A Girl Named Death

A Girl Named Death

     She called herself Death Chan. Her real name was Anna but I still called her Death, even after she moved in with me. And she called me seymour still , even though she knew my real name (or maybe she didn’t care enough to remember it). Truthfully,  I think we both liked our online personas better than we liked our real selves, and we wanted to be those people for each other , so it worked somehow.
     She came waltzing into my room that morning in a white bath towel as I sat in my office chair working on my novel. She had her clothes in her hands and she tossed them onto my bed and let the towel drop to the floor. Her hair was fiery orange and she had the firm, porcelain white 18 year old  body of a goddess, her breasts perfectly round and plump like you thought could only be possible through the hands of the most expensive plastic surgeon in Los Angeles, except these were real and natural. Men would no doubt fight to the death for a glimpse of what I was seeing, and she knew it. She knew that I knew it, too.
     “Death...why...why are you getting dressed in my room?” I asked. “You have your own room. Why do you do this in front of me? Do you like showing me what I can never have? You like torturing me, is that it?”
     That evil smile crossed her lips as she slowly slid on her black thong, making sure I could only see a side view to get my mouth watering and my heart beating faster.
     “You silly bird, seymour...my number one orbiter deserves some special perks, doesnt he? You pay for literally everything. You let me live here for free, You give me a nice allowance, you buy me everything I ask for. You work 3 jobs to support me , and you never ask anything from me in return. You’re a special guy, so I feel like once in a while you deserve to see me like this. I know it keeps your spirits up.”
     She slowly strutted over to my desk , still in just her underwear, and leaned over me so that her tits were several inches from my face, and she casually grabbed a cigarette out of my pack of marlboros. I handed her the lighter.
     She was right. It did keep me going. Little moments like this made my life worth living, it fired my imagination and made my daily misery worth it. She sat there on the bed smoking, looking at me, not even caring that I was fixated on those perfect breasts of hers. I may as well have been a dog or a cat staring at her body, that’s how pitiful and irrelevant I was to her as a man. Any normal young stud would’ve had an erection the size of the Eiffel Tower , and would have gone over to her and ravaged her at that very moment. But I was 43, an old , broken-down loser with nothing to live for, on enough meds to numb a horse, and my dick didn’t work like it ought to anymore . I tried to take enough mental snapshots so that I could use them as fap material sometime in the future, if I ever regained that ability. She knew I was about as much of a sexual threat as an 80 yr old man in a wheelchair.

What are you working on, seymour?” She asked, pretending to be interested.
     I told her about my grand science fiction masterpiece I was working on. “See, it takes place in a dystopian , futuristic society where scientists have conquered death. The government doesn’t want people dying, because it means less workers on the assembly lines and less profits, so if a person commits suicide, they are brought back to life.  Over and over. So it’s like this nightmarish world where people are forced to stay alive and work, for eternity. Its kind of a social commentary on the evils of capitalism, I guess.”
     “Sounds stupid,” she said matter-of-factly, exhaling her cigarette .
     “Yeah, it still needs some work,” I said. Her words stung. She could be harsh like that sometimes.
     “I need you to run some errands today, seymour. I made a list and put it on the fridge. I need you to go by the Japanese store and buy me some candy, the Morinaga chocolate balls and some of those white Pocky biscuit sticks. Got it? Don’t fuck it up. Also  I need some more juul pods. I need vape juice. This is the second time I’ve asked,” her voice had a hint of anger in it.
     “I know doll, trust me it’s my top priority today, it’s just that I had to pay to have the fuel pump fixed on the car last week, and that was an unexpected cost. It put a dent in the finances. I’m sorry dear.”
     She came over to put her cigarette out and leaned over me again, letting me smell her , getting so close I could almost taste her skin. The curves of her body, her movements, they had total control over me.  She was letting me know what I would lose if I didn’t get my shit together.
     “Keep your pathetic excuses to yourself seymour”, she said as she quickly put her bra and t shirt on. “Get a 4th fucking job if you have to, I don’t care. I have a standard of living that needs to be maintained. Do you know where I come from seymour? I’m from west manhattan, I lived in a penthouse. I rode horses and played polo. I’m a high society girl.  I’m used to men spoiling me to death and giving me whatever I ask for. I could have any guy I want, but I chose YOU because I thought you loved me and you promised me you’d provide for my every need. Did you lie to me seymour?”
