Chuck

With a cry that sounded much like a beached sperm whale, Chuck smashed the empty bottle on the tiled floor and pulled another full one from the shelf. He belched nastily, forcing suds up through his esophagus and into his mouth. Chuck could taste the potatoes he’d eaten earlier that morning. And by "potatoes", of course I mean an old crunchy box of French fries he found beside a dumpster in the alley. He would’ve given his left testicle (if he had one) for some tomato paste to dip them in though. Or possibly even some ketchup, but Chuck was never THAT lucky.

In fact, Chuck wasn’t lucky at all. As he wrapped his swollen lips around the mouth of the bottle and started sucking and gulping the liquor like a famished infant guzzles milk from a teat, he thought back on the past two weeks. They had been the worst two weeks of his life.

March 21st (Approximately one week and six days ago):

Chuck shamefully cleaned out his locker. He had just been fired from his job at the cardboard box factory. He had been caught masturbating inside of a large refrigerator box. He’d cut a door and a small peephole in the box so he could look out at the Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Calendar that hung on the wall of the warehouse. Unfortunately, he hadn’t made the peephole big enough to observe anyone walking up on him and he hadn’t counted on anyone on the outside being able to hear the disgusting sound of lotion against flesh. Furthermore, he hadn’t realized that his box was sitting in a row of other boxes that were meant to be fork lifted into a truck. Chuck was fucked.

Completely jobless, Chuck returned home to his wife and son. He walked inside and to his horror, he witnessed his wife on the couch with the newspaper boy. She was greedily performing fellatio on the boy, who seemed to be enjoying himself immensely. Chuck was speechless. He stood in the doorway and watched his wife of eleven years perform acts upon this adolescent that she had NEVER even come close to performing on him. When they were both finished and had put their clothes back on, Chuck cleared his throat.

His wife and the paperboy glanced back at Chuck. They didn’t seem the least bit surprised.
"I’m leaving you", his wife said bluntly. "I’ll send for my things."
And with that, she took the paperboy’s hand and walked out the door.

Chuck was devastated. He didn’t know what to do or say… At least he still had his son. His pride and joy.
Chuck walked sadly back to his son’s room to break the horrible news that his mother had just walked out on them. He opened the door and to his surprise, he saw his son, sitting on the lap of the man who dresses up as the department store Santa Claus at Christmas. The horrible man was reading a book to his son and his son looked absolutely engrossed. This was terrible! Chuck’s son had never allowed him to read to him. And Chuck had begged and pleaded many times before! Santa and Chuck’s son glanced up at him with looks of incredible annoyance on their faces.
"Dad!", Chuck’s son screamed at him, "Frank is on the last chapter! Go bother somebody else!!" With that, he leapt from the strange man’s lap and slammed the door in Chuck’s face. It was only later that Chuck found the note on his pillow informing him that his son had gone to live with Frank, the department store Santa. Things couldn’t get worse.

But they did.

Chuck’s wife had left him. Chuck’s son had left him. And now, even Chuck’s trusty hound dog, Rufus, had left him. Well, if you count being backed over and killed accidentally by Chuck and his new SUV the next day. He loaded up his mangled canine companion’s dead corpse into the back seat and started the long drive out to the countryside to bury his faithful friend.

Unfortunately, due to some faulty mechanical part in Chuck’s SUV, his steering wheel popped off while Chuck was on the highway and he lost complete control, careening off an embankment and into a river, but not before slamming into several trees and totaling his new SUV. Chuck climbed out of his window and swam to the riverbank. There he sat, wondering if his life could possibly get any worse. As he pondered the horrific direction in which his life was headed, a large rattlesnake slid out of the grass beside him. The snake promptly bit Chuck right below his knee, sinking his deadly fangs deep, deep into the flesh and pumping brutal amounts of venom into the nasty wound. As Chuck’s vision turned to blackness and he fell over on his side in the grass, the last thing he saw was a large bear pulling the corpse of his dog Rufus from his sinking SUV and devouring him.

Chuck woke up in the ICU at the local hospital. He had been pumped full of anti-venom and couldn't remember feeling worse in his life. In addition to that, apparently the venom had done such a horrible number on Chuck's body that he had completely lost the use of his right eye. He lay in his hospital bed, crying bitter anguished tears from his left one.

After a week of recovery time, Chuck was released from the hospital. As he walked towards home, he wondered what he would do now. He was jobless, pennyless, car-less, familyless, and virtually friendless (after his few friends found out about his disgusting work behavior, that is). As Chuck turned onto his home street, he realized that all he really wanted to do now was lay in his own bed and sleep. That's when he noticed his house... or the pile of burnt rubble and ruin that stood where his house used to be. Chuck fell to his knees and let the tears flow from the one eye socket in which the tear ducts were still functional.

That night, after retrieving his gun from storage, Chuck knelt in an alley behind a local convenience store. He was truly a broken man. He placed the pistol to the side of his head and pulled the trigger. I loud shot rang out through the dark alley. Chuck screamed and fell over sideways, clutching his head. Apparently, due to Chuck's horrible aim, and the small caliber of the weapon, he had done little damage. His ear lay on the ground beside him like an unfortunate animal that had been run over on the highway. He picked it up and slid it into his pocket. Upon investigation, Chuck realized that he had used his only bullet. Chuck was horrifically devastated and crawled behind a dumpster to bathe in his sorrows. Unfortunately he crawled on top of two large, muscular drifters, who were already sleeping there. The drifters proceeded to brutally attack, maul, rape, and rob Chuck, finally heaving him, half naked, inside of the dumpster. Chuck fell into a terrible, fitful slumber.

The morning sunshine hurt Chuck’s left eye and he squinted. He didn’t have to squint much, however, considering the eye was half swollen shut anyway. His entire body ached from the terrible beating and ravaging he had taken the night before. His head lay in a pile of soggy newspapers and coffee filters, he could feel broken glass under his back, and there was something that felt like a furry dead animal resting against his leg and inner thigh. With every remaining bit of strength, he hoisted his battered body out of the dumpster and crumpled to the ground. Then, through his remaining eye, Chuck saw a familiar symbol… He recognized it as the famous golden arches, utilized as the logo for a famous fast food chain. It was printed on a box that looked as if it was half-full of French fries. Chuck smiled for the first time in days, making his lips crack and bleed. He winced and immediately stopped smiling. Then he devoured the cold, hard French fries, box and all.

~~~

These were the things Chuck remembered now as he sat Indian-style on the tiled floor, slogging booze from the nearly empty bottle. Chuck violently smashed the bottle onto the floor and pulled another bottle from the shelf. He really didn’t know how things could get much worse and he didn’t want to know. All he wanted to do was drown the sorrows of the past weeks in mouthful after mouthful of bitter, cheap, alcohol. He wanted to escape into his mind to a peaceful place…a place where he could relax and feel safe…a place where he didn’t have to be scared and feel as if the…
"Excuse me sir", the store manager said sternly, obliterating Chucks daydreams and bringing him back to a harsh reality. "Sir, I’m going to have to ask you to leave. If you don’t go now, I will have to call the police."

Chuck nodded his head submissively, climbed shakily to his feet, and painfully limped down the isle and out of the grocery store.