didn’t really care.

  She let me kiss her and put my hands over he body, gently pull down the straps of her d
ress and undo her bra to reveal supple breasts that I could cup in each hand. I teased her nipples and then brought my lips down to kiss each one separately, worked my way back up to her neck; each kiss a quiet contemplation on the beauty of her skin. She praised my sensitivity – I praised her beauty.

  She replied with “No, its not true. Steve doesn’t want me… I must be ugly. He said so himself. He’s not even attracted to me.”

  I hated Steve, if this is what he had done to cause so much pity in her. “You are beautiful” is all I had, and from then on in, I did my best to take her thoughts away by drenching her body in a physical high.

  “My parents hate me.”

  “Parents are weird” I said as I put my hands up her dress. “I’m not a fan of mine either.”

  “That feels good.”

  She wanted my fingers up deeper inside her but I told her that she needed to take her dress off completely. As she struggled to remove her clothing I quickly removed my jeans and shirt and was completely naked as she began to lie back down and fall directly into my arms. I looked her in the eyes, stroked the hair back from her face, smiled and ran my fingers up and down her neck, across her shoulders and down her arm. When a smile broke apart her clenched lips and a laugh betrayed the sorrow she had been feeling, she said “You’re a nice guy.”

  Hmph. I smiled.

  As our bodies pressed and shaped each other in warmth, she looked at me and said “I want to tell you about myself.”

  “Shhh,” I said. “I don’t need to know. You’re here to escape everything and just relax and feel comfortable.

  Her tearless smile ravished me and I started working again. I wanted her body to feel every inch of joy that it so desired.

  This time I used my lips as well as my spare hand (for the other hand was wavering about in thin air as the arm it was attached to was being crushed underneath her inconsiderate skull). Both took their time and caressed gently, but the hand made its slow advances downwards to the thighs and then between, in and out. And then just in. Her back arched and she held me tight, my head at her chest. “More” she cried, even dropping a hand to try to help get mine further in. My fingers were deep inside her as she panted in irregular breaths, like she was catching air in gulps and letting it out in sighs.

  “I’m going to do it with you.”

  “What?” for I was panting as well and was not too sure what she had said.

  “I’m going to do it with you.”

  That time I heard it exactly and brought my eyes up to look directly into hers as she grabbed a hold of my shoulders. “Okay then.”

  “I just need to go to the toilet.”

  “Sure, okay.”

  She got up and departed the room. I sat up somewhat pleased with myself. I decided to go to the toilet as well, since my bladder hadn’t been emptied at all since we had been at the nightclub. When I heard her flush the toilet, I left the room and we passed in the hall, smiling at each other’s naked bodies.

  I returned, only to find her picking up her cellphone from her bag and reading a message that had been txted to her.

  I could almost sense the future creeping up behind me…

  “Who is it?” I asked.

  Her lips began trembling. “It’s Steve.”

  …like a bulldozer.

  Her shoulders began shaking. “He’s asking me how I am”. And down came the tears, all over again!

  FFFUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

  I was this [*indicates with thumb and finger*] close to fucking her!

  Chapter 6:

  Affirming the Negative

  Her name is Lisa.

  She looks at me now with the single intent of getting information out of me – nothing more. As if that night three years ago meant nothing to her. As if the following morning of sobering up and confiding her terrible home life details to me hadn’t provided her with a truly sympathetic ear. In fact, the more time I spend with her, the more I feel as though she only got back in touch with me because she was after information that she thought I might possess, as if the last three years of knowing each other weren’t something worth remembering, as if giving up the promise of sex and resigning myself to the cradling of her body in my arms had been someone else. But it wasn’t – it was me. And I still remember how I was the one you came to when you needed to escape the yelling and screaming that echoed around the walls of your home, how I was the one who let you cry on my shoulder. Wasn’t I the one who gave you something new in your life that replaced the old routine of waking to an empty silence? Did I receive thanks for bringing you that? Where are my hugs? Where are my touches of affection that you so happily supply your new-found friends with?

