The King, Part 1

I.

You wanna hear something really fucked up? Because honestly, I’m warning you this might be too much. Because honestly, I’d rather none of this stuff be true. I wish what happened could have just been another urban legend, another wives’ tale. I wish so fucking much that this wasn’t something I saw with my own eyes. I’m telling you right now, this is not a story with a happy ending, this will not make you feel anything good about life.

II.

So there’s this kid, and his name’s Rex, but he’s not the tyrannosaurus type, he’s the monster type. He’s what a tyrannosaurus might be afraid of.

When this kid was just a little pipsqueak, when he still shit the bed, his parents made him do these cognitive response tests to see how fast his brain functioned, and when they found out it was better than 99.9 percent of kids his age, they had him do some IQ tests, too. According to the doctors, Rex was unique; for lack of a better word, they said he was a genius. The kid’s brain was straight out of a Silicon Valley Cinderella story.

The doctors and the scientists told Rex’s parents that with a mind like his, Rex may never function as the average person would; his reactions to tragedy or comedy may differ drastically from yours or mine. But those parents, all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, said they could handle it.

So flash forward, Rex gets sent to an Ivy League elementary school and his parents figure he’ll blow everyone else out of the water. These two think they’ve got the next Einstein on their hands, maybe the next Hawking minus the wheels. For the first couple of years, Rex exceeds expectations, he is exactly what they had imagined; that is, right up until he realizes that he doesn’t have to do something just because a bunch of adults are telling him to. Just after starting the second grade, he decides to reject the school system; he figures he’s outgrown it. He stops doing his homework, starts sleeping during class so he can stay up all night on his computer. After a few attempts to revitalize Rex’s excitement in the education system, his parents start to forget about the test results and the cognitive scores. They throw him in a public school to save some cash and decide to focus on their jobs. The father starts to spend a lot of time overseas, but that’s not important right now.

What is important above all else, more than anything I’ve said up to this point, is the kid’s mom. A ten out of ten, certified smoke-show. Before all of this took place, I had no idea who Rex was, but his mom, everyone had heard of her. I can’t overstate the beauty of this woman; I can’t even begin to describe it. Whatever you’re picturing as your wildest dreams for the female figure, times that by ten; no, twenty. A walking centerfold, an angel, a god queen, genuinely one woman on Earth I could take home, it’d be her. But I suppose I’m getting off topic; back to the kid.

Now, be honest with yourself: when’s the last time you met an intelligent person that was happy? When’s the last time you saw a genius that was emotionally stable? This kid, no matter the parents, he was fucked from the get-go. With a brain like his, one way or the other, some shit was gonna hit some fan at some point, or at the very least that’s what I have to keep telling myself.

 

Five years in the future and now the kid’s in seventh grade. It’s early summer and the weathers just starting to heat up, schools almost out for a couple months, and him and all his little buddies are just hitting puberty and trying to figure out a way to get their puny preteen cocks wet. In fact it’s the only thing any of them are talking about, besides the next Call of Duty game. A lot of the neighborhood kids are saying how bad they wanna take a swing at Rex’s old lady, they’re acting like they would even know what to do.

One day, Rex comes home after school with one of his buddies, Brendan’s the kid’s name, and they’re in the kitchen making grilled cheeses when Rex’s mom comes downstairs.

“How was school, honey? Did you learn anything?” she asks him.

Rex doesn’t bother looking up from the frying pan; the melting butter demands more of his attention than his poor mother.

After a couple seconds of listening to the pan pop and hiss, he tells her, “If I wanted to learn anything, I’d read a book.”

She shrugs him off and she goes, “Not everyone is like you, Rex; some kids like school.”

Brendan laughs, Rex watches as the sandwiches soak in the liquid butter.

His mom starts to talk again, he focuses on the pan; by now he can easily drown her out.

