Rhino depression
The Depression of a Rhino
WARNING
In this text you can find: violence, grammar mistakes, spelling mistakes. Every sane person stays away from this story and stop reading right now. I said stop reading. Ok, if you keep reading, do not post a message saying: This story is a piece of CRAP or this story can make cry Baby Jesus. I know that before hand, Ok? Ok.
Why? Why was he alive? He lived few time, only 21 years. His life wasn't be so bad. He had good parents. He had a nice house. He had a perfect computer system and a lucrative job. Why then? Why all that suffering? The growing pain inside his chest was like a ball, heavy and rusty. And everyday, that ball grew up more and more.
He was sitting on his armchair, inside his recently acquired flat of Madrid, pawing off himself. His name was Jordi and he was a Rhino, a very lonely Rhino. Every day he sat there, on his armchair. He unzipped his pants and took his cock out to paw off. Now he was living at his own house and he could make every thing he wished! But that was nice the first two days. At the moment, after three months of independent life, he felt like a miserable. He went to the gym every day, to exercise his body, so he had a very good looking aspect. He found himself attractive, but no females seemed be interested in him. And also he had ho guts to ask them for a date. Why? The answer is: he was a miserable. No. Not miserable, that's the wrong word. Pathetic was the correct word. He was pathetic. There he was, on his armchair, stroking his big and useless cock thinking about how pathetic he was. But it wasn't also the problem of the girls. Jordi was also a writer, he loved writing. He was writing every day, every night, at the computer, in the metro, on books and notebooks. Sometimes he woke up in the middle of the night to write an idea he had while he was trying to get sleep. But every time he tried to sell a book, they refused it. One by one, all the editors told him: "NO!!!" before he finished to explain the plot of his novel.
And he kept stroking his rod of flesh, without force and the head full of bad memories like a poisoned pool. He had sex with other furriers so few times that he remembers the exact number. The number was ten. And the half of them he had to paid for the sex. Why? He was a pathetic rhino, that's why. No, not pathetic. He was worst than that, he was revolting. Have sex with whores was something revolting for him. The other five times he had sex at the gym, and always with men. Once, he had sex with an elephant that was 37. He was big, muscled and rude, always swearing right in his ear, saying things like: "Oh little fucking bitch of daddy". It wasn't a pleasant memory, even for the longest fuck he ever had, about 35 minutes of stuffed ass.
Jordi sighed with sadness. He looked down. His pants and the armchair were soiled with his seed. He just came and he even didn't realize. He got paralyzed there, impassive, and then he screamed. He screamed because everything (the books, the sex, his parents, the editors...) was a ball of pain, stuck inside his chest, right between his lungs. He rose up from the armchair and ran to his bedroom. He was crazy. His objective was the notebook where he wrote his stories. He wanted to finish with every thing that made him feel pain. Every little thing he had in his flat. Jordi took the notebook and ran to the bathroom with a lighter. He threw the notebook into the bathtub and set fire to it with the lighter.
It burned faster than he thought. He ran to the kitchen. He was crazy and frenzy, ready to make a madness only to make stop the pain inside his chest. He took a knife with a hand and his cock with the other hand. He cut, with a simple movement of his wrist, his cock and his right testicle. Now he felt the pain inside his chest, even worst, and a horrible and agonic soreness in his crotch. His own penis curled and twisted on his hand like a snake.
A dark smoke started to come from the bathroom. And a flood of blood was flowing from his groins and down his pants. What did he do? Did he become mad or what? Was he dreaming? Was that just a nightmare?
No it wasn't. He wanted to finish with all that pain right now. The pain of hadn't got a mate. The pain of hadn't got a friend. The pain of hadn't got his dream come truth. The pain of leave the world and had been only a speck of dust and the big window of history.
He dragged himself to his bedroom and approached to the bed, where he kept the gun, behind the lamp. Jordi took it and put it right on his chest, ready to blow up that ball of pain. And the last thing he thought before die, was: "Is not my fault". He pulled down the trigger, and the explosion scared him more than the sensation of the bullet penetrating his body. The bullet broke his breast bone and hit right in the center of his beating heart. He didn't die instantly, but he suffered during ten minutes, before he sank into the darkness of death.
This was Jordi, the Rhino. He was my friend, but not my closest friend. He never told me about his pain and if I realized about what was going on maybe he still alive. I thought that he was an asshole. Now I think that I was right, because only and asshole kills himself and refuses to fight against the life.
Life is not for live it, is for fight against it.
James Corck.