Warning: NOT FOR GENERAL AUDIENCES. Contains foul language and sexual themes possibly involving minors.
An interpretation of a 40 year old Oskar who's remained with Eli.
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Oskar took another long pull from his beer, put his mug down with a bang and lit up another cigarette. He scratched the back of his hand with the greying stubble on his chin.
That one didn't go none too smooth. I wonder how long it's going to take before the piglets in this town start squealing.
What the hell is the name of this miserable little hole, anyway? We've been here, what? Two nights already? The list of places we've already been is getting pretty long. We should get a computer. Where are we going next that we haven't been to in, oh, the past five years or so? I don't remember.
Oh, hell, who cares? So long as they have a bar, they're all the same.
He looked the cracks in his hands. They're dried out and calloused.
Good thing she's having another one of her Big Sleeps. She'd yell at me if she could see me now, like having a couple of beers and a couple of butts is such a goddamn evil thing. Where does she get off telling me what I can or can't do with my body, especially when she's not around? Bitch makes carrion out of long pork every other day and I'm the bad guy for wanting something to steady my nerves? It turns me into a monster?
Gimme a frickin BREAK!
"Bartender, another mug and a couple more shots!"
I better get up off my dead ass, haul the piggy home. She's going to be starving if she wakes up tonight. I would be, too, if I just took a three month nap.
She told me not to. She says she can take care of herself. Yeah, the uppity little bitch can take care of herself, alright, just like that time a couple years ago when she almost got her fishbelly white ass fried in the sun because she couldn't even crawl. What the hell am I supposed to do, just let her starve?
Maybe I should. Being with her ain't no picnic like I thought it was gonna be when I ran away from home with her. What was I thinking? It was going to be all walks in the moonlight and games and lots and lots of kissing? She told me what she was, made sure I understood it, but she didn't tell me it's such a huge pain in the ass keeping a vampire alive! Moving every month or every week or every other day, that's bad. Staying away from people, that's hard sometimes. Having to remember to wipe everything I ever touch, that's just miserable. It's hard to remember to cut my hair, or let it grow, or dye it, or wear a different hat every other day.
The little piggy I got all tied up and gift wrapped for her, though, that's the worst. Does it have a mother and father? Brothers? Sisters? People who'll miss it in just a few hours? It kinda looks like this friend I used to have...
No, don't think about it. It's a pig. It's food. That's all I can afford to think about. Don't think about it at all.
You don't like it when I do stuff like this, little girl? You don't like bruised heads and broken noses? Too goddamn bad! You didn't tell me what your life was like! You didn't tell me what to expect! You tell me not to do anything for you and expect me to sit on my hands wondering if you're even fucking still alive!?
Or maybe you're just upset because I take from the sows what you can't give..? What right would you have to say anything? Who the hell cares what happens to a pig when it's just going to be maggot food in a few hours?
Oskar was too lost in his thoughts to pay much attention to what's going on around him. This never used to happen. Then, again, he never used to drink this much, either.
The man sitting two stools away said something to him. When Oskar didn't answer, the man reddened, got up off his stool and moved closer to Oskar. He said something again. Oskar still didn't answer, gave no sign he even knew anybody was talking to him. The man grabbed Oskar by the shoulder and spun him around.
The man looked like a lumberjack, work boots, checkered jacket and all. He was about a hundred pounds heavier than Oskar and almost a whole head taller. His fists looked like ham hocks. Oskar's slender, wiry body didn't look like it would last a single round in the ring with this gorilla.
"Don't you answer people when they talk to you, son?"
Oskar looked the lumberjack in the eye, saying nothing. He didn't move; he was a statue.
You wanna start something with me?
"Well? Say something!"
Oskar just sat on his stool, silent, looking at the lumberjack. Barely breathing. Not moving, not even his eyes, not even to blink. His eyes seem vacant.
You wanna start something with me? Please, yes, start something with me. If you drop it, if you just walk away, I'll go back to my beer and forget your mindless stupid grunting, but if you start something, I'll love to get into it with you. I've gotten into it with farmers with baseball bats and cops with guns, and I've just gotten into it with a little blue-eyed blonde sow who can't even be seventeen yet because she was the only piggy I could find alone, and I'm in a really rotten mood and if you even TWITCH the wrong way, I'll do things to you you can't even fucking imagine, you dripping limp little PRICK! Believe me, it'll feel good, I'll love feeling your bones break under my fists, and if there weren't other people around, you'd be joining the other piggy for dinner tonight. If you lived.
The lumberjack's angry expression loosened just a tad. Something wasn't right. Something about him made the lumberjack think of a steel winch cable pulled much too taut.
And you know what? She was right about one thing, my days for being bullied are over. LONG over, but she said that was because she was going to protect me. I protected her, too, because sometimes I had no choice. More I protected her, more I got good at it. It's easy when the only rule is "kill or die". Easier than you could ever imagine. I don't think I've ever fought "fair" in my whole life, not even once. I can see where to hit your throat. While you're busy dealing with that, maybe I'll twist your arm out of your shoulder, or maybe just bend your knee or elbow backwards. Will I stop short of crushing your temples or twisting your neck? I don't know. Really, I don't even give a simple shit, but maybe I will. It's just too easy to kill, even a hog your size, with a single punch. I could do you so you don't even make a sound before your carcass hits the ground.
And then, no matter what, I'll take your jacket and give it to my twelve year old girlfriend. She'll have a nice thing to wear that'll fit in perfectly with this sad little nothing of a shitpen town with its few hundred oinking pigs, and if you manage to hurt me at all, she'll know your pig smell. If you live, you'll wish you hadn't.
And she won't be happy if we have to move right after waking up. She ain't somebody you want to be around when she ain't happy. You can take that one to the bank.
So, pig, wanna start something with me? Please, I beg you, DO!
The lumberjack held Oskar's gaze for just a moment or two. He gradually took on a kind of sick look, as if he'd eaten something that didn't agree with him. He backed up, slowly, not saying a word before turning around and walking quickly out of the bar. He was visibly paler than when he'd walked in.
Oskar watched the man leaving, still not moving, still barely breathing. He watched the door open and close. After a few moments, he turned back to his beer, shots of whiskey and pack of cigarettes.
His hand was rock steady when he drew the mug up to his face to take another long pull.
Why can't she find help that isn't always trying to grab her ass? She doesn't even really HAVE one! Why are these idiots always bothered by the fact that I'm her boyfriend? You'd think it'd be easy, just wave a few tens of thousands of kronor under their noses and tell them to keep their eyes down, their mouths shut and their goddamn hands to themselves! But NO, they have to think they've fallen in love!
Like the mindless panting juicebags with their tongues hanging out their snouts even know what love is. Pshah.
If she could find some other way of making sure she's going to be taken care of after her Big Sleeps, I wouldn't do this. I promise you this. You think I LIKE hearing these animals squeal and grunt when I bring them in? I don't! I fucking HATE it!
And I hate it when she says it's turning me into a monster. I'm losing touch with my humanity? Hey, yea, that's a good one! Look who's talking!
Yea, I think I better get going. If the little queen wakes up and dinner's not ready, who knows what she might do?
Besides, if I can get the piggy home early enough, maybe I could have some fun.