by Joe Zito
October 13th 1990-
I masturbated three times today, twice before noon and once on the toilet. The guy I’m seeing now, we fuck all the time, of course at his apartment. I can’t seem to get enough.
November 4th 1990-
Sometimes the whiskey helps with the dreams, sometimes it doesn’t. I drink about two or three shots before I go to bed. I can’t have a hangover everyday so I try not to get blitzed every night. But the dreams are getting scarier and bloodier, and the daytime horrors are still happening.
January 12th 1991-
I smoked a joint for the first time tonight after work. One of the girls let me take a hit out in the parking lot after our shift. I coughed my head off at first but then I felt super relaxed. I stopped and told her that I had to drive home. She let me have a joint. I put it in my purse and drove home. I wish there was another way to get home other than driving on Devils Bluff. Unfortunately it’s the quickest way to and from work. The corn looks so black.
August 3rd 1991-
Hello dear diary. I know I’ve neglected you for some time now. I’ve been busy working at Cherrybombs about four nights a week and making some killer money to. I could move out if I wanted even though rent is so expensive. My grandparents haven’t said anything to me about moving out. The nightmares and hallucinations haven’t stopped but I’ve learned to live with them. I’ve lost track of my boyfriends. I can’t even call them boyfriends. I meet guys at the club all the time now. We’ll fuck each other silly for about two weeks and end it. I know it’s unhealthy and not a good thing to do.
November 12th 1991-
Whiskey and marijuana have become my best friends.
January 7th 1992-
It’s 4:10 a.m. I just woke up from one of my routine nightmares and my left hand was covered in blood. It freaked the hell out of me. I thought Angel Larson had come alive in my dream and had tried to kill me. There were pieces of glass on my bed. In this dream I had decided to fight back and I was on top of Angel with my hands around her neck choking the life out of her. I heard the sound of glass shattering and that’s when I woke up. I had been holding my Jim Beam bottle tightly in my sleep and had squeezed it with such force that it broke and cut my hand. I sat up and looked at the blood dripping down my hand and wrist in lines. It looked black in the dark of my room. I picked up one of the pieces of broken glass and stared at it for a moment. I don’t know what made me do what I did next. It just seemed natural. I began cutting my hand on purpose with the glass. It felt so good, almost like it was relieving a horrendous pain inside me. I felt a weight being lifted from me as I sliced into my palm. I haven’t felt this good in a long time.
March 19th 1992-
My hatred for Angel grows more and more every day. I’m obsessed with her and what she did to my mother, the mother I never knew.
May 2nd 1992-
It’s 4:30 in the morning. I just dreamt I was drowning in a bathtub full of blood. I could see it all so well because there were these ultra bright lights above me. The blood was so vibrant and red. And then she was there in front of the bathtub watching me drown. I’m all out of Jim Beam so I don’t think I’ll be going back to sleep. I keep thinking of what happened that one night a few months ago when I woke up and the bottle was shattered and cutting my hand and how good it felt.
May 3rd 1992-
It’s almost eleven. I can hear grandma talking in the kitchen downstairs. I decided to cut myself last night. It worked. I slept like a baby. I saved a piece of the broken Jim Beam bottle from a few months back. I cut just a little bit on the back of my leg so no one can see it.
June 14th 1992-
Grandma has to know that I’ve been working at Cherrybombs. I’m sure she’s heard people talking around town. I mean shit gets out. This is fucking Bludenhale, Indiana. Why isn’t she busting through my door screaming at me demanding to know what I’ve been doing every weekend for the past two years? I guess I’m glad she hasn’t done that.
June 17th 1992-
It’s been eighteen years since the Bludenhale Massacre of 1974. And it’s been eight years of nightmares and terror for me. I’m high as fuck right now and just smoked two whole joints because I can’t stand to hear grandma cry all day and night every time this year. I hate Angel Larson.
September 16th 1992-
The dream I had last night was a little different from what I’m used to. I was somewhere, a barn maybe, but there was fire all around me and in front of me there were two girls on the floor going at it hard. They were both drenched in blood in a sixty nine position. I was so turned on watching them. And then a pair of sharp knives appeared in there bloody hands. They began stabbing each other but they weren’t screaming in horrific pain like I thought they would. Instead they made orgasmic sounds like they were getting off. I’m all wet just writing this now.
