The Goddamn Story
• • •
…it was a day like any other. Sully Donovan was perched on his tailgate letting the sun dry his glistening shirtless body. He was twenty-two, jobless, clueless regarding just about everything in the world… besides the big three: pumpin’ iron, bangin’ chicks, and avoidin’ sobriety. It’s okay to be totally clueless at twenty-two, nobody looks at a twenty-two-year-old and thinks Wow, that guy right there has it all figured out no matter how they’re doing in life, and Sully did his damnedest to embody this fact. But, that didn’t mean he didn’t deserve the absolute best.
It was ten’thirty in the morning and Sully was already high, endorphins and THC. He had a fridge full of booze waiting for him in his parents’ basement and a gaggle of good ol’ bois to help him drink it empty, plus the stackedest chick in town was waiting for him to answer a Goddamn text. A day in the life of Sully Donovan, a day like any other: the best fucking day yet.
Aside from that old man eyein’ him up from across the lot, that is. Sully noticed the car on his way into the gym – it was hard not to, not a lot of folks jaunt around Wuester in a hotrod lookin’ like it drove out of the nineteen’forties yesterday – but he didn’t notice the accompanying old man in the brown tweed suit. Maybe he was sitting inside the ‘rod, or maybe he popped into the cafe next to the gym to get a coffee when Sully pulled up; didn’t matter either way, because now the freak was staring at Sully, and if he didn’t stop staring at Sully with a quickness then Sully was going to have to walk over there and check his fucking watch on the creepstick codger-dodgin’ son of a bitch.
“Don’ bother wit’it,” Sully said to himself, closing his eyes to block the fuck out. “Ain’ no poin’in gettin’ y’r knu’k’s dirty, Sull’. Jus’ let it go.”
But it wasn’t just that the old greaseball was staring at Sully from across the mildly populated parking lot. Sully was known as something of an alpha around the town of Wuester in those days – Sully Don’ always had the coldest booze, always had the strongest pot, always ham-slammed the hottest chicks, always lifted the heaviest weights; he had a reputation to uphold. This old fuck, whoever the fuck the thought he was, was making an ass out of Sully. Standing by his hotrod staring Sully down like that, he was making an ass out of the young man, calling him out on his own bullshit for everyone in the area to see, and Sully could feel it happening. He felt the old homo’s eyes on him, felt the wrinkly fagget strippin’ him down in his mind and bending him over a fuckin’ stump… Sully could feel all of this even with his eyes closed, and it was pissing him right the fuck off.
Sully took a deeeep breath, all pollen and sunshine. ‘Cool it, Donovan,’ he told himself. ‘Let the ol’ codger think whatever he wants. You got Courtney Doe barkin’ up y’r tree, y’re the fuckin’ king’a’this shitstain town.’
This happened before the Doe siblings “accidentally” live-streamed their extracurricular activities across the Socials for the good folks of Wuester to see, which ultimately led to them fleeing into the forest on the other side of Lake Atacama to build their cabin and become pseudo-off-gridders. No one could look either of them in the eye after seeing what they saw, and they were no longer welcome in functions public nor private around town; their parents both died of simultaneous strokes and heart attacks when they saw how far the video spread. They didn’t see the actual video, thankfully enough, they merely saw all the millions of views it earned. The views were enough, though. It was a local tragedy, truly, but eventually it sorted itself out.
Unlike Sully’s problem with the old boysucker in the brown tweed suit starin’ at him across the lot. That particular problem would be sorted out in one way and one way only.
‘Fuck that old fagget. He ain’t worth y’time, Sully. He ain’t worth th’shit leakin’ out‘is own puckered asshole.’
All the deep breathing in the world wouldn’t stop what was coming. Courtney Doe might have, but Courtney Doe wasn’t in the parking lot of the Wuester Gym that morning like any other. It was just Sully Don’ and the old codger, and whatever faceless passersby who weren’t paying either of them a sec’ of thought.
‘Bet he’s lickin’is’lips thinkin’ ‘bout whut it maight be like f’r me t’fuck’im in’is ass raight now.’ Sully’s face was crimped into a mean scowl. He started to sweat again. ‘Lickin’is faggety cock-suckin’ li’l’ lips. Sure.’
In one fluid motion Sully stood from his trunk and swung around, legs pumping in a power walk to close the gap between himself and the old man in the brown tweed suit. Why the fuck was he wearing that faggety fuckin’ thing? It was sweltering that morning, eighty degrees and only getting hotter and there this homo was thinking he’s cute in his pretty little brown suit starin’ at the musclebois out in the parkin’ lot. Who the fuck did that guy think he was?
‘Y’picked th’wrong fuckin’ muscleboi, pal.’
The old man’s smile widened at Sully’s approach.
‘Today ain’t gonna be y’r day, fuckin’ promise you that.’
“Good morning,” said the man in the brown tweed suit with his thick gray moustache and dyed black hair all slicked back. Before him stood Sully, a towering hairless hulk of twitching muscle and raging testosterone. “Lovely day, isn’t it?”
“It’s just fahn,” Sully sneered. “You got th’time, Mister?”
“The time?” asked the man, a confused look about his face. “You’ve a watch on your wrist, what are you asking me the time for?”
“Aw yeah, I f’rgot about that.” Sully balled a fist and held his right arm out to his side, exposing his jacked and veiny forearm and the face of his wristwatch, the one he always wore upside down back in those days. “Well, w’u’d y’look at that there.”
The old man cocked his head to a side and smiled unsurely. “What? What is it?”
“Well I reckon it’s time f’r gay bashin’.”
Before the old man could process Sully’s turn he was on the ground, bounced off his hotrod by the muscleboi’s punch. Sully wiped the old fagget’s essence off his knuckles and then folded his arms, looked down with a satisfied smile. The old man was struggling to get up, struggling very greatly.
[to be cont’d]
This has been the start of the third subchapter of the third chapter of the book Over the River: The Emancipation of Jonathan Knox. Here is everything you need to know about it:
Over the River
The Emancipation of Jonathan Knox
Over the River is the third book in a trilogy called The Fall of the Seven Earths. I’ve also released that trilogy as a single book called The Fall of the Seven Earths. Here’s everything you need to know about it:
The Fall of the Seven Earths
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