The person in the mirror isn’t me anymore. Physically and mentally, I’m ruined. I should’ve just kept my stupid ass mouth shut, I should’ve just been a little bit nicer. No, no, even the evil, terrible things I said didn’t warrant being turned into this monstrosity which stands before me.
Maybe it did, now I’m not so sure.
My eyes began to well up, the first tear which rolled down my cheek was followed by dozens more. Eventually, after my cheeks were red and raw, I blew my nose and gazed into the mirror once more. Sadness was replaced by anger as I began pounding my fists repeatedly into the marble counter of the bathroom sink. The faucet dripped, a quiet symphony of despair.
That’s when my mother found me.
The soothing tone of her hushed voice had just barely penetrated the bathroom door, just loud enough to get my attention.
“Baby, it’s late”, she paused for a moment, hopeful that her plea had reached me, “Is everything okay?”, she asked. I couldn’t help but break down again, never realizing, never appreciating my mother’s calm presence.
“Don’t come in here”, my voice ran ragged and harsh, “I’m fine”, I finally managed to squeal out. She remained quiet, though I could still see the shadows from her feet cast from the beneath the door. She stayed there for a minute, then another, before finally returning to her room. I sighed, a coarse, gurgly breath.
I’m not fine. The blood which seeps from the various incisions dotted across my body are mostly dried up now, though a trickle seems to find itself to the floor every now and again.
-
“Sup titty-boy”, I gleefully whooped at him. God, I said some awful shit. Maybe I really did deserve this. Dustin stayed quiet, his eyes glued to the ground as I continued my verbal onslaught.
“Don’t be late to class!”, Dustin, poor fucking Dustin, fell to the ground in a heap as I pulled him by the loop of his backpack. Still, he remained quiet, struggling to lift his gelatinous frame back upright. I laughed, looking to my friends for their approval.
Looking back, I can still see their disappointment and shock at my behavior. Still, they laughed, too afraid to defy me. Dustin finally managed to get back to his feet, taking his chance to scurry away, to scurry away from me. We laughed as he waddled, as he slowly shuffled down the hall and into class.
“Fuckin’ fat ass”, I yelled, my voice echoing and bouncing off the vacant hallways. More laughter followed from my rat pack of friends. All except one, Andy.
“Don’t you think you’re a little too hard on him, man?”, his voice came out in a hesitant jumble. I turned to meet his gaze which quickly fell to the floor, much like Dustins. I should’ve listened to Andy, but much to his chagrin, I instead turned my heinous teasing onto him.
The day I gave Dustin that horrible nickname was much like the ones which came before and after it. Anytime I saw that poor bastard in the hallways or in the lunchroom, I was relentless.
We had just gotten a new principal at our school, the last one succumbing to various sexual harassment claims which tarnished his reputation beyond repair. Among the new things this principal would do included “Spirit Week”, which entailed dressing up in different ways in correlation with a specific day. For instance, Monday was “School Spirit Day”, where we would dress in our school colors, black and orange.
Obviously, me being the uptight prick I was, I never took the time to participate in Spirit Week. But you know who did? Good ol’ Dustin.
Throughout that week, much like the weeks before it, I continued my onslaught against Dustin. That all changed on a Thursday, not just any Thursday, but ‘Career Day’ of Spirit Week. Students were encouraged to dress in a way which reflected what profession they wanted to have after high school. Again, I didn’t participate.
When I first saw Dustin that day, I couldn’t believe my eyes. It must’ve been some sort of joke, there was absolutely no way he didn’t see the irony in his outfit. A white chefs coat, many sizes too small for his round body, accompanied by a comedically large chefs hat sat upon his head. Like a flash of light, a moment of brilliance, that’s when I coined the most perfect, cruel nickname.
The Hillsberry Doughboy.
You can say whatever you want about me, tell me I’m the post disgusting piece of shit on planet Earth, but it’s hard to deny how funny that nickname is. I can’t help but find myself chuckle quietly about it even now, especially considering the name of our small town, Hillsberry. It all worked just a little too perfectly.
