The Imminent Twilight Ensuing Everlasting Intoxication [MATURE]

[Tainted]

The Imminent Twilight Ensuing Everlasting Intoxication
The Life of Zak Hunter, By Zak Hunter

Entry I – The Introduction Prior to Complete Inebriation
“I’m in no condition to make any decisions;
I’m ****ing bleeding.
And there’s slim visions of inhibitions;
Forty ounces to freedom.”

I

Little bit of an introduction, here: I’m Zachary Brent Hunter, but I’ll be damned if anyone’s going to call me that without them getting yelled at. Zak Hunter is what most people call me—a lot stick to my last name; ‘Hunter.’ It’s a decent name, and I don’t mind it one bit.

I live in Ajax, which is some suburb of Toronto in Canada. Yeah—the icy north, I know, save your jokes for later cause I’ve heard them all. It’s a decent place, full of lots of shit, but lots of good stuff at the same time. The only problem is you often have to wade through the shit to get to the good stuff, and sometimes that shit gets deep.
I can’t swim, giving a more metaphorical translation to the phrase “drowning in shit.”

Most people when they look at me figure I’m some goth-kid, or punk-kid, or sometimes-even emo-kid. I’m not one to throw around labels, so simply put: I am myself. I do tend to wear black a lot; in fact, it is my entire wardrobe but it seems kind of stupid to label someone by what they wear. I don’t cut my wrists while listening to Sabbath and sacrificing goats—I’m not a ****ing weirdo.

I’m a popular kid, got friends, am good with just about everybody. I got a large group of followers and am generally the alpha-male in all of my groups of friends. This is cause I’m a fairly big kid, 6’0, 170lbs, and a little muscular because I started working out for sports a couple years ago and the trend carried on. Most of what I am is simply intimidation, though—a big kid in all black with metal wrapped around his arms and neck, with tattoos up his right arm generally speaks: “You don’t **** with that kid.”

Needless to say, I’m not a big tough dick, though I can be if I want to be. I’m a lover, not a fighter, and have always been. Speaking of love: I don’t believe in it, love is a fabricated emotion to me. My girlfriend, Ashley, who I care the world for, and me use the word lub; it is much like love, except it’s not. This also makes us lubbers instead of lovers.

One more thing I figure I should say: I like to party, and I party hard. I do this just about every week at least once. I live for the weekend. I sit through school doing **** all just to get smashed at that great jam on the Friday or Saturday night. Some might consider this sad, but it’s my life and I wouldn’t trade it for any other.

Well, that’s about all I have to say. The next installments will be a bit more literary-styled; this was simply an introduction for what is to come. A back-story, if you will. That’s enough: the real story is to follow.

---

This will basically be a journal of my life written in a literary sense, as opposed to a journal sense. The chapters will be short, most often, but they will vary in lengths. Have fun with my life, everyone.

I will also be using present tense for the first time in my life so surely I'll fuck it up and slip into past and shit while I'm writing.

Adieu,
Zak Hunter

[Tainted]

Entry II – Pop-Tops and Confusion Lead to Torn-Up Hands
“Oh, when life hands you lemons
Just make lemonade, drink it all
But when life hands you limes
Bust out the tequila and salt”

II

I said she was perfect. The thought arose to me as I made my climb from the prison of the bed sheets. I look down at my clothes and instantly realize there’s something wrong with the picture. I’m wearing my leather jacket and jeans, along with my Harley Davidson steel-toed boots. Everything is muddy and I’m lying in my bed as is.

Fuck. I must’ve been pretty trashed last night.

I take my clothes off and leave them on the floor. “Someone will attend to this shit,” I figure, almost saying it aloud with utmost satisfaction. My eyes scan the room as I search for my door—my head was swimming and I could barely piece myself together. I felt like absolute shit, but so great at the same time.

Naked I stumble downstairs and pull the carton of orange juice from the fridge. A chill clamps my nuts and slowly climbs up my spine as that bitter frostiness escapes from the refrigerator. I finish sipping straight from the carton and place it back in the fridge firmly, closing the door that posed a formidable nuisance to my testicles. One thought goes through my head as I turn around and make a trip upstairs to the shower, “I don’t mind pulp.”

Some people have complaints about pulp, but I’ve always liked it. There’s something more refreshing about having bits of orange stuck in your teeth when you’re hung over and unable to walk straight.

My whole body aches, especially my back and left hand. My back is usual, so I ignore it—but the fact that my left hand is throbbing concerns and intrigues me. Just what the fuck did I do last night, anyway? I could remember one thing and one thing only.

She stood lonely as the rain cascaded around her—her ebony hair matted to the sides of her face like she was out of some sick noir film. She wore black, and was fairly attractive. Her name was Ashley, and she was my girlfriend.

