Adam Hazell

by Horror Sleaze Trash on December 9, 2011

Making his second contribution to HST – Mr Adam Hazell….

Superhero with a Bad Back

I take another hit because I can’t throw no more punches. I mean, officially I haven’t retired but I will never be called back into action. Once a week some ungrateful civic servant comes and checks on me. She asks some questions and ticks some boxes. When she leaves I pick off the gum she sticks under the coffee table, put it in a plastic baggie and place it in the fridge. I don’t know what I plan to do with the evidence, confront her maybe? Someday.

Anyway, I can’t fly like I used to but sometimes hookers will sleep with me for free because I promise I will take them up for a cruise. I tell them to get on my back and then I jump off the bed and we float a foot or so off the floor. In all honesty, the jump (and I guess the shallow-moved sex) has taken its toll on me.

When they discover that I am impotent all round they leave all pissed off, unfulfilled once again by a man.

Most of the week is spent on the couch or in bed on some relaxants or, if I’m in the mood, some prescription weed.  No one hassles me about it, enough of my neighbours are old enough to remember what I did for the city but the kids are becoming a concern. They’ll be starting to outnumber this generation soon.

Maybe I’ll get lucky and die (if I can) before I’m completely out of my stash. Jump?

I don’t seem to have much of a choice as none of man’s weapons will work. In the old days falling would be nothing but now I’m old, those days are extinct and I’m relaxed, y’know, I’ll let gravity do its thing and maybe we’ll meet in mutual agreement.

The window opens and I hover.


Some hobo offered me a mouthful of wine if I sucked his dick. I took it, of course, and I was late to ring the bell.

I can expect a beating is on the way. Tomorrow morning no doubt because I know they don’t like to wait and then they’ll talk about restricting my time off the grounds, maybe take away my market trips. I consider defending myself but my spine has only just healed and I could really do with sleeping on my back again, the bed sores ache and ooze as if I’m coming apart at the seams.

I just want to be able to visit my love, the rose seller. Sure, she always has a rather embarrassing camel toe the size of a horse’s skull but you know she gets me.

Picking up some de Sade is all I can do to keep my mind clear of such problems.

So many polluted chemicals and bleached eyeballs (so you’re sure they’re not red?). I know this is mostly hallucination but is the emotion real?

Ah, morning. It’s tomorrow now. I can hear that cunt with that cunt of a whip.

‘Here gimpy gimp gimp,’ he snorts. Laughs too hard and needs more air.

There’s still time to implement my secret weapon and go all out. A rat taught to bite through rope.

I will wait for my punishment under the bell and send us all to hell.

I just hope my love will forgive me.

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