The Perturbing Roommate (written as a tribute to Poe's Tell-Tale Heart and The Cask of Amontillado)
Let me, now, revert to my glorious days of young adulthood, when I was an industrious student at a prestigious boarding school in the Northeast, sent there by my mildly delusional parents, who, at the time, were under the impression that the cure for my intellectual misdirection was a year of stringent discipline and rigorous bookwork. Because I had been accustomed to the frivolous atmosphere of my old public school for so many years, I found adjusting to these new circumstances a mind-numbing and gloomy experience, however, after several weeks of living under resolute austerity, I became conditioned to the miserable surroundings, and over the course of the year, grew quite fond of my new school. In fact, the unwavering sternness of this private school, instead of leading to my downfall, actually molded me into an acute scholar.
Although my boarding school experience had many positive effects in regards to cerebral maturation, my tenure at this institution subjected me to the company of a rather peculiar roommate, let’s call him Barry Fishtail, whose disturbing antics and irregular countenance tormented my physical and mental equilibrium to an alarming degree, and will continue to do so until my dying day.
In order to justify my disconcertment with this Barry Fishtail, allow me to describe my antagonist, for, as I said before, he was an odd character. He was not of impressive stature, standing at an average height of about six feet and possessing a thin, wiry frame, a physique which proved quite functional athletically, for he was an excellent basketball player. My tormenter’s body was anchored by two strikingly unusual feet; wide and large in proportion to the rest of his body, with several of the toes webbed, like those of a duck, so that, when he walked around barefoot, especially after returning from the shower, when his feet were still wet, he would make an unbearable “FLAP, FLAP, FLAP!” sound, which at times drove me to insanity.
His facial features were relatively inconspicuous, and he had an agreeable countenance, except for one remarkably evident attribute; a glass left eye. This eye, when observed closely, had several menacing characteristics which caused me to abhor its existence. The iris, or replica thereof, was a searing red color, like that of a white rabbit, and the pupil, as opposed to being circular or oval-shaped like in a normal human eye, was vertically oriented and slit-shaped, like the pupil of a feline. The most repelling thing about this glass eye, however, was that it followed me whenever I was in my adversary’s presence; regardless of my location, the hideous eye would always be looking directly at me, as if hounding my innocent being.
In addition to his aforementioned physical abnormalities, Barry exhibited a perverted and sinister behavioral and mental demeanor, which was quite incongruent with his modest appearance. To begin with, he was avidly fond of wine and other spirits, so much so that some nights I would awaken at a dreadful hour to find him, dressed in nothing but his bottom underwear, sprawled out in the closet, lavishly enjoying glass upon glass of the inebriating potion while laughing hysterically to himself. This display in itself was unsettling enough, but Barry’s overzealous affection for wine did not cease here; my tormenter, who removed his glass eye at night before laying down to rest, would soak the repulsive orb overnight in red wine, as if it were some sort of disinfectant. Never, after witnessing this routine for the first time, never in my life had I met such a kook.
Barry was a shallow character, who indulged in crude and tasteless humor, especially those involving bodily functions, and he never hesitated to partake in cruel practical jokes, his most beloved of which was to scare an unassuming subject by jumping out and startling him as he passed. Barry’s fondness for indiscriminately terrifying people grew into an obsession, and this obsession proved consequential to me, for he had a particular affinity for choosing me as the victim of his malicious scares. Because of this, I was rendered into a state of sheer paranoia and suspicion whenever I walked into an empty room or hall, knowing that, perhaps, my antagonist could be lurking behind any corner or in any cranny.
My roommate was overly sensitive to and starkly unreceptive of personal criticisms, which was frustrating because, in addition to his incessant practical joking, he was a rather critical individual. Despite his aversion to being criticized, I still took pleasure in making fun of him, and he would allow me to do so for a short while until he set out to put an end to it by grabbing hold of me and administering a barrage of violent and extremely painful pinches – or as he called them, “monkey bites” – until I was put into submission. As a result of these retaliations, some days I would find my chest and stomach scattered with yellow, blue, and purple bruises – the consequence of my harmless mockery. Why – I would ask myself – why must I be so constantly tormented? Oh, but my foe’s torturing did not conclude at this juncture.
Now, let me remind you of my detestation of my adversary’s revolting glass eye, because, although I never displayed or articulated my hatred of the red eye openly, Barry seemed to be conscious of this dislike, since it was in the utilization of this false eye that my rival tormented me most despicably. On a multitude of occasions, at least twice a week, while we were lounging around in our room, he would remove the spherical atrocity, producing a nauseating liquid “SQUISH!” noise, and, knowing I despised the object, wave and flaunt it about inches in front of my face. Every time he did this, I would pretend not to be disgusted, figuring he would eventually cease deriving pleasure from this sick joke. I was able to act unaffected by this gag, until one day, while performing this ridiculous antic, my torturer pressed the slimy, vile glass eye against my lips. At this offense, I practically jumped out of my skin, for I would least be inclined to touch the cursed eye with the tip of my pinky finger, let alone with the precious surface of my lips. I did not condemn my roommate for this unforgivable action; instead, I remained relatively composed and inwardly vented my intense rage, secretly vowing to plot revenge on my tormenter.