November 6th 1992-
Last night after work, as I started to go up the steps to my room I saw Angel standing there at the top of the steps in the dark. She was holding my mother’s head in her hand by her hair. I froze because it looked so real. These images are getting scarier and more lifelike.
February 14th 1993-
Happy fucking valentines day! Too bad I don’t have a nice clean cut boyfriend with a nice hair cut to hold my hand and buy me chocolates and go to the movies with. I don’t have a fucking boyfriend. Too much trouble. I just like those fuck friends of mine and that’s ok.
March 20th 1993-
I’ve been thinking about something that I would like to try at work. Not sure if Jack would approve it or not. I know fuckface Phil won’t. It’s rather risky.
May 4th 1993-
Me and the guy I’m seeing found this abandoned house not too far from my house. Some of the windows are cracked or missing. It’s really rundown but we can get high and fuck all we want in there without anyone knowing. He’s not a bad guy. His name is Paul. I fucked him and his friend two weeks ago. I think I was high.
June 11th 1993-
Dumbass Phil finally approved my new stage show. I guess I have Jack to thank for that. He talked to him yesterday.
June 13th 1993-
Had a practice run of my new dance routine. The fake blood didn’t splatter as bad as I thought. It feels really good on my body. I don’t think one bucket is enough, maybe asswipe will lighten up in a few weeks and let me use two. I also can’t decide which type o negative song to use, black no. 1 or Christian women. I love that fucking band.
June 17th 1993-
Tonight will be the first time for my new stage routine. I hope it goes over well. It’s also the 19th anniversary of my mother’s death. I hope she can forgive me for my lifestyle and the things that I do. I know I’m on wreckless path.
June 19th 1993-
The show went really well. I think Phil was surprised. No one walked out. Although I could have done without the image of Angel Larson standing in the crowd swinging her hatchet like she does in my dreams.
July 19th 1993-
It’s 4 a.m. and I can take no more! My thighs are burning from cutting myself. It helped a little but she is still in my mind. She won’t leave me alone. I’m staring at her right now.
July 22nd 1993-
I’ve decided that I must kill Angel Larson to have any peace in my life. She has controlled me since I was twelve years old. Not anymore!
August 12th 1993-
So Paul and I broke up. Big deal. His cock was too small anyway.
August 16th 1993-
I just got home about an hour ago from the sex house. Had a threesome with the guy a met a week ago and another girl. I wanted her to cut me while I was having sex but she wouldn’t. She was afraid she would hurt me. I feel so guilty sometimes coming home after being there. I know it would break grandma’s heart if she knew the things I did.
January 8th 1994-
It was about an hour till closing last night when I fucked this girl in the ladies restroom. She walked in just as I was finishing up in the st
all. Her eyes got real big when she saw me like she was excited or something to see me. I recognized her from out in the crowd when I was onstage flinging fake blood everywhere. She told me that she really enjoyed the show. I told her thanks. She looked to be about 20 or 21 and a little shorter than me with chestnut brown hair. She was acting a little tipsy, I was fucking buzzed to anyway. We just stood there for a moment looking at each other smiling. Then she moved close to me and I wondered if her pussy smelled as good as her perfume. Before I knew what was happening we were both kissing each other. I could taste liquor and smoke on her breath. She pushed me into the stall that I came out of. We stopped kissing and I asked her if she had to pee. I mean that’s why she was in there anyway. She said yes and she pulled her skirt down to her ankles. She wasn’t wearing any panties. After she seated herself I squatted down in front of her with my legs wrapped around the filthy toilet. Her fucking ass really popped out as she sat down. I squeezed it as she started to pee and we both started laughing. I could smell her from in between her legs as well as every other female that has peed, shit and bled on that same toilet. It made me nauseous, yet turned on at the same time. A few cockroaches were scurrying on the floor. When she was done I told her not to flush yet. She stood up and we started kissing again. She turned around and pushed her ass into my face. I buried my face into her and I could taste her pee. Her stuff got up in my nose. I loved it. I took my jim beam bottle from my pocket and began pouring it all over her ass and slit. I pushed my face into her again. I felt sick and disgusted and turned on all at once. The taste of her juices and the whiskey made my face melt. I held onto her thighs for leverage as I rubbed my face hard into her. Then she burst a huge gush of her sex in my mouth. I sometimes do that to when I play with myself. My face was soaked. I stared to gag as it went down my throat. I vomited out some left over jim beam onto the floor. Not a lot just a little though. Those fucking cockroaches bathed in it. She apologized but I told her it was ok. Just then a woman walked into the restroom and she looked stunned when she saw us in the stall. She just smiled and said it looked like we were having fun. She excused herself to the toilet as me and the other girl continued making out. I could hear her stream hitting the water. My face felt flushed from sexual excitement. I felt like I was going to pass out.
