Matthew

[Make_a__Scene]

This is a novella I'm working on. Sections of it are inappropriate for this site, I believe, for it gets fairly heavy on violence and language. I will post the suitable pieces here, which may include minor violence and language.
Critiques and criticism welcome.

I can’t say that I’m happy with where my life is right now, but I do look forward to see where it’s going. He couldn’t understand why the clerk was staring at him in such an odd way as he sucked down the blue raspberry slushie drink. His last job had gotten a little messy, but he was still presentable enough to be out, and he was paying for his drink; money was all they cared about here anyway, wasn’t it? After holding the bill out for quite sometime with no real response from the cashier, he shrugged and dropped the money on the counter before skipping out of the dirty convenience store, through the automatic sliding doors, and into the night, back home.

The lights at home were off, as usual. His friends – the term used loosely – seemed to like it dark, but he couldn’t blame them for not wanting to look at the things in his house. He walked through the corridor, dropping his bag as he went, the slurping of his slushie echoing against the walls and making the otherwise silent house seem very loud. He walked all the way through the house, coming out the other end, which was a relatively short distance from front to back. The wooden steps of his porch creaked as his boots traveled down the planks just enough for him to sit in the least awkward way possible. Between the darkness of his house and the darkness of the world outside, the porch steps were hovering in oblivion.

“Skinny,” he called as he hunched over, resting his elbows on his knees and folding his hands together. His call wasn’t very loud, and it quickly disappeared into the blackness in front of him. In response to his voice, a small rabbit seemed to materialize, hopping out of the shadows of the house. The rabbit’s head seemed grossly enlarged, for its body was beyond malnourished, merely a skeleton with fur glued on.

“Yes, Matty?”
“What am I doing here?”
Skinny knew not to answer.

“I haven’t been myself lately. This isn’t me.” He looked at the cup in his hand and took another swig through the straw, melting into blue raspberry bliss briefly and then snapping back to reality. His reality. This was him. This was Matty. But it wasn’t.

“I’ve been so confused…about myself. What I’m doing… I know that I’m sick, utterly insane. But doesn’t the mere fact of my self-awareness prove that there isn’t really anything wrong with me? Maybe a lack of judgment or a questionable conscience, but I’m not actually criminally insane. I guess I’ll have to decide which is worse.”

“And what will happen when you decide?”
“There aren’t any stars out tonight,” the solemn Matty commented as he rattled the straw in the plastic cup. “I wonder where they’re hiding.”

“Good night, Matty.” Skinny’s body started melding with the darkness until he was just a floating head, and then nothing. Matty, alone with his blue raspberry slushie.

[Make_a__Scene]

“I’m going to the bookstore!” Matty called back into his empty house as he donned his bag and shut the door behind him. Unlike the unusually dark night they had experienced only a few hours ago, the sun was shining brightly over the disgusting, urban city. Shining down on the filthy people who didn’t deserve such glorified light. Fortunately, Matty’s mood was up, an entirely different level from last night.

He rounded the corner into Phoenix Books and a rather unsettling grin shaped his lips. He couldn’t help that; it was the only way he knew how to smile. She was working today. She wasn’t the reason he came to the bookstore, but it was sure an added incentive to see her face when he came in. Besides that, she seemed to like him too. Imagine that, someone showing affection for dear ol’ insane Matty. But she did. She seemed to, anyway.

Today Matty made the trek to Phoenix for a book he had ordered, which was on hold for him. Like the trend seemed to be, Phoenix Books had a café in the corner, Phoenix Coffee. As an excuse to talk to the object of his non-hatred, as well as a way to answer his screaming sweet tooth, he ordered a hot cocoa with two shots of espresso.

While he waited Matty flipped through the trivial magazines on the rack that was haphazardly placed in the middle of the café.

“Look at all the [censored] people are concerned with,” Matty mused as his eyes currently scanned the pages of a home improvement magazine. “Maybe an interior decorator should design my house. A little redecoration, a fresh coat of paint down in the basement… Yeah, that would be nice.”

“Matthew!”
Matty promptly stopped, cringing at the sound of the barista’s voice. Neatly refolding the slightly crumpled magazine and placing it back on the rack, he turned toward the counter, reaching a hand into his bag and letting it linger there.

“What did you say?” He inquired quirking a brow as he approached the barista, safe behind the little wooden counter.

“Matthew?” She repeated, obviously bewildered by Matty’s tone.
He cringed again at that sound coming from her noise box. In one swift movement his hand moved from his bag and sliced the air, returning to his side. A dagger added to the length of his arm, just the proper reach to perfectly slide across the barista’s throat, leaving her gaping. The scarlet ran down her neck and onto the floor, brewing the life right out of her.

“That’s what I thought you said.” Matty suddenly jumped on the counter, narrowly missing the drink. He crouched, leaning forward, inches away from the barista’s face. He took the tip of the blade and lifted the new flap of skin she had recently acquired.

“My name is not Matthew. It’s not Matt! And, no, you can’t call me ‘Tty’ for short! My name is Matty! But it seems you won’t make that mistake again!”

Suddenly, in the silence of everyone’s shock, a head peeked out from the lines of shelves. “Did somebody call Matthew? Is my drink ready?”

Matty stopped precisely where he was and looked over his shoulder. People were staring. More importantly, Matthew was staring.

“Oh,” he chuckled. “I see what happened there. My mistake.” He climbed down from the counter, wiped the dirty blade on his pants, and then returned it to his bag. Wide-eyed, he looked around the bookstore; everyone suddenly seemed to be interested in some Phoenix Coffee. Taking one long, deliberate step, Matty grabbed the white cardboard coffee cup that was speckled red and slipped out of the store.

