{{This had been sitting in my notebook for a while. I don't know why I titled it DOS, it may never have had a title, and DOS was just written at the top of the page.}}
They awoke to find that the tape had been taken. They ran downstairs following the hauntingly familiar memory. It stirred anger and shame into their collective hearts. Anger that someone would steal something so nessessary to their very being and shame that they let it happen. They found the tape playing in Ray and Lisa's old tape deck, worn and covered in a thick layer of dust. Amber spoke before Todd, "You stupid methhead FUCKS!!!"
Lisa kept staring at the wall and Ray barely flinched, at Amber's sudden outburst, the hatred of the words seeming to cover every filthy, discarded, fast food wrapper and bloody piece of clothing, cling to every molecule. They seemed hypnotized by the notes that seeped from the garbage speakers. And they stayed that way while Todd, silent rage building, pulled out a large bowie knife from a sheath strapped to his belt and dived the blade straight into the two dusthead's ribs, blood and gristle splashing onto his still emotionless face. The garbage speakers oozed out the words, "The night has risen but the sunshine feels heavy like lead. . ." and into Todd and Amber's hearts.
Friday, August 10, 2007
Thursday, June 28, 2007
Something
{{This is still being worked on, but I don't think It'll ever really be finished. It may be lengthened to novel size or it may be changed to a script for a graphic novel. I dunno.}}
Chapter One- This Is Not The Matrix (Really) or WTF!
My eyes blazed with the bright neon lights that reflected off of the puddles of stagnant water that littered the alleyway. My eyes burned, partly because of the lights and partly because of the cigarette smoke that slowly crawled towards the ceiling of the ramshackle van. I took the cigarette from my lips so the stinging in my eyes would stop, then snubbed it out. My hands shook. The cigarette had helped, but my nerves still rattled like a loose muffler.
The ringing in my ears had subsided and I could feel that the barrel of my Smith & Wesson had cooled. I knew I had to of hit at least three vital organs. None of this made sense.
I had been doing this for six years, maybe the stress was getting to me. Yeah, that's what it was. I needed a break, maybe Jamaica. Stacy, my on-again/off-again girlfriend, had gone last summer and said that it was nice.
Just as I was thinking of sipping rum in the shade of palm trees, a clawed and bloody hand pierced the roof of the van. Shit! I had been palming the Smith & Wesson the whole time out of habit and I was glad I had. I kicked open the back door of the van and leaped out backwards, pulling back the hammer of the revolver and firing at the. . . something. As I landed hard on the asphalt I could see that the, thing, had stopped moving.
I rolled over and pushed myself up onto my feet. I checked and reloaded the S&W as I lit another cigarette. Gunfights always made me jumpy, even if I was the only one shooting.
Chapter Two- A Bloody Beheading or Pricks
The body had landed, legs splayed open, on the windshield. Cracks littered the glass, making the corpse look like a fly stuck in a giant spiders web.
I recoiled, which I hadn't done since I was a rookie, after seeing the ten or so bullet wounds scattered across the somethings body. The large caliber revolver had blown gaping holes all over its torso. Rotted organs hung out of the holes like a rancid pinata. It was the most disgusting thing I had ever seen.
It seemed that the only body part that didn't get a bullet in it was the things head. That doesn't mean that its head wasn't disturbing. I ticked off the list of creepy things about its head.
Pure black eyeballs with no irises, check.
Two-inch canines, check.
Some kind of funky writing all over its skull, check.
As I tried to read more of the writing I felt two sharp stabs on my hand. I flinched and dropped its head, tearing away some skin.
It was awake. I took one step back, drawing the Smith & Wesson, and straightening my arm. The thing sat up and tried to rake my face with its blood encrusted claws. It didn't even make it off the hood. The shell casings made a tinkling sound as they hit the cement.
I hacked off the things head with a long piece of jagged, rusty sheet metal I found in a nearby dumpster. The thing didn't bleed.
Chapter Three- Strange Looking Bowling Ball or I Don't Think That's Normal
I didn't want to leave the body behind, but I didn't want it in my car either. So I just took the head. I held it by the hair, an arm's length away from me. I had just bought the coat I was wearing and I didn't want to get any rotting brains on me, which is what the thing was leaking.
