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NeoGAF Creative Writing Challenge #88 - "Rough Luck"
- Thread starter Cyan
- Start date
- Status
British Monsoon
Member
Tiro waited with baited breath, fingers taut about the string of his bow. From his tree top perch he surveyed the forest floor and marked the three men who skulked beneath him, long rifles held in dirty hands. Their sweat stained clothes had cast a reek that hit his nose minutes before they crept into sight, so Tiro sat, as quiet as a spider, and watched. The men's grimy faces darted about at every rustle and call from the forest, their steps panicked and uncertain, booted feet catching on root and vine. In sharp voices they spoke, an argument Tiro thought, although he could not understand a word of their strange tongue. They were lost, he decided, as he watched them stumble deeper into the forest.
Once their voices had completely receded into the distance, Tiro slowly descended from his hiding place. He looked about at the undergrowth and it was if a rampaging boar had crashed through, the men taking little heed of the many marks they were leaving behind them. It would be beyond simple for the hunters from the village to follow their tracks, but Tiro suspected that it would be wiser to leave them to their fates. There was no chance of them finding their way to the village in the direction they had headed and Tiro hoped their presence would pass by without incident. So with careful steps he silently made his way across the forest floor, weaving between bush and tree, jumping trickling streams, his tired feet headed eagerly towards home.
Though Tiro slept, he found little rest. His dreams were dark, a perfect match for the pitch-blackness of the moonless night and in them he found himself again at the foot of the temple, it's worn steps rising towards the heavens. The sky in his dream was anything but dark, the reeling stars moving high above with unnatural speed. At the temple summit the priest stood, arms raised along with an ululating voice that screeched into the night. He saw his father, stern faced and disapproving at the priests side. And then he saw the knife flash as the priest raised it high above the altar, the ornate polished blade shining under the starlight. Tiro walked forwards and stared at the bound man writhing on the sacrificial stone. The man screamed in foreign tongues and fought against his bonds, but to no avail as the dagger descended and split his belly asunder. The priest raised bloody hands high, entrails and bits of intestine dripping from between his fingers as the skies clouded and rumbled with thunder.
With a jolt Tiro awoke. He heard voices outside, raised in cries of anger. Stepping from his tent he saw his father arguing with the priest, the whole village gathered to watch. Tiro forced his way through the crowd and was at once assailed by the smells of death, the sickly rot of decaying flesh mixed with the sharp iron tang of spilt blood. At his feet, between his father and the priest, three bodies lay, mutilated in the ritual manner. Their ears and noses had been removed, their eyeballs plucked and throats cut, lifeblood pooling beneath the wreckage of their strangely clothed forms, as Tiro realised with horror that these were the men he had seen in the forest the previous evening.
They must have been discovered by village folk returning from the hunt who, as was to be expected, set upon the men with the intention of protecting their territory from these strange outsiders who so continued to intrude. The priest cackled with amusement while Tiro's father raged, his arguments falling once again on deaf ears, but Tiro saw now how right he had been. Only his father had called for the first man to be spared, to be returned freely to the far sides of the forest from which he came. But the gods were hungry for blood, and what care should the village have for a lone man, strange, bewildered and lost? And now, more men had come, in search of their missing compatriot. Where once there was one corpse, now there were three, their blood drained to sate the gods hunger. Who could say what tomorrow would bring, Tiro sadly thought.
Once their voices had completely receded into the distance, Tiro slowly descended from his hiding place. He looked about at the undergrowth and it was if a rampaging boar had crashed through, the men taking little heed of the many marks they were leaving behind them. It would be beyond simple for the hunters from the village to follow their tracks, but Tiro suspected that it would be wiser to leave them to their fates. There was no chance of them finding their way to the village in the direction they had headed and Tiro hoped their presence would pass by without incident. So with careful steps he silently made his way across the forest floor, weaving between bush and tree, jumping trickling streams, his tired feet headed eagerly towards home.
Though Tiro slept, he found little rest. His dreams were dark, a perfect match for the pitch-blackness of the moonless night and in them he found himself again at the foot of the temple, it's worn steps rising towards the heavens. The sky in his dream was anything but dark, the reeling stars moving high above with unnatural speed. At the temple summit the priest stood, arms raised along with an ululating voice that screeched into the night. He saw his father, stern faced and disapproving at the priests side. And then he saw the knife flash as the priest raised it high above the altar, the ornate polished blade shining under the starlight. Tiro walked forwards and stared at the bound man writhing on the sacrificial stone. The man screamed in foreign tongues and fought against his bonds, but to no avail as the dagger descended and split his belly asunder. The priest raised bloody hands high, entrails and bits of intestine dripping from between his fingers as the skies clouded and rumbled with thunder.
With a jolt Tiro awoke. He heard voices outside, raised in cries of anger. Stepping from his tent he saw his father arguing with the priest, the whole village gathered to watch. Tiro forced his way through the crowd and was at once assailed by the smells of death, the sickly rot of decaying flesh mixed with the sharp iron tang of spilt blood. At his feet, between his father and the priest, three bodies lay, mutilated in the ritual manner. Their ears and noses had been removed, their eyeballs plucked and throats cut, lifeblood pooling beneath the wreckage of their strangely clothed forms, as Tiro realised with horror that these were the men he had seen in the forest the previous evening.
They must have been discovered by village folk returning from the hunt who, as was to be expected, set upon the men with the intention of protecting their territory from these strange outsiders who so continued to intrude. The priest cackled with amusement while Tiro's father raged, his arguments falling once again on deaf ears, but Tiro saw now how right he had been. Only his father had called for the first man to be spared, to be returned freely to the far sides of the forest from which he came. But the gods were hungry for blood, and what care should the village have for a lone man, strange, bewildered and lost? And now, more men had come, in search of their missing compatriot. Where once there was one corpse, now there were three, their blood drained to sate the gods hunger. Who could say what tomorrow would bring, Tiro sadly thought.
All right dudes, today's the due da--
Oh wait, n/m.
Mine has been written since like... I dont' know... last weekend. But I haven't had a chance to edit it. I'm giong to knock out an edit tonight. FOR SURE!
I haven't done one of these in... probably a couple of years I guess? I also haven't written really at all in that time, and not at all in the last year or so. So to force myself out of this stupid mentality I kind of just hammered this out edit-free in case I hated it - I apologize if it isn't any good, but spellcheck assured me it mostly made the cut. I also apologize if you have no idea what the fuck it's about.
Title: All Kinds of Messed Up
Words: 958
The tinny buzz accumulated in my head with menacing patience. By the time thought or senses were awakening in my half-conscious state there was a full fucking cacophony of sound tearing between my brains, as if an orchestra wailed on their instruments with hatred and malice. My first instinct at regaining sense was to squeeze my eyes shut as if that would somehow stop the madness in my head. It was futile and I blinked them open through tears, before deciding everything was entirely too dark to see anything anyway.
Something scraped my cheek, coarse in texture like sandpaper against my stubble. I felt around with a lost hand to find a handful of fur and a hissing cat suddenly darting from me. I throw my fists around in defeat on the ground, feeling the dirt beneath me and wondering where I was in such utter darkness with a fucking cat. After a few minutes of a bitter, choked sobbing in the dark the noise finally seemed to be simmering down, but there was still the strange ringing like feedback tingling with an almost prevalent muteness in my head.
I lifted my aching body and tried to get some bearings as I stumbled to a nearby wall. It felt almost slimy to me but at the same time everything from the dirt to the humidity and pressure felt like I had been in a cave so far - which still didnt explain the cat. I stumbled forward until I ran my head into something and I was on the floor once more writhing in pain between curses most foul. Suddenly I heard a pair of voices near me, but I couldnt make out what they were saying. Their language seemed like an amalgamation of languages Id heard throughout my life... but also other things. Some pieces of words or even whole words made sense, whilst others felt like they were being represented by other non-human things or even stimulating other senses I had. After an oft-mentioned grkaa sound I would get a twitch in my left hamstring, as if that were the suffix to whatever word he was trying to say.
I was scared and grumbling at them, but I didnt put up much of a fight as they turned me on my front. I was just too confused and exhausted from whatever the hell I was being forced to experience, and so I lay still as I spouted profanities I doubt they even understood. I could feel their hand, cold and hard and not-humanlike at all brushing my hair on the back of my skull, feeling around. The feel of the hand or whatever that thing had for hands was becoming oddly calming. Immediately my mind sprung to drugs somehow being secreted from their skin into my pores, or maybe climbing down my hair follicles and directly entering my brain like little marching leeches.
I tried pushing at the assailants but suddenly felt entirely feeble; unable to move or think, I became slack jawed and just kind of observed. I listened to their non-talk and heard a cat in the distance. I began to feel some sense of peaceful tranquility, though my head stopped feeding me any information about what the creature behind me was doing to my head. I could feel the cool brushing and that was enough. There was a sterile smell to the location which I hadnt realized before, and confounded me on my surroundings even more. There was a dim sound of feedback somewhere in the distance, though it may have just been inside my head...