And so it was, that for the following few weeks, I deliberated over the proper retribution for my antagonist’s unjust trick, and eventually I devised the perfect, most delightful revenge scheme. Did I mention before, that at night, before going to bed, Barry would remove his fiendish red glass eye and soak it in red wine? Well, it was through the exploitation of this peculiar habit that I would achieve vengeance.
One night, no more than a couple weeks prior to graduation, after my enemy had been sound asleep for close to an hour, I silently rose out of bed, and put my revenge plan into motion. I swiftly crept across the room towards the clear plastic container filled with red wine in which the horrid glass eye resided every night, and as I snuck closer I could see the red eye looking directly back at me as I descended upon it. What a disturbing thought it was, to suppose that the ghastly eye watched me in my sleep as well – oh, how I despised the thing!
After reaching the drawer on top of which the eye rest, I cautiously opened its wine-filled container and peered into the jar to observe the dismal orb, at which point the eye rotated upwards atop its toxic liquid and stared back at me. Before the perverting effects of the red eye’s glare could upset me, I craftily grabbed the entity and removed it from its nightly entombment. I then crept back across the room, glass eye in hand, towards where my antagonist slumbered. Once I reached the side of my foe’s bed, I looked over my roommate’s peaceful countenance and the moonlight, piercing through the window, cast across his face, accentuating the empty eye socket, scarred and saturated with dead skin, in which an untainted human eye once sat. This resounding sign of my opponent’s creepiness caused me to clench the glass eye in my hand, as a spine-chilling tingle swept across my body and soul. I regained my focus, and proceeded to grasp my adversary by the throat, immediately waking him, and before he could react, I pinned him to the mattress so that he was helplessly situated. Then, taking the glass eye to his lips, much like he had done to me that fateful afternoon, I forced the sphere down his esophagus and covered his mouth and nose, so as to block all airways and suffocate him. My rival struggled fiercely for several moments; however, these exertions were completely useless against my deadly grapple, and finally, his movements ceased and everything was silent.
I took a minute to check my oppressor’s vital signs, and once it was clearly evident that he was dead, I lifted his cadaver from the bed, and carried him to a predetermined burial spot, the location of which, for the sake of my self-interest and preservation, I cannot reveal. Before properly disposing my enemy, I removed the devilish glass eye from his cold throat, and as the red eye watched in disdain, I buried my roommate in the secret grave. Once this chore was finished, I returned to our room – which I could now savor as my own - and placed the glass eye back in its wine-filled container.
It is in this same clear plastic container, with the same red wine, that the despicable eye still remains, as I have kept it in my possession all these years, and while it sits upon a drawer in my study its glare continues to follow me whenever I am in its presence, serving as an ominous reminder of my perturbing roommate!
Although my boarding school experience had many positive effects in regards to cerebral maturation, my tenure at this institution subjected me to the company of a rather peculiar roommate, let’s call him Barry Fishtail, whose disturbing antics and irregular countenance tormented my physical and mental equilibrium to an alarming degree, and will continue to do so until my dying day.
In order to justify my disconcertment with this Barry Fishtail, allow me to describe my antagonist, for, as I said before, he was an odd character. He was not of impressive stature, standing at an average height of about six feet and possessing a thin, wiry frame, a physique which proved quite functional athletically, for he was an excellent basketball player. My tormenter’s body was anchored by two strikingly unusual feet; wide and large in proportion to the rest of his body, with several of the toes webbed, like those of a duck, so that, when he walked around barefoot, especially after returning from the shower, when his feet were still wet, he would make an unbearable “FLAP, FLAP, FLAP!” sound, which at times drove me to insanity.
His facial features were relatively inconspicuous, and he had an agreeable countenance, except for one remarkably evident attribute; a glass left eye. This eye, when observed closely, had several menacing characteristics which caused me to abhor its existence. The iris, or replica thereof, was a searing red color, like that of a white rabbit, and the pupil, as opposed to being circular or oval-shaped like in a normal human eye, was vertically oriented and slit-shaped, like the pupil of a feline. The most repelling thing about this glass eye, however, was that it followed me whenever I was in my adversary’s presence; regardless of my location, the hideous eye would always be looking directly at me, as if hounding my innocent being.
In addition to his aforementioned physical abnormalities, Barry exhibited a perverted and sinister behavioral and mental demeanor, which was quite incongruent with his modest appearance. To begin with, he was avidly fond of wine and other spirits, so much so that some nights I would awaken at a dreadful hour to find him, dressed in nothing but his bottom underwear, sprawled out in the closet, lavishly enjoying glass upon glass of the inebriating potion while laughing hysterically to himself. This display in itself was unsettling enough, but Barry’s overzealous affection for wine did not cease here; my tormenter, who removed his glass eye at night before laying down to rest, would soak the repulsive orb overnight in red wine, as if it were some sort of disinfectant. Never, after witnessing this routine for the first time, never in my life had I met such a kook.
