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No Saints

Wes Heine

    Humans do some awful things to each other. Then a lot of them wear masks as if they’re innocent. These are the worst kind... Some clean-cut frat boy goes home to his mother for Christmas, and then back to school slipping girls roofies because he’s too selfish and lazy to get laid with his god-given slimy charm...
    I can think of a lot of examples where, academically, murder is necessary: some wars, some executions, self-defense, or basic death to eat and survive. But I can’t think of any example of necessary rape.
    Even a justified murder hangs on a person like a curse. Veterans crack-up... People who were just defending themselves still feel guilty. And we all seem to pay for consuming under the sky.
    But rape is so selfish: to forcefully get gratitude at another’s expense. Just for a few minutes of meaningless pleasure in the genitals and a sense of control they make a monster of themselves and destroy another’s self-worth. And once that line is crossed it’s easier to cross again...
    Prison does strange things to men, and I don’t care about homosexuality if it’s all done willingly. Every one laughs at it, but men being raped in prison is wrong. Yet it seems somehow less monstrous than a man raping a woman. A woman is where we all come from. A woman is the mother, the sister, the grandmother. Women have a spiritual quality to them, which makes them superior in many ways.
    So a friend of mine gets raped at a party... She’s had things like this happen to her before too. I don’t know what it is. Bad luck? Or she’s just too cute? ... She’s a strong and intelligent woman too. Maybe that’s what bugs them.
    This preppy frat fuck thinks he’s a big man raping UN-conscious girls. He’s probably keeping score like it’s some kind of meaningless baseball game.
    And these types always gets away with it! Most girls rather just forget about it than be exploited any further by talking about what happened or doing something about it. This kind of bullshit happens everyday, so who cares? Right?
    It was time for some people who aren’t everyday.
    My buddies and I aren’t saints. In fact we’re far from it.
    We don’t have keggers to attract chicks over, we mix hard liquor and pills till we pass out. We don’t dance, we just mosh. We’ve gone out and vandalized for no reason, accept for the cheap thrill of it all, and the idea that material possessions are completely worthless. We’ve slept with a few strange people, but it was all consensual. Some of us like our sex kind of rough, kind of kinky, but again, always consensual. One thing we don’t do is force ourselves on someone. Not views, not rules, and not our bodies either. We’re all about freedom, pure freedom.
    So my four buddies and I set out to find this white-collar rapist. No we’re not saints, but this is no job for saints. What else were we going to do? Go to the cops? Yeah right, they’re the same kind of yuppie fucks, brick-head types, that are doing this at frat parties anyway. At least that’s what we figure. They’re the same kind of guards that ignore rapes in prison because it’s common, or because it’s funny for the rest of us. And my personal feelings for cops aside, the system simply doesn’t work.
    We park the car at the other side of the block from the party. We get a few upturn noses walking up to the door, but we pay no attention. We pay the cover: five bucks for a cup, and walk in.
    The crap they’re playing on the stereo turns our blood: Smash Mouth, Dave Mathew’s, Usher. The guy that took our money runs it upstairs.
    I see the rapist fuck that we’re after standing in the corner. He’s eyeing the room, waist level. Our friend pointed out his blank face in a yearbook. All of these clean-cut dirty-fucks are probably in on it, but he’s the only one we know about for sure. Besides, justice shouldn’t be blind, it should be wide-eyed, awake, and strike only when it is absolutely sure. And we’re sure about him.
    In the back room behind the kitchen we find the keg. We pour a round.
    Uhhhhg!!! It’s Bud-light, the shit doesn’t even taste like real beer, just watered down crap.
    Behind the keg there’s a door leading into the basement, and just before the door a stairway into the backyard. We’re the only ones around the keg. All the frat boys are off chasing tail and only have the beer around for show. So me and one of my buddies slip down the stairs into the basement. The other two stay up nursing beers and standing watch.
    The basement is exactly as you might expected it: Cement, washer, dryer, damp cloths laying in heaps, but most of all the plumbing for the whole house is exposed, coming out of the ceiling and the walls...
    Kick... bang... spray... water running, sewage dripping, and we’re back up stairs.