Suddenly light was everywhere with perfect clarity, utter darkness to crystal clear image as if at the flip of a switch. Im still laying on my front, looking at a tiled plain white floor. I cant move my body any more, but glancing upwards showed I was facing a wall that was in reality just a wall-to-wall mirror (one-way no doubt - probably had FBI agents behind it monitoring every pissant comment Id make). I felt no malice at the amoral godless agents of the government on the other side of the wall/mirror - they were probably just doing the bidding of whatever freakish alien was controlling my body.
At last I felt a kick in my lower back and suddenly I could move again - not quickly, but slowly I felt able to wave my digits around, my neck making small, almost automated circles. I relished in the feeling for a minute in euphoria, immediately forgetting the fading noises that had been obsessing my brain into a puddle. In fact I was looking around with a new feeling of lightness at everything, registering the floor with interest at the perfectly equal distances between the cracks, and the smell of sterility and slept in sheets nearby.
Moving my head I saw two people standing nearby in quiet observance. I tried to make a small smile for them - no harm, fellas! Their looks bothered me slightly but I couldnt place a reason on why. They glanced between one another and muttered words too quiet for me to catch. The one on the left, a gentler looking man with chubby cheeks and soft spectacles, took a step towards me and reached outwards. I felt his reach and leaned forward with curiosity, wondering if this was an embrace or some formal greeting to the man. His hand grabbed the back of my head, a warm friendly hand on my rough skin.
GLMOV-2.04 recommencing, he said as his hand depressed into my head and at a switch I fell to the floor and felt a tinny buzz accumulating inside of my head.
Title: All Kinds of Messed Up
Words: 958
The tinny buzz accumulated in my head with menacing patience. By the time thought or senses were awakening in my half-conscious state there was a full fucking cacophony of sound tearing between my brains, as if an orchestra wailed on their instruments with hatred and malice. My first instinct at regaining sense was to squeeze my eyes shut as if that would somehow stop the madness in my head. It was futile and I blinked them open through tears, before deciding everything was entirely too dark to see anything anyway.
Something scraped my cheek, coarse in texture like sandpaper against my stubble. I felt around with a lost hand to find a handful of fur and a hissing cat suddenly darting from me. I throw my fists around in defeat on the ground, feeling the dirt beneath me and wondering where I was in such utter darkness with a fucking cat. After a few minutes of a bitter, choked sobbing in the dark the noise finally seemed to be simmering down, but there was still the strange ringing like feedback tingling with an almost prevalent muteness in my head.
I lifted my aching body and tried to get some bearings as I stumbled to a nearby wall. It felt almost slimy to me but at the same time everything from the dirt to the humidity and pressure felt like I had been in a cave so far - which still didnt explain the cat. I stumbled forward until I ran my head into something and I was on the floor once more writhing in pain between curses most foul. Suddenly I heard a pair of voices near me, but I couldnt make out what they were saying. Their language seemed like an amalgamation of languages Id heard throughout my life... but also other things. Some pieces of words or even whole words made sense, whilst others felt like they were being represented by other non-human things or even stimulating other senses I had. After an oft-mentioned grkaa sound I would get a twitch in my left hamstring, as if that were the suffix to whatever word he was trying to say.
I was scared and grumbling at them, but I didnt put up much of a fight as they turned me on my front. I was just too confused and exhausted from whatever the hell I was being forced to experience, and so I lay still as I spouted profanities I doubt they even understood. I could feel their hand, cold and hard and not-humanlike at all brushing my hair on the back of my skull, feeling around. The feel of the hand or whatever that thing had for hands was becoming oddly calming. Immediately my mind sprung to drugs somehow being secreted from their skin into my pores, or maybe climbing down my hair follicles and directly entering my brain like little marching leeches.
I tried pushing at the assailants but suddenly felt entirely feeble; unable to move or think, I became slack jawed and just kind of observed. I listened to their non-talk and heard a cat in the distance. I began to feel some sense of peaceful tranquility, though my head stopped feeding me any information about what the creature behind me was doing to my head. I could feel the cool brushing and that was enough. There was a sterile smell to the location which I hadnt realized before, and confounded me on my surroundings even more. There was a dim sound of feedback somewhere in the distance, though it may have just been inside my head...
Suddenly light was everywhere with perfect clarity, utter darkness to crystal clear image as if at the flip of a switch. Im still laying on my front, looking at a tiled plain white floor. I cant move my body any more, but glancing upwards showed I was facing a wall that was in reality just a wall-to-wall mirror (one-way no doubt - probably had FBI agents behind it monitoring every pissant comment Id make). I felt no malice at the amoral godless agents of the government on the other side of the wall/mirror - they were probably just doing the bidding of whatever freakish alien was controlling my body.
At last I felt a kick in my lower back and suddenly I could move again - not quickly, but slowly I felt able to wave my digits around, my neck making small, almost automated circles. I relished in the feeling for a minute in euphoria, immediately forgetting the fading noises that had been obsessing my brain into a puddle. In fact I was looking around with a new feeling of lightness at everything, registering the floor with interest at the perfectly equal distances between the cracks, and the smell of sterility and slept in sheets nearby.
Moving my head I saw two people standing nearby in quiet observance. I tried to make a small smile for them - no harm, fellas! Their looks bothered me slightly but I couldnt place a reason on why. They glanced between one another and muttered words too quiet for me to catch. The one on the left, a gentler looking man with chubby cheeks and soft spectacles, took a step towards me and reached outwards. I felt his reach and leaned forward with curiosity, wondering if this was an embrace or some formal greeting to the man. His hand grabbed the back of my head, a warm friendly hand on my rough skin.
GLMOV-2.04 recommencing, he said as his hand depressed into my head and at a switch I fell to the floor and felt a tinny buzz accumulating inside of my head.
My name is Jose Ramon Mateo Ecazio Ines de la Trinidad and I will be dead in approximately 8 hours. I know this because one: the Lord told me and two: I am not stupid. I know the consequences of taking on La Moderna cartel. But it is my calling in life to get that cartel out of Tiemogta. God gave me the skills and means. I cannot shirk my responsibility anymore. They call me Obispo and in 8 hours I'll be dead.
I kneel before the statue of la virgin and pray. It is only six in the morning but I am already dressed in my priest's smock and collar. A large saddlebag and my trusty walking stick are ready next to me. The church door opens and a small boy walks in as meekly as a mouse.
I finish my prayer, grab my walking stick, and stand.
"Obispo," the mouse whispers, "Pepe is ready."
"Gracias Jaunito." I say and pick up my things. Jaunito looks like he wants to say something but he stays quiet. I walk out of my church for the last time.
Tiemogta is already awake with the sounds of roosters and other farm animals. An old truck drives past on the dirt road where an old donkey waits patiently.
"Ah Pepe. Sorry but we have one more mission you and I." I say to the donkey as I secure my saddle bag. Pepe and I are old friends, we were in the military together. He was with me when I earned my special skills and we have shared much. It is fitting that he'll be there when I die.
Pepe is too old to ride so I give his rope a small tug and he follows me as I walk out of town. People call out to me and Pepe as we pass.
"Obispo! Bendición!" They shout asking for a blessing. I make the sign of the cross and bless them as I walk past. They don't know that in a few hours I will be giving them the biggest blessing of their lives.
At the side of dirt roads or dilapidated houses, crosses with inlaid pictures serve as shrines to those killed by La Moderna, reminders of what I must do.
Pepe and I walk until noon. Tiemogta is just a ramshackle collection of small colored boxes tossed a verdant valley now. In front of us in the valley beyond the next rise is the compound of La Moderna. Pepe and I stop in a secluded patch of dense forest. Time has come to prepare.
"Ok Pepe. Just like the old days." I say to the donkey patting his neck and pulling the supplies from the saddle bag.
Pepe barely brays.
About an hour after noon Pepe and I come to a huge fence with a gate. Four men with uzis stand guard. The fence runs for miles and encircles the cartel's compound. I could have jumped the fence but I need Pepe. The only way was to go through the gate. Everything hinges on this moment. I lean on my walking stick, take a deep breath and walk forward.
"Stop!" One of the guards calls out.
They look like something out of a bad action movie, wearing dirty thread-bare white shirts,uzis slung around their necks. I look up from the ground holding my walking stick close to me.
"Padre what are you doing here? No one needs soul saving here." A fat guard who is obviously in charge says as he approaches.
"Obispo." I say, "I'm out to visit my nephew in Monte Tigre beyond those hills."
"Oh Obispo is it? Well this way is closed you'll have to find another way to your nephew."
"Please,it will take me until tomorrow to go around and my nephew needs medicine now. I'm just a humble servant of the lord. I mean no harm."
The fat guard frowns as he thinks for a few seconds.
"Search him." He finally says.
