The Many Works of Pat Hatt
December 19, 2016
The blood seeping from the severed fingers at my feet would have made my stomach squirm a few short days ago, but now they are a welcome sight after all I have seen. One of those fingers could have easily been mine as the demented crazies pushed against the boards I was hammering in. Thankfully I have good hand eye coordination. That and my ability to run very fast are the only reason I am the sole survivor on this Hellhole of an island.
I should really use survivor loosely as my bloodied, malnourished and bruised body could be considered borderline at best. At this point the pain has numbed my senses to everything so I am unable to tell you for certain what’s broken and what’s not. For all I know this radio has no signal and I am here talking to myself while waiting to see what those things are going to try next. By the sounds of it I won’t be waiting very long. The glass smashing at the other end of this shack would signify that.
I can see the phlegm dripping from the demented crazy right now. Those dead eyes look ready to pop from its rotten head as it stares at me from the doorway. He’s taking his first step toward me now, his rotting-flesh feet singeing the flooring. Oh, the bucket of nails I set up above the door just dropped and stabbed him in the head. I think you’d call that an introvert porcupine. Now I either have to drag his rotten body out of here or stare at it. Decisions, decisions.
You laugh, but when you’re stuck on a tropical island that has been overrun by demented crazies and you have no internet, no phone, and not even a woman to eyeball, you have to weigh these decisions out to fill your day. I suppose the later isn’t entirely true because there are women, they are just a bit rotten at the moment. If that’s your thing I’d call you a sicko, but I won’t be around to judge much longer, so feel free to enjoy your rotten porn.
Great. Another has appeared in the doorway and it’s a she. She’s surveying the room, not wanting to end up like her friend. I’d describe her to you but I’d feel too dirty doing so. There are some things even I won’t write about. Like how her bikini has somehow stretched within her rotting flesh and now everything is showing. Except it is kind of like a puzzle that you are missing a few pieces to. I guess I can describe it. Never mind me. It must be the fever talking.
Come to paradise they said. Enjoy the clear water they said. Cheap accommodations they said. Unplug from life for a while they said. Whoever they are I’d like to stab in the face with that axe that just swung out and chopped off her feet. Rotting flesh sure has its downside for these demented crazies as it makes it easier to get my Home Alone on. Excuse me. She’s still alive and crawling toward me. I’ll be right…
Where were we? Oh right. That sound you heard was me taking my hammer and bashing her brain in. Rotten brain matter flew everywhere. It is as disgusting as it sounds. But what is a little more rotten flesh stuck to me? By now I probably look like roadkill that’s been left in the desert. Have you ever had rotting guts on you in the humid sun? Not only do you sweat in places that were never meant to sweat but the rotting crap sticks to that sweat and molds right to your skin. At this point there is more of them showing on me than me.
And now they are going with the whole strength in numbers routine. I count five of them staring back at me. Even with that rotting brain they still have some thought process. They are looking at their two dead demented crazy buddies and foaming at the mouth to get at me. They’ve already chowed down on the Big Macs of this Hellhole and now they’ve come for scraps. If I was juicier they’d have rushed me and never let me talk into this thing. I guess it pays to be what dumpster divers settle for. If they get a hold of me they better chew wisely because I’ll try my damnedest to make them choke on me.
Whoa. I almost got you wet. That would have left me completely bored. Speaking of board, did you know that a little rotten flesh can weaken boards enough to cause the floorboards to give way and make a horde of demented crazies plummet into the sea below? The demented crazies can’t swim either. I never knew that. Look at the disgusting creatures boil and sink. Oh, right, you can’t look. You’ll have to take my word for it.
I’m sorry if my voice is starting to go. Even with all of this water it’s been a day since I had a drink. It won’t matter anyway. There are eight more staring at me and the walls are shaking, I’m surrounded. I fear this is the end of my broadcast. If only I had picked a three-hour tour. At least then I’d have Mary Ann to swap spit with. Now all I got is demented crazies.
That sound you heard was me lighting explosives. It’s a make shift bomb so I have no idea if it will work, but in a few seconds we’ll find out. I’m going to sink this tropical shack like the Titanic. Maybe I’ll get lucky and find a door to float on while I await my saviors. Only seconds now. This is Patrick Hatt telling you to stay plugged in. If you want sand and sun, get a sandbox in the backyard. You’ll…
And there we are. Thoughts at your sand bar? I think I’ll stray from any tropical islands. Not that they are any Utopian dream of mine, but I always thought how being away from civilization can leave you up the creek. The more secluded you are the more things can surely go wrong and leave you screwed. Not in the fun way either. You just never know when demented crazies are going to try to eat you.
Enjoy life forget the strife.