Damn You, Pepper. (standard:action, 6548 words)
Author: Oscar A Rat	Added: Jul 22 2020	Views/Reads: 1365/942	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
These three related stories are in Second Person POV. It is very graphic and violent. Second Person attempts to put the reader right into the story.

You wake to a horrible stench, opening your eyes to the remains of a
black sock rubbing your chin. By dim lighting, you see it was 
originally white, now showing black skin through a large hole in the 
ankle. 

“Cough!” Ah, that felt good, bringing on a half-dozen more followed by a
pint of stale alcohol mixed with stomach acid exploding onto a cold 
concrete floor. 

Shoving the offending appendage away, you swing your head from the pool
of vomit, trying to string thoughts together into a cohesive image. 
“Damn!” and a, “Mother.” 

You see a ceiling. No. Not a ceiling. A grillwork of heavy bars above
your head. Gotta get up. You place both hands against a dirty floor, 
one in another pool of puke you hope at least is your own, and jerk 
upright. 

Yep. The drunk tank in the Pleasentville Jail. You recognize patterns of
graffiti on a wall. You've been here several times before. As your head 
fights for equilibrium, you feel a rumbling in your stomach, 
remembering they serve a pretty decent breakfast before releasing you. 

At least you hope you're to be released. Sure you will. If you were in
for anything serious you'd be in a two-man cell. 

You don't remember last night, at least not after ... no. That was last
week. What the hell did you do last night? Dunno. 

Ah. A portion comes back. You were at the “Drop In a Bit” last night.
Yep. That redhead. Pepper? Yep. 

Getting to shaky legs, you stagger more than walk across comatose bodies
to drop onto a metal toilet with no lid. It's the only place to sit 
except the filthy floor. 

In the distance, between echoing clangs as metal doors are slammed,
along with half-heard shouts reverberating against concrete walls, you 
hear a radio. 

“A gentle breeze from Hushabye Mountain Softly blows o'er lullaby bay.
It fills the sails of boats that are waiting-- Waiting to sail your 
worries away. It isn't far to Hushabye Mountain And your boat waits 
down by the key.“ 

You can't help a smile. Sure, and I missed my fucking boat. 

Pepper. Yep. Pepper. That's her name. Pepper, like in “salt and.”
Pepper. 

Strange. You weren't all that drunk last night. She must'a slipped you a
mickey. 

“The winds of night so softly are sighing-- Soon they will fly your
troubles to sea. So close your eyes on Hushabye Mountain. Wave good-bye 
to cares of the day. “ 

And not your fucking mouse, Disney. In my drink, mouse. 

“And watch your boat from Hushabye Mountain Sail far away from lullaby
bay.” 

Bitch. Wait'll I get out. I'll sink your fucking boat. Must'a slipped
the mickey in that third drink, a one what tasted funny, like. 

You shake your head. Not chloral hydrate. No after-taste with
that, and no headache this morning. Somethin'. 

The staccato sound of wood on iron bars breaks your introspection. 

“All right, you drunken bastards ... on your feet.” 

It's a small skinny cop. As you watch, he unlocks the door with a large
metal key. Reminds you of Barney Fife. The little guy has a hard time 
swinging it open. “When I call your name, step out here. You're going 


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