One guard rifles through my saddle bag while the other pats me down. I lean on my walking stick the whole time. The guard patting me down gives my walking stick a cursory look and then reports back, "He's clean Jefe."
"What's in his bag?" The boss says.
"Just some medicinal gloves, pills, little bits of metal and wood stuff." The other guard replies.
The boss takes a deep breath, looks at me and begins, "My mama taught me to follow the lord and to respect his elected, Obispo. I will let you through this gate but I will call the guards at the Monte Tigre gate. If they do not see you by sunset I will call the guards to come and find you and you will be killed. Stray from the road and you will be killed. I do not want a holy mans' blood on my hands. Can you agree to this?"
"Si Señor." I reply
As I pass through I make the sign of the cross as a blessing to each of the guards. Soon they will need it.
Twenty minutes beyond the gate I veer off the road into the thick overgrowth and begin to ascend a hill. Ten minutes after that I am in position with Pepe. From where we stand we can see the Moderna mansion jutting out of the thick forest like a scissor cutting through green felt. Already the guards were hustling about. I grin. My information was correct.
Three weeks prior one of my young parishioners came to confession. He confessed to stealing large amounts of alcohol from neighboring towns for a special meeting. Knowing that this boy ran with the cartel I asked why he had stolen such a large amount of alcohol. He said it was for some meeting he had heard about. A few minutes later I knew when the cartel leaders were coming to the compound.
The Moderna cartel was run by four sisters who shared power equally. When one of the sisters was assassinated the three remaining sisters picked up as if nothing had happened. The only way to stop the cartel would be to kill the remaining three sisters. The three only meet twice a year and the date of their meeting is a highly guarded secret. When I knew the sisters were coming it was as if God had delivered them to me.
Pepe brays quietly next to me. He feels my nerves.
I remove a pair of silicon gloves from the saddle bag and snap them on.
"Time to get to work amigo." I say and position myself behind Pepe and began to prod.
Donkeys have unusually large rectums and Pepe was no exception. Through a series of...incidents...I had found Pepe's usefulness. Ironic that the gateway to my shame should also hold my deliverance.
"Aha." I say as my fingers close around a stuffed condom and I begin to pull out.
Pepe snorts a little as the condom plops out.
"Gracias a Dios." I exclaim at finding that the condom had not ripped.
I untie it and three long bullets fall into my palm. The gleam like mana in the fading sunlight. I run my fingers over their inscriptions of "Pedro", "Mateo", and "Jaun". I pat Pepe's hindquarters softly and proceed to pull out three more condoms completing the set of twelve bullets. I might have been able to fit more but I did not want to chance it.
No one suspects a man of the cloth to be a sniper. That was true when I was trained in the military as a chaplain, and it was true now.
I grab my walking stick and smash it on a near-by rock. The wood cracks open to reveal a long black steel barrel.
I work quickly piecing together my rifle from the parts hidden in the stick and saddle bag. A chopper swoops passed overhead. My fingers work frantically. I am running out of time. A minute later the chopper lands. The doors don't open. Apparently the passenger was waiting for her sisters to show up, another blessing from God.
As I slide in the first bullet a second helicopter approaches the compound and lands. My heart begins to pound. I pull my Diazepam from the saddlebag and swallow six pills and begin to get into position.
The sun's light is beginning to fade, making shadows grow long and obscuring my view. I curse slightly underneath Pepe as I try to find my sights. A hummer drives up to the compound. It was time.
As if communicated through telepathy the three Moderna sisters open their doors and step out at the same time.
"In nomine Patri.." I utter and squeeze off the first round.
The gun shouts angrily and recoils. I don't bother to look to see if I hit as I slip in the next bullet. Below in the compound confusion is starting to erupt.
"et fili.."
Another shot rings out from my rifle. Automatically my hands set to the task of reloading as I line up my next target. She is already turning back to the hummer and climbing in.
"et spiritu sancti."
The last of the Modernas hadn't yet hit the ground before I am on my feet and running with my rifle in hand and Pepe in tow.
Chaos explodes in the compound like a hive that had been kicked by some careless child. A quick look back affirms that I succeeded. The Modernas were dead.
I pronounce my own last rites as Pepe and I run.
A search light flickers on in a watchtower augmenting the sun's last rays. I shoot it out as I run.
" Allí! Allí!" I hear a guard yelling and pointing at my direction.
I shoot him through the left eye but I know the game is up. Guards from everywhere climb up the hill towards me.
I turn and try to run but only find another group of guards closing in on me. Two were dead before they realized they were on me. I run but it only buys me a few more seconds. I hear a bang and I fall to the ground my leg turned into a bloody mess. Pepe brays loudly and kicks wildly into the air. One guard is caught by Pepe's hooves and falls dead to the ground with a crushed skull. I fire and fire and fire. Three dead guards, four.
Click. The last bullet is a dud. I am out of shots but the guards continue to come. I turn the gun around ready to use it as a hammer. The sun has set turning guards into shadows of men. I try to stand but fall on my back. I see the first stars of the night flicker in the half night sky.
Suddenly two shadows jump over me. I push myself up on my elbows and watch in astonishment as the two shadows cut through the guards as if they were paper. At first I think they are angels but no angels wear black. No, they are demons. After a few moments the fighting ends and all that's left are the demons. There is a tall pudgy one and a short one. The short one shines a flashlight in my face.
"Jose Ramon Mateo Ecazio Ines de la Trinidad?" The tall one asks.
"Obispo." I say trying to sit up.
"I have saved your life Obispo. In return you will now work for me. Do not worry, I will not ask you to kill anyone that does not deserve killing. I guarantee you, my enemies are your enemies."
"Who are you?" I ask squinting into the flashlight.
The tall shadow comes close to me eclipsing the light like darkness eating the sun and whispers, "I am Al fucking Roker."
I kneel before the statue of la virgin and pray. It is only six in the morning but I am already dressed in my priest's smock and collar. A large saddlebag and my trusty walking stick are ready next to me. The church door opens and a small boy walks in as meekly as a mouse.
I finish my prayer, grab my walking stick, and stand.
"Obispo," the mouse whispers, "Pepe is ready."
"Gracias Jaunito." I say and pick up my things. Jaunito looks like he wants to say something but he stays quiet. I walk out of my church for the last time.
Tiemogta is already awake with the sounds of roosters and other farm animals. An old truck drives past on the dirt road where an old donkey waits patiently.
"Ah Pepe. Sorry but we have one more mission you and I." I say to the donkey as I secure my saddle bag. Pepe and I are old friends, we were in the military together. He was with me when I earned my special skills and we have shared much. It is fitting that he'll be there when I die.
Pepe is too old to ride so I give his rope a small tug and he follows me as I walk out of town. People call out to me and Pepe as we pass.
"Obispo! Bendición!" They shout asking for a blessing. I make the sign of the cross and bless them as I walk past. They don't know that in a few hours I will be giving them the biggest blessing of their lives.
At the side of dirt roads or dilapidated houses, crosses with inlaid pictures serve as shrines to those killed by La Moderna, reminders of what I must do.
Pepe and I walk until noon. Tiemogta is just a ramshackle collection of small colored boxes tossed a verdant valley now. In front of us in the valley beyond the next rise is the compound of La Moderna. Pepe and I stop in a secluded patch of dense forest. Time has come to prepare.
"Ok Pepe. Just like the old days." I say to the donkey patting his neck and pulling the supplies from the saddle bag.
Pepe barely brays.
About an hour after noon Pepe and I come to a huge fence with a gate. Four men with uzis stand guard. The fence runs for miles and encircles the cartel's compound. I could have jumped the fence but I need Pepe. The only way was to go through the gate. Everything hinges on this moment. I lean on my walking stick, take a deep breath and walk forward.
"Stop!" One of the guards calls out.
They look like something out of a bad action movie, wearing dirty thread-bare white shirts,uzis slung around their necks. I look up from the ground holding my walking stick close to me.
"Padre what are you doing here? No one needs soul saving here." A fat guard who is obviously in charge says as he approaches.
"Obispo." I say, "I'm out to visit my nephew in Monte Tigre beyond those hills."
"Oh Obispo is it? Well this way is closed you'll have to find another way to your nephew."
"Please,it will take me until tomorrow to go around and my nephew needs medicine now. I'm just a humble servant of the lord. I mean no harm."
The fat guard frowns as he thinks for a few seconds.
"Search him." He finally says.
One guard rifles through my saddle bag while the other pats me down. I lean on my walking stick the whole time. The guard patting me down gives my walking stick a cursory look and then reports back, "He's clean Jefe."
"What's in his bag?" The boss says.
"Just some medicinal gloves, pills, little bits of metal and wood stuff." The other guard replies.
The boss takes a deep breath, looks at me and begins, "My mama taught me to follow the lord and to respect his elected, Obispo. I will let you through this gate but I will call the guards at the Monte Tigre gate. If they do not see you by sunset I will call the guards to come and find you and you will be killed. Stray from the road and you will be killed. I do not want a holy mans' blood on my hands. Can you agree to this?"
