The Near Disappearance and Triumphant Return of Remy, The Blood Soaked Hemy
I should have had the little fucker whacked when I had the chance.
Now he's gone and procreated, and I have to contend with the next
generation of terror that he's unleashed. Remy's children are even more
entrenched, more persistent, more infuriating than their once ailing
father. There on his death bed, he swore an oath. Had I but spared his
miserable life, allowed him to expire in peace, he would vanish and
trouble me no more. I kissed his forehead and held his hand. He cried.
Crocodile tear faced bastard! Remy lay on no death bed. He lured me
to the land of false hope, then ran for the door and barred it shut
before unleashing his minions to feast on my flesh. I survived, vowed
revenge. Now I walk alone, hunting down the demon that tried to destroy
me; The demon I let slip through my fingers when mercy won the day.
Mercy, my bloody undoing.
Remy was my child, an internal hemorrhoid I carried to term despite
my initial jitters over unexpected fatherhood. Shortly after I received
the news from Dr. Within Running Distance, I informed my parents of
their impending grandchild. We named the new arrival after a seedy boss
I had at the age of 19, when I was an aspiring international male
model. My mother prepared a guest room for the little tike, buying up
half of the local Toys-R-Us plush section while my father hung wall
paper adorned with images of the Charmin grizzly bear. I bore my
pregnancy with poise and dutiful grace. "I'm about to become a single
dad," I told myself. "Courage, man. Courage."
But then there were complications. Remy screamed every time I went
to the bathroom. He itched incessantly when I sat for long periods in
front of the computer. He became a giant pain in the ass.
"What does your heart tell you?" asked my mother when I first
broached the subject of terminating the thing that lived inside me.
"I don't know, mom. You know how much I love children. I feel like
he's a piece of me now. How do I give up a piece of myself and stay
whole?"
"Chin up," chimed my father. "You'll do the right thing. You're my son."
Dr. Within Running Distance wasn't so sure. After an excruciating
bout with the contractions associated with a growing roid, I'd gone to
see him about a remedy for the pain. The mere sight of a porcelain
throne, any porcelain throne, had become enough to give me pause.
Something had to be done.
"Kill the boy. Kill him now, or he will be the end of your end,"
prescribed the good doctor. He reached into his apothecary and
retrieved the poison I was to use to destroy my little baby. One by
one, I was to feed Remy the little hydro-cortisone bullets that would
dissolve and rob him of the precious air that sustained his still
forming lungs. His little body would deflate within the walls of my
birth canal, and he would be no more.
"But he's a part of me, doc."
Dr. Within Running Distance put his hand on my shoulder. "I know how
difficult this must be for you. But it's the only way, and you have to
do it on your own because your insurance won't cover any more visits
this quarter."
I called my mother that night, right after I sang Remy to sleep and
fed him the first bullet. He inhaled it right out of my hand, even
though he was unaccustomed to receiving sustenance from that angle. He
made a cute little smacking noise as he chewed on his deadly treat that
made my heart sink.
"That's so awful," my mother managed through heavy sobs. "You mean I won't be a grandmother anymore?"
I said nothing.
"Your father just finished putting up the Northern Tissue wet wipes
corner in the nursery. His heart's just gonna go to pieces."
"Mom..."
"I have to go. The surprise shower was this weekend, and I have to call the florist to cancel."
"The surprise...?" I cried myself to sleep watching Lifetime
Television that night, and for the next twelve nights as I went through
the contents of the suppositories the doctor gave me.
Remy had stopped keeping me up at night by the time I went submerge
my bare bottom in an online hemy remedy consisting of a bucket of warm
water and crushed geranium root. This was a Googled homeopathic
concoction in the Eastern tradition - something to match the expediency
of Western medicine and banish little Remy once and for all. As I
settled in, careful not to let the reddish brown liquid spill out onto
the bathroom floor as I reached for a copy of Entertainment Weekly, my
baby boy called my name.
"Please don't kill me, dad." His voice was weak, and he struggled for
breath. He'd lost so much weight in the last few days that he was
barely even there anymore. His voice may have even been a figment of my
imagination at that point. But then it came again.