Maybe that’s why it’s the one nickname, the one of many, that seemed to really get under Dustins skin. It just worked a little too well, and it caught on like fucking wild fire! Even the nicest, most sympathetic people in our school couldn’t help but chuckle at my genius. At my evil.
Soon enough, Dustins name wasn’t really his anymore, most people simply referred to him as Doughboy. Over the coming weeks I couldn’t help but marvel at my work, how completely and thoroughly I had humiliated Dustin. I’m disgusted with myself to say this, but I felt such pride in what I had done.
Time went on, however that nickname stuck. That’s when I began noticing small changes in the big boy. Dustin began wearing primarily black to school, black shirts, black pants, hell even black sweatshirts during the thick heat of the Summertime. Of course, this gave me even more ammo to use on the poor, poor kid.
“Y’know, Doughboy, blacks only slimming when you’re not morbidly obese”, I spat at him as he passed by me between classes. He kept his eyes narrow and low, picking up his pace as he tried to get away from me. That’s when I grabbed him, roughly, and shoved him against the wall, bringing my face mere centimeters from his.
“I’m just looking out for you, babe”, I said in the most condescending, girly voice I could muster. I still remember his face, how he’d grit his teeth and squeezed his eyes shut to avoid me. I fed off his fear like some sort of horrible, demonic creature.
“Open your fat fucking eyes and l-“, I felt a pair of hands collapse onto my shoulders and pull me away. I turned quickly, pulling my fist back, ready to swing at whoever dared lay a finger on me. Before me stood the principal, one eyebrow cocked, basically daring me to throw a punch.
I was suspended, out of school, for three days. The principal told me how lucky I was that my punishment wasn’t heavier, how nice he was being considering the level of harassment I had put ‘my fellow classmate’ through. I scoffed at that. At that point, I had one thing on my mind, one goal. To make Dustins life even more miserable when I came back.
When I finally returned to the school after a few leisure days of video games and copious amounts of sleep, I wasn’t prepared for the shock which awaited me. I had spent the better part of my morning actively searching for Dustin, scanning the hallways for his large being to lumber by. He wasn’t hard to miss, after all. No sign of the big man.
Eventually lunchtime rolled around, still nothing. When I plopped down into my usual spot, throwing my heavy book bag beside the chair, I could instantly tell something was off. I scanned the table, the people which sat around it, and finally came to a face which was all too familiar, yet completely estranged.
It was Dustin. At least, I think it was him.
The boy who sat before me had the same glasses, the same black, curly hair which concealed half of his acne-riddled face as him. I must’ve looked as surprised as I felt, my friend Andy stealing the moment of silence to speak.
“Andy, before you get all pissy, we think you should know something”, he spoke quietly, carefully in his usual timid demeanor. A few more awkward seconds ticked by before Andy nudged his elbow at Dustin.
“Oh… uh, well, hey Sam…”, I think those were the first words I had ever heard Dustin speak, his deep voice taking me aback. “I just, well I’m sure you’ve noticed the, uh…”, he pointed at himself, thumbing at his deflated being. I couldn’t help but nod in return, shocked into quietness, my anger fleeting.
“Look, I’m sorry to drop this all on you but I have cancer, it’s not looking great”, he sighed, brushing a thick wave of dark hair out of his eyes, “Andy was actually the first person to notice I wasn’t looking well, and…”, he paused to scratch the back of his head, clearly uncomfortable as he began shifting his gaze to and fro.
“Fuck, I’m sorry, dude…”, I could hardly choke out, the wave of emotion, the regret nearly too much for my ragged breath to carry. Dustins eyes lit up, clearly surprised with my reaction to the entire situation and, truthfully, so was I.
“No, no it’s okay, it’s okay!”, his words came out in a jumbled mess, clearly not wanting to upset me, “like I know we’ve had a rocky past, but I invited Andy over to my house tomorrow and you’re more than welcome to come!”, he finished, a sheepish grin spread across his gaunt, tired face.
I accepted. Regretfully, I accepted.
In that moment, that time we spent talking around the lunch table, I felt a mix of so many different emotions. Sadness and regret for all of the horrible things I had put Dustin through, though I was happy that he was giving me a chance to make up for it in some small way.