"Si Señor." I reply
As I pass through I make the sign of the cross as a blessing to each of the guards. Soon they will need it.
Twenty minutes beyond the gate I veer off the road into the thick overgrowth and begin to ascend a hill. Ten minutes after that I am in position with Pepe. From where we stand we can see the Moderna mansion jutting out of the thick forest like a scissor cutting through green felt. Already the guards were hustling about. I grin. My information was correct.
Three weeks prior one of my young parishioners came to confession. He confessed to stealing large amounts of alcohol from neighboring towns for a special meeting. Knowing that this boy ran with the cartel I asked why he had stolen such a large amount of alcohol. He said it was for some meeting he had heard about. A few minutes later I knew when the cartel leaders were coming to the compound.
The Moderna cartel was run by four sisters who shared power equally. When one of the sisters was assassinated the three remaining sisters picked up as if nothing had happened. The only way to stop the cartel would be to kill the remaining three sisters. The three only meet twice a year and the date of their meeting is a highly guarded secret. When I knew the sisters were coming it was as if God had delivered them to me.
Pepe brays quietly next to me. He feels my nerves.
I remove a pair of silicon gloves from the saddle bag and snap them on.
"Time to get to work amigo." I say and position myself behind Pepe and began to prod.
Donkeys have unusually large rectums and Pepe was no exception. Through a series of...incidents...I had found Pepe's usefulness. Ironic that the gateway to my shame should also hold my deliverance.
"Aha." I say as my fingers close around a stuffed condom and I begin to pull out.
Pepe snorts a little as the condom plops out.
"Gracias a Dios." I exclaim at finding that the condom had not ripped.
I untie it and three long bullets fall into my palm. The gleam like mana in the fading sunlight. I run my fingers over their inscriptions of "Pedro", "Mateo", and "Jaun". I pat Pepe's hindquarters softly and proceed to pull out three more condoms completing the set of twelve bullets. I might have been able to fit more but I did not want to chance it.
No one suspects a man of the cloth to be a sniper. That was true when I was trained in the military as a chaplain, and it was true now.
I grab my walking stick and smash it on a near-by rock. The wood cracks open to reveal a long black steel barrel.
I work quickly piecing together my rifle from the parts hidden in the stick and saddle bag. A chopper swoops passed overhead. My fingers work frantically. I am running out of time. A minute later the chopper lands. The doors don't open. Apparently the passenger was waiting for her sisters to show up, another blessing from God.
As I slide in the first bullet a second helicopter approaches the compound and lands. My heart begins to pound. I pull my Diazepam from the saddlebag and swallow six pills and begin to get into position.
The sun's light is beginning to fade, making shadows grow long and obscuring my view. I curse slightly underneath Pepe as I try to find my sights. A hummer drives up to the compound. It was time.
As if communicated through telepathy the three Moderna sisters open their doors and step out at the same time.
"In nomine Patri.." I utter and squeeze off the first round.
The gun shouts angrily and recoils. I don't bother to look to see if I hit as I slip in the next bullet. Below in the compound confusion is starting to erupt.
"et fili.."
Another shot rings out from my rifle. Automatically my hands set to the task of reloading as I line up my next target. She is already turning back to the hummer and climbing in.
"et spiritu sancti."
The last of the Modernas hadn't yet hit the ground before I am on my feet and running with my rifle in hand and Pepe in tow.
Chaos explodes in the compound like a hive that had been kicked by some careless child. A quick look back affirms that I succeeded. The Modernas were dead.
I pronounce my own last rites as Pepe and I run.
A search light flickers on in a watchtower augmenting the sun's last rays. I shoot it out as I run.
" Allí! Allí!" I hear a guard yelling and pointing at my direction.
I shoot him through the left eye but I know the game is up. Guards from everywhere climb up the hill towards me.
I turn and try to run but only find another group of guards closing in on me. Two were dead before they realized they were on me. I run but it only buys me a few more seconds. I hear a bang and I fall to the ground my leg turned into a bloody mess. Pepe brays loudly and kicks wildly into the air. One guard is caught by Pepe's hooves and falls dead to the ground with a crushed skull. I fire and fire and fire. Three dead guards, four.
Click. The last bullet is a dud. I am out of shots but the guards continue to come. I turn the gun around ready to use it as a hammer. The sun has set turning guards into shadows of men. I try to stand but fall on my back. I see the first stars of the night flicker in the half night sky.
Suddenly two shadows jump over me. I push myself up on my elbows and watch in astonishment as the two shadows cut through the guards as if they were paper. At first I think they are angels but no angels wear black. No, they are demons. After a few moments the fighting ends and all that's left are the demons. There is a tall pudgy one and a short one. The short one shines a flashlight in my face.
"Jose Ramon Mateo Ecazio Ines de la Trinidad?" The tall one asks.
"Obispo." I say trying to sit up.
"I have saved your life Obispo. In return you will now work for me. Do not worry, I will not ask you to kill anyone that does not deserve killing. I guarantee you, my enemies are your enemies."
"Who are you?" I ask squinting into the flashlight.
The tall shadow comes close to me eclipsing the light like darkness eating the sun and whispers, "I am Al fucking Roker."
Terror
I slap the mosquito off of my sweaty arm, get up, and continue walking towards the city. A lookout climbed up a tree an hour ago to find if we were hiking in the right direction, and indeed we were. We stopped, and now it's time to go on.
The forest sounds alive, with birds fluttering their wings while chirping, and wind blowing through the thick forest's trees. Light is sparse down here, but it is enough to see our path forward, and it occasionally breaks through the leaves above us to give us a little bit of incentive to go on. All of my company is tired, and I can hear their panting and limping on to our destination without much sustenance for the mind or the body. At the very least we can shoot an occasional bird with our guns, or perhaps even a deer, but even simply shooting one bullet jars the arm and brings about more pain to the body, for the bullet is attached to the weapon, bringing it to a stop after approximately fifty meters. It is not possible to waste ammo, but then a miss strikes deeper in to one's mind.
We are still fortunate. Only a few have died on this journey to the city, to simple weariness. None of us harbor any parasites, nor diseases, nor disgust for each other. I wished for others to come along, to leave our home of terror and to travel to the city, a place long believed to belong to men of wisdom and knowledge. This company joined the cause out of their own will, and I was happy for all of us that took the chance. I still am happy for all of us.
I try to yell, but my voice gets forced in to a whisper: "Everybody, get down! They're above us!" These things have followed us through this damn forest. To my left I can feel a kid shivering as he asks "What are they?" Nobody has an answer, because nobody can see it. The forest just becomes dark and cold for a short time when it flies over, and everything becomes silent. This is what, truly, is wearing us down, not the forest. We can deal with having little light and little food, but a constant terror will destroy us in time. I only hope that we can exit this forest soon.
We are blind. I can hear people quietly moaning and shifting around in the spots they fell in. The darkness is pervasive, chipping away at our minds worse than anything else that has occurred in this god forsaken place. I place my hands in front of my face and see nothing, not even a faint outline, but I can feel the forest trembling, waiting, no, anticipating for something to happen. This time is different from the others. I know that the terror will come down here this time. I cannot make a noise, a movement. The terror must not feel us.
I hear leaves breaking under someone's feet in the path ahead of us. It is faint at first, but it gets louder as it terror approaches us. I know that it is the terror. There is no other possibility. We are no longer fortunate.
The crackling gets closer, until it stops directly in front of me. I reach my arm up, but it is the breath on my ear that I feel.
I slap the mosquito off of my sweaty arm, get up, and continue walking towards the city. A lookout climbed up a tree an hour ago to find if we were hiking in the right direction, and indeed we were. We stopped, and now it's time to go on.
The forest sounds alive, with birds fluttering their wings while chirping, and wind blowing through the thick forest's trees. Light is sparse down here, but it is enough to see our path forward, and it occasionally breaks through the leaves above us to give us a little bit of incentive to go on. All of my company is tired, and I can hear their panting and limping on to our destination without much sustenance for the mind or the body. At the very least we can shoot an occasional bird with our guns, or perhaps even a deer, but even simply shooting one bullet jars the arm and brings about more pain to the body, for the bullet is attached to the weapon, bringing it to a stop after approximately fifty meters. It is not possible to waste ammo, but then a miss strikes deeper in to one's mind.
We are still fortunate. Only a few have died on this journey to the city, to simple weariness. None of us harbor any parasites, nor diseases, nor disgust for each other. I wished for others to come along, to leave our home of terror and to travel to the city, a place long believed to belong to men of wisdom and knowledge. This company joined the cause out of their own will, and I was happy for all of us that took the chance. I still am happy for all of us.
