Action Not Justified

He was a rapist. This had been proven a true fact two nights beforehand. Ever since that incident Norman had been desperately trying to justify his actions to himself. To make it out that he wasn't the bad guy. He had been drunk-too drunk to do the right thing-and she had been teasing him. That was his justification. It wasn't his fault because he had been drunk and she had decided to play with the fire that was him.

The girl he had raped was Tania Bladehart. She was Victor Devon's girlfriend and the two had been dating seriously for over eight months. Victor and Norman were best friends, which is why Norman was trying to justify his actions. If he hadn't had any connections with the girl he wouldn't have been trying to justify himself. He wouldn't be trying to justify the bitterly cold blade of a buck knife that he had put to her throat.

He hadn't killed her, just threatened her. His own words came echoing back to him out of the unforgiving recesses of his memory.

"If you tell anyone about this they'll need your dental records to identify you." To his knowledge she had taken the threat seriously. He hoped she had. He didn't want to go to jail. He didn't want to lose the virginity that he really didn't want to lose.
Despite his actions having been justified by his drunkenness, Norman still felt guilty. Victor had been complaining about Tania's sudden retraction from the world. She was hiding in herself and was ignoring everyone. She didn't talk and when she did she was incoherent. Victor had wondered if a concussion could've caused her change in behavior.

Norman kept his raping mouth shut.

This night there was a party at Victor's. Norman had been invited and he never turned down an invitation from a close friend. Beer, drugs, and drunken chicks… Norman envisioned Dorothy, her brainless scarecrow friend, and her heartless robot friend chanting "Beer, drugs, and drunk chicks oh, my!" Tania wasn't at the crowded party. Norman thanked the God he didn't believe in for small favors.

Alcohol splashed all over the front of his shirt as a man in front of him let go of the half-full beer bong unable to take anymore and coughing. People booed at him and a jock took his place. The beer bong was refilled and not a drop was spilled. The jock didn't seem affected. Norman envisioned a sign on the back of the jock's shirt that said "FUTURE SUICIDAL ALCOHOLIC".

Norman sipped from his bottle of Jack Daniels. He didn't want to get drunk again. Not for a while. He sipped away despite the fact. He sipped himself into a buzz and stopped. He didn't want to get shit-faced so soon into the party. There was fun to be had while he could still remember it. Drunken chicks to fuck.

Before the partying teens had filed into the house for the party, the house had looked like a perfectionist's. Everything perfect. Not a crooked picture frame to be found and not a speck of dust or a splotch of color on the carpet. Now Victor would need to spend a lot of money to replace the small lamp with three light settings that had sat in the exact center of what used to be a polished coffee table made of mahogany wood. He would need to foot the heavy bill of renting a machine to shampoo the carpet with and to get the beer stains off of the white chairs and sofa. He would need to buy several cans of air spray to cover up the smell of vomit, urine, diarrhea, pot, cigarettes, and various sorts of beverages with alcoholic content from margaritas and expensive wine to Budweiser and Labatt Blue.

Victor then crossed the crowded, once-perfect living room of his parents' house to the fluffy, white chair that Norman was lounging in. Norman felt like a stupid little piece of shit. He didn't deserve the existence bestowed upon him. He didn't deserve pain or suffering. He didn't deserve enlightenment and bliss. He deserved nothingness. All of the justifications in the world didn't change that.

Victor sat down in the chair next to Norman's that was also white and fluffy. When asked about their fetish for white furniture, Victor's parents would say it looked nice and then change the topic. If you pressed on they would ignore your very existence. The two were the traditional parents of teen movies: honest, caring, only wanting what's best for their child, and completely oblivious. They seemed flat and without anything resembling deep personalities. Perhaps they lacked personality, which is why they chose the blandness of white as the décor of their house. A house to relate to.

Victor was an odd boy. He was over six feet tall-the second tallest student in the school-and weighed between 190 and 200 pounds. He always draped himself in clothes that, for some reason, made Norman think of the '70s. He hadn't been born yet in that decade, but he had seen enough movies that were either made in that time period or took place in it to get a feel for the infamous decade that had thrown this age's middle-aged population into adulthood with cruel abandon as to what their reaction would be. Victor always kept his face clear of any excess hair such as his sideburns and mustache. His red hair was relatively short and his forehead a bit small. Some girls loved him, some didn't. Some girls found him attractive, some didn't. He was between ugliness and beauty. He always quoted movies under his breath while taking tests or working in class, which caused a lot of his classmates to consider him a loony. He held conversations with himself from time to time when he thought no one was around to hear. Mostly the conversations were about himself and his motivations. Norman forgot most of what he heard when he walked in on the one-man conversation, but one thing had stuck with him for years.