Rex ponders what kind of sad creature would find the need to become a public school teacher. He believes that no one in their right mind would study to lead a class of uninvolved prepubescent children, and so the only adults that one would find in a classroom would undoubtably be self absorbed disappointments. Individuals who yearned to become something more, and when faced with the cruel realization of their ineptitude, they decided to try their hand at educating the next generation. He is almost nauseous with the idea that someone who failed so miserably would be encouraged to guide children, would be permitted to share their opinions and ideologies with the adolescent mind. The claustrophobic aura of the inner classroom irks him deeply, but even more so would be sharing that cage for six hours a day with a living, breathing failure. These are his words, not mine.

For a moment, Rex imagines himself in a grassy field. He imagines the sun warming his back.

“School is bullshit, I could read all the textbooks necessary to graduate in less than a day and I still wouldn’t consider myself smarter than any of the other kids,” he says.

His mom plants her hands on the counter; Brendan jumps to attention as he watches her breasts bounce up and down. Rex refuses to meet her sad gaze. She grits her teeth, tries to say something and fails.

“I don’t want to sit at a desk anymore,” Rex says.

The smell of burnt whole grain bread rests heavily in the air.

Rex’s mom opens her mouth and with the lips of a goddess she whispers, “Rex…”

And then it’s wham, bam, thank you ma’am. She hits the linoleum tile like a sack of fucking potatoes.

Brendan looks at Rex, Rex looks at the body.

Brendan cowers behind the countertop, “What the fuck man? What in the fuck?” he asks aloud.

Rex kneels down and checks her pulse; when he doesn’t feel anything beneath the flesh of his recently departed mother, he stands up and scrapes the burnt grilled cheese into the compost.

Without aiming his words in any real direction, he says, “She’s dead.”

Brendan pulls at his hair, opens his eyes wide, “No way dude, no fucking way. What the fuck happened? Shit, dude, Jesus Christ.”

Rex is calm in his resolve; he is a rock and he knows it. “Maybe an aneurysm, something like that.”

Brendan leans down beside her. “What the shit, dud?” He pokes her face. “Fuck, man.”

Unconsciously, his attention turns towards her chest. Without fully noticing what he’s doing, Brendan starts to reach for her left breast.

“What are you doing?” Rex quietly asks.

Brendan looks up at him innocently, “I never felt one dude; I lied about summer camp, man. Come on, one squeeze, then we call 911.”

Brendan’s childlike hand wraps around her breast and he jumps away as if he’s been burned. He stares at Rex with his jaw hanging open as if it’s dislocated from his skull.

“How are you okay with this, man; like, are you okay?” Brendan asks.

Rex pours himself a glass of milk. “I’m fine,” he says.

Brendan starts to fidget; he scratches his head, then he looks down at his watch and peeks back up at Rex. He opens his mouth as if to speak, but instead pretends to yawn. Rex takes a sip of his milk. After a couple more moments of silence, Brendan’s words begin to spill out like a cement mixer, slowly and unsurely, like every syllable is being mixed with gravel and water. He asks, “But honestly, dude, how fine?”

III.

This is the last time I’m gonna interject, but seriously at this point, there’s nowhere to go but down. If you’ve got something else you could be doing, something that maybe you’ve been putting off for a while now, I’d go do that.

IV.

“It’s not like I’m gonna start crying, dude. I get it, she’s my mom and she’s dead. I understand,” Rex says and drinks his milk.

Brendan keeps his eyes on the floor, “Well, then, like I have this idea that’s been bouncing around my head for, oh a little bit now, I mean maybe the last couple minutes or whatever, and like I don’t know if it’s cool or if I should even say it out loud. But so, pretty much, we’re best friends, right?”

Rex puts his half-empty glass down by the kitchen sink.  “Yeah, I’d say so.”

“So you gotta understand I wouldn’t ask anyone else in the world this unless we were best of buds, because I would never even want anyone to even know this shit, but, ahh…” Brendan exhales.

Rex is growing impatient, “Spit it out.”

Brendan raises his head to eye level, “Look dude, just, like,” he throws one arm out, in the direction of Rex’s late mother, “just let me fuck your mom, dude.”

