tags: #portfolio #zinester #year of the bush #ibtc #lostandfoundnyc #pressed flora #fish without a bicycle tsurufoto. the DIY nudie &/or absurd art photography, zine creations, & field observations of Aaron Tsuru. Damn, it feels good to be a zinester (and feminist & sexpert) ! (c) Aaron Tsuru Brooklyn, NY *all the swoons*
Film by Aaron Tsuru - tsurufoto.com
Starring Audrey as Sally - tinypanther.tumblr.com
SALLY’S BATHROOM CONFESSION
Forgive me father for I have sinned and it’s this sinner’s first confession…
First off, I may burn in hell for all eternity for what I did, but no matter the judgement that waits for me, know he deserved it. And if I meet that son of a bitch in hell when I’m gone, it’d take all Satan’s power to keep me from doing it again.
If you don’t think so, if you read the papers or blogs or watched the talking heads on tv or whatever and you sat there on your fat ass thinking I went too far while you shoved another zesty fucking cheet-oh in your face waiting for whatever goddamned reality show you are into to start, well then…
Father, my dear, you aren’t going to like my story.
He wasn’t found in the bedroom. They found him in naked, in a pool of blood on the kitchen floor. His pecker, uh, huh… removed… and in his right hand, shriveled up like the nub of an unfinished hotdog that had been sitting out for a good spell and covered in dried up ketchup.
His face and neck and chest had slices and puncture holes and possibly some chunks missing from the damage I did with the knife in a blind rage. His grotesque face, frozen in a mixed look of terror & surprise with a pinch of “just desserts”.
How did he end up there?
Well, what would you do if you were a dirty old bastard murderin’ man and a ‘damaged goods’, ‘kinda old looking’ 16 year old girl who you were about to fuck suddenly started stabbing you, cut your dick off, and threw it in your screaming face?
Yeah… thought so.
I miss Emily.
They still haven’t found the body. It’s been, what, 4 years since he killed her, 3 since I returned the favor? Maybe it’s for the best. Maybe God just felt like one human shouldn’t see another human like that.
But I saw.
I saw her raped & beaten body from where I hid in the closet, covered in my own piss, body frozen solid out of shock & fear. I saw him lumber his fat hairy ass out of the room, come back with a big black garbage bag. You know the kind. The kind built for yard waste, branches and shit. Then he just shoved her body in the bag like he was taking an old broken puppet to the dump.
What a disgusting pig.
He was hairy. From a line about 1 inch above his ears down to his malformed fungus-ridden toes, save for his tiny dick & balls, he kept that smooth, shaved clean as a hairless cat. The only meticulous thing about him.
He had one of those split bodies from years of beer and sitting where from waist down he was almost a slender man, but as you moved up, his belly popped out from the front and sides like a bloated mushroom after a good rain. Probably just as slimy.
Fuck he sweat easily.
Emily & I used to dread when dad went out for the night on the weekends we were with him. Jim & him were both divorced, but Dad never passed up a chance to go out with some “lucky lady”, even when he was supposed to be spending quality time with us. Jim was always eager to help Dad out and watch his pretty little things.
Doesn’t take a 1st year psych major to figure what used to go on at Jim’s baby sitting service.
Both of us. For years.
Mostly Emily, she was younger after all…
Fuck his house was hot and smelled sweaty.
We went to school that day and Em was really pissed at Mom about something. Said she was going to Dad’s after school to give her a good scare, pretend she’d gone missing. I barely listened, more interested in reading my book.
After school she got off at the stop closer to Dad’s. I got off at the next one and set out to check up on her. Dad wasn’t home and she wasn’t there. Looking down the street, I saw Jim’s van in his driveway, fear pierced my heart and I ran over to make sure.
I don’t how she ended up inside his place. I peeked through the sliding glass door in the back and didn’t see anything at first. I cracked open the door and I could hear the bathwater running. Jim was singing a song, some children’s song, and I could hear Emily timidly echoing the words.
I slipped inside to do… I don’t know what, stop it? kill him? I don’t even know, but then I heard Emily crying. I heard Jim cussing her out, calling her fucking bitch, a baby, as he stood up in the tub. The image of his wet hairy naked body stung my mind as I heard the water crash back into the tub off his body.