    Back up top we refill our cups and head into the living room where the bland-ass music is still playing. In about five minutes someone yells, “Hey, the toilet ain’t working!”
    “What ta fuck...” says one of the inhabitants.
    Soon they’re walking all over the house trying to figure it out.
    In the confusion I slip upstairs and pop into the first bedroom I see.
    I find the money they’ve collected for the keg in one of the underwear drawers. How fucking predictable. They’re all too busy convincing themselves that they’re straight that it’s unthinkable to reach into another dude’s underwear drawer.
    I go back downstairs. My buddies and I go back to fill our cups around the keg.
    One of the frat-boys comes up from the basement. “Hey, the basement is flooded. A pipe must have burst!”
    “What ta fuck?”
    Yeah, what to fuck? Dumb wooden bastard thinking with the wrong head...
    Our man is walking towards us to go look for himself. The other inhabitants go back into the living-room.
    He’s walking sideways trying to shimmy by us around the keg. A quick nod and my buddies grab him, one at each side, and another covering his mouth. They pull him through the backdoor into the yard, and drag him until they’re far enough not be seen from the house.
    I, still in the kitchen, pull out my hunting knife with a rubble handle, and dip halfway down the stairs to the basement where the house’s circuit breaker protrudes from the wall. I stab the fucker up to the handle, and the whole place goes dark.
    I rush out into the backyard.
    The lights are out, but the moon is full to see the bastard in question has slipped away and is running off. We follow him through some cedar trees dividing the frat-house property and some field that looks like part of a churchyard.
    My buddy Auggie tackles him into the mud. We gag his mouth with the pair of underwear briefs that I snagged along with the keg money, just for this purpose. My buddies hold down his legs and arms. I lay on top of him and pull out the hunting knife. I wave it slowly in front of his eyes so he can see it.
    “You think you’re real big raping girls don’t you?”
    “Mmm! Mmm!” he screams in muted horror.
    “What you don’t realize is... they’re the same as you. Well, maybe not anymore. You’ve destroyed their pride. But I’ll fix that...”
    I got a little closer and opened my eyes wide. “I’m going to cut your fucking nuts off!”
    “Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm!”
    I cut his shirt and pants off.
    I’d like to say that it was tiny. But it was just your average evil dick. Yeah they’re evil, I’d know, I have one. I have my share of devilish thoughts, but I never acted on them. Well, not without a kinky and willing partner anyway. When it comes to sex, if my head isn’t truly in it, the arousal doesn’t even happen. But this guy loves himself so much that he’d do anything for gratification.
    I caress his balls with the dull end of the knife. The blade glistens in the moonlight.
    “MMMMMMMMMMMMM!”
    I bring the edge closer and a small trickle of blood begins to spill out, then with a flash I flip the knife over and shove the rubber handle up his ass.
    “MMMMMMMMM!”
    Wait... maybe I can think of an example where rape is necessary. But unlike real rapists, I’m getting no pleasure from this... no physical pleasure at least.
    I twist the handle round and round and thrust it forward over and over.
    Suddenly I can feel blood on my hand. It’s a mix of my hand gripping the blade too hard and his anus splitting open.
    “Hurry up man. Let’s get out of here,” says Auggie.
    I took the handle out. I’m sad to say I couldn’t take his balls, it would be too gory for me. But like I said: I’m no saint.
    I had another idea. “Hold him extra tight,” I said.
    They stretched his limbs until his chest was like a drum. Then in big letters down his front I carved the words: I RAPE KIDS.
    I chose to use the word kids at the last moment rather than the word women, because either way he’d never be able to undress without someone seeing those words. And if this scumbag eventually did hit bottom and ended up in prison, they’d eat him alive. Convicts hate three things more than anything: cops, narks, and child-molesters (Cho-mo’s they’re called in the joint.)
    So then we picked him up, UN-gagged him, and threw him into the mud. He began yelling for help immediately, and we ran off to where the car was parked across the Churchyard. We didn’t hear any sirens until we were crossing the bridge to the other side of town.
    No we’re not saints. Fuck saints! We felt like true knights of justice, if just for a moment. Some might say that we went too far. Well, what were we supposed to do with our carnal instincts? Fuck as many drugged-up girls as we can... right?



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