Barry was a shallow character, who indulged in crude and tasteless humor, especially those involving bodily functions, and he never hesitated to partake in cruel practical jokes, his most beloved of which was to scare an unassuming subject by jumping out and startling him as he passed. Barry’s fondness for indiscriminately terrifying people grew into an obsession, and this obsession proved consequential to me, for he had a particular affinity for choosing me as the victim of his malicious scares. Because of this, I was rendered into a state of sheer paranoia and suspicion whenever I walked into an empty room or hall, knowing that, perhaps, my antagonist could be lurking behind any corner or in any cranny.
My roommate was overly sensitive to and starkly unreceptive of personal criticisms, which was frustrating because, in addition to his incessant practical joking, he was a rather critical individual. Despite his aversion to being criticized, I still took pleasure in making fun of him, and he would allow me to do so for a short while until he set out to put an end to it by grabbing hold of me and administering a barrage of violent and extremely painful pinches – or as he called them, “monkey bites” – until I was put into submission. As a result of these retaliations, some days I would find my chest and stomach scattered with yellow, blue, and purple bruises – the consequence of my harmless mockery. Why – I would ask myself – why must I be so constantly tormented? Oh, but my foe’s torturing did not conclude at this juncture.
Now, let me remind you of my detestation of my adversary’s revolting glass eye, because, although I never displayed or articulated my hatred of the red eye openly, Barry seemed to be conscious of this dislike, since it was in the utilization of this false eye that my rival tormented me most despicably. On a multitude of occasions, at least twice a week, while we were lounging around in our room, he would remove the spherical atrocity, producing a nauseating liquid “SQUISH!” noise, and, knowing I despised the object, wave and flaunt it about inches in front of my face. Every time he did this, I would pretend not to be disgusted, figuring he would eventually cease deriving pleasure from this sick joke. I was able to act unaffected by this gag, until one day, while performing this ridiculous antic, my torturer pressed the slimy, vile glass eye against my lips. At this offense, I practically jumped out of my skin, for I would least be inclined to touch the cursed eye with the tip of my pinky finger, let alone with the precious surface of my lips. I did not condemn my roommate for this unforgivable action; instead, I remained relatively composed and inwardly vented my intense rage, secretly vowing to plot revenge on my tormenter.
And so it was, that for the following few weeks, I deliberated over the proper retribution for my antagonist’s unjust trick, and eventually I devised the perfect, most delightful revenge scheme. Did I mention before, that at night, before going to bed, Barry would remove his fiendish red glass eye and soak it in red wine? Well, it was through the exploitation of this peculiar habit that I would achieve vengeance.
One night, no more than a couple weeks prior to graduation, after my enemy had been sound asleep for close to an hour, I silently rose out of bed, and put my revenge plan into motion. I swiftly crept across the room towards the clear plastic container filled with red wine in which the horrid glass eye resided every night, and as I snuck closer I could see the red eye looking directly back at me as I descended upon it. What a disturbing thought it was, to suppose that the ghastly eye watched me in my sleep as well – oh, how I despised the thing!
After reaching the drawer on top of which the eye rest, I cautiously opened its wine-filled container and peered into the jar to observe the dismal orb, at which point the eye rotated upwards atop its toxic liquid and stared back at me. Before the perverting effects of the red eye’s glare could upset me, I craftily grabbed the entity and removed it from its nightly entombment. I then crept back across the room, glass eye in hand, towards where my antagonist slumbered. Once I reached the side of my foe’s bed, I looked over my roommate’s peaceful countenance and the moonlight, piercing through the window, cast across his face, accentuating the empty eye socket, scarred and saturated with dead skin, in which an untainted human eye once sat. This resounding sign of my opponent’s creepiness caused me to clench the glass eye in my hand, as a spine-chilling tingle swept across my body and soul. I regained my focus, and proceeded to grasp my adversary by the throat, immediately waking him, and before he could react, I pinned him to the mattress so that he was helplessly situated. Then, taking the glass eye to his lips, much like he had done to me that fateful afternoon, I forced the sphere down his esophagus and covered his mouth and nose, so as to block all airways and suffocate him. My rival struggled fiercely for several moments; however, these exertions were completely useless against my deadly grapple, and finally, his movements ceased and everything was silent.
I took a minute to check my oppressor’s vital signs, and once it was clearly evident that he was dead, I lifted his cadaver from the bed, and carried him to a predetermined burial spot, the location of which, for the sake of my self-interest and preservation, I cannot reveal. Before properly disposing my enemy, I removed the devilish glass eye from his cold throat, and as the red eye watched in disdain, I buried my roommate in the secret grave. Once this chore was finished, I returned to our room – which I could now savor as my own - and placed the glass eye back in its wine-filled container.
It is in this same clear plastic container, with the same red wine, that the despicable eye still remains, as I have kept it in my possession all these years, and while it sits upon a drawer in my study its glare continues to follow me whenever I am in its presence, serving as an ominous reminder of my perturbing roommate!
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