I try to yell, but my voice gets forced in to a whisper: "Everybody, get down! They're above us!" These things have followed us through this damn forest. To my left I can feel a kid shivering as he asks "What are they?" Nobody has an answer, because nobody can see it. The forest just becomes dark and cold for a short time when it flies over, and everything becomes silent. This is what, truly, is wearing us down, not the forest. We can deal with having little light and little food, but a constant terror will destroy us in time. I only hope that we can exit this forest soon.
We are blind. I can hear people quietly moaning and shifting around in the spots they fell in. The darkness is pervasive, chipping away at our minds worse than anything else that has occurred in this god forsaken place. I place my hands in front of my face and see nothing, not even a faint outline, but I can feel the forest trembling, waiting, no, anticipating for something to happen. This time is different from the others. I know that the terror will come down here this time. I cannot make a noise, a movement. The terror must not feel us.
I hear leaves breaking under someone's feet in the path ahead of us. It is faint at first, but it gets louder as it terror approaches us. I know that it is the terror. There is no other possibility. We are no longer fortunate.
The crackling gets closer, until it stops directly in front of me. I reach my arm up, but it is the breath on my ear that I feel.
bengraven
Member
The Bad Batch
Mary woke muttering a prayer as she always did. Five minutes later she was kneeling on the bed praying more coherantly.
The boys were sitting at the table. Dougie and Cory were eating as best as they could while Banky moaned and rocked. She was proud of the two for figuring out how to use spoons after ten years of attempts. They were twins, born of the same batch, and both had fused fingers that made crab claws. Which end went in your mouth and which end could spoon? they seemed to ask her with their one large, bulbous eye and second squinting, bloodshot eye. Their skin was shiny like plastic and they never wrinkled - gifts from God she thought.
Banky wet himself.
Banky was the least human of the three and from an even larger batch. She kept in touch with the foster mother of the only surviving brother, bless his heart, and he was having the same cranial issues as Banky. Neither had much of a cranium, nor a left arm, nor legs. He rocked on his stumps in the chair as her husband Tim came over with the glass of NutraMilk and straw for the boy's morning feeding.
Tim and his infinite patience and love for her. He was unsure at first and occasionally had his doubts about adopting the neglected and abandoned, but she told him that the Lord took her womb so that she may care for the children without mothers. He sniffed the smell of urine and his face furrowed with sadness a moment, but quickly was replaced by an upbeat smile.
Tim gave her some eggs, she took his hand briefly and squeezed it and she sat in her third prayer of thanksgiving of the morning. God came in threes, so her prayers to Him should as well.
----
"YOU DON'T KNOW!" she screamed, her knuckles white as she clutched the picket board, "You don't know because I'm a mother! I have three gifted boys at home!"
The counter protestor was being rocked around by the surging crowd, but the liberal bitch was screaming about saving the children (what about their SOULS?) and medical research and how killing the defects was better than letting them live in "misery". She said there was nothing in the Bible that would substantiate Mary's beliefs.
"They're not real! They're silicate compounds!" the woman shrilled. "They're CLONES!"
"Don't you say that horrible word, you Godless faggot!" Mary screamed and reached for the woman's throat. "I am the Lord's sword!" she screamed as they pulled her from the opposition, "You are all murderers and worse, the supporters of murder! The Bible strictly says---" and her voice was drown out.
------
"Jesus, Mary," Joe said, handing her a cup of water in the tent that served as Daily Catholic's HQ. "Are you all right? Do you have the Lord in your heart right now? Do you want to pray?"
"I just did," Mary said, "and I asked that He give me a sign."
"Well, your other signs are on the ground outside being trampled on," Joe said with good-natured smile.
"My sign is clear," she whispered. "I knew this day was coming. When I first came into God, I was a young girl and they started opening the labs. My parents protested every day, even in the cold of winter, and I was there with them in my hat and mittens. But I never believed that the creation of new bodies was a sin. It can't be because God believes we are allowed to procreate and maybe that means more than just a man and woman's bodies..."
"Mary, now you're sounding dangerous," Joe said, another smirk.
"I rebelled. I did drugs, I listened to sex music and drank chems. And I believed that cloning wasn't a sin. But as I grew older and I heard the news stories of Doctor Manuel's clinical labs - all these thousands, millions of children euthanized, EVERY DAY, because they were 'bad batches' or 'defects' and it was abortion, Joe! It's death on a level higher than any little abortion clinic in St. Paul or Souix Falls can do in a lifetime. Billions have died in the last few years, Joe, and they want to ban the adoption of them. That's worse than genocide. That's...that's something new. When I heard about this, I was reborn into Christ. Like his rebirth, I was stronger than before."
"I've never heard you so passionate about this before," he said.
"That's because I have God in my heart right now Joseph," she said and smiled, at first weakly, but steadily growing. "My actions are not my own, but His."
----
"Doctor Manuel," she calls out, and this was exactly as she had envisioned. The narrow bleak alley behind the labs, grime and emptiness and echoes, and tall buildings of brick that blocked out CCTV. The metal in her pocket.
He turns, pale and frightened at the sound of her voice. He's afraid because he works for the Devil and the voice that greeted him was emboldened by the Voice of God. Look at him tremble! Look at his briefcase fall to the ground and all the papers flutter away behind him to spread the details of his evil work to the open world.
"You're n-n-not supposed to be back here," he stammered.
She pulls the pistol, an old Civil War heirloom, and leveled it on the man's face.
He opens his mouth and screams, but nothing comes out. He puts his hands in front of his face, clasped together but not in prayer. Not in prayer as he should be doing with seconds remaining of a sinful life. Not in prayer for the legions of souls that will greet him in the afterlife to serve as jury in his great trial with St. Peter. No, he begs. He pleads for his life, just one lonely life that is so important to him that it outweighs the millions he's killed.
She sees war crimes in his face.
His face explodes and she's alone, holding a gun in her sore right hand. A puff of smoke, like a lonely soul on its way to the afterlife flutters from the barrel.
She hears female screams behind her and man's deep, firm, aggressive voices. She turns to face them, the gun spinning with her and the men in blue lab security uniforms and men and women in nurses' smocks all fold themselves into balls out of fear.
One time when she was young the Sister brought her before the class and asked her to define "righteousness". She knew, she was so smart and she knew, but this time she didn't. She turned red and wet herself. She felt the warm liquid flowing down her inner thighs and it cooled as it reached her knees, then shins and feet.
She feels a punch on her chest. She feels warm liquid running between her breasts and down her stomach and cooling as it reaches her hips and legs. She falls and the gun clatters on the ground where she drops it.
The man in the blue uniform is holding an angrier, slicker black pistol leaves a puff of smoke - like a lonely soul, satisfied that it has done God's work and drifting up to Heaven.
And she remembers her insurance policy and her burdens are over.
---
Tim cooks the eggs, his eyes heavy and pink. His back slumped, he suddenly realizes that he hasn't prayed in weeks. Maybe a prayer or three would ease his burdens. Mary always prayed three times before breakfast and she always found a smile for him. His last smile was the day the girls arrived.
Two of the girls have no lips, no eyelids and holes in their throat. He has to moisten their eyes and teeth every 5-10 minutes. Four of the others have spindle legs like spiders and huge craniums that barely support their necks - these he has to lift from couch to wheelchairs to the lift and then to beds. The other two are normal-looking but have brains the size of a dinosaur's and these two stare, all day long, at everything that moves.
On top of those eight, he still cares for the three boy: Banky, Cory and Dougy. If the police hadn't confiscated the old Confederate gun he would have blown his brains out by now. And, he thinks, he would have taken the eleven children's brains with him.
Marin runs down the stairs, her little ponytails bouncing as she gives each of the other children a kiss on the forehead. Banky in his excitement knocks over the NutraMilk glass and spills the liquid across the table. Marin wipes up the milk with a towel. Then as she hovers over the glass, she squeezes every bit of milk out of the towel and back into the glass.
"What are you doing?" Tim groans. "That's disgusting."
"Regardless of whether it's disgusting or not," little Marin says with her bright young eyes and wide smile, "I don't believe in wasting a single drop."
She blows a kiss to her father-husband and begins her third prayer of the morning.
Mary woke muttering a prayer as she always did. Five minutes later she was kneeling on the bed praying more coherantly.
The boys were sitting at the table. Dougie and Cory were eating as best as they could while Banky moaned and rocked. She was proud of the two for figuring out how to use spoons after ten years of attempts. They were twins, born of the same batch, and both had fused fingers that made crab claws. Which end went in your mouth and which end could spoon? they seemed to ask her with their one large, bulbous eye and second squinting, bloodshot eye. Their skin was shiny like plastic and they never wrinkled - gifts from God she thought.
Banky wet himself.
Banky was the least human of the three and from an even larger batch. She kept in touch with the foster mother of the only surviving brother, bless his heart, and he was having the same cranial issues as Banky. Neither had much of a cranium, nor a left arm, nor legs. He rocked on his stumps in the chair as her husband Tim came over with the glass of NutraMilk and straw for the boy's morning feeding.
