Reviews:
"AAAAAH! I think the thing I love most about this fic as I read it again, is that he's so dispassionate about his own life. Like... it really shows how much of 'just a person' he is. I think this is a perfect description of where a person who was put down ALL HIS LIFE would be. Like- Kim will fuck anything and his mom probably poured self-doubt into him. THe bullies didn't help either and this is where he ends up. White kid, trash, pathetic- I'd imagine that's where his head might go when he's really depressed- very self bashing, not realizing how important he is in his own kids life. And what makes this the most tragic is that he wasn't really *TRYING* to kill himself, he was just trying to prove he was worth something- good at something- anything. I love the imagery you've got in this fic- especially with the cuts- for some reason, that image of him with the mirror and the cut really just hit me in the gut as so painful and tragic because he doesn't see or can't think about how important he is in the lives of other people. I can only hope Em *does* know how important he is to soo many people! KUDDOS!" ~ Dru, June 2003
Shattered
Disclaimer: Don’t own Em [if I did, you think he’d *ever* leave my house?], just a poor student, don’t sue…blah blah…
Ever feel like punching something, really, really, hard? I do-and I have. Usually, it’s a person. And then, I get into trouble.
I can’t punch people anymore. I miss punching people.
I can work out in a gym, but it’s just not the same as getting into a fight; not the same as being in a bar brawl when fists are flying and there’s people screaming and there’s pain.
Pain can be good.
I know whatchu thinking, ya know. Who is this psycho, who likes pain and fighting?
Ha. I’m who you’d expect me to be…
The big, bad, destroyer of the innocent. Eminem.
But that’s not who I am. Well, sure, I *am* Eminem. But he’s not me.
If you know what the fuck I’m talking about. You prolly don’t. Hell, I don’t even know what I’m fucking on about.
A bottle of Jim Beam will do that to ya.
I swear, I used to be able to drink more than this. But since Hailie, I’ve cut back on drinking and drugging and partying.
But she’s gone. They’ve all gone. Everyone left me; just like they always do. So, I’ma sit here and get drunk and just not give a fuck.
Well, maybe I’m already drunk. And dammit, the bottle’s empty.
I wanna punch something. No, I wanna punch some*one*. I could go out and start a fight-but someone’d recognize me, and I’d probably get arrested.
And then I’d be sued. Again. What the fuck is it with people and *suing* me, for fuck’s sake?
Being sued...that brings me to the reason I’m lying here, an empty bottle of
Jim Beam rolling around next to me.
Fucking D’Angelo. I thought I was finally away from all that shit, ya know? And then that fucking faggot has to go and fucking sue me.
And it brings it all back. All the beatings, the teasing, all the fucking times I spent terrified he was actually gonna kill me.
He damned nearly did, too. Then he has the fucking guts to *sue* me.
Maybe he’s been listening to Kim. Hell, maybe he’s been fucking Kim. Wouldn’t surprise me, she’d fuck anyone. ‘Cept me.
I’d laugh, if I wasn’t so drunk I don’t remember how. We’re such a fucking happy family, ain’t we.
And she won’t let me see Hailie.
I miss my daughter, my baby girl. I’m a good daddy, ain’t I? I provide for her, give her clothes and food, make sure she goes to a good school, and make sure she don’t listen to my music.
But me and Kim is fighting, so she up and left, and took Hailie with her. That was two and a half days ago, and my lawyer says that if she don’t take Hailie out of the country, I can’t do shit all.
Fucking bitch. I shoulda killed her. I really should have.
Need more drink. I stagger to my feet, and the world is spinning. But I’ve done this too many fucking times to be bothered.
*Crash*. Damn, I’ma have to get a new cabinet. And now there’s glass everywhere and I can’t be fucked picking it up.
Oh. I’m bleeding. Maybe I’ll bleed to death…I watch the little cut on my arm, watch it as the blood drips down my arm and makes a mess on the floor.
I look down at the shattered remains of my reflection, that’s now stained with my blood.
I never liked that mirror anyway.
The more I stare at this cut, the angrier I get at it. Stupid fucking thing, what kind of a cut is it anyway? It’s not even a decent size. And it’s not even bleeding properly. Pathetic little drips of blood, out of a pathetic little cut. Not good for anything, fucking piece of shit, can’t do anything right.
Well, I can fix that. Bending down and….*whoa*….ok, the world has stopped lurching. I pick up one of the broken shards of the mirror. It’s a pretty decent size, easy enough to hold.
I look at my own face for a second. Half of it is cut off coz the piece is broken. *Shrug*. Just an ugly little white kid anyway, nothing worth looking at there.
I take the edge of the mirror piece to the cut on my arm. Haha! Take that you stupid cut! I’m grinning as I slice from the end of the cut downwards. A second later, a deep line of crimson appears, and *that’s* what I’m talking about.
*That’s* a proper cut. Runs from just below my elbow, to diagonally almost down to my wrist.
And the blood’s really coming out now. Ha! Little fucker! I fixed it good.
The tiles are red. The broken glass on top them reflects me-in pieces. I’m shattered, and it looks like I’ma bleeding everywhere. I just watch it. Watch myself bleed. Who fucking cares anyway?
I could bleed to death. Just bleed and bleed and then get all weak and lie down and never get up again.
And who would care?
Hailie’s got her mommy, and I’m no good for her anyway. Just a piece of fucking white trash, the scrawny kid everyone picked on, couldn’t even look after my own ass. How the fuck can I protect her, if I can’t even keep my own shit together?
I can’t be fucked thinking anymore. And god, I’m so tired. I’ma just lie down for a sec….
~*~*~*~
“Mommy, why won’t Daddy wake up?”
Author: angelic_devil98@hotmail.com
These stories are for entertainment purposes only. They are completely fictitious, and the authors mean no harm to EMINEM, his family, friends, or anyone else that may have been depicted as a 'real life' character. No money was made on the fiction here, either directly or indirectly, i.e. paid advertising. In other words - it's just a bunch of shit we wrote for fun. Please don't take it seriously.