January 12th 1994-
I started my period tonight while I was on stage. I was covered in blood anyway so I don’t think anyone noticed. After my routine I ran to the outhouse to clean up. It smelled really good to me for some reason. I thought about getting off right then and there but I didn’t. I’ve never masturbated while having my period. I’d like to try it but it would be too much of a mess I think.
January 17th 1994-
I tried heroin for the first time tonight after work. My ex, Paul of all people let me try it. I liked it. But I really don’t want to be a full fledged junkie. I don’t want to end up next to that bum that hangs out by the dumpster in back behind cherrybombs. But I really did fucking like it.
February 9th 1994-
It’s 3:45 a.m. and I just had a very strange dream. It was a little different from the usual. I was lying on my bed and I could hear water rushing around me. I sat up and my bed had a black canopy over it that I could see through. I looked over the edge of my bed and I was floating on an ocean of blood. And the sky was dark blue. I went to the black curtains at the front of the bed and opened them slowly. I saw a large building off in the distance. I couldn’t tell what it was at first but then I realized. It was the Indiana State Mental Hospital.
March 4th 1994-
More people are showing up on Friday nights to see my set. I guess they like it. Sometimes when I’m on stage bathing myself in that fake blood, I pretend that it’s Angel Larson’s. I’m going to kill her soon. Oh so soon my sweet Angel.
March 12th 1994-
I think the heroin is making my pee stink or something. It never did before, only until I started using.
April 2nd 1994-
It’s getting closer to the 20th anniversary of the Bludenhale Massacre of 1974 and the end of Angel Larson’s life. I’m going to drive out to Blare today to check out that looney bin where she resides.
May 8th 1994-
Last night I woke up while standing in front of my mirror. It was around 3 a.m. I don’t remember getting up or anything.
June 1st 1994-
Some reporter called our house today asking if he could get an interview with Susan about the Bludenhale Massacre. I can’t believe she agreed to do it.
June 8th 1994-
I love working at cherrybombs but I know it can’t last forever. There has to be more out there. It’s going to kill Jack when I tell him that I’m leaving.
June 18th 1994-
It was such a long night last night. So much had happened. I’m not sure if I can even write about what happened during my set at cherrybombs. It was very horrifying and the worst dark trip I’ve ever had since I was fourteen. I’m just so thankful Jack was there to take care of me afterwards. It was beyond terrifying and I never want to go through that again. But it’s finally here and today is the day. I hope everything goes as planned. I drove out to the garage last night after I left work and my mom told me to make her proud. And I will do just that. The knives are waiting.
June 19th 1994-
It’s Sunday morning and I just masturbated on the toilet again replaying in my mind the look of shock and horror on that cunts face when I drove that first knife into her stomach. I’m glad she is dead and maybe now I can move on with my life.
June 19th 1994-
There has been something on my mind these past two days, maybe even a little more than killing Angel Larson and the 20th anniversary of the Bludenhale Massacre. I had a nightmare two nights ago, the worst I’ve ever had. I dreamt that I died and had been stabbed to death. And all I could hear was screaming all around me but it wasn’t me who was screaming. It was someone else, a voice I didn’t recognize. I’m sure it means nothing. I’ve been having nightmares for years so I’m use to them. The strangest part of this dream though or I should say the saddest is that I saw my grandma. She was in a cornfield, walking around like she was lost and she was calling my name and then she began to cry. I’m hoping that this is the last of these horrific dreams that have been torturing me the past ten years. I’m getting ready to leave now to go tell Jack that I’m leaving Cherrybombs.
