Fingers Under Ribs

Peter 12 keeps a diary. It begins simple and straightforward, every detail necessary observation. There are no secrets in Peter 12's diary.


2. Booger

The first assignment I ever got, I was trying to take a shit. The usual 7pm bad coffee during the day bad case of everything kind of shit. Squatting over the bowl with bent sweaty knees and my hands over my head trying not to touch too much of anything in the marker coloured stall, I recall praying to some god to help my colon get on with it. Then the rumbling happened and maybe it was the heavens finally taking notice of my prayers but the puke shaded plastic door had ripped outwards before I had time to pull up anything and my breath left me.

I was knocked backwards but not quite, my legs and arms falling limply under me as the air blew through the crack of my ass and I realised I had been hit upwards. Pretty fucking dramatic if you ask me. Vision blurring into sorts of blues and browns I didn't even bother trying to exhale. The fucker had sucker punched my gut too fucking fast for any of that bullshit. No pun intended. My back slammed against the square white tiles of the ceiling making the rest of me recoil in physical confusion. Metal flooded over my tongue, slipping out over and creeping under it, staining the teeth. I felt my jaw tighten then slack, sputtering scarlet like a comic book character I read the other day.

A voice, all raspy and confident from ball-swinging and cheap cigarettes.

  "Glad to see ya alligata, thought maybe after last time boss had finished ya aff!"

Ruckus laughter. He didn't come alone then. Pathetic piece of shit. Maybe I should challenge him? I'm still stuck on the ceiling, arms and legs splayed out dick in full view. Heck, not like I have any of that shame to hold on to. A weighty pressure paddles across my lower abdomen. I notice he's wearing that stupid counterfeit cross on his neck thinking it'll help. Fuck, god sure has a great sense of humour. I manage a line.

   "Wipe my ass, dumbfuck."

The crack of my skull registers after the sensation, and pipe water greets me on the ground, pouring over my head in a small angry torrent. Man, the scowl on him is just precious. Maybe this is exciting for his little minions. I wish I could wag it in their face but something felt loose about my hip so I just sit like a ragdoll as the note is tossed onto my chest, soggy and reeking of sulphur.

   "Don't get why but boss told me to give this to ya - don't fuck it up or we'll find you again. And the next time," he leans in real close to my nose for effect. There's a booger stuck under his left eye. "we'll be sure you can't even shit no more."

Whatever. I try to stick my tongue out but the muscles aren't really listening to me. Just as he's standing up my bladder decides to let the sprinkler loose, splashing onto his embarrassing taste in leather boots.


I'm laughing I think, there's a sound coming out from my throat similar to it. His cross swings out from underneath his shirt, bits of it chipped away from some cause or other, the fake silver sheen winking at me as he veered violently away from my projectile urine.


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