Part 1 of a short story i'm writing! - I haven't come up with a title yet

[Mattoid]

I'm currently writing a short story and i've completeled part one of my draft! It's a little dark and disturbing but i'd love to know what you guys think. Part of it was inspired by a few personal experiences but my character is in no way a reflection of myself! I'm not a disturbed individual!

I'll paste it in here for you to read through, i would love to get a little feedback.


My name is Lucian Campbell and I'm probably the vilest yet most magnificent being you'll ever have the good pleasure of reading about.
The body I'm currently incarnated in has experienced twenty four summers and yet only five of them I vividly remember. I'll go through life never making a friend, and never experiencing the societal conditioning everyone around me seems to experience in one way or another. There's a certain beauty in that as I'm sure you can imagine. I document my memories from the padded walls of a mental institution located in Broadmore. You've no doubt heard of some of the ingenious souls these crumbling walls have played home to; Roderick Maclean for instance who shot at Queen Victoria as he stood touching himself to the splendour of it all. What a surprise it was to find out that I'm living in the same block as he but of course he'd long since died before i even knew about this garbage disposal system of a building.
The purpose of this is to hopefully play with your sanity the way mine was at various stages of my beautiful unique life. I can only hope you come to terms with the fact that all social expectations and stereotypes are a mere illusion, a figment of yours and societies imagination.  You want to be adored and you no doubt want to be cherished, but why? Have you ever actually pondered and delved into your own wants and desires?   Ninety percent of your human behaviour is motivated by sexual instinct, you may think that's absurd but analyze your next conversation with a stranger of the opposite sex and analyze it in a way that isn't bias or choking in a pool of denial. Who knows, you might even be incapable of that but I'll give you the benefit of the doubt. I'll give you your much needed praise and I'm singing your praises as I write this I promise you. 

The earliest memory I have was that of being a five year old child, it was a day or so after my fifth birthday. The decorations my mother had put up still burdened the kitchen, again displayed to participate in a stereotype, a mere obligation. A red banner draped over the window oil splattered and slightly torn, of course back then I thought it was water.  As sad as it seems I used to have a horrific fear of water, I feared the feel and the thought one day drowning in it. Only later did it occur to me in a fleeting memory that the substance coating the banner was cooking oil, I recall the rusting pan seemingly glued to the oven hob, which too was eroding beyond salvation.  Cigarette ash lay on the Kitchen floor like coal polluted snow.

It was the evening and my mother was in the bedroom tending to her heroin addiction, through the naivety of my childlike eyes I grew up with the assumption she was ill in some way. Needles dumped in the kitchen sink were a familiar sight in our household as were the splashes of lumpy brown blood complimenting the base of the bathroom sink. She never really spoke to me and to be frank I really didn't want her to not even as a small boy, the sheer sight of her used to disgust and even frighten me. She had long auburn greying hair frayed at the ends and always clumped together with whatever filth thrived in her lifestyle. Her face was always emotionless and gaunt with freckles covering her cheeks. The lips of this woman looked as if they were dirt brown clay withered and blistered, they never seemed to heal, probably because of the way she'd twitch and chew at her lips during her nightly heroin binges. That's just my assumption though I'll never know for sure.