There was something special about her tonight. I took her aside, nibbled her ear slightly and whispered that she was perfect. I said she was perfect.

Perfect is a strong fucking word.

The water cascades around me like it did her. The shower is a friend after a party. When the water hits my body, certain musk encompasses the air—the smell of campfire smoke, booze, cigarettes and pot. Eau du Part’ay.

All of this combined has a similar scent to cooking pork, and the smell thrusts up my nostrils and makes me want to gag. Fucking gross—it’s just one price to pay for an awesome party last night. Or was it? I’m pretty sure we stopped early ‘cause it was raining pretty hard. I hate rain when I want to party, but love it when I’m inside. Rain is nice, just not when it’s cold and I’m drunk.

When I’m done with my shower and dried off I grab the pack of smokes that was suspiciously sitting on my bathroom counter. I was supposed to be quitting for Ashley. Oh well. Putting one to my lips, I spark it, and the sweet, sugary smoke fills my lungs. I exhale.

This is the life. Naked and having a smoke, but on a guilt trip ‘cause I was supposed to be quitting for her. My head is swimming, my breath smells like shit, and my stomach is churning and churning. I vomit into the sink. Wiping the puke residue from my lips, I take another drag.

This may not be the life, but it’s my life.

---

Adieu,
Zak Hunter

[PancaKe]

*^_^*

Well this is interesting. I do like the way you write and the way you describe things I have to say, this could turn pretty interesting. Are you going to make it fictional or is this completely based on real life events?

[fat man with a monkey]

Well, Hunter, you already know my opinion, since we've talked pretty in-depth about this. Already told you a couple of the changes I woulda made blahblahblah, just posting for posterity, I guess.

[Tainted]

*^_^*

Well this is interesting. I do like the way you write and the way you describe things I have to say, this could turn pretty interesting. Are you going to make it fictional or is this completely based on real life events?

The entire thing is and will be true events that have happened in my life.

Adieu,
Zak Hunter

[PancaKe]

Well continuing on from that comment, I do think that it is a much nicer way and much more realistic way of retelling life events than writing in a diary style. You bitch, I've always wanted to do one of these ^_^

xoxo

[Tainted]

Entry III – Virginity
“Can everybody see what’s become of me?
I can’t hide
I still believe all these things I need
Only deprive.”

I awake to the soothing croak of Bob Barker’s voice from the downstairs television. It immediately clicks in my brain that it must be between eleven and twelve o’clock. I can hear my younger siblings shouting off numbers that are always at least two hundred dollars off. I can’t laugh; I was never good at that game either. The fact that it used American currency always threw me off.

It’s a Monday, but I don’t need to go to school. Why? Oh—it’s one of those crazy random Canadian holidays. The Victoria Day weekend, more commonly called the May 24 weekend because it’s a weekend devoted to drinking and a weekend devoted to fireworks and a weekend devoted to drinking and fireworks at the same time. God, I love Canada.

I underwent the three-day challenge this weekend, Friday, Saturday and Sunday drinking. I spent one hundred and five bucks because the beer was cheap and drank a 28 of Labatt Blue each night. Eighty-four beers in three nights; not bad, Hunter, not bad at all.

Sadly, I’m in that depressed hangover mood that you get when you mildly regret certain things you did the nights prior. I can’t remember exactly what I’m supposed to regret—but I’m sure it’s there. That song by Bush runs through my head as I recollect parts of last night and I visualize myself drinking.

Swallowed. Sorrowed. I’m with everyone and yet not.

And it suddenly hits me why I’m supposed to be regretting last night; I let Ashley take a cab home with one of my best buds because I didn’t feel like going home early: I felt like drinking some more. Man, do I ever feel like an asshole.

A black man shouts some random incomprehensible black line at me and I realize another one of my best buds Cameron crashed here last night. My head hurts so I tell him to shut the fuck up. He laughs.

We gave him the official nickname ‘Token’ after he was the only black guy at the three parties. I still can’t believe he did it—he drank maybe 5 beers each night and was completely wasted (he’s a lightweight, about 5’3 and fat). Why it was so astounding because he lost his drinking virginity with us—we popped his cherry and corrupted him.

Cameron was one of the three guys that I went to school with that I was ultra-close with. You know how you have acquaintances, friends, and then friends. Well, these guys are friends.

That’s Chris, Cameron and Keith—and then me Hunter, and we make up the ‘punk’ category at my school because our school is full of gangsters and black people. So us four punks generally have to stick together. I realize that I hate the word punk, as do I hate labels.

I think about Ashley again and begin to ponder the notion that maybe the drugs and alcohol only split the two of us up. It was like drinking and smoking, and everything, was only taking away from my life: not adding to it. The thought of this hurts my head even more—so I throw it out. There’s no way drinking can deprive, it’s supposed to bring only good things.