  Why do I care so much? I don’t even like her that much. Yes, she’s attractive, but hadn’t she always seemed a little presumptuous? And determined to the point where determination became so self involving? Lisa had seemed so obsessed with Serene Gilligan’s suicide of late that everything else just didn’t seem to matter to her anymore.

  She threw her folders onto the kitchen table. “I have more information. Listen and see if you can confirm anything.” This time around she wasn’t as excited as she had been about her discoveries in the past. Kinda like she knew something but was keeping it to herself.

  “I don’t really feel like discussing this today.”

  “Why? What have you been doing?”

  “Getting away with injuring with intent to injure.”

  She opened her mouth wide. “It feels good doesn’t it?”

  “To get away with it?”

  She clasped her hands together with a mischievous grin on her face and nodded.

  I looked at her evenly remembering how their hands had been brutal while shoving me into the back of the car, even though I had shown no signs of resistance. “Yeah it does.”

  The cop driving the car was constantly looking back at me through the rear-view mirror.

  I wanted to ask him if he had an eye problem but I thought it best not to antagonise the situation.

  “Ain’t you the kid who burned that cross last year?”

  Shit, I didn’t know what to say. ‘That kid’? I shrugged my shoulders like it had meant nothing to me, “Yeah. Who are you?”

  “I was the sergeant who had to report on the incident.”

  “Was it an incident worth reporting?”

  He laughed. “Fuckin’ Christians! Get so uptight about everything, don’t they?”

  I returned his gaze but without much enthusiasm.

  “How’s y’ life been these days, apart from beating heads in?”

  “Can’t complain I guess.” I was expecting the cop to say something else but he didn’t. All of a sudden I felt the need to say what I felt. “Though barely anyone I knew spoke to me for almost a year. Some have finally deemed it okay to talk to me again.”

  That really set the other cop off: “Shit! Fuckin’ hypocrites. Ain’t they supposed to forgive you no matter what your crime? Man, I’m so sick of these people saying all this shit about forgiveness and then they go and shit all over their own kind because of their mistakes…”

  Okay, so I heard all that, but I wasn’t really listening to catch the rest. I was just wondering if he would be so forgiving if I decided to burn something valuable in his house. Walk in the front door, read a passage from the Bible – or maybe for him, his Police code of ethics (if such a thing exists!) – pick up a cherished and valued photo of his wife and burn that. Would you forgive me for that buddy? Would you?

  And I would hardly consider what I did a ‘mistake’ – I meant it to its fullest extent. Despite my consideration of late as to whether my intention was in the right place. Perhaps it had been, dunno. All I know is that the outcome had left me alone – far more than I had ever thought possible.

  “Why am I not going to the statio
n?”

  The other cop who wasn’t driving did the talking. “We know who the guy was you were beating up. A little surprised that you managed to take him on, actually.”

  “He’s a weasel. He doesn’t care about other people and what happens to them. Only cares about what he can get for himself.”

  “He’s also a thief and a minor dealer, and he’s on his way to being a professional criminal. It’s not hard to guess that he must have stolen something from you.” He looked around at me as if expecting me to tell him what. “…something pretty important.”

  His eyes were looking at me as if I was going to make a confession right then and there.

  “He stole unrecoverable goods.”

  “What kind of unrecoverable goods?”

  “The sort that can’t be recovered.”

  “Food?”

  The driver looked at me through the rear-view mirror, which concerned me a little. “Pot?”

  Shouldn’t he be keeping his eyes on the road? “You can label it whatever you want. All I know is that he took something from me that meant a lot, that wasn’t his and that I had no way of recovering once it was gone, and I wanted him to pay for that.” I looked out the window as a row of trees passed by. I remember her saying once that one of her favourite things was being in a car and watching trees fly past.

  “These kind of issues need to be reported to the police, not left to vigilante justice, alright?”

  “Ok. Well, let me ask you this. How do you guys usually go about dealing with a person who has stolen half a pizza from someone’s fridge?”

  “There are standard procedures put in place for these kinds of issues.”

  “Do you interrogate them?”

  “Did you have pizza stolen from your fridge?”

  “Why am I not being taken to the cop-shop?”

  “We can take you there if you want and charge you with injuring with intent to injure.”