Friday Night by Hugh Cron – Warning – Very Strong Adult Content.

Foreword: This is a story that I have been given the go ahead with even though it was a split decision and wasn’t accepted as a majority. I am very grateful.

I wanted to explain where this came from. I think this is the best example I have of a state of mind dictating a story. Writing is therapeutic. To go somewhere you would never tread yourself is as liberating as you can get. I’ve always thought when life really gets to you, do something horrific on a sheet of paper. Challenge yourself to write a character that has no redeeming qualities what-so-ever.

You can end up with something dark, ‘passionate’ and an MC that you’ve absolutely no empathy for.

…And its fun to worry those who want to analyse the writer more than the story!

(Last Warning – Very strong language and distasteful adult content / attitude. Do not read if you are liable to be offended.)

That’s the fucking problem with staying in a place like this, everything is there for me. All I need is the circumstance to choose. Or should I say, the circumstance as an excuse and I’ve got a fucking doozy…

She didn’t even know I was away. She was too busy sleeping with Prince Valium or Diazepam or Jellies or whatever they call Blues now-a-days. I’m not much of a pill head, I like gin but sometimes needs must. I thought after the hospital had told her to take a rest as the wee bastard was stable, a night off from sitting listening to it wheeze and crackle, it would have meant something for me, if you know what I mean. But nope, zilch, fuck all! I had to listen to her sob and snotter and if she hadn’t taken those pills, I think I would have fucking killed her. If it wasn’t for maintenance for that hanger on I would have given this the red card months ago. I shouldn’t have come back the first time. But then it was born with its problems. Her brothers would have kicked my head in if I’d left her then, it’s a good job they didn’t know about the first time.

So here I am stuck and seeking company. I quietly leave the house and I’m off up that street. A rattling junky with a methadone script couldn’t have kept up with me.

The odour from the old hoors breath as she sucked my dick was foul and that was even after she’d swigged most of the fucking sherry that I gave her. Fuck, I had to turn my head away but that didn’t stop me! No fucking waning of my enthusiasm. It was the best blow job I’ve had in ages, in fact it is the only blow job I’ve had in ages. I don’t think I could have fucked her though, no matter how much of the gin I’d swallowed. She asked me where I wanted to fuck her as she would have to give it a wipe first. How romantic! There was only one place she was going to get it and that was shoved down her throat.

I sneaked out the back when the silly old cunt started talking crap. Maybe I should have stayed, but I was afraid of the sherry shites so I came home to this shite.

I should have got more gin. I start to panic when there is only half left. That’s the kind of guy I am, I’m more your half empty litre of booze than half full type of cunt.

I should shower before I go up to her but what the fuck, I can’t remember the last time she touched my dick so I should be good until the morning.

I’ll have another drink. With another drink comes another revelation. The curse of the lone drinker. You have nobody to laugh with or punch. All you do is either beat yourself up or end up head fucking an old hoor. I could’ve had a drink with her but I enjoy my swallie too much. Hah! There’s a joke in there somewhere!! Anyway she’d tanned the sherry and she was eyeing up my gin. I keep calling her old but she’s only five years older than me. She was a looker in her day but the booze and cock has fucked her ugly.

Do I want to be deep and insightful, do I want to journey into my psyche? Do I fuck! Do I care where my thoughts are taking me? Shite! Fucking shite, self analysis, wank stain! It all means fuck all. I don’t give a fuck, never have and never will.

‘I hope the wee cunt dies!’.

There it is! I heard it, heard the words, my words and here we go again, I don’t give a fuck. That proves that those psychologist pricks or whatever they call themselves are wrong. Hear your own voice and accept! Hang on, they may be right, I said I don’t give a fuck and I don’t give a fuck. I’ve got Frigid Flaps up the stairs and a sick kid. That doesn’t endear a selfish fucker like me. And no, I’m not having a revelation moment, I’ve always known I was a selfish fucker and I’ve come to accept it. With the gin,

…’I don’t mind if I do’

…it just brings out the selfish, selfish side of me. I like that side. It makes me think and dream and want and TAKE.

I’ll need to slow down or I will be chapping that old bastard up in his minging shop.

‘More drink you old cunt!’

No, fuck that! I can’t be arsed.

If the wee fucker dies then I’ll stay with her up the stairs. There’s a thought, I could tan a few of her goodies once my gin runs out. That’s what I’ll do. Aye, I would stay with her. Not to support her but surely there’d be a way to make some money. Some shite women’s angst ridden bollock fucking magazine would pay for our harrowing story. I’m sure I could cry if I thought about it, no the dead kid, thinking of that old hoors breath would bring tears to my eyes! I’m an awful cunt, I make myself laugh!

Fuck! Half of a half, I have a quarter left. Fuck it, I’m nicking her goodies, needs must.

Maybe even some TV, a book even, I’d get her to write it, I couldn’t be fucked with that!

It’ll probably not happen! I’ll have the funeral to pay and be left with the Depression Queen. Dramatic bitch! The wee fucker hasn’t even been around that long, I had a goldfish that lasted longer.

‘Here’s to you Colin!’

Stupid name for a goldfish.

Fuck it, I’m going to put some music on. Even if it does disturb her she’ll lie there and not come down. She’ll prefer to kid on she’s sleeping just in case I fancy a shag! I don’t get it, what the fuck has anything to do with a shag? And if the wee fucker does end up dead, and God forbid I stick with her, give it a couple of years and she’ll be wanting to bang me again just in the hope that she gets an unbroken one this time! Bitch!!

Another wee sip and some Metal!!

Wait a minute, fuck waking her, she’ll know I’ll be nicking her sweeties! I’ll keep the music down.

Ah man! I hope the hospital doesn’t phone the night. I couldn’t be fucked caring. Hah!! Who am I kidding…I couldn’t be fucked kidding I was caring…No, they said it would make it through the night. And she’s zoned out. And that’s just because her sainted mother persuaded her to come home. Do-Gooder cow! So if it is fucked I’ll just say that she’s out of it and I need to stay here.

Oh please God, make the wee bastard make it through the night. Don’t let it fuck up my Friday night! You can take it first thing tomorrow afternoon…I fucking love that joke!

Ah the gin is running low. Should I chap the old bastard up? It’s his own fault he lives above his shop. Miserable fuck!

Maybe I should try standing. Fuck that for now! I’ll wait until I’m finished.

Half now and half in a minute. Then it’s tippy toe time to get the pills. Stupid mad bitch. If she asks I’ll just say she woke up screaming and I gave her a couple to calm her down. She’ll be none the wiser.

Last sip after this one. What the fuck will I do tomorrow? Probably just stay in bed, that way she’ll get up. Oh fuck I forgot, that wee bastard! She’ll be wanting to spend all day at the hospital! Fuck! How can I get out of that? I wonder if my maw would go with her? I could say I was tidying up or something! That’s shite, she’d not believe that. If it dies tomorrow, well I’d need to be arranging things so I’d escape. ‘Here’s hoping.’

Fuck! That’s the gin gone. The night’s still young.

…I remember when I used to get a shag every Friday night!

…She’ll no miss six. Four for me, two for the old hoor and I’ll tell her to give it a wipe.

‘Friday nights gonna be all right, it’s gonna be right, its gonna be all right now…baby’

Hugh Cron