Sue Brayor woke up in a marinade of cold confused sweat at 6.14am, a simpering length of useless hot cock free female, a quick flash of her head surveying the king sized bed for signs of life, there was nothing there, there never was. A boots mattress protector had insured that not even dust mites occupied the same intimate space as her.
Patches of sweat had formed on her silly cotton pyjamas, one looked a bit like Bill Turnbull, and that was as close as she would get to having a man pressing their smug rat like face on her.
Her unemployed womb, having long since spat its last useless cunt egg out, was now doing its best to let her know how angry it was at its complete lack of usage by turning the dial on her inner thermometer to the “mushroom cloud symbol” the sort of heat your mum would use on your clothes and turn even the baggiest of T shirt into a Britney Spears belly top. This would wake her up at pretty much the same time every day. Sue was quite regimented about her day, but regimented in the same way that an arsehole will regimentally tear when a wine bottle is inserted up it.
She shuffled to the window and drew back her heavy curtains to view what the day had in store for her horrible sentence of a life, and for Ashford on the whole. As she did she saw the young couple over the road that were brazenly having full and frantic intercourse in their living room, the large bay windows left nothing to the imagination, as she got her focus he pulled out from behind the girl and she turned around fast, just in time to receive the full bulbs worth of viper vomit right across her eyes, face and hair. Sue watched, and although what she had essentially seen was a young man fire fuck froth right across some poor girls face, hair and eyes, it still made her heart sink, and brought home the emptiness of her fruitless futile life and she raised her hands to her spunkless face, turned away and drew the curtains back to closed.
She peered over at pastoral pippin, who would soon be coming round from his nightly drug induced coma and he lay there with his tongue lolling out like a, well a lolling tongue, like a furry Pete Docherty. His lipstick lance was out, he was dreaming, his back legs shuffled in the motion that would probably be apt if he were hanging out of the back of a she Schnauzer. Again Sue’s heart sank. Had Sue’s heart been in the sea, it would have sunk to the level where them fucked up transparent fish live that look like something from the full length directors cut of the Abyss, it wouldn’t have been down here though, the pressure would have destroyed it, or something would have eaten it, a shark or some sort of predatory eel, I don’t know, fuck off, its just an extended observation for fuck sake not some Jacques Cousteau documentary about sunken hearts, Jesus?
Sue went downstairs and started her daily routine of drinking fancy tea out of a fancy cup and saucer, which poured from a fancy tea pot, the milk poured in from a separate little milk jug, that wasn’t fancy at all, and ruined the whole fancy tea ensemble and underlined the fact that Sue Brayor couldn’t get anything right. As she assembled the various tea bits having flicked on to radio two she heard a scamper and then sudden repetitive thumping. Poor Pippin had tried to traverse the stairs on his own and lost control of two legs and went into a full forward roll, like a small canine boulder from the Indiana Jones film, but yelping pathetically. Sue could barely scream as he gathered momentum and at one point cleared the stair by 2ft and eventually splattered onto the small landing at the bottom and lied still. Sue froze as did time for her, poor Pippin was lifeless, Sue moved towards him in utter speechless shock.
As she got close to him she heard a small release of gas and then a shot of hot poop and blood cannoned out of his backside like an old car starting in the morning and made the shape of a Klu Klux Klan hat on the carpet, in brown, then, suddenly his body twitched and convulsed and he sprang back to “life”. Sue was so relieved without thinking she scooped his perishing husk up and held him to her chest. As she did the second wave of bloody hot shit fired out and covered the front of her frumpy jim jams, she felt the warmth of the diseased dung seeping through but held him tight. Pippin thought about biting her face being this close to it, taking a chunk out of her cheek, but he didn’t have the strength and just hung in her arms like a wheezing clutch bag.
Today was set for him, another trip to the vets, more drugs, when would his suffering end, he made a promise to himself, he would take the pills, sleep, get some energy and tomorrow he would bite the cunts face, proper scar her for life. Do a right fucking job on her, at least then she might have him put down?
Sue’s day continued, a silly walk to the silly little shops to buy some fancy food that she would eat alone, alone in her fancy little house on fancy plates on fancy place mates, 6 of them, nobody fancied her though, poor cow, silly old Sue Brayor, selfish Sue, clinging on to her faded past and holding on to her dog when to be honest, 98% of people would, at the very least, have put a house brick across it?. Sue’s love for the stricken beast bordered on insane. She readied the car and put poor Pippin in for yet another trip to the vets.
Sue swerved off the drive and made a slight skidding noise as she turned hard into the road and accelerated hard down the road, the estate car lifting at the front as she floored it, almost hitting a young mum with her two kids, oblivious to this she drove on, the only thing that mattered was her poor Pippin. The poor dog stared at the back of her head, tutted and sneered “cunt” in his mind and painfully started to clean his balls and arse with his own tongue.
He would survive today, but hopefully tomorrow would bring him a glorious end. Sue’s day was pretty much set, the same as today, over and over again, tut, cunt.