Tim and his infinite patience and love for her. He was unsure at first and occasionally had his doubts about adopting the neglected and abandoned, but she told him that the Lord took her womb so that she may care for the children without mothers. He sniffed the smell of urine and his face furrowed with sadness a moment, but quickly was replaced by an upbeat smile.
Tim gave her some eggs, she took his hand briefly and squeezed it and she sat in her third prayer of thanksgiving of the morning. God came in threes, so her prayers to Him should as well.
----
"YOU DON'T KNOW!" she screamed, her knuckles white as she clutched the picket board, "You don't know because I'm a mother! I have three gifted boys at home!"
The counter protestor was being rocked around by the surging crowd, but the liberal bitch was screaming about saving the children (what about their SOULS?) and medical research and how killing the defects was better than letting them live in "misery". She said there was nothing in the Bible that would substantiate Mary's beliefs.
"They're not real! They're silicate compounds!" the woman shrilled. "They're CLONES!"
"Don't you say that horrible word, you Godless faggot!" Mary screamed and reached for the woman's throat. "I am the Lord's sword!" she screamed as they pulled her from the opposition, "You are all murderers and worse, the supporters of murder! The Bible strictly says---" and her voice was drown out.
------
"Jesus, Mary," Joe said, handing her a cup of water in the tent that served as Daily Catholic's HQ. "Are you all right? Do you have the Lord in your heart right now? Do you want to pray?"
"I just did," Mary said, "and I asked that He give me a sign."
"Well, your other signs are on the ground outside being trampled on," Joe said with good-natured smile.
"My sign is clear," she whispered. "I knew this day was coming. When I first came into God, I was a young girl and they started opening the labs. My parents protested every day, even in the cold of winter, and I was there with them in my hat and mittens. But I never believed that the creation of new bodies was a sin. It can't be because God believes we are allowed to procreate and maybe that means more than just a man and woman's bodies..."
"Mary, now you're sounding dangerous," Joe said, another smirk.
"I rebelled. I did drugs, I listened to sex music and drank chems. And I believed that cloning wasn't a sin. But as I grew older and I heard the news stories of Doctor Manuel's clinical labs - all these thousands, millions of children euthanized, EVERY DAY, because they were 'bad batches' or 'defects' and it was abortion, Joe! It's death on a level higher than any little abortion clinic in St. Paul or Souix Falls can do in a lifetime. Billions have died in the last few years, Joe, and they want to ban the adoption of them. That's worse than genocide. That's...that's something new. When I heard about this, I was reborn into Christ. Like his rebirth, I was stronger than before."
"I've never heard you so passionate about this before," he said.
"That's because I have God in my heart right now Joseph," she said and smiled, at first weakly, but steadily growing. "My actions are not my own, but His."
----
"Doctor Manuel," she calls out, and this was exactly as she had envisioned. The narrow bleak alley behind the labs, grime and emptiness and echoes, and tall buildings of brick that blocked out CCTV. The metal in her pocket.
He turns, pale and frightened at the sound of her voice. He's afraid because he works for the Devil and the voice that greeted him was emboldened by the Voice of God. Look at him tremble! Look at his briefcase fall to the ground and all the papers flutter away behind him to spread the details of his evil work to the open world.
"You're n-n-not supposed to be back here," he stammered.
She pulls the pistol, an old Civil War heirloom, and leveled it on the man's face.
He opens his mouth and screams, but nothing comes out. He puts his hands in front of his face, clasped together but not in prayer. Not in prayer as he should be doing with seconds remaining of a sinful life. Not in prayer for the legions of souls that will greet him in the afterlife to serve as jury in his great trial with St. Peter. No, he begs. He pleads for his life, just one lonely life that is so important to him that it outweighs the millions he's killed.
She sees war crimes in his face.
His face explodes and she's alone, holding a gun in her sore right hand. A puff of smoke, like a lonely soul on its way to the afterlife flutters from the barrel.
She hears female screams behind her and man's deep, firm, aggressive voices. She turns to face them, the gun spinning with her and the men in blue lab security uniforms and men and women in nurses' smocks all fold themselves into balls out of fear.
One time when she was young the Sister brought her before the class and asked her to define "righteousness". She knew, she was so smart and she knew, but this time she didn't. She turned red and wet herself. She felt the warm liquid flowing down her inner thighs and it cooled as it reached her knees, then shins and feet.
She feels a punch on her chest. She feels warm liquid running between her breasts and down her stomach and cooling as it reaches her hips and legs. She falls and the gun clatters on the ground where she drops it.
The man in the blue uniform is holding an angrier, slicker black pistol leaves a puff of smoke - like a lonely soul, satisfied that it has done God's work and drifting up to Heaven.
And she remembers her insurance policy and her burdens are over.
---
Tim cooks the eggs, his eyes heavy and pink. His back slumped, he suddenly realizes that he hasn't prayed in weeks. Maybe a prayer or three would ease his burdens. Mary always prayed three times before breakfast and she always found a smile for him. His last smile was the day the girls arrived.
Two of the girls have no lips, no eyelids and holes in their throat. He has to moisten their eyes and teeth every 5-10 minutes. Four of the others have spindle legs like spiders and huge craniums that barely support their necks - these he has to lift from couch to wheelchairs to the lift and then to beds. The other two are normal-looking but have brains the size of a dinosaur's and these two stare, all day long, at everything that moves.
On top of those eight, he still cares for the three boy: Banky, Cory and Dougy. If the police hadn't confiscated the old Confederate gun he would have blown his brains out by now. And, he thinks, he would have taken the eleven children's brains with him.
Marin runs down the stairs, her little ponytails bouncing as she gives each of the other children a kiss on the forehead. Banky in his excitement knocks over the NutraMilk glass and spills the liquid across the table. Marin wipes up the milk with a towel. Then as she hovers over the glass, she squeezes every bit of milk out of the towel and back into the glass.
"What are you doing?" Tim groans. "That's disgusting."
"Regardless of whether it's disgusting or not," little Marin says with her bright young eyes and wide smile, "I don't believe in wasting a single drop."
She blows a kiss to her father-husband and begins her third prayer of the morning.
Tim the Wiz
Banned
Al fucking Roker.
That's all I wanted to say.
That's all I wanted to say.
I have no idea what you're talking about.
Yeah, I know, I was joking.
Yep, I'll probably go last minute, as is traditional. Nothing more than vapor and shadows in my brain just yet.
Vapor and shadows, you say... hm... good idea.
It's friday 13th.. or it will be for you when you write... maybe something along those lines?
Friday 13th
I was in my room. And then I was still in my room. And something happened. I wasn't in my room.
I actually like and miss your stories. Honest truth.
Nah. Crow's around. Just busy.
way back when it happened I was kinda sad about thatl. I read some of the old short stories from way back sometimes, when I'm on a short story binge or something.
Same. I've got an archive with links to all the old stories; it's kind of a bummer that so many are no longer there.
Also, going forward, that some are off-site and probably ephemeral.
ShockingAlberto
Member
“Blow on your hand,” she said.
“What?”
She took my hand from underneath her sweater and put it up to my face. “Blow on your hand! It’s too cold!” She hid her white earbuds back under her blonde hair and continued looking forward. The bus bumped and bounced both of us up off our seat. We both knew that pot hole, it meant that the school was at furthest five minutes away.
I breathed on my hand and briefly considered giving her a peck on her indifferent face. Would she even notice if I did it? Would she mind? I couldn’t muster up the courage to try. “Hey, Julie,” I said. “Hey!” I tapped her on her shoulder.
She ripped the headphones out of her ear, but only the one facing toward me. “Look, we only have a few minutes,” she lectured. “This is why you’re not in a relationship with anyone, you don’t listen.” She pulled her sweater down past her skirt’s waistband. I had been locked out.
“Yeah, that’s, I mean—“ I struggled to regain my composure. “I kind of wanted to talk to you about that. The relationship thing, I mean.” I smiled and laughed a little bit. I didn’t know what I was doing. I didn’t know what I was saying. I just said it. “Can we actually go out? On a date, I mean.”
She yanked out the other earbud. For better or worse, I had her full attention now. A heavy sigh escaped her breath, punctuated by the cold air freezing it in front of her, the awkward moment laid bare for the world to see. “We talked about this,” she said. “We talked and we talked and we talked. I have a boyfriend. He would not like me dating you.”
“But you hate him!” I said this a little too loud, my voice lightly echoing up through the front of the school bus. I had maybe gotten too excited and forgotten our golden rule: discretion is key.
She narrowed her eyes at me, her brows arching down in such a way that Adam & Eve would have feared the look if they saw it in the clouds. “You don’t get it. And keep your voice down. Do you want everyone to know?”