“Fxck, there goes my one chance at brief, genuine happiness. I don’t think a shower will rinse off that charming bit of my personality. She should probably take one to get rid of that bit of blood on her face though. God, what am I drinking?” Matty looked at the scribbled markings on the cup.

“Hot cocoa with three shots of espresso? Vile.” He made sure to dump it in the nearest trashcan. “Dammit, I forgot to buy my book. I was looking forward to that one.”

[Make_a__Scene]

Matty was in his basement, lights off except for the faint glow of one single dim light bulb hanging from the ceiling. The pool of light didn’t reach very far, just enough to throw shadows over half of Matty and illuminate his easel just enough for him to see the strokes of his brush.
“I’m running out of paint. Guess that means I’ll have to get some more. Wait, does it? Yeah, yeah I guess it does. I’ll be right back, Stevie.”

Just as Matty started for the stairs that led further down, the doorbell rang. This made him perk up, looking very meerkat-like.
“Someone’s at the door? A visitor? For me?” He skipped up the stairs to go answer the door. “I hope it’s a girlscout with cookies for me.” When he threw the door open he visibly slumped in disappointment. This wasn’t a girlscout. Just some guy with a clipboard; he didn’t even have any cookies.

“Excuse me, sah, but ah you the mastah of the house?” He had a funny accent.
“Why, yes, saaah,” Matty mocked with a childish giggle.

The clipboard man frowned, scowling in the direction of Matty’s hands. “What is that on your hands?”
Matty held up his hands, wiggling his fingers. “Paint,” he answered with a grin. “Do you have some questions for me? Come in, sit down.” He stepped aside to let the man in. A few more lights were on in his living room than the rest of his house. Fluorescents, they gave the room an antiseptic feel, even though it was far from actual cleanliness.

“Ah, yes, well…” the man paused, skeptically inspecting the chair before he sat in it. “There seems to have been a numbah of murdahs in this neighbahood. I’m just taking a survey on the amount of safety people around here ah feeling in their house.” Matty was leaning forward, listening intently. “Which room in your house do you feel most safe in?”

“Oh, that’s an easy one: Stevie.”
“Pardon? Who is that? Do you need me to repeat the question?”
“What? No, Stevie isn’t a person; that’s my basement.” Matty squinted his eyes at him as if he were the insane one.

“Okay.” The man scribbled on the leaf on his clipboard.
Matty became increasingly bored as the questions seemed to continue to drag on, each one more stupid than the one that preceded it. Still, he sat there and tolerated it, even if his maniacal brain was elsewhere.

“One victim was found with her blood drained from her body; how do you feel about vampirism?”
Matty’s head snapped up. “Vile. I took her blood, but I didn’t drink it.” He made sure to speak quickly and deliberately, not giving the clipboard man a chance to react. “I needed it, and frankly I don’t believe that any human being is capable of such a horrible act. I don’t appreciate the kind of monster you media men are making me out to be.”

His once intelligent-sounding accent was turned into rather stupid gibberish as his irritating noise tube seemed to forget how to form real words. Without missing a beat, Matty grabbed the dusty, iron stoker from in front of the never-used fireplace and swung it at the man’s head. He perfectly caught the man’s temple, his skull cracking underneath the force of the iron. A long grin split Matty’s face at that sound. He jumped off the sofa to follow where the clipboard man’s body had fallen. Standing up straight as a plank, he jabbed the point into the man’s neck; rather, through the man’s neck.

“I’m not a monster,” he reminded as he left everything as it was, leaving to get away from the annoying gurgling sound.

[Make_a__Scene]

Matty’s eyes brightened. Donuts. The shop was marked by a disgustingly large plaster donut, precariously sitting on the edge of the roof. Less concerned with what was on the outside, and really looking forward to what was on the inside, Matty stepped a little bit quicker to reach the sugary, oh so sugary, destination sooner. It was then his foot caught something, causing him to lose his balance and stumble across the sidewalk. When he looked to see what had tripped over, expecting a crack in the cement or a puppy, he saw the bag of skin filth laughing at him. Sitting with his friends and laughing. Matty brushed it off, adjusting his bag over his shoulder, and ignored the comments being made for cheap laughs.

The donut shop was hot and sticky inside, mirroring the tasty confection Matty was about to indulge. His eyes scanned the rows of pastries on the shelves, having already forgotten about his irritating encounter with the insect on the street. But he hiccupped when he saw an empty rack.

“Excuse me,” he directed at the sweaty donut monkey, “your display case seems to be out of bear claws; can you go get some from the back?”
“There aren’t any in the back, we’re out.”

“Oh? Oh…” Matty sulked, reaching a hand into his bag. After a brief hesitation, he slowly approached the cash register that shielded the man, and then he swiftly grabbed his collar and pulled him against the counter.

“What the hell kind of donut shop are you running? How can you be out of bear claws? It seems you have lost your purpose, donut service drone.”

“H-Hey, man, settle down. We have lots of other don—“
“How dare you offer me such petty consolation!” Matty brought his hand out of his bag, now equipped with sharpened metal claws; he held them against the stomach of his antagonist. “Bear claws reign supreme over their donut cousins! They crush the vile creams and horrible jellies! The JELLIES!”

“W-Whoa. What’s wrong with you? Why don’t you just go to another—ack!”
Matty sheathed the claws in the donut man’s gut, letting go and allowing him to crumple to the floor.
“Your noise offers no comfort,” he commented, wiping the thin blades on his pants. “I doubt anything could comfort me at this time, my deepest despair. As I put my weapon back into my bag, I can’t help but think that my life has lost all joys. I have no reason to continue living. Nothing can—Ooh! Éclairs!” Matty jumped behind the counter, grabbed a couple of éclairs and dropped the money for them on top of the register as he sauntered out of the sticky shop.

[Make_a__Scene]

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