Laurens Will
September 1997
Lauren Hill sat on the floor of Cherrybombs niteclub next to the man she just killed. Smelling of blood, whiskey and day old sex, the thirty seven year old stripper with long sandy blonde hair and long legs to match covered her face and cried. The man she murdered only a few minutes ago had killed Jack Barnes, the owner of the club where she works, (if you can call forcing your pussy in some drunk truckers face ‘work’). Her mind started drifting back to earlier in the day when things were somewhat normal, like waking up with a hangover and not knowing who she had slept with the night before. She just wanted that cunt of an alarm clock to stop screaming in her face, making her headache ten times worse than what it was. She sat up in bed and cringed at her whiskey and smoke breath, “Christ Lauren that stinks.” Her voice was that of a pack a day smoker of Marlboro light 100’s making her sound like a female Rod Stewart. Her 5 disc cd player rotated to AC/DC playing Hard as a rock. She remembered tripping over a mess of junk and clothes on the floor of her single wide trailer as she made her way to the bathroom where she threw up and then flinched in pain at the burning sensation when she peed. When she was done she sat there on the toilet; her face falling sleepily into her hands. She moaned and grabbed the hand held mirror sitting on the back of the toilet. “Ok princess, make yourself pretty.”
The mid-morning memory rushed through her as she sat trembling not sure of what to do next. “Just calm down Lauren, you’re ok. If only Michael was here.” She thought of her twenty one year old son and she cried even more because she knew she had failed him and was
never there for him growing up. She was a loser and would never forgive herself for what happened a few months ago when she not only embarrassed herself but distanced her son from her even more. She had invited him and his girlfriend over to her trailer for breakfast one Saturday morning; a pathetic attempt to try to reconnect with Michael. It was a disaster. She was still half drunk from the night before and in her mind she thought she was eighteen that day instead of thirty seven by wearing her way to short pink shorts that said ‘princess’ on the backside. Smoking a cigarette while trying to make pancakes didn’t help much either. They ended up arguing with one another and she threw a collectible McDonalds glass at him but instead it hit his girlfriend in the face. He hadn’t spoken to her since. That was until today by some strange miracle he had called her out of the blue wanting to see her. Her hangover did most of the talking but he agreed to meet up with her after her shift. Why does he even want to talk to me after what happened? I’m a drunk, a whore, a no good loser. “I’m so sorry Michael,” Lauren cried with the dead man by her side. It was one forty a.m. Now she began to cry again when she remembered the draining, worthless conversation she had with her father earlier that afternoon. It only made her feel more like shit than she already does. She left her trailer and drove in her ’86 Buick Century to see her father about borrowing some money. Among the racket and noise of the body shop/wrecker where he works called Salem and Sons, he harped on her about her poor life choices. “You’re a sweetheart Lauren but you’ve made so many mistakes,” he told her. And she thought, Yeah, I’m the sweetheart dad with the dollface and those sad, sad eyes. She was thirty seven but on a good day she could look twenty two and had one of those faces that made people either want to fuck her or hold her in their arms and tell her everything is going to be ok. She just wanted to borrow ten bucks and get the hell out of there. She left her father’s work leaving his opinion of her at the door. It was a hot afternoon; too hot for late September. The air was dry and she thought she was coming down with one of those weird late summer colds because her throat was sore as hell. As she drove away from Salem and Sons she glanced in the mirror at herself and sighed at the strands of grey intertwined with her sandy blonde hair. She lit a cigarette. Smoke rolled off her jean jacket and out through the driver’s side window. She came to a stop light and was staring at a well to do looking woman of about the same age coming out of the dentist office across the street. It made her think of how things could have been. How her life could have been better than what it was. “That could’ve been me with a steady job and nice clothes and a nice car and maybe a son that doesn’t hate me even though he told me he didn’t hate me today on the phone,” Lauren said quietly to herself under her breath with the warm September sun beating down on her face through the windshield. But that’s not your life dollface is it? You were too busy playing fisticuffs and fishhooks when you were seventeen with all the boys as they gangbanged you in that barn back in ’77 while your one year old son was at home without his mother and his granddad doing the best he could to keep him entertained with sesame street and making goofy faces, and oh how you loved it when those four boys had their way with you and fucked you silly and you would laugh every time you came and it all ended with a white mess on your face and black acid on your tongue and whole lotta rosie in your ears.
