Dissolute, Debauched, and Debased
Dissolute, Debauched, and Debased
July 20, 2024
The phone rang.
“Hello. This is Ava. Yes, I remember you Doctor Fitzgerald. You have the results. It’s that bad. I have what? AIDS! Are you sure? I can’t have AIDS. This can’t be right. Don’t tell me to calm down! You are not the one facing a death sentence. Well, screw you.”
I threw the landline across the room, tearing it from the wall. It hit a corner and shattered into a million pieces. A metaphor for my shortened life. Just two minutes ago, I had plans for today, plans for this year. Just two minutes ago, I had hope.
Now, all I have is a stopwatch, ticking away.
This is not fair. How did this happen? I’ve been safe. I am not promiscuous. I am soooo careful.
I hear my wind up alarm clock tick. It sounds faint, almost dying. Just like my life.
I called in sick from work and spent the morning crying in the dark.
Later, I thought it was the afternoon (it really was the early evening). I was an emotional mess. I needed a shower. I needed support. I needed to eat. But what I needed most, I needed a plan.
Most in my position might opt for treatment or support groups. Some might join a research study with an experimental medicine that may or may not combat an aggressive form of the virus. A few may even find solace in prayer or good deeds.
As I toweled off and looked at myself in the mirror, I settled on wrath and revenge. I decided others should share my agony. I decided to cast my vengeance upon those unworthy of life itself. I decided to be the moral compass for all I encounter. I decided to judge, because I have been judged, with a pre-ordained verdict waiting only for my pound of flesh to rot before my eyes. Others would suffer as I suffer. So it is said. So it shall be done.
I cleaned up well and donned my shortest sundress, sans panties. My sandals were not made for walking, but I didn’t care. My makeup was just north of slut, just south of trailer trash. I filled my purse with a few hygiene essentials, only to appear fresh as a daisy to my next victim.
By 8pm, I exited among the darkness, like a wraith in the shadows.
By 8:10pm, I found my first victim.
He was Al from the laundromat. He wanted me. I wanted nothing from him.
That is, until tonight.
Within five minutes, he had me in his storeroom of turpitude. I pushed him on his dusty mattress and squatted over him. Whatever he would give me, I would let it leak out and give back to him. He was fat and sweaty and I did not think he would survive the encounter.
Pity.
After freshening up in his janitor closet, I was off again. While walking down the street, I encountered a gang of four thugs. They thought I was a hooker. I let them think so. They gave me $20. I gave them $10 back, because I thought two of them were cute. For the next 2 hours, I participated in my first gang bang. I said I was a good girl. I begged them to use condoms. Then I moaned when they refused.
The four of them left me bruised and a sloppy mess. My dress was torn exposing my breasts. My eye makeup ran making me appear as a strung out crackhead. This made it easier to lure my next victim. He was a freak. His girlfriend was a bigger freak. She was pregnant. He wanted me to be pregnant. I wanted to let him try. She wanted to watch, then participate, then to take over. I had nothing to lose, so I encouraged both of them.
They were not gentle. They had their fantasies which were six standard deviations from the mean. By 4am, I awoke alone in the park, naked, but not afraid.
The police came to ostensibly provide assistance. In the end, I blew the first while the second had his way with my rear. He wanted to hear me be afraid. In reality, I was.
They gave me a blanket and a paper towel and tried to trespass me. I eluded the cuffs and ran. The older cop was too fat to keep up. The younger cop was too embarrassed to try. By dawn, I made it home and took a long bath.
The cell phone rang.
I was too tired to get out of the tub. I heard the message on voicemail.
“Hello, Ava. This is Doctor Fitzgerald. Good news! We made a mistake about your lab results. It seems that you don’t have AIDS after all. Hope you get this message soon. Have a good day.”
I might not have gotten out of the tub for the phone call, but I did get out of the tub to retrieve my 9mm pistol.