The rest of that day and night went by at a snails pace. So many thoughts, so many feelings all swirled around and clashed in the muddled mess which was my brain. The news of Dustins illness would’ve been a joy to hear just a week ago, as sick as that sounds, but now my perspective had changed entirely. This was now a world in which I could call him a friend.
It felt so incredibly bizarre standing at the doorstep of Dustins house, Andy by my side. It was as though I topped the FBIs Most Wanted List and was now standing at the entrance to the White House, waiting for the police to rush me. That never happened, obviously. Instead, after a long moment of anticipation, Andy opened the door with a huge grin on his face. He looked rail thin at this point.
“Come, come in!”, he giggled, tripping over his words with excitement. I couldn’t help but feel a surge of relief knowing that this wasn’t some sort of trap, some sort of horrible prank for the way I had treated Dustin. Maybe this was my chance to repent in some sort of way. How ironic that statement seems now.
Dustin gave us a tour of his house, which was surprisingly nice. His house sat in one of those cookie-cutter subdivisions where all the houses looked the same, though they were all extremely fancy. At least by my standards. His dog, Lucy, we came to find out, tailed us throughout the tour, quietly whimpering the whole way through. Odd.
“Aw, it’s okay baby”, Dustin repeated for the fourth or fifth time, I had lost count, as he stooped down to give her a kiss on the head. I nervously looked around, taking in the various family pictures and decor which adorned the walls of the living room. It was odd, seeing his parents, seeing his house, his life. It made the nightmare I put him through even more depressing.
“So, you guys wanna game a little bit?”, Dustin chirped, raising his arms and letting them fall down to his sides. He grinned even wider now, I think it was the happiest I had ever seen him. We both agreed and were finally led to his bedroom, that’s when things began to take a turn.
The stark contrast between the colorful, happy home which we had just witnessed was sickening. The walls of Dustins room were white at one time, though the various, crude depictions which dotted the room in its entirety made it hard to tell. A fresh bucket of blue paint sat atop a stack of old newspaper, sat before a small patch of wall which had only begun to be covered with it. A tall, slim mirror stood in another corner, the glass shattered in several spots. Small holes, about the size of a fist, lined the walls from corner to corner.
“It’s kind of a mess”, Dustin laughed, a wheezing, ragged breath of joy, “you guys want something to drink? I just made some punch”, he continued, stealing glances between Andy and I. He must’ve noticed the growing tension amongst us, taking little time to add, “it has alcohol in it”.
We quickly agreed.
A half hour or so went by, I’m not really sure how long it actually was. After a glass or two of the deep red liquid, maybe more, I began to feel lightheaded. The room swirled and blurred, my mind moved even slower.
“Yo Dustin, how strong did you make this shit”, I laughed, letting out a huge belch, the others laughed with me. Dustin seemed to laugh a little too hard. Come to think of it, I don’t think I saw him take a single sip of that drink.
“Not a drop”, his grin grew even wider, sinister now. Andy and I exchanged a confused glance. It didn’t make any sense, I’d drank plenty of times beforehand and this didn’t seem any different. Maybe a bit stronger. A lot stronger.
“What do you mean?”, I asked in my confused, drunken stupor. Dustin couldn’t hold himself together any longer, his giggles turning into massive, wretched billows of laughter. My memory at this point is pretty fucked up, but I can still remember so clearly the small hiccups of pure joy which seemed to fall out in between his outbursts of uncontrollable laughter.
“What the fuck, man? What the fucks in this?”, I snapped. I tried to get to my feet, finding that they were no longer capable of holding me upright. As soon as I had stood up, I hit the ground hard, clipping my chin on the dresser on the way down. I looked up towards Andy, his expression that of a petrified child. He tried to hold his hands up, to defend himself from the large pipe which Dustin brought down over his head.
I never saw the pipe connect with my best friends head, my vision, my memory was far too hazy at that point. Though I distinctly remember hearing a wet, meaty thwack emanate from where he sat.
I awoke bound to a folding chair that night. I think it was nighttime at least, the darkness was all enveloping. My body still felt thick and heavy like cement, though my mind now ran as clear as ever.