     “No, death , of course not. I’d never lie to you. You mean everything to me. I’ll do whatever it takes to make you happy, death. I’ll get your stuff today, I promise . Don’t be upset . When you’re upset your face gets scrunchy, and your twitch and insta fans wouldn't like seeing you that way when you get online later. I want you to look your best.”
     “Jesus Christ you are pitiful. You’re not even a man,” she said as she turned and walked out, closing the door behind her.
     She was right, though. I had no dignity or self respect. There comes a time, should you happen to be a 43 yr old Virgin , when you stop caring about your own life and happiness. Since you have no shot at improving yourself and have totally given up, you may as well exist to make someone else happy. When you see that beautiful 18 yr old girls eyes light up when you’ve bought her vape juice or traversed the ghetto and brought her home a bag of fent, It really sinks in that your actions have filled someone else with joy. Keeping death happy had given me purpose and direction that I didn’t have before. My own dreams and goals drifted away a long time ago, so the least I could do now was to exist for HER.
     I won’t let you down, death. I’ll be good enough , I’ll be better than good enough, so that you will stay around and never leave me.

2.


     I returned to the apartment around 5:30pm with groceries and the stuff Death had asked me to bring home for her. I had gotten everything she wanted . I also stopped by the liquor store and picked up two 6 packs of strawberry wine coolers. I realize that wine coolers are the beverage of choice of high school girls and frankly I felt ashamed and embarrassed every time I had to stand in line and buy them,  but Death loved them so I was willing to swallow my pride.  I’m a whiskey guy myself, but I felt like if I drank wine coolers with Death, maybe it would bring us closer together and promote bonding, and it might encourage her to like me more.
     When I walked into the kitchen, Death was standing there waiting , looking troubled. She was wearing a cute preppy tan sweater and black yoga pants with her ugg boots. She looked like she belonged at a vacation home in Maine, throwing a stick for her golden retriever to fetch. “I got your things!” I said, hoping she would be excited. “They had the candy you wanted and I got your juul pods or whatever.” She didn’t say anything. She just stood there looking pouty and uncomfortable. I knew death did a lot of drugs. She popped pills and smoked weed daily, which often caused her to suddenly clam up or become moody and distant at random times, so I figured this was just one of those instances.
     I began to unload the groceries and put things away in the fridge. Death stood there watching me, lurking but not saying anything. I started to feel awkward in the silence. I turned and looked at her. “Everything ok?” I asked.
     She shook her head from side to side.
     “What is it ? What’s wrong?”
     She raised her arm and pointed towards the bathroom.
     “The bathroom? Did anything break? Did we run out of hand soap or something?” I asked.
     She shook her head from side to side again.
     “Can you tell me what it is? I have a hard time reading minds.”
      She wouldn’t talk.
     “Fine, forget it then,” I said. I put the last of the groceries away and put the plastic bags in the pantry, then headed down the hallway to the bathroom. Death galloped around in front of me and blocked my path before I could get there. The bathroom door was closed and she didn’t want me to go inside.
     “You can’t go in there,” she whispered.
     “Death, grow up,” I said. “I’m an adult. Whatever it is, I’ve seen it before , and probably much worse.”
     “Seymour...I...” She looked at the ground as she spoke because she was too embarrassed to look me in the eyes. She could be so cute and shy sometimes.
     “Go on...” I encouraged her.
     “I....think the toilet is broken. It won’t flush. This has never happened to me in my life. I don’t know how to fix it. I’ve never used a plunger before. It’s never something I’ve had to learn. I didn’t know what to do, seymour.”
     I smiled. “Death, it’s fine, silly. Toilets these days suck and get clogged really easily. It’s happened to everybody. You probably used too much tissue. Girls tend to do that . I think the plunger is under the sink in that little cabinet thing. Come on, I’ll show you how to use it.”
     She stood aside and I entered.
     I went in and my eyes immediately fixated on the toilet bowl.
     “Holy fuck!” What I was looking at was the size of a big brown cucumber. It was titanic. It was so large that it wasnt even half submerged in water. It’s thick, snakey head rose up to the edge of the toilet rim like an angry sea monster.
