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Rated: 18+ · Campfire Creative · Fiction · Comedy · #2089317
Story I came up with about a year ago
[Introduction] I sit in my room where the only source of light burning comes from my desk lamp. A song is playing on repeat from my computer. I figure I should be polite, so I turn my chair around to face a rather large man sitting on my bed.

“’Sup hoss?” Mr. Tuggle says, propping his hand on his leg.

“You sure you want to be sitting there Mr. Tuggle?” I ask him. He tweaks his head to its side and raises an eyebrow at me.

“I’ve lost a few pounds,” he says, rubbing his belly. He pauses for a moment, staring off into the floor. “Could stand to lose more, but hey,” he chuckles, coming back to his train of thought, “you try cutting Mountain Dew from your diet.”

I laugh. “You been fishing lately?” I ask. He smiles and for the first time in what feels like forever, his eyes light up.

“I went just the other day,” Mr. Tuggle tells me. “Caught a huge bass. Just beautiful. Big.” He spreads his arms apart to help me visualize the length of his prized fish. I smile at him, wondering if he thinks I care at all about how big of a fish he caught. “I go all the time now that—“

“You want some spaghetti?” my Grandfather barges into the room.

“I already ate Grandpa,” I say. “Thanks though,” He groans at me, swiping his hand in disappointment. He finds a seat right next to Mr. Tuggle on my bed and lights up a cigarette.

“Turn that shit off,” Grandpa says pointing at my computer. “You don’t need to listen to that crap.”

"Thanks Grandpa,” I say, continuing to let the music play.

“So whatchu been up with Chuck? You become a private investigator yet?” Mr. Tuggle asks me.

“No,” I reply laughing. “I actually chose to become a teacher.”

“Well that’s nice,” Mr. Tuggle says smiling. I didn’t have to say anything else for Mr. Tuggle to understand his role in my choice of a career.

“That’s queer,” Grandpa spews as cigarette smoke escapes his breath. Mr. Tuggle ignores my grandpa as if he and I are the only ones in the room.

“You wanna play?” Koty walks into the room and asks me. I smile at him.

“Not right now,” I reply. “Maybe in a little bit.” Koty walks over and sits on the ground in front of grandpa.

“Did I tell you about the time I wrestled a bear to the ground?” Mr. Tuggle asks me.

“Yes Mr. Tuggle,” I say while rolling my eyes as soon as he looks away. “All you had to use was your own two hands.”

“What about the time I had to shoot my dog?” Mr. Tuggle bounces back.

“He got ran over by the school bus you missed and he was suffering. Yeah, you told me,” I say smiling.

“BANG! Right in the head!” Mr. Tuggle simulates pulling the trigger of a shotgun. “One of the worst days of my life.”

“Spaghetti?” Grandpa cuts in.

“Grandpa,” I say wanting to remind him of our previous conversation on spaghetti, but instead, I reply, “No thanks.”

“You’re not my grandson,” Grandpa says and I can’t help but chuckle. He tosses what’s left of his cigarette on my floor and puts the fumes out with his foot.

“What’s there to eat?” Koty asks, looking around my room.

“Spaghetti,” Grandpa blurts out. Koty shakes his head in disgust. “You guys don’t know what good food is.”

“Chuck,” Mr. Tuggle says, grabbing my attention, “I’m proud of you. You might not see it now but one day, you will.” I smile, giving it my damndest to fight back tears. A faint “thanks” is all I can muster up to say.

“I know grandma’s proud of you. We all are,” grandpa says. Koty nods in agreement. For a few seconds Mr. Tuggle, my grandpa, Koty and I are all smiling.

“Alright, I’ve sat here long enough. I gotta hump something,” Koty says, walking towards my pillow lying on the ground. He begins to defile the very object I lay my head on daily and like a two pump chump, he’s done in less than ten seconds. He blows translucent semen onto my pillow and walks away.

“Hey,” I say, looking at the ground, “I just want to say…” I pull my head up and turn back around to stare at my computer screen falling into acceptance of the reality that is.

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