#11 – A painful choice



The worm was still alive as it was being devoured by an army of ants. No amount of wiggling was going to deter these little fuckers. Stupid worm. That’s what you get when you venture out to places you have no business in. A car park, seriously? You don’t see me jumping into a lion’s cage, butt naked, offering myself as lunch for Simba and his pals. For fuck’s sake, just behind me is a lush green patch of grass! It’s still damp from last night’s downpour. You could have been dancing and humping in that dirt. Now look at you. God knows how many pincers are tearing you apart right now. Fuck n’ hell. The pain you must be in. What do I do now? Do I put you out of your misery? But how would that be fair to the ants? There just doing their thing. They need to eat as well. I’m sure they’ve got kids to feed. Why should they die for your stupidity? Fuck. Why did I have to sit in this spot? And why am I watching this carnage?

My phone vibrates. Someone’s calling. I look at the name on my screen. It’s Mr Tovsky.

“Hi Alex”

“Hugo, where are you?”

There’s urgency in his voice.

“It’s lunch” I remind him. “I’ve just gone to get a coffee.”

“I need you back now. Donnatella’s father is here. His in my office with Ms Singh. I need you here to help explain the issues Donnatella is going through. His very angry.”

Useless and spineless. The man could never handle a pissed off parent by himself. He would always make up some sly excuse to lure a teacher into the firing line, allowing him to take the role of mediator. Fucking coward. He yearns power, status, esteem, but shirks the responsibilities that come with it.


“Who the fuck are you?”

So this was the infamous father of Donnatella. Not how I pictured him to be. Rather than wearing track Adidas pants and top, the man was wearing a well fitted grey suit. His short dark hair matched his black shirt, which sat nicely on him as well, with his unbuttoned collar standing proud, the perfect height in fact. His face disagreed with his choice to be cleanly shaven, some stubble would have suited him much better, but the fact that I was pleasantly surprised by his appearance had me feeling a little disappointed. I imagined this cunt to look like the Hell Raiser dude.

I explained who I was and managed to learn that his name was Tony.

Mr Tovsky was right, Tony was angry, angry at many things. He was angry at having received an ambulance bill in the mail this morning. He scrunched the bill into a ball and threw it on Tovsky’s desk, demanding that the school should pay it since it was the school who had called for the ambulance. However, it was the visits from the police and child protection over the past two nights that really made him furious. He dismissed his daughter’s confessions by claiming she was a compulsive liar. Had there been any truth to it, the police would have found incriminating evidence, yet they didn’t. Also, if any of her other claims were true, child protection would have issued a court order demanding he leave the house, but they didn’t. All proof he claims that Donnatella is in fact a compulsive liar, and the reason? He would not allow her to go ‘whoring around town’.

“Kids don’t self medicate because their not allowed to go out.” I say, interrupting his tirade.

Tony’s eyes were suddenly attempting to liberate themselves from its sockets. Despite this call for blood his eyes were demanding, he calmly questioned, “Are you calling me a liar?”

I’m not going to lie, I was slightly intimidated by this sudden composure. A mind that refused to yield to base emotions was a mind less predictable, more cunning, and so, more dangerous.

“Not at all,” I lie, “but let’s not ignore the fact that Donnatella could have easily died last week. Clearly something more serious must be going on to drive a person to do something so desperate, ignoring it won’t help her”

Tony’s eyes remained enraged, and still not shifting from mine. He once again paused a few moments before speaking, probably to tie another knot around his anger.

“Are you trying to fuck my daughter?”

At that moment, I felt showered with a newfound appreciation of the hell Donnatella must be going through. It was a question I didn’t see coming, a question that made me genuinely smile in disbelief. I was unsure though if the question was sincere, or he was merely mocking my defence of Donnatella. Either way, the question asked confirms the man is a cunt, and like all cunts, he needs his head kicked in.

Mr Tovsky attempted to mediate, but to no avail. Tony abruptly gets up and leaves the office, not without giving me a final stare, a stare which spoke of threats to my own wellbeing, threats which I accepted with a courteous smile, a farewell for now smile.


Later that day I managed to speak to Donnatella. I ask her why she’s selling at school. She tells me that her father is forcing her to. I don’t believe it though. Why would he do that? Donnatella is the one who told the school counsellor about her dad selling drugs. She’s the reason why the police visited her home. He wouldn’t risk giving her drugs to sell when she could easily show this damning evidence to the school counsellor. Even if she didn’t, she is bound to get caught, in fact she already has been since I already fucking know. None of it makes any sense.

“It’s not his!” Donnatella snapped. “The drugs, it’s not his. He wants me to get caught. He wants me say that I got it from this guy, Jaxon. He wants the cops to think this Jaxon guy is selling to school kids. I think they were partners once but now there not. Now his a competitor. He hates him. He told me to say all this stuff. How I got it, where I got it, why I got it. He told me to make the cops think that I’m a spoiled bitch and that’s why I’m doing this crazy shit, to get back at my dad. He told me if I don’t do it, he told me if I tell the cops, his buddies will make sure I will never see my little sis’ again.”

“He would kill his own kids?”

“I don’t think so, his crazy, but I don’t this so, but his practically already killed my mum. She’s a fucking zombie. I feel like he hates all of us, like we’re just a burden. If we aren’t making him money, we’re just in his way, but I still don’t think he’ll do it, but I can’t be sure. How can I go to the cops if I can’t be sure?”

It was a valid question.


I’m struggling to find reasons to live and it’s scaring the shit out of me. I don’t want to leave this world, not without first knowing where I’m going, but if I had to guess, it would most likely be hell. What a depressing thought. Leaving one hell for another. How is one expected to live in this situation? How do you find happiness in hell? It’s impossible. Everything, literally everything is mired in misery of some kind, so to hell with silver linings. They don’t exist. Seeing the sun above, while drowning in shit and piss is no silver lining. It’s just an exclamation point on the worst type of pain, the pain of being denied what could have been, continuously, every fucking day.

At least if people understood, that would provide some consolation, but people are just so fucking stupid, and worse, so so unappealing, devoid of any substance, lacking any noble traits, absent in any selfless struggle, removed from any reflection that does not serve their self-interest, missing anything even closely resembling a spine that would enable both courage and principle, all signalled by the vacancy in their eyes, and a barrenness in their essence, where the only activities held on this desolate plain unjustly described as their soul, are shallow blind obsessions, obsession with wealth, serving material pleasures and infatuations, obsession with status, feeding insatiable ego’s, and this fucking obsession with romantic love, that seeks to indulge this ungrateful, selfish, needy, pathetic heart, unable to beat by itself, without the need of holding someone’s hand. Such flimsy obsessions, destined to abandon its slaves, over and over again, yet still, each placed on pedestals, foolishly worshipped as gods.

How I hate these sleepless nights, where my thoughts run rampant, not knowing how to navigate this hell, where the only appealing options are death, or a life not giving a fuck, a life squashing these worms, squashing them under the sole of my foot, for no other reason, save my repulsion.

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