It was a hot day, and subsequently an equally hot evening. I awoke during the night with an insatiable appetite as if all the meals I'd missed were screaming out for my sanity. It didn't require thought I simply hurried to my feet and before I knew it I was in the kitchen with the refrigerator light blinding my light deprived eyes, this didn't bother me and I certainly didn't squint for more than a second or two, I turned my head to the side panel and glanced at the remaining birthday sponge. I reached in and grabbed it with both hands, I gripped it tightly and consequently it broke apart a little, this didn't matter...  I threw the sponge into my mouth like a child possessed and during my desperation I had overlooked the fact my mother had been awoken by my own stumbling to the kitchen and she was stood right behind me with her back arched and her arms hanging by her side as if they were dead limbs clinging to her body. In an instant she was in my face shouting whatever obscenities came to mind "bonking boy and you wonder why we have nothing? " I glanced at her face and then quickly to the floor too terrified to even chew the sugary contents of my mouth and with the instant anxiety the foam  merged with the cake creating a foamy syrup I can still remember to this day. I stood there resembling a chipmunk. My mouth began to dry around the sponge and I started to choke a little but I didn't spit anything out in fear of further consequences. I noticed her arm come to life and as quick as It did I felt my head being pounded from above. She'd made a fist, and had extended her knuckle, beating my head into a lumpy pulp I cowered and although it had only been a few seconds the attack felt like an eternity. I remember the flashes of light I saw with my eyes closed inside my mind and as she thrust down her fist with all her strength I saw flashes of blinding specs of light. I felt the blows lighten and slowly come to a halt so I mustered all the strength I had to peer up at her to anticipate her next move. What would she say? What would she do next? I lowered my arms and at that very moment she began to physically punish the cheeks of my face. My cheeks felt as if they were blisteringly cold and numb from the attack they were taking, I tried to lower my face but the snaps of her hand raised my head. I was powerless to stop this woman. It felt as if someone was physically nipping at my tolerance, I can almost mentally pin point the shattering of my mind and the precise moment I started to lose control. My lips looked unrecognizable, swollen and full of sweltering red tissue... the very opposite of hers and they'd doubled in size!

The sponge at this point was at my feet, my mouth open began to fill with the blood seeping from my full and swollen lips and I don't think I can emphasize enough how swollen they were.  The attacks continued but something was changing I felt all fear, and every other emotion rise from my body, I wasn't sure if the glistening light I saw above my head was a physical incarnation of my emotional self leaving. As I tasted the blood from my lip I remember knowing the blood that I tasted in my mouth was somehow alleviating any sense of fear or pain. How could one so young endure such an attack and not even be brought to tears? I felt absolutely nothing.  She started to scream "Why do you make me do THIS?!" my mouth still filling with the blood from my lips I started to gulp it quicker and quicker until eventually I was extracting the blood from my own lips and again... I felt nothing but the sense of blood curdling in my stomach. Out of terror I was able to feel absolute ecstasy. I started to smirk and I recall actually wanting her to see it. The look of sheer disbelief was worth a thousand lashings from one I hated as much as she.

I can't remember anything more of that particular night, other than the pillow making my head ache from all of the wounds I'd sustained just a few hours before.  I say a few hours but I can't possibly know for sure. It could have been a millennium with the perception I had of time at this age, and that's not to say I wasn't an intelligent child, no I was an infant prodigy! absorbing any information from as many sources as possible, books, newspaper articles drenched in her opiate residue, anything I could get my infant hands on.
Through the years to come I'd often reflect on this night, I seldom thought of it as a particularly horrific night. It was beautiful in a way... the sensations I experienced, a sense of knowing. To this day I can't quite place the mind-state I entered. I felt completely free, I didn't care about what Mother thought or what anyone thought for that matter, I didn't care about the consequences of her bad temper, and I didn't care about the consequences of my actions. I was truly free of human feeling and as a result felt something completely different. 

Oh what a teenager I was, or perhaps a teenager I wasn't.  I say this because of how I was out casted. I didn't get a chance to participate in the activities that most teenagers took for granted, playing sports on a rain drenched field, hanging out with friends, smoking outside the school gates. Nope, I took refuge in reading old novels, particular those that depict the impossible.  I'd drift off for hours at a time gazing into the nothingness of everyday life fantasizing about a life that didn't so closely resemble an apathetic net consisting of events that everyone has experienced over and over again.  I also enjoyed listening to a lot of music usually by deceased singers.  I fell in love with the thought of their voices living on whilst their bodies lay in rot, forever decaying.
At the age of fifteen I returned home from the week I spent in ingleborough with the whole of our year.  It was a pointless trip really and I didn't socialize or associate myself with any of the children  seemingly full of new found overly excitable energy, you know... the most annoying kind? Teenagers running around emphasizing every characteristic they possessed  out of sheer excitement. On the coach ride there I'd randomly burst out laughing in a fit of tears listening to them make conversation about meaningless things. Perhaps this was just an attempt of fate trying to restore balance, perhaps if I hadn't spent the entire week bored to tears and in a constant state of volatile annoyance, fate may not have granted me the events that followed? The ultimate sense of euphoric madness, if you're not confused by now... I'm not trying hard enough!