A hand wrapped tightly around a glass of milk, a voice to accompany it, “Can you even hear yourself speak? Do you think? Of course you do…”

Brendan lifts his hands to his chest, almost as if to guard himself from a barrage of verbal bullets, “Rex, listen to me, buddy,” he says calmly, quietly. “This is a once in a lifetime opportunity. Not just for me, but for y—“

The glass shatters in Rex’s hand, spilling a creamy red white liquid all over the ground at his feet. The silence that follows will become life altering.

Finally, Brendan turns towards the front door. “I can’t believe I even said that; it’s just fucking hormones, man. I know that was totally out of line, okay. Please forget I ever said anything. Go mourn, call me if you need anything, and I’m sorry, dude, really fucking sorry, man.”

Brendan takes a couple steps towards the doorway, and as his hand wraps around the handle, the sound of Rex’s voice encompasses the entire room, filling it from floor to ceiling. Like a holy oath booming down to our world spoken by the Gods, he asks, “How much money do you have?”

V.

Let’s take a quick breather to talk about Rex’s father; the thing about him is he’s one of those big super-chef personalities you might see on primetime reality TV. He travels around the world with his crew filming different cuisines and enjoying the finest meals. This is how the family could afford the tens of thousands of dollars of tests and research little Rex was put through. Now, Rex’s old man loves his work, and he’s good at it, too; whenever he’s home he’ll set up big fancy meals for his family to enjoy. But with the commitment to his show, he’s gone sometimes for weeks on end, so the guy had a massive walk-in freezer installed in the basement to keep all kinds of exotic meats frozen for when he gets back. Only the most prestigious meat is kept in there; the space is reserved for delicacies most people will never even taste, let alone hear of. All of this for his family, his trophy wife and genius kid. This guy, man alive, for a good long while, this guy was really living the dream.

VI.

Rex sits in the living room watching TV; he’s just finished wrapping a bandage around his hand. He turns up the volume to drown out the rhythmic grunting coming from the kitchen. It’s not prostitution if she’s dead, he tells himself.

He counts the money in his hands again; 18 dollars and 75 cents. He wonders how much a soul is worth.

It’s only been a couple of minutes, but Brendan swings open the kitchen door with that just fucked look on his face and sweat dripping off his brow, “Fuck dude, sex is the bomb. Real A++ shit.”

Rex stares at him, a human void.

“Oh, fuck, man, really uncool of me to say shit like that, especially now; so fucked up, my bad,” Brendan tries.

Rex turns up the TV. “Yeah.”

“Listen man, I’m gonna get the other 62 bucks when I get home and give it to you tomorrow, promise,” Brendan tells him.

Rex nods.

“But literally dude, like openly as a friend, you could make so much fucking money right now. You know how many guys are aching to get their rocks off in an authentic pussy for the first time? You could make fucking bank.” Brendan smiles and leans against the doorway.

Rex stands up and walks past his friend. “See you tomorrow, dude; don’t forget the money.”

Brendan saunters up behind Rex and pats him on the back, “For sure, man, I will come cash in hand. And if I’m being 100 percent truthful here dude, I think this will make us closer as friends.”

Rex feels something deep inside him shift out of place. Somewhere within him, a fracture begins to spread itself throughout the root of his being. He forces a half-smile.

Brendan claps his hands loudly and points at Rex. “You’re the king, man, the fucking king.”

The door closes and his friend is gone. Rex is left alone in the kitchen, staring at the once vibrant body of his mother. Even though he’s her son, he knows that she’s beautiful, probably the most beautiful woman he’s ever laid eyes on, and a lot of the time that makes him angry. He reaches down and straightens out her shirt. Maybe for a moment, the idea of having her for himself floats in his mind, but maybe it doesn’t, maybe he shakes his head in disgust. He grabs her by her wrists and drags her down the basement stairs to the freezer. There’s a combination lock that his dad thinks is kept secret, but Rex is smarter than that. He punches in the numbers and opens the door; after gently laying her down beside the venison, he turns away and the door auto locks behind him.

As he climbs the wooden stairway, Rex thinks to himself that were there a key for this lock, he would throw it away, somewhere that no one even he himself could find it. But there is no key, only a combination that he won’t be able to forget without some serious brain damage. So he figures that instead of a key, his morals will have to suffice.

***

For all installments of “The King,” click here.