     “Death...just HOW. How could something that big come out of your cute, tiny little body? How is that physically possible?”
     I felt a thud as her fist clobbered the back of my head. “Ow! Jesus Christ, that hurt!” I said.
     “Don’t look at it!” She screamed . “Just get the plunger and plunge!”
     I scrambled to the tiny cabinet under the sink and yanked out the plunger, then hurried back to the toilet and began plunging. I plunged hard but carefully; I didn’t want to break the shit into pieces, I wanted to preserve it (don’t ask) which was incredibly difficult. After 7 or 8 good plunges, the water still wouldn’t drain. It wasn’t working.
     “Why are you looking down into the toilet!?” She shouted. “I told you not to look at it! Close your eyes!”
     “God dammit, I can’t close my eyes! I have to see what I’m doing don’t I? Just let me deal with this alone. Go to your room, Death.”
     She wouldn’t leave. She stood there impatiently watching, standing behind me. I plunged a few more times with no success. Finally I turned to her and said, “Death, we might have to move to phase two and pour some draino in here. Can you go in the kitchen and s—“
     Before I could finish , she jerked the plunger out of my hands and pushed me aside.
     “Thats enough!” She snapped. “How do you know it’s not fixed already? You haven’t tested it.” She put her fingers on metal flusher and flushed it.
     “No! Why did you do that you idiot?!” I yelled.
     Within seconds the toilet was overflowing and water was pouring onto the floor. We both watched as the massive turd sailed over the rim and plopped onto the floor, then gently began floating along the tiles toward the corner of the bathroom. It finally came to rest at the edge of the bathtub.
     I turned and looked at her, feeling my face getting red with anger. “Now do you see what you’ve done? Why would you do something so stupid?”
     “Don’t act like this is my fault! If you maintained this bathroom and did some upkeep like a normal man should , this would never have happened!” She retaliated.
     “Right, right. That’s it. Shift the blame everywhere except where it belongs. That’s a good girl .” I put my head in my hands and wanted to scream.
     She looked at me and then pointed to the corner. “Well, pick it up.”
     “No!” I shouted . “That’s disgusting . It’s your shit. You made it, you pick it up. I’m sure as hell not touching it.”
     “Oh ,You will,” she insisted.
     She left the bathroom and headed for the kitchen. I heard her rummaging through drawers. Moments later she returned holding a pair of latex gloves. She threw them at me. “Here,” she said coldly. “Now you can stop pretending that this isn’t a dream come true for a weird fucking pervert like you. I imagine you have sick fantasies about handling my poop all the time . Well...today I’m making that fantasy a reality for you. You should be thanking me.”
     “You’re fucked in the head,” I said. “You need to get help, bad. What happened in your childhood that made you this way, Death? I’m serious.”
     I casually tossed the gloves on the sink. “I think we both just need to step back and calm down for a few minutes. It’s been a bad day. This situation has gotten out of hand. Let’s both just relax, and de-escalate.”
     “Seymour,” she began, “did I tell you that I went to that hole-in-the-wall dive bar around the corner a few nights ago by myself? “The Owl Tree”. I ended up sitting in some 65 yr old mans lap and he bought me drinks all night. He said he lives up in the hills in a gated mansion. He even has his own yacht in the harbor. He used to be friends with Steven Spielberg. He asked if I wanted to come live with him. He said he’d take care of me. Do you think I should do it seymour?”
     I tried to remain emotionless. She was using manipulation tactics on me and it was my job to  resist and let her know it wouldn’t work anymore.
     “I feel like he would treat me a lot better than you do,” she continued. “I mean he does have a lot more to offer than you. Maybe he would love me, since you obviously don’t? I’ve been weighing the pros and cons, seymour, and I think it’s just time, you know? Things have run their course between you and me. You’ll always have a special place in my heart, though, ok? Never forget that.” She paused and had a weepy look in her eyes. “Well, I’m going to start packing then.” She turned and started walking away.
     “No!” I yelled. “Stop it! Don’t do that ...just...stay here...don’t walk out.”
     Death turned around and waited as though she wasn’t convinced yet.
     I picked the gloves up off the sink and quickly began putting them on. I had lost.
     “That’s a good boy,” death said, smiling.