Victor had been staring at himself in the mirror muttering gibberish under his breath. Then he stopped muttering and uttered a single sentence. "I'll kill them all, cunt-fuckers and ass-cowboys." Then he had began to laugh at himself in the mirror and walked across his spacious room to his bed and plopped down. Luckily for Victor, Tania had not yet walked in on one of these ramblings.

Victor hated the total lack of energy that the house gave off, which is why he took it upon himself to totally destroy it whenever the opportunity presented itself. Hence the party going on. Victor loved his parents but despised the house. If he had despised both he would've moved out three months beforehand when he had hit eighteen and put all the energy he could into his own cheap, crappy apartment. He probably wouldn't throw any parties in his own, likeable residence. He'd probably have had sex with Tania already if he had moved out. To Victor's knowledge, Tania was a virgin. He just didn't have enough time in which he was alone with her to change that.

Another wave of guilt numbed Norman's brain and made him die a little inside. He had raped Tania and stolen her virginity in the process.

He wished he could curl up into a ball and melt into the floor to forever exist in the white, unadorned nothingness that he wanted and deserved. He wanted to spend the rest of his life in purgatory.

He had been drunk. He had to hold on to the justification. If he didn't he'd have to accept full responsibility for his actions, and he'd go insane.

"Fuck anyone at Marlin's party?" Victor inquired humorously. Norman found no humor in the question. It was at Marlin's party that he had raped Tania. It was at his party that he had experienced the warm depths of her body before any man could. It was at that party that he had committed the sin that he needed to confess not only for the possible good it would bring to his immortal soul, but for the easing of his mind and the resumption of the almost-sane state of mind that had governed Norman through the majority of his life.

"No," Norman lied. He was smiling a hollow smile. He tried to clandestine its fake nature. He hoped he succeeded. "Didn't even get close."

"Sucks," Victor replied.

"That it does, mah good friend. That it does."

"Tania went to that party," Victor stated. "Did you see her?"

Norman somehow kept his face from flushing or his voice from cracking. "Yes I did, actually."

"Getting shit-faced?" Victor looked as though he dreaded an answer of the positive nature. Norman didn't give him one.

"No. No, she was not drinking alcohol when I saw her. She was smoking weed with some other girl, but she wasn't getting drunk." Norman knew what Victor's fears were. He feared that Tania had gotten drunk and fucked someone she shouldn't have at the party. That would've explained her attitude over the last couple of days. She would be distraught over having lost her virginity to some loser and possibly being incapable of remembering it. Tania getting stoned was a hundred times better than Tania getting drunk; she wouldn't fuck someone she didn't want to. In this case that meant she wouldn't fuck anyone.

"I would've been at the party," Norman began. "I had to work, though."

"You told me."

"I did?"



"Are you drunk so soon?"

"No," Victor replied. "I'm high so soon."

"Oh. Marijuana affects the memory."

"That so?"


"Guess that explains why I don't remember the womb." Norman gave a polite chuckle at the very unfunny joke.

"Was she hanging around with anybody?" Victor continued.

"Why are you asking so many questions, man? I already told you what I saw."

"I think she's trying to keep a secret from me."

Norman sighed. "I don't know," he lied again. He stared at the white armrest of the chair wishing once more that he could just melt into the lack of existence he wanted. "She probably isn't."

"She's just so… evasive lately. I'm worried about her. I think something happened to her at the party." Norman sat silently for a moment or two before replying.

"Something might've."

"You're my best friend, Norman. Please tell me you ain't lying. Please."

Norman continued to stare at the armrest of the chair. "I'm not lying to you."

"Look me in the eyes and say that." Norman reluctantly looked into Victor's depressed, blood shot, worried eyes. Victor looked so extremely weathered, desperate, and pathetic that it was hard to go through with the lie.

"I am not lying to you, Vic."

Victor lowered his eyes and leaned back in his chair. "Sorry, Norman. Just so fucked up lately. I'm worried over her health, both mental and physical. If I were fucking her I'd think she was pregnant."

"Understood. Don't pump me full of those stupid apologies. They're corny and unnecessary." Victor chuckled.

Then he said in a joking voice. "I'm sorry, Norm." Norman smiled. Bad times, bad times. He resumed to sip from his bottle despite not wanting to get any the phone rang, barely audible above the music (which alternated between rock and rap every other song) and voices of the partying crowd.

"I should go get that before someone else does," Victor stated before going into the kitchen to his left where the cordless phone was mounted on the wall. Norman put down his bottle and stared at the crowd in front of him. He was feeling exhausted already. He began to think about going Goth. That would be cool in ways and not cool in many others.

A couple minutes passed and Victor came back into the room. He turned right and went up the spiral staircase that led to the second floor which was composed of two rooms and a hallway connecting their doors and the stairs. The two rooms were Victor's bedroom and his parents' bedroom. Everything up there was just as white as everything downstairs.

Norman wondered momentarily what Victor was doing, but then decided to mind his own business.