Luckily I had parked my Impala into the alleyway, if someone saw what I had I wouldn't be surprised if they had a heart attack.
I opened the trunk and saw what I was looking for. My trusty bowling-ball, nestled snugly in its bag. I set the head down on the concrete and took the bowling-ball out from it's bag, carefully, and set it on the passengers side seat.
I picked the head back up again and stuffed it into the bowling-ball bag. I set it down into the trunk and slammed the it shut. I walked over and opened the driver side door, getting in and starting the car. I buckled the ball in.
Chapter Four- Talkin' To Balls or WTF is Bob
The streetlights provided a steady trickle of illumination, each small pool only lighting the inside of the beat-up Impala for a few seconds. I lit a cigarette and looked over at Bob, “ So what hell do you think that thing is, Bob?”
Bob looked straight ahead, staring out at the dirty streets, “ I dunno, Jack. I've seen some pretty messed up shit in my life but, god damn. . . This takes the fuckin' cake.”
I accelerated and shifted into third, the Impala tearing down the empty midnight streets. “ You're right on that one Bob, it was some definate heavy shit. . .”
My heart still hadn't stopped beating, bump-bump-bump-bump, even after I pulled over, smoked half a pack of cigarettes and took a couple of swigs of the emergency Jack I kept under the drivers seat. I felt hungry.
I started the car back up and pulled back onto the road. I drove absentmindedly not really paying attention were I was going, or even if I was running red lights. All I could seem to focus on was my hunger. I needed food.
Bob whistled sharply, “ Hey, hey Jack. You with me?”
I ignored him and pulled into the drive thru of a fast food place. A line. A fucking line. I slammed the accelerator, crushing the back end of the Subaru hatchback in front of me. The screams coming from the car in front of me brought me back to reality. The reality of what I had just done, and the reality of the sirens squealing behind me.
Chapter Five- Gunning it or Gonna Need New Tires
I yanked the stick back and jerked the Impala into reverse. With my foot squarely on the gas, I spun the wheel in a tight circle. I put the Impala back into first.
Chapter One- This Is Not The Matrix (Really) or WTF!
My eyes blazed with the bright neon lights that reflected off of the puddles of stagnant water that littered the alleyway. My eyes burned, partly because of the lights and partly because of the cigarette smoke that slowly crawled towards the ceiling of the ramshackle van. I took the cigarette from my lips so the stinging in my eyes would stop, then snubbed it out. My hands shook. The cigarette had helped, but my nerves still rattled like a loose muffler.
The ringing in my ears had subsided and I could feel that the barrel of my Smith & Wesson had cooled. I knew I had to of hit at least three vital organs. None of this made sense.
I had been doing this for six years, maybe the stress was getting to me. Yeah, that's what it was. I needed a break, maybe Jamaica. Stacy, my on-again/off-again girlfriend, had gone last summer and said that it was nice.
Just as I was thinking of sipping rum in the shade of palm trees, a clawed and bloody hand pierced the roof of the van. Shit! I had been palming the Smith & Wesson the whole time out of habit and I was glad I had. I kicked open the back door of the van and leaped out backwards, pulling back the hammer of the revolver and firing at the. . . something. As I landed hard on the asphalt I could see that the, thing, had stopped moving.
I rolled over and pushed myself up onto my feet. I checked and reloaded the S&W as I lit another cigarette. Gunfights always made me jumpy, even if I was the only one shooting.
Chapter Two- A Bloody Beheading or Pricks
The body had landed, legs splayed open, on the windshield. Cracks littered the glass, making the corpse look like a fly stuck in a giant spiders web.
I recoiled, which I hadn't done since I was a rookie, after seeing the ten or so bullet wounds scattered across the somethings body. The large caliber revolver had blown gaping holes all over its torso. Rotted organs hung out of the holes like a rancid pinata. It was the most disgusting thing I had ever seen.
It seemed that the only body part that didn't get a bullet in it was the things head. That doesn't mean that its head wasn't disturbing. I ticked off the list of creepy things about its head.
Pure black eyeballs with no irises, check.
Two-inch canines, check.