     After the gloves were on, I walked across the now flooded floor over to the bathtub and crouched down. Delicately , with both hands, I scooped up Death’s enormous log. It was dense and the weight was impressive. It was still warm and moist. I stood up and carried it over to the toilet.
     Death moved in front of me and blocked the toilet before I reached it. She closed the lid.
     “What are you doing?” I asked.
     “I don’t trust you,” she said.
     “What are you talking about? Move. I’m not holding this thing forever.”
     “Do you think I’m stupid, seymour? Do you think I don’t notice when you’ve rummaged through the trash in the morning and my used tampons aren’t in there anymore? Did you really think I wouldn’t notice that?” She pointed to the small waste basket beside the toilet.
     “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said.
     “What are you doing with them? Answer me!”
     “I guess I have my own demons to deal with, ok? I’m sorry.” It was all I could say.
     “Where are they?” She asked.
     “I slept with them under my pillow. I just...wanted to feel closer to you.”
     “How does my vagina blood under your pillow help you feel closer to me? I’m genuinely not making the connection.”
     “Well,” I said , “...a persons blood is their essence, right? It’s the very thing that gives you life. So I felt like sleeping with your tampon would be like having your essence, or your soul, next to mine. It’s kind of like when someone wants to sleep with the ashes of their dead wife or husband. Does that make sense?”
     “Not at all. In fact it’s the scariest, most disturbing thing a person has ever said to me,” she replied.
     “Oh. Well, I’m sorry. It’ll never happen again. Now let me flush this.”
     “I don’t think so, seymour. I’ve had a change of heart. I can’t trust you. You’re a deranged human being. If I let you get the toilet working and you flush it, you’ll find a way to retrieve it from the pipes or something. You’d do that , wouldn’t you? You’d go to the sewer and find it somehow, fish it out, then sneak it back into the apartment in a shoe box and hide it under your bed so you can worship it. That’s something you would do.”
     “No it isn’t! What the fuck!” I protested. “Where are you coming up with this crazy paranoid nonsense? How am I going to dispose of this then?”
     She smiled big and showed off her braces.
     “You’re going to eat it, seymour.”
     I shuddered in horror. “You’re out of your fucking mind, you twisted fucking broad! You insane, sadistic bitch. You’re a psychopath! How could you be so sick as to even think something like that, let alone say it out loud!?”
     She swung and clawed me across the face but I stood there and took it.
     “You’ll do it or never see me again,” she threatened.
     It was time to call her bluff. I’d had enough of her shit.
     I held the glistening loaf up high in the light so she could witness it, then I let it fall with a loud splat as it hit the watery tiles at my feet. Then I ripped off the gloves and threw them to the ground as well.
     “I’m done with you. Leave if you want to leave. I won’t do this anymore.”
     Her face gave no reaction. She calmly turned around and walked out and headed for her bedroom.
     I sat down on the side of the bathtub and listened. I could hear her rummaging through drawers, I heard bags zipping and unzipping, suitcase buckles opening and closing. Several minutes later she stormed by the bathroom doorway carrying things and I heard her drop them by the front door, then she hurried back to her room, not even glancing at me as she passed by. She was really going to do it! There might be no going back this time.
     Death was my muse, my light in the darkness. I couldn’t let her leave. I couldn’t fathom my life without her in it. I was starting to crack. I had to fix things before it was too late.
     “Death....” I called out. “Death please...please don’t do this. Come back in here. Let’s talk this through. Don’t make any hasty decisions.”
     She wasn’t responding. I could still hear her packing.
     “Death! Death...I’ll do it,” I whimpered, “please come back in here. I’m ready. I’ll do it.”
     She poked her head in. “Have you come to your senses?” She asked.
     “Yes...I’ll do whatever it takes. Just don’t go. I’ll prove how much you mean to me.”
     She came in and watched me as I picked the gloves off the ground and slowly slid them back on again. I picked the shit up and held it in front of me. I closed my eyes and focused every ounce of my will, trying to envision the turd as a chocolate covered banana or a clump of rocky road ice cream. I needed to prepare my mind for what I was about to do. It wasn’t working. I opened my eyes and it still looked and smelled like shit.
     “Seymour! Did you call me back in here just to waste my time?! Stop stalling! Put. It. In. Your. Fucking. Mouth!”
