Cunt

Back in the day, I worked as a pump jockey in a 24 hour full-service gas station. I worked with a pair of brothers who lived together for years in an odd and vaguely incestuous way. I became pretty close friends with the younger of the two, Travis.

Eventually, the elder of the two, Marley, got a girlfriend and she moved in with them. Then things got weirder over there.

I would go over to their house almost every week and, when they weren’t showing me porn (they had the internet before me, you see), Travis and I would watch movies and play video games in the basement until I crashed on the couch.

Usually, we’d also listen to Marley and his girlfriend fight. Horrible, abusive, screaming fights that would go on for hours and hours. These would often culminate with her physically attacking him. She’d kick, punch, bite, and scratch, and he’d have to wrestle her to the ground to protect himself. We would sit in the basement listening to them howling and banging upstairs; rolling across the floor just above us, their curses and grunts barely audible, yet so much more visceral than their louder noises.

Now, the thing about this woman was that she wasn’t one of these “hot and cold” types where she’s a psycho some of the time and the rest of the time would be some kind of an exciting “firecracker” type. Not Donna. No, she was surly, miserable, vindictive, petty, and thoroughly unpleasant at all times. The kind of person that will suck all the energy, light, and life out of a room with their mere presence.

A real superb cunt.

I think about her sometimes. (Obviously.) She might seem an odd person to dwell upon, but you have to understand that there’s no malice or heat to the memories of her. I never really suffered her; I was simply a witness. So, over the years that have passed since I last saw her, Donna’s memory has grown into a unique nugget of entertainment within my inner world.

It’s like when you see a disturbing but perfectly executed work of art that sticks with you. It’s not like you enjoyed consuming it at the time, but it planted something within you that you take away. It can come to represent something larger for you; serve as a symbol for an otherwise inexpressible element of the human condition.

So it is with Donna. She holds a special place in my psyche as though a work of art.

Cunt. By Donna.

Perfection.

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