"Dad, please. At least let me die on my own."
My eyes welled up with tears. How could I deny him?
"Dad, I swear," he said with all the crushing desperation of an
injured child."Let me slip peacefully from this world and I'll trouble
you no more."
I let my child drift into darkness, the sound of his shallow breaths
fading to a low rattle. Then, to nothing at all. He was gone.
Dr. Within Running Distance confirmed Remy's passing during my
out-of-pocket follow up visit the next week. "No more inflammation," he
said as he removed his examination gloves and tossed them in the
bio-hazard bin. The last trace of my baby hem-hem discarded like so
much garbage left a heavy feeling in my gut that Dr. Within Running
Distance attributed to gas and a lack of fiber in my diet. I slouched
home with a freshly purchased bag of ground flax seed, and drowned my
sorrow at the bottom of a tall glass of blended ruffage.
That night, I awoke with a slight tickle in my go-go area. Phantom
pain, perhaps? Was the recent loss so unbearable to my fragile psyche
that it had to recreate an imaginary version of a lost hemorrhoid to
cope with the trauma? I scratched at Remy's vacant receptacle and let
exhaustion carry me off to a deep slumber...that would have been deeper
had the phantom pain not itched me back to consciousness moments later.
"Remy, is that you?" I whispered in the dark.
Thunder clapped and the lights changed. Disco balls descended from
the ceiling and male strippers slid into view wearing nothing but
2xist g-strings. Loud, angry techno music blared through unseen
speakers with a thumpety thump that threatened to wake the neighbors.
"Im here, Daddy!"
"Remy, baby, I didn't mean--"
"Silence!" came the loud and earth shattering voice of my first born
son, full of scorn and hell bent on rebellious murder. "You were
supposed to love me, to protect me!"
"I did, honey, but you just hurt so goddamn much. You'd even started to bleed a little. Do you remember that?"
"I remember your treachery, father. And now it's time for the
reckoning!" And with that - and a flash of bright light - he
vanished.
I bolted up in bed, panting in a cold sweat. My eyes darted from one
side of my dim bedroom to the other, but there was no sign of my
resurrected dead child. It was all a dream...until it wasn't. The fiber
rich smoothie I'd blended up earlier was screaming for evacuation, and
I ran for the commode to accommodate the order. There was
pain like no other I'd experience during my pregnancy, and when I
looked down to assess the deed - blood. Remy had returned.
Doctor Full Body Armor entered the room dressed for battle. Sensing
the danger of an Oedipal son coming home to roost, I'd recruited a knight from the local plastic surgery building -in Beverly Hills- to aid me in the destruction of the
child I had been too weak to eliminate on my own. Doctor Full Body
Armor closed the clear plastic visor over his face as he approached the
examination table. There I lay, bare assed and on my side, the rest of me
covered with the frail paper gown the assistant had supplied half an
hour before. The Doctor went to his table, and selected a large plastic
problem-inator, then informed that he was ready to lube me up.
"Lube away" I said. "Destroy my bastard son before he does any more harm!"
Dr. Full Body Armor backed away. Clearly, he'd seen something that
had given him pause. As he reached for a more suitable instrument to
confront a more formidable enemy, he pronounced with some caution,
"You're having triplets."
"No I'm not, Doc. My petulant son has gone and raised an army
against me. Destroy him... No, destroy his youngest recruit. Make him
pay!"
Doctor Full Body Armor reached deep inside the lubricated
battlefield, and with his patented suction device he grabbed hold of
the tiniest of Remy's child soldiers.
"Father, no!" said Remy, dropping his own body armor as he raced across the field to the smallest, most fragile of his spawn.
"Too late, my son. Do him, Doc!"
Doctor Full Body Armor slipped the tine rubber band around Remy
Jr.'s neck and pulled hard. Nothing like a little public execution to
deflate enemy morale. I laughed as Remy wailed.
"I'll be back in two weeks when my no good insurance will cover
another procedure, bastard boy. And then, you'll be the next to go."
"Father! I will have vengeance. I will...make...you...pay," he blubbered.
"You already have, child. You already have."



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