"Home sweet Home" I walked in through our moulding mite infested door greeted by the smell of what I assumed was the decaying food staining every inch of the kitchen.  I was excitably wrong; I removed my foot wear and followed the hall trying to find the source of this intoxicating odour, I desperately wanted to know what it was as I was experiencing a strong sense of sexual arousal, as if the smell was that disgusting it was actually causing me pleasure. As I walked through the hall standing on all the hard carpet burns and unidentifiable mounds of substances seemingly a part of the twenty year old carpet. The closer I got to the smell, the more my penis seemed to inflate. My entire mid-section felt as if it was throbbing with anticipation, perhaps this was a reaction to the exciting adrenaline that pumped throughout my entire body.
I glanced to my right looking over at the yellow tobacco stained walls and I noticed the bathroom door was creaked a little, using my right hand I pushed the door feeling a minor stickiness again from all the tobacco she'd smoked throughout the twenty odd years she'd lived in this crumbling pile of bricks. That's one thing I'll always remember it was impossible to lift a glass without it sticking to any surface it lay on.
The door started to drift open and I stepped through immediately noticing a silhouette on the shower curtain. Through the curtain it resembled a mound of clothes, disappointed I approached the curtain and pulled it noting a dark predominant silhouette of dark water.  "Clothes soaking, the wonder of it all" I thought to myself letting out a light sigh, at that moment I didn't know what I'd originally expected. Weird and fantastical theories plagued my mind in the few seconds it took me to pull the curtain; this was definitely the source of the aroma.

I reached towards the curtain edge eagerly hoping to satisfy my own curiosity, I wanted to find something out-of-worldly. I embraced the aroma and reached out gripping the curtain tightly and began to pull it  towards the holding clip situated on the wall at my side. With friction the curtain started to trail over the floor and at first it revealed nothing more than a  wash rag as I'd pretty much originally expected. I sighed and felt an overwhelming sense of disappointment followed by apathy directed towards my own childish naivety.

I forced the curtain a little further and at that very moment I knew I'd always want to  cherish the sight that seemed to radiate and beautifully taint every fabric of my being.  If there were ever a time I wanted a video camera it was now at this very moment. It was my mother! And she was laying in a pool of her own blood, the water was as black as the darkest night, I didn't have to feel her pulse to know that this woman was dead, the lumpy faecal matter throthing on the surface told me this tale, and in a thousand words! I inhaled deep and absorbed all the lovely titbit details. I stared into the water and couldn't see the bottom of our 1930's style tub but I don't think I even want to, for all I knew it was a bottomless pit she'd some how found the surface of.  As slow as I possibly could I led my head towards the first extremity of her body that I could actually see, her stomach lay poking out of the bloody water as if it were an island home to leathery skin aliments. Her mouth lay open exposing the black that emanated from her gums probably a concoction of the drugs, the pork she'd eaten the night before (Saturday was always pig night) she'd get certain pork cuttings for cheaper before the weekend was out, usually way past it's expiration date but that didn't matter to her nor me, why would I care about such futile matters? Food is food!
Her mouth had dried out, and her tongue hung out of the side of her face, a similar hue to those dreadful overly chewed lips of hers.

[Starvingpercussionist]

Very dark and distrubing indeed. What inspired you to write this?

[Mattoid]

Coupled with never writing before, and having a strange at best imagination I awoke one morning for work excited by the thought of actually writing a short story. I'm finding the creating of Lucian to be incredibly entertaining  ,

I've used a few of my own personal experiences and by that i mean the things i've felt, especially the apathy and isolation i try to depict in most of what i've written. I've got some brilliant base drafts already written that i'm going to try and type up, but having a minor problem with dyslexia writing is very time consuming.