My mouth said “No,” but my heart didn’t mean it. Yes, I wanted people to know! I wanted to tell all my friends that the girl I thought was the most beautiful person in the world, the one I grew up next to and watched from afar, was intimate with me. I wanted them to know that we fondled each other lovingly when no one was looking. I wanted to give them the details I had to keep inside. I needed their acknowledgment. I needed her acknowledgment. I had never needed anything more in those few minutes of silence than her to tell me that she loved me, too.
The rickety frame of the bus quieted down and we filed from the back to the door. The freshly melted snow was deceptive, mocking me as a rush of wind chilled me to the bone. She walked past me, clutching her textbook tightly against her chest without paying any mind to my existence. Some part of me was convinced that she loved me, she just needed to realize it. Formulating a way to help her became my goal the rest of the day. Academics stood no chance in front of my romantic ideals, I was lost in a daze of hope and planning, two things that never seem to work out well together.
By the end of the final period, I was no closer to designing a realistic way to help her realize how she must truly feel about me. In retrospect, this line of thinking was arrogance, but being fifteen and in love, I was not sure that arrogance and irrationality were not my only possible emotions. I chose to walk home, not wanting to ruin my chances with her further before I could formulate my plan fully. The ice on the sidewalk had mostly melted, but a thin patch here and there threatened to send me careening in to the ditch on the side, made all the more dangerous by the broken branches menacingly pointing up from the ground.
“She’d be sad, then,” I thought. “I’d be in the hospital and she’d have to come visit me.”
I wiggled the door knob on my front door. “Locked out.” Mom was running errands, in all likelihood. I went around to the patio door, carefully stepping around the pits of mud that had formed in the grass. The fake rock, left inauspiciously in a sole flower pot by the door, eventually chose to relent against my struggles and release the house-key from inside of it. As the key entered the patio door’s metal handle, I heard a sharp scream from next door. I left the key in the door, dropped my backpack on the wooded planks, and leaped over the fence I had vaulted so many times before, but rarely with such urgency. Julie’s back door was open, it was always open, it was how I would get in. Another scream, this time I pinpointed it from upstairs. I didn’t know what would be behind her door, but I knew I was the only one who could stop it.
Inside, she was crying in the corner, small patches of hair torn from her head, noticeable only to someone who worshipped and idolized every aspect of her. My body reacted before my mind and I moved toward the corner of the room.
“Who the fuck is this?!” a booming voice came from behind me. A bald man in a leather jacket snarled at me.
“It’s just my neighbor, John. John, please, please, just don’t do anything else.” Julie flinched as he punched the wall above her, his knuckles already bloody from working her over minutes before. “I won’t say anything about this, we’ll forget it ever happened, won’t we?” Her voice was cracking, a silent sob that told me this was not the first time it happened. She looked at me, tears in her eyes.
“I…was never here,” I mouthed. I don’t know if any words came out. I was seeing red, my mind had basically shut down. Who the fuck was I? At that point, even I didn’t know the answer to that question. Could I not even stand up for the woman I loved? Where was the person who dove in to that room not sixty seconds prior?
“Fuck you both,” he said. He turned to leave, grabbing his motorcycle helmet off the bed and shaking his hand as if Julie had done him a disservice by forcing him to use a fist. I couldn’t take it anymore.
“FUCK YOU, YOU SHITHEAD!” If I was quiet before, I had vastly overcompensated now. I choose to believe the neighborhood itself must have been empty except for us three, as it’s the only way I can rationalize how no one rushed in to prevent what happened next. The last thing I saw was Julie’s face, wide-eyed in disbelief, before I felt the fist on my chest. During the melee, he said things that I could not make out, but I doubt they were complimentary. Several punches later, my lip was bleeding, my body bruised, and I had been slammed in to the wall next to Julie. It was the place I had wanted to be all day, next to her and her boyfriend out the door. In my mind, I had won.
I sat in Julie’s kitchen, trying to find a place to drip blood without causing a mess, eventually settling on my hand with hopes that she returned with a towel before it overflowed. She did, but only just barely.
“Thanks…” she started. “I…he probably would have killed me. Even when we were kids, you said you’d protect me and you always have.” She started crying. “Do you remember when we were kids? We’d always play together and people would say we looked like twins. I guess that’s not really true anymore.”
“Especially with this bloody lip,” I interjected. It was supposed to be humorous, but I was trying to subtly remind her of what just happened. She was so close to acknowledging me. “Julie,” I said, dripping blood in to a towel. “Can we talk about us?”
There was not a slow reaction. She pushed away from the dining table and stood up. “Again? Again with this? You know why we can’t be together!”
“No, I don’t!” I screamed.
“I am not a lesbian!”
She was. I knew she was. She wouldn’t have done the things with me that she did unless she was. “But—“
“Rachel, stop. Just…no. I go to church every week, I wasn’t abused by my parents, that’s not me.” She turned her back to me to mask the tears welling up in her eyes. “I like men. Don’t you get that? I’m not sick.”
There was a minute of silence. I timed it in the ugly Garfield wall clock.
Her back was the last thing I had ever saw of her as I walked out of her kitchen. If I had the courage, if I had the brains, if I had the life experience, there were so many things I would have told her. I would have explained how much she meant to me. I would have told her that she was not simply her family’s expectations of her. I would kissed her, like I should have done that morning, like I did so many times before. I would have held her in my arms and told her everything would be okay. Instead, I left a bloody towel on her dining room table and walked away.
I went back to my patio door, adjusting my skirt after climbing back over the fence, and shambled to the key still placed inside the patio door’s lock. I turned it, dragged my backpack up to my room, and buried my still-bleeding face in my pillow.
It was not until two cops arrived at my door a day or two later that I had heard Julie ran away. The police officers questioned me about the fight in her room, my mom questioned me about our friendship, her parents questioned me about her life. I gave them the only answers I had. I did not tell them I was the one who made her leave. I did not tell the jury at her boyfriend’s trial that I loved her as I sat there stoically recounting his abuse. These things do not bother me late at night.
What does bother me is that I never told Julie I loved her.
“What?”
She took my hand from underneath her sweater and put it up to my face. “Blow on your hand! It’s too cold!” She hid her white earbuds back under her blonde hair and continued looking forward. The bus bumped and bounced both of us up off our seat. We both knew that pot hole, it meant that the school was at furthest five minutes away.
I breathed on my hand and briefly considered giving her a peck on her indifferent face. Would she even notice if I did it? Would she mind? I couldn’t muster up the courage to try. “Hey, Julie,” I said. “Hey!” I tapped her on her shoulder.
She ripped the headphones out of her ear, but only the one facing toward me. “Look, we only have a few minutes,” she lectured. “This is why you’re not in a relationship with anyone, you don’t listen.” She pulled her sweater down past her skirt’s waistband. I had been locked out.
“Yeah, that’s, I mean—“ I struggled to regain my composure. “I kind of wanted to talk to you about that. The relationship thing, I mean.” I smiled and laughed a little bit. I didn’t know what I was doing. I didn’t know what I was saying. I just said it. “Can we actually go out? On a date, I mean.”
She yanked out the other earbud. For better or worse, I had her full attention now. A heavy sigh escaped her breath, punctuated by the cold air freezing it in front of her, the awkward moment laid bare for the world to see. “We talked about this,” she said. “We talked and we talked and we talked. I have a boyfriend. He would not like me dating you.”
“But you hate him!” I said this a little too loud, my voice lightly echoing up through the front of the school bus. I had maybe gotten too excited and forgotten our golden rule: discretion is key.
She narrowed her eyes at me, her brows arching down in such a way that Adam & Eve would have feared the look if they saw it in the clouds. “You don’t get it. And keep your voice down. Do you want everyone to know?”
My mouth said “No,” but my heart didn’t mean it. Yes, I wanted people to know! I wanted to tell all my friends that the girl I thought was the most beautiful person in the world, the one I grew up next to and watched from afar, was intimate with me. I wanted them to know that we fondled each other lovingly when no one was looking. I wanted to give them the details I had to keep inside. I needed their acknowledgment. I needed her acknowledgment. I had never needed anything more in those few minutes of silence than her to tell me that she loved me, too.
The rickety frame of the bus quieted down and we filed from the back to the door. The freshly melted snow was deceptive, mocking me as a rush of wind chilled me to the bone. She walked past me, clutching her textbook tightly against her chest without paying any mind to my existence. Some part of me was convinced that she loved me, she just needed to realize it. Formulating a way to help her became my goal the rest of the day. Academics stood no chance in front of my romantic ideals, I was lost in a daze of hope and planning, two things that never seem to work out well together.
By the end of the final period, I was no closer to designing a realistic way to help her realize how she must truly feel about me. In retrospect, this line of thinking was arrogance, but being fifteen and in love, I was not sure that arrogance and irrationality were not my only possible emotions. I chose to walk home, not wanting to ruin my chances with her further before I could formulate my plan fully. The ice on the sidewalk had mostly melted, but a thin patch here and there threatened to send me careening in to the ditch on the side, made all the more dangerous by the broken branches menacingly pointing up from the ground.