Some kind of funky writing all over its skull, check.
As I tried to read more of the writing I felt two sharp stabs on my hand. I flinched and dropped its head, tearing away some skin.
It was awake. I took one step back, drawing the Smith & Wesson, and straightening my arm. The thing sat up and tried to rake my face with its blood encrusted claws. It didn't even make it off the hood. The shell casings made a tinkling sound as they hit the cement.
I hacked off the things head with a long piece of jagged, rusty sheet metal I found in a nearby dumpster. The thing didn't bleed.
Chapter Three- Strange Looking Bowling Ball or I Don't Think That's Normal
I didn't want to leave the body behind, but I didn't want it in my car either. So I just took the head. I held it by the hair, an arm's length away from me. I had just bought the coat I was wearing and I didn't want to get any rotting brains on me, which is what the thing was leaking.
Luckily I had parked my Impala into the alleyway, if someone saw what I had I wouldn't be surprised if they had a heart attack.
I opened the trunk and saw what I was looking for. My trusty bowling-ball, nestled snugly in its bag. I set the head down on the concrete and took the bowling-ball out from it's bag, carefully, and set it on the passengers side seat.
I picked the head back up again and stuffed it into the bowling-ball bag. I set it down into the trunk and slammed the it shut. I walked over and opened the driver side door, getting in and starting the car. I buckled the ball in.
Chapter Four- Talkin' To Balls or WTF is Bob
The streetlights provided a steady trickle of illumination, each small pool only lighting the inside of the beat-up Impala for a few seconds. I lit a cigarette and looked over at Bob, “ So what hell do you think that thing is, Bob?”
Bob looked straight ahead, staring out at the dirty streets, “ I dunno, Jack. I've seen some pretty messed up shit in my life but, god damn. . . This takes the fuckin' cake.”
I accelerated and shifted into third, the Impala tearing down the empty midnight streets. “ You're right on that one Bob, it was some definate heavy shit. . .”
My heart still hadn't stopped beating, bump-bump-bump-bump, even after I pulled over, smoked half a pack of cigarettes and took a couple of swigs of the emergency Jack I kept under the drivers seat. I felt hungry.
I started the car back up and pulled back onto the road. I drove absentmindedly not really paying attention were I was going, or even if I was running red lights. All I could seem to focus on was my hunger. I needed food.
Bob whistled sharply, “ Hey, hey Jack. You with me?”
I ignored him and pulled into the drive thru of a fast food place. A line. A fucking line. I slammed the accelerator, crushing the back end of the Subaru hatchback in front of me. The screams coming from the car in front of me brought me back to reality. The reality of what I had just done, and the reality of the sirens squealing behind me.
Chapter Five- Gunning it or Gonna Need New Tires
I yanked the stick back and jerked the Impala into reverse. With my foot squarely on the gas, I spun the wheel in a tight circle. I put the Impala back into first.
A Duet
{{This is a short story I wrote while thinking about light and dark. What better contrast is there? I tried to make Her story uncomfortably dark and His story uncomfortably light. Didn't work out as well as I thought, but I still like it the best out of the three I posted today.}}
A duet.
HER PART- The trees cast shadows that seemed to swirl into grotesque figures, figures that seemed to reach and grab for her. She shivered and wrapped her coat tighter around herself. She religiously stayed on the path, walking on a wide cement tightrope. Even though she felt soul-killing terror a perverse side of her wanted to throw herself into the gaping maws of the shadow monsters, slowly sapping her of the life she decided that was not hers any longer.
She wanted to throw her soul to the wayside, let it float gently down the River Styx. She not longer wanted to have to deal with the tedium and the embarrassment of her life.
As she left the park and crossed the street, the opposing shadow of the ancient apartments she lived in hung like a cloak around her shoulders. The sound of traffic and sirens roared and squealed but they never reached her ears, all sound muffled, shielded by her nightmares. To her it was silent and she waited for the crescendo, the upswing, the spike of sound that would bring hell down all around her. And she waited to welcome it with open arms.
And she waited, she waited as she unlocked the door, she waited as she walked up the ten flights of stairs, the elevator didn't work, never had. And she waited as she unlocked the door to her apartment and walked in.