For the next three minutes he listened to the band Papa Roach sing about how they were getting away with murder. A minute or so into the following rap song Victor descended the stairs. He was wearing a jacket with a hood and a pair of black boots that were very stylish, like something out of a Quentin Tarantino movie. Victor sat down in the chair next to Norman once again. Norman was between buzzed and drunk, so his senses were a bit dulled and his voice slightly slurred.

"Where'rrre you going?" Norman asked.

"Over to Tania's," Victor sighed. He looked worse than he had in their conversation less than ten minutes beforehand. "She's feeling really down today. She wants to be around me or something."

"Why doesn't she just come here?"

"Norman, you know I wouldn't even ask her to come over at this time with a party going on in her condition."



"Aren't you drunk?"

"I told you," Victor said with anger seeping into his voice. "I smoked pot. I did not have a fucking beer."

"Okay, okay. Jeez, man, calm down. Smoke some cancer."

"I ran out of cigarettes yesterday."

"Go buy some, then."

"I haven't gotten paid yet, Norm," Victor was still sounding angry and a bit annoyed. Victor then leaned in close to Norman. "Are you sure you didn't see her with anybody with male genitalia? Don't lie to me."

"I'm telling you the truth, man. I saw her smoking pot with one of her girlfriends. That's it."

"You're my best friend. Don't lie to me. Are you lying to me?"

"No," Norman lied in a voice that sounded hurt and offended. He was getting a little scared.

"Do you swear on your mother's eternal soul that, to your knowledge, she did not have sexual intercourse with anyone?"

"I'm not fucking lying!"

"Do you swear on your mother's eternal soul that she did not have sexual intercourse with anyone that you know of?"

"I'm not-" Norman calmed down. "I swear on my mother's eternal soul that I told you the truth." Apparently Victor hadn't gone upstairs only to get his clothes for going out into the cold pre-winter weather. Norman felt nothing for about a millisecond. Then pain exploded in his gut as the bullet from Victor's father's 9mm pistol passed through his body and painted the white purgatory of the chair red. Personality splattered over the white carpet and white chair.

Most of the party-goers stopped dead in their tracks. Some ducked behind furniture and some vacated the house.
Victor's eyes were swimming in tears and his mouth quivered a bit. Norman was in a state of shock. He fell out of the chair and his blood spread over the carpet more. He looked up at Victor.

"Y-You fucking SHOT ME!" he managed to shout out in a voice that was not in its calmest state. "YOU FUCKING SHOT ME! WHAT DID YOU DO THAT FOR?"

"Shut up!" Victor screamed as he aimed his gun. "I've got fourteen more where that came from now shut the fuck up!"

"Dude-" one of the partiers began and Victor shot the floor.

"Everyone get the fuck out!" he screamed. A vein was popping out in his forehead and he was sweating a lot. Some did as they were told, some stood in shock. Victor shot another bullet at the crowd. He had aimed above their heads to avoid causing anyone harm, but none of them knew that. They all ran to the doors and vacated the house in a panicked mob.

Victor calmed down considerably then and kneeled down next to Norman, who was bleeding like a stuck pig and breathing erratically. Tears were flowing down Victor's cheeks.

"Tania told me what you did to her," Victor stated. "I can't believe you did that. You fucking liar. You mother-fucking piece of shit liar."

"L-Listen to me, Vic," Norman began. "I-I-It wasn't supposed to be like that. I was drunk. It's justified because I was drunk!"

Victor looked at him, disgusted. Norman wished he had thought about his choice of words before saying them.


"No, I-I meant-"

"'JUSTIFIED'!" Victor's voice seemed to shake the house that lacked personality. "You fucking asshole."

"I wasn't sober!" Norman's voice was shrill and weak. He was losing blood fast and the pain was clouding his mind.

"Here's your justifi-fucking-cation," Victor said just before he pulled the gun's trigger and Norman's bottom jaw was obliterated. Blood and bone flew outwards and he died.

The house that now had the personality of the killer it would soon no longer house was vacated of all living presence moments later as partiers in other rooms witnessed the aftermath of the killing and left in a frenzy. Victor went over to Tania's with the gun still smoking in his hand. The police apprehended him less than an hour later.

Norman gained the lack of existence he deserved.


Hey, MorbidMan here. My first story in a while. I hope you enjoyed it. It's very, very loosely based on a true story. The resemblance this story has to what actually happened is infinitesimally small. Other than the rape part and the boyfriend finding out part.
I tried to steer my stories towards the characters instead of the situation the characters are in. I hope it works better than my old style of writing. See you all next story, which should be soon. Within one or two weeks. Bye.

"Fuck you, White! I didn't create this situation, I'm dealing with it! You're acting like a first-year fucking thief, I'm acting like a professional. They get him, they can get you. If they get you they get closer to me and that can't happen!"-Mr. Pink "Reservoir Dogs"