“She’d be sad, then,” I thought. “I’d be in the hospital and she’d have to come visit me.”
I wiggled the door knob on my front door. “Locked out.” Mom was running errands, in all likelihood. I went around to the patio door, carefully stepping around the pits of mud that had formed in the grass. The fake rock, left inauspiciously in a sole flower pot by the door, eventually chose to relent against my struggles and release the house-key from inside of it. As the key entered the patio door’s metal handle, I heard a sharp scream from next door. I left the key in the door, dropped my backpack on the wooded planks, and leaped over the fence I had vaulted so many times before, but rarely with such urgency. Julie’s back door was open, it was always open, it was how I would get in. Another scream, this time I pinpointed it from upstairs. I didn’t know what would be behind her door, but I knew I was the only one who could stop it.
Inside, she was crying in the corner, small patches of hair torn from her head, noticeable only to someone who worshipped and idolized every aspect of her. My body reacted before my mind and I moved toward the corner of the room.
“Who the fuck is this?!” a booming voice came from behind me. A bald man in a leather jacket snarled at me.
“It’s just my neighbor, John. John, please, please, just don’t do anything else.” Julie flinched as he punched the wall above her, his knuckles already bloody from working her over minutes before. “I won’t say anything about this, we’ll forget it ever happened, won’t we?” Her voice was cracking, a silent sob that told me this was not the first time it happened. She looked at me, tears in her eyes.
“I…was never here,” I mouthed. I don’t know if any words came out. I was seeing red, my mind had basically shut down. Who the fuck was I? At that point, even I didn’t know the answer to that question. Could I not even stand up for the woman I loved? Where was the person who dove in to that room not sixty seconds prior?
“Fuck you both,” he said. He turned to leave, grabbing his motorcycle helmet off the bed and shaking his hand as if Julie had done him a disservice by forcing him to use a fist. I couldn’t take it anymore.
“FUCK YOU, YOU SHITHEAD!” If I was quiet before, I had vastly overcompensated now. I choose to believe the neighborhood itself must have been empty except for us three, as it’s the only way I can rationalize how no one rushed in to prevent what happened next. The last thing I saw was Julie’s face, wide-eyed in disbelief, before I felt the fist on my chest. During the melee, he said things that I could not make out, but I doubt they were complimentary. Several punches later, my lip was bleeding, my body bruised, and I had been slammed in to the wall next to Julie. It was the place I had wanted to be all day, next to her and her boyfriend out the door. In my mind, I had won.
I sat in Julie’s kitchen, trying to find a place to drip blood without causing a mess, eventually settling on my hand with hopes that she returned with a towel before it overflowed. She did, but only just barely.
“Thanks…” she started. “I…he probably would have killed me. Even when we were kids, you said you’d protect me and you always have.” She started crying. “Do you remember when we were kids? We’d always play together and people would say we looked like twins. I guess that’s not really true anymore.”
“Especially with this bloody lip,” I interjected. It was supposed to be humorous, but I was trying to subtly remind her of what just happened. She was so close to acknowledging me. “Julie,” I said, dripping blood in to a towel. “Can we talk about us?”
There was not a slow reaction. She pushed away from the dining table and stood up. “Again? Again with this? You know why we can’t be together!”
“No, I don’t!” I screamed.
“I am not a lesbian!”
She was. I knew she was. She wouldn’t have done the things with me that she did unless she was. “But—“
“Rachel, stop. Just…no. I go to church every week, I wasn’t abused by my parents, that’s not me.” She turned her back to me to mask the tears welling up in her eyes. “I like men. Don’t you get that? I’m not sick.”
There was a minute of silence. I timed it in the ugly Garfield wall clock.
Her back was the last thing I had ever saw of her as I walked out of her kitchen. If I had the courage, if I had the brains, if I had the life experience, there were so many things I would have told her. I would have explained how much she meant to me. I would have told her that she was not simply her family’s expectations of her. I would kissed her, like I should have done that morning, like I did so many times before. I would have held her in my arms and told her everything would be okay. Instead, I left a bloody towel on her dining room table and walked away.
I went back to my patio door, adjusting my skirt after climbing back over the fence, and shambled to the key still placed inside the patio door’s lock. I turned it, dragged my backpack up to my room, and buried my still-bleeding face in my pillow.
It was not until two cops arrived at my door a day or two later that I had heard Julie ran away. The police officers questioned me about the fight in her room, my mom questioned me about our friendship, her parents questioned me about her life. I gave them the only answers I had. I did not tell them I was the one who made her leave. I did not tell the jury at her boyfriend’s trial that I loved her as I sat there stoically recounting his abuse. These things do not bother me late at night.
What does bother me is that I never told Julie I loved her.
Sorry, Cyan.
I still plan on removing all of mine, I just haven't had time. But I have to say that I love tidypub and how clean and simple it is on all devices I read from.FlutterPuffs
Member
Aw man it's over? Would love to join.
Nope, it's not.
Man, no time for this tonight because I just realized I have class in the morning. :/ Oh well, the only thing I had in my mind was of a window breaking and then a guy putting a massive wardrobe in its place which would then fall over. Next, the guy would nail a plywood panel over the hole and that would end up with a massive hole in it. Basically, I had nothing.
bengraven
Member
Don't tempt me!
I don't know why but I just busted out laughing. Make this happen in 300 words and I will vote you #1!
The Gods Must Choose (470 words)
http://tidypub.org/DVbvA
....
Also, if you're bored and want to crit or even just read another story, I was fiddling around with this one -- it was hard for me to decide which to choose. I don't think it has as much of a bite but it was fun to write: Voila (611 words) at http://tidypub.org/VuxHb.
http://tidypub.org/DVbvA
....
Also, if you're bored and want to crit or even just read another story, I was fiddling around with this one -- it was hard for me to decide which to choose. I don't think it has as much of a bite but it was fun to write: Voila (611 words) at http://tidypub.org/VuxHb.
Contract (940)
Iulia City wasn't much of a port--anywise, the areas they let off-worlders into weren't much--but at least it had a casino.
A small casino.
Thomas Hatch stepped through the door of the Golden Stone and sighed. Partly for the sad state of casinos on this planet, and partly for the knowledge that Alna would never have let him come in here, contract or no.
Damn her for leaving, anyway.
http://tinypaste.com/d6728db3 (pw: neogaf)
Iulia City wasn't much of a port--anywise, the areas they let off-worlders into weren't much--but at least it had a casino.
A small casino.
Thomas Hatch stepped through the door of the Golden Stone and sighed. Partly for the sad state of casinos on this planet, and partly for the knowledge that Alna would never have let him come in here, contract or no.
Damn her for leaving, anyway.
http://tinypaste.com/d6728db3 (pw: neogaf)
Here are the entries (13):
Ashes1396 - Last few thoughts on a journey... (pw: [neogaf] )
LiQuid! - Black Thirteen
texasairhead101 - The Country Life
Bootaaay - Sacrifice
batbeg - All Kinds of Messed Up
Alfarif - Iron Timothy
ronito - The Trinity Completed
Grakl - Terror
bengraven - The Bad Batch
ShockingAlberto - Crush
Ward - If It Wasn't for Bad Luck, I Wouldn't Have Any Luck at All
Tangent - The Gods Must Choose
Cyan - Contract (pw: neogaf )
Ashes1396 - Last few thoughts on a journey... (pw: [neogaf] )
LiQuid! - Black Thirteen
texasairhead101 - The Country Life
Bootaaay - Sacrifice
batbeg - All Kinds of Messed Up
Alfarif - Iron Timothy
ronito - The Trinity Completed
Grakl - Terror
bengraven - The Bad Batch
ShockingAlberto - Crush
Ward - If It Wasn't for Bad Luck, I Wouldn't Have Any Luck at All
Tangent - The Gods Must Choose
Cyan - Contract (pw: neogaf )
Nuh-uh. I'm not going to fall for that one again.
Example:
This conversation was brought to you by courtesy of NeoGAF Creative Writing Challenge #60 - "Brevity" said:I totally just push random keys in and hope to hell it says something.
Here we go:
http://i.imgur.com/Irqc3.jpg[IMG][/QUOTE]
[quote="Alfarif, post: 23397915"]Oh jesus... You're giong to be my #1 vote. I really don't care what anyone writes at this point, you are triple A++++ in my book. :lol[/QUOTE]
[/QUOTE]
and then you didn't even vote. I can't count on you, damn it! :(
:P
I like Ward's title best.
=)
Longest title of the challenge! While not armed with factual evidence, I'm willing to state I always have the longest titles. And I don't mind hanging my hat on it.
Nuh-uh. I'm not going to fall for that one again.
Example:
and then you didn't even vote. I can't count on you, damn it!
Hahaha Holy shit! That is AMAZING! I would have voted but I think... I don't know what the hell happened there.
John Dunbar
correct about everything
I've been feeling too restless about some apartment nonsense and such to actually sit down and write a story this week.
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