I shake my head and make sure Cameron is ready to go get some hangover cure. A nice walk to Little Caesars followed by two medium pizzas split between us. The best-fucking hangover cure in the world.

[Tainted]

Entry IV – Remembering
“They take away all my hurt and pain
But not for long
Cause in the end they return again
Twice as strong.”

I’m high as a kite as I stumble home to type on the keyboard.

I stumble home, thoughts running through my head. I swear I see a small rat in the shadows on a curb I pass, and it almost scares me for a second. I realize I’m an idiot and continue. There’s a garbage can in the far off distance that just for a second looks like a yellow-shirted—no—sponge bob shirted little kid with navy blue sleeves.

My girlfriend dropped a drama bomb and became an emotional powder keg tonight at the movies. Sometimes she can be so ****ing selfish, but she always pins the blame on me. I for a second think I deserve better, but quickly realize I’m a worthless piece of shit.

Her friend Natasha came out that night and told me I deserve better—that I should get rid of her as soon as possible to end my pain quickly. She said that the longer I drag it on, the deeper the nails will be driven in. I listened, though the whole time I’m wondering if she wants to **** me. She kept making hints at there being other girls out there who would be more appreciative of me. I think she’s referring to herself.

She’s not bad looking, and would probably be a good ****, but no. I love Ashley even though she wants me around her all the time, and gets jealous and needy and everything. She told me she cared so much for me and that I didn’t care for her. I tried to argue, but I was high so I wasn’t getting anywhere. The end result was her bawling her eyes out when I said I had to be alone.

**** arguments when I’m high. **** pot in the first place. I hate this shit—what it’s done to me and what it still does to me as I type this ****ing piece of shit. This drug kills every part of me that makes me feel good. This drug is like my comic book nemesis. I could see it now—mother ****ing MARIJUANA MAN with a big ol’ pot leaf on his green suit.

I shrug off my feelings and take another sip of beer. It’s my last one, the one to savor the flavor. I decide to head up to bed, not worrying about Ashley, but instead worrying about the jam tomorrow. I push her out of my head and chuckle to myself when I think: Feelings—who needs ‘em?

Adieu,
Zak Hunter

[Tainted]

Entry V – The Girl
“I say love is my greatest fear
Everyone I love disappears
I’m left broken, alone
Nobody near”

Her name was Katy. The aroma of a sweet, sexy harlot encompassed the air around her. I wavered slightly in step and saw she was with one of my friends—odd—I swear she hung out with the dorky girls. She was a real looker, but she was one of the few to not realize it.

This meant she was open for the taking.

A million thoughts surround my head as I walk with her and my friend outside. I mentioned to my friend about getting my next set of tattoos soon and she was curious—and then amazed when I showed her my current collection. Apparently my friend has a mean crush on her, and this is another reason I feel wrong.

I’m also dating Ashley.

We make small talk and walk around, and after scoring a minimal amount of marijuana—decide to smoke up in the park area. She is a ball when she’s high, and even when I’m sober I can realize this.

The thoughts still rise in my head as my conscience tries to talk to me. I throw him back behind the locked up door in my skull, and tell him to stay the fuck in there. Conscience aside, this was a very perplexing moment. One of my closer friends was just in love with this girl, and she seemed to show a liking to him too. But now that I introduce myself to her, she seems to be staggering towards me too.

I think my friend realizes this but I assure him I have Ashley and I don’t need her.

That is, until she invites me to one of her friends parties the next weekend. An invitation only—one of those parties thrown by a slightly nerdy girl that always end up getting trashed by randoms. Sounded fun, plus—I would get to see more of Katy.

Oh, Katy, you sweet, luscious vixen you, you really do have a thing for me, don’t you? She is perfection in physicality and has a great personality—which matches up to Ashley’s not amazing looks, but decent; with a fantastic perfect ten personality. My cock takes over for my brain for a second and I seriously consider dumping Ashley. Not just for this girl, but also for the fact that she’s an emotional powder keg and I’m an easily sparking match in the hands of a toddler rubbing my red face against the silken rope fuse.

Why does someone always have to fuck things up?

Adieu,
Zak Hunter

[PancaKe]

^_^ You love Ashley under all the pot. Stay wiht Ashley

Besides, she loves you too. this chick could just be a whore in disguise ^.~ ooh. twist.

>.< I'm to tired and cant concentrate enough to come up with a decent reply. Reading all that was the most ive concentrated today.

byebye ^_^

[Suite Madame Blue]

Interesting stuff so far. I'd watch out for both girls. As PancaKe said, Katy could turn out to be a whore, and all the drama Ashley's throwing around makes me want to smack her, and I don't even know her. Jealous, clingy females drive me nuts.

I love your writing style. Keep it up.