     My lips started quivering and I started to cry. “Death , don’t make me do this, please. I just can’t. I can’t do it.”
     She folded her arms across her chest and tossed her fiery orange hair back. “I’m counting to ten, asshole. If it’s not in your mouth by then, I’m walking out of this bathroom and not coming back in. No more chances! One...two...three...”
     “Death! No!” I pleaded. “Just wait, I’ll do it. Can I break it in half at least , so I can fit it all in?”
     “Four....five...six...” she continued.
     “Oh fuck.” I had run out of time and options. This was it. I stared at the turd and brought it closer to my mouth. I was like a child who was being forced by his mother to swallow a spoonful of the worst tasting cough medicine ever, only this was a hundred times worse.
     “Seven...eight...”
     I opened wide and shoveled it in quickly. I gobbled it. I closed my mouth and my cheeks puffed out. I stood there frozen. I didn’t swallow it. I couldn’t do it. I was in shock. I felt the hotness melting in my mouth. I was starting to panic. I looked at death helplessly.
     She rushed over to me and pressed her hand over my mouth to seal it, so nothing could escape. “Swallow it! Swallow it god dammit!” She was screaming in my face.
     Tears were streaming down my cheeks and snot was dribbling out of my nose. My head was buzzing and my ears were ringing. I felt paralyzed.
     Death used her other hand and grabbed a handful of my hair and yanked my head back and held it there so the shit would slide down my throat easier. That was thoughtful of her.
     I struggled for a moment but when I felt a few warm pieces slipping down, my body’s instincts took over and I swallowed it all with one huge gulp.
     She backed away from me and looked at me as if I’d just swallowed a stick of dynamite. I remained still for a few seconds trying not to think about what I’d done and concentrated on breathing.
     It hit me with a fury, all at once. I felt my insides revolt against me, my entire body beginning to convulse. That sour feeling rising in my esophagus. The earthy, granular texture of shit was in my gums and stuck in the back of my throat. I felt remnants of shit swimming in my saliva.
     Immediately I dove for the toilet, threw the lid open and the vomit began blasting out of me like a fire hose. It shot out with such force that much of it splashed back onto my face. I gripped the sides of the toilet for dear life and my body kept lurching forward and purging , continuously, for what seemed at least 45 minutes. Each time I thought I was finished, the rancid taste and sour feeling in the pit of my stomach returned. The toilet bowl was filling to the brim with yellow and brown.
     When I reached a point of temporary relief, I rested my weary head on the side of the toilet, wanting nothing but to die. The trauma on my body was too much. My ribs were aching, my stomach was burning, my entire body felt like I’d just run a marathon. I was drenched in sweat and I was struggling to breathe. Strings of vomit were hanging from my chin.
    Then I felt Death’s hands, those beautiful and soft , delicate fingers of hers began running through my hair, massaging my scalp, comforting me in this time of crisis. Her healing touch made everything seem ok. “You tried, seymour,” she whispered. “You were brave,” she said. She continued to stroke my hair from above, hovering over me like an angel would.
     My body was so exhausted that I rolled off the toilet bowl and fell to the wet floor. I laid on my back and stared up and death through blurry, tear-filled eyes.
     “Seymour, I won’t ever test you again. I know now that you love me.” she said.
     I didn’t have the strength to speak, so I just laid there.
     Death stood next to the toilet and placed her hand on the silver handle.
     I used my last bit of energy to raise my arm up in feeble protest, as if to beg her, to plead with her to show mercy.
     She flushed it.
     She moved back toward the doorway and started to giggle as vomit began overflowing onto the floor, enveloping me.
     The stench was unspeakable. I felt the vomit sinking through my clothes and collecting in my hair as it spattered to the floor. I closed my eyes and started to quietly sob.
     “Seymour, I need to do my makeup in a few hours so I can update my onlyfans page tonight, ok? So clean this up soon.” She left the bathroom and went to her room and closed the door.
     I lay there trying to take my mind off the fact that I was resting in filthy toilet water along with chunks of my own vomit, all while the taste of shit still lingered heavily in my mouth. It had not been a good day. I needed to get up soon and clean this mess so Death could do her make-up. I closed my eyes for a few moments and focused on my one small victory: she wasn’t leaving me today.