“Dustin…”, I spoke just above a whisper, afraid of what lingered beyond me in the darkness. Suddenly, painfully, a light switch flipped on, revealing the inside of a garage. It took a moment for my eyes to adjust, though I wish they never would’ve.
“Glad to see you’re awake, bud”, that ominous, deep voice spat out at me. As the bright, luminescent scape before me began to take shape, I could vaguely make out the details of a person lying in a heap at my feet. Andy.
“You don’t have to do this, Dustin”, I pleaded as calmly as I could, though I could feel the grips of panic begin to take hold of me. A heavy hand clapped down on my shoulder and gave me a rough squeeze, then another.
“I’m afraid the time for apologies passed you by a long, long time ago, Sam”, he said, his voice a monotonous script, void of any human emotion. It was as though he had rehearsed this very moment dozens of times in his room, by himself. I’m sure he had.
“Please man, I’m so-“, the words died in my throat as Dustin brought that heavy pipe down upon Andy’s head, then again, and again. I had never seen such animalistic, determined hatred as he continued to repeatedly bury the object into my now-dead friends soupy, caved in skull.
I had never seen a brain before, or brain matter, but the gooey mush of spaghetti-like tendrils which seeped from the cavernous hole in the back of Andy’s head was now overflowing like a cake which had risen far too much.
Myself and the massive, stuffed deer heads which hung on the walls with their dead eyes were the only ones here to witness the carnage.
“Stop, stop!”, I tried to scream, to beg, over the carnage for Dustin to stop his assault. By the time tears had begun sprouting from my eyes, he was already long dead. I was so consumed, so devastated by the battered heap which Andy now was, that I hadn’t realized Dustins parents had been in the garage the entire time.
Hung upon the meat hooks.
I could do nothing but scream by this point. This had become a real life horror movie, and I was the main victim. My throat felt raw and bloody, hoarse from the chorus of screaming and begging, begging for my miserable life to be spared.
“You need to shut up, Sam”, he breathed heavily, swallowing hard and wiping his brow. The sweat had begun to bead up and fall from Dustins face, falling into the growing pool of blood which now surrounded both of our feet. I could do nothing but whimper and moan, knowing my fate was sealed.
“You ever play operation?”, Dustin said suddenly, cocking his head at me. His steely expression slowly changed as the corners of his lips began to twitch and curl upwards into a horrendous smile.
Dustin shuffled over to a large, wooden chest which sat against the wall to my left, never taking his eyes off me. The heavy lid to the chest creaked open before he started pulling out various items, scalpels, and an oxygen tank.
The wheels of the oxygen tank screeched and moaned as he pulled it next to me, attaching a tube which was connected to a mask.
“Don’t worry this shouldn’t take me too long”, he said, burying a syringe filled with nondescript liquid beneath my skin, “I’ve had some practice”, quickly, the world faded to black once more.
-
As I gaze into my bathroom mirror again, studying the extent of damage which my body had been caused, I really can’t tell you how I’m still alive.
Jagged mountains of folded meat hang where my lips had once been, some parts are cauterized while others hang freely, blood dripping like mad.
It’s hard to get a lungful of fresh air, the clumps of lip meat and blood seemed to get stuck in my throat with each attempt. My nose is gone now too, though he did a better job of cauterizing that. It was mostly dried up blood at this point, though the cigarette lighter he had used from the old Camaro in his garage had left deep ring marks in the middle of my face.
I looked like some sort of fucked up snow man, like the kid had shoved a lump of charcoal where the carrot should’ve been.
Worst of all, even worse than the mess he had left my face, was my stomach. My once slim figure was now replaced by a bulging, hanging gut which seemed fit to burst at any moment. A long incision ran it’s course down the length of my stomach, little bits of yellowy-white fat spilling out from the haphazard stitch marks which held the seam together.
I think the pain meds Dustin gave me are starting wear off now, the extent of the damage he had done to me is just now being realized.
It’s hard to feel any anger or animosity towards him, though. After writing this all out for you, after realizing just how miserable I had made Dustins life, I can’t help but feel peaceful in this moment. I deserve to be the creature which stands before me, I deserve to be the Hillsberry Doughboy.