HIS PART- He woke up with the sun pouring through the large window, almost filling the room with sunlight. He moaned and pulled down the blinds. It didn’t help, the sun still streamed through. He grabbed a dark blue comforter and stuck it into the blinds, making ghetto curtains. It stopped the sunlight and he looked a lot less tense.
It wasn’t that the sunlight actually burned, but it sure felt like it. He sat down at the small breakfast table, in near darkness and lit a cigarette. He tried to remember why the comforter wasn’t there in the first place. He always put it up before he fell asleep. The sunlight, strong and fierce, still burned in his mind.
He threw on some clothes, maybe clean, maybe not, and left his building. He stuck close to the large brick building, slowly creeping in the shadow. He had to scope a couple of places but was pretty sure which one he was gonna hit. It was a small apartment, but the owner was a trust fund kid and kept regular hours. If he was lucky there would be a plasma T.V. and he could eat well for a couple of more weeks. Human flesh wasn’t cheap.
DUET- He slowly walked through the apartment with a large suitcase, the kind with rollers, and carefully looked through each of the rooms. It was what he regularly did, checked every room for the valuables and then rushed through grabbing what he had already marked worthy. The gun tucked into his jeans kept scratching his back. He adjusted it and headed back towards the living room.
She unlocked the door and walked in. A man was standing there unhooking her Tivo. He turned and she waited, he pulled the gun and she waited. And then the crescendo arrived, the cacophony of sound blasted through the small apartment, the stab of strings as the horror monster attacks and she waited no longer.
And he could finally feed.
A duet.
HER PART- The trees cast shadows that seemed to swirl into grotesque figures, figures that seemed to reach and grab for her. She shivered and wrapped her coat tighter around herself. She religiously stayed on the path, walking on a wide cement tightrope. Even though she felt soul-killing terror a perverse side of her wanted to throw herself into the gaping maws of the shadow monsters, slowly sapping her of the life she decided that was not hers any longer.
She wanted to throw her soul to the wayside, let it float gently down the River Styx. She not longer wanted to have to deal with the tedium and the embarrassment of her life.
As she left the park and crossed the street, the opposing shadow of the ancient apartments she lived in hung like a cloak around her shoulders. The sound of traffic and sirens roared and squealed but they never reached her ears, all sound muffled, shielded by her nightmares. To her it was silent and she waited for the crescendo, the upswing, the spike of sound that would bring hell down all around her. And she waited to welcome it with open arms.
And she waited, she waited as she unlocked the door, she waited as she walked up the ten flights of stairs, the elevator didn't work, never had. And she waited as she unlocked the door to her apartment and walked in.
HIS PART- He woke up with the sun pouring through the large window, almost filling the room with sunlight. He moaned and pulled down the blinds. It didn’t help, the sun still streamed through. He grabbed a dark blue comforter and stuck it into the blinds, making ghetto curtains. It stopped the sunlight and he looked a lot less tense.
It wasn’t that the sunlight actually burned, but it sure felt like it. He sat down at the small breakfast table, in near darkness and lit a cigarette. He tried to remember why the comforter wasn’t there in the first place. He always put it up before he fell asleep. The sunlight, strong and fierce, still burned in his mind.
He threw on some clothes, maybe clean, maybe not, and left his building. He stuck close to the large brick building, slowly creeping in the shadow. He had to scope a couple of places but was pretty sure which one he was gonna hit. It was a small apartment, but the owner was a trust fund kid and kept regular hours. If he was lucky there would be a plasma T.V. and he could eat well for a couple of more weeks. Human flesh wasn’t cheap.
DUET- He slowly walked through the apartment with a large suitcase, the kind with rollers, and carefully looked through each of the rooms. It was what he regularly did, checked every room for the valuables and then rushed through grabbing what he had already marked worthy. The gun tucked into his jeans kept scratching his back. He adjusted it and headed back towards the living room.
She unlocked the door and walked in. A man was standing there unhooking her Tivo. He turned and she waited, he pulled the gun and she waited. And then the crescendo arrived, the cacophony of sound blasted through the small apartment, the stab of strings as the horror monster attacks and she waited