Afraid to leave Em, afraid to be seen, I ran in the opposite direction from the noise and quickly found myself hiding behind Jim’s clothes in the back corner of his closet. And then they came in… He raped her, beat her, killed her, shoved her in a bag, and I saw the whole goddamn thing, unable to move, barely able to breath, a silent video camera filming the whole thing to be replayed over and over in my mind.
Some days it’s all I can see. Some days I forget it even happened until I go to find Emily then the movie plays back louder, bigger, and clearer than ever before.
Afraid he’d do the same thing to me, I never said anything to anyone. Told the cops I never saw Emily after school, that I guessed she went home with a friend.
Jim lost interest in me after that. I’m sure I aged 50 years in that one day. But after Emily, he got the taste of pure evil and he was hungry for more. You could almost smell it on him.
It was a while before Dad needed a babysitter again, though I’m not sure he went on dates like he used to because would come home alone and generally stinking of liquor, blacking out on the couch avoiding reality for a precious few more hours.
Jim would begrudgingly take me for the night, but he generally left me alone after Emily.
After Jim would hole away in his bedroom, I would sneak around looking for, I don’t know, clues, answers, a gun, I don’t know… something… anything… a purpose? I don’t know.
I found things. A little girls sock that wasn’t mine or Ems. A barrette. A bow. A toy. Evidence of others…
That’s when I decided to kill the sick fuck.
So one night after Mom was in a pill induced sleep, I snuck out of the house. Walked the 5 some-odd miles to Dad’s block. I saw the glow of the computer on in Jim’s room. I took off my hoodie and jeans and put them in my backpack. Underneath I had worn a small pair of shorts and tight tank top. I made my hair look like Em’s as much as I could remember.
Surprisingly calm, I quietly knocked on the door. When Jim opened the door, his jaw dropped. His face went from annoyance to a glazed over daydream-like stare.
Not wanting to destroy the illusion, I walked by him slowly without saying a word and headed for his bedroom. He silently followed me, breathing heavily. In the darker room, the effect was overwhelming. I could see his erection in his sweatpants and sweat start to film on his bloated hairy shirtless torso.
In a quiet voice I asked him why he doesn’t like me anymore, why he doesn’t play with me anymore. I asked him if he thought I was pretty. I pulled up my top and asked him if my breasts were too big now. I pulled down my shorts and asked if my butt was too big.
He was nearly panting.
He walked toward me and I shifted to guide him to lay down with his legs hanging over his stained bed. I tugged and pulled off his sweatpants. He laid there naked, sweaty, with his little dick harder than it’s ever known.
I bent down, gliding my left hand along his wet inner-thigh, feeling the coarseness of his hairy legs tug at my finger nails. With my right hand I pulled out the kitchen knife I had stolen from Jim during one of my explorations of his shithole from my backpack.
I slid my left hand back up and grabbed hold of his little balls and dick. He looked down to watch his own little porno just in time to see the first chop.
As he screamed, his back arched in agony, lifting up everything just right for me to saw through the remaining bits. I threw his dick at his face & started stabbing his belly, his chest, his flailing arms, not really caring what I hit or how I hit it.
He grab his junk off the bed and ran out the room toward the kitchen, me trailing right behind slicing and stabbing at anything!
I must have got something even more important than his penis because he went down on the kitchen floor and started writhing around, but I kept stabbing, chopping, slicing, relishing the warm red liquid splashing over my body, until finally his body lie still the way they found him a few days later.
Cops put it all together after that. Jim was sloppy in the one place he felt invincible, his house. They found evidence on Emily and 4 others. Dumbass even had photos on his computer.
Great and all, but a bit late.
They figured a family member of one of the victims killed him and they never seemed to really care to find out who…
I ran away shortly after. The questions about what he may have done to me. The stares at school. The talking behind my back. The re-opening of the wound of Em’s death on Mom & Dad.
The constant nightmares. It was unbearable. I had to leave.
So forgive me father, because I can’t run from it anymore…. Yes, I killed Jim Calhoun. I killed him for Emily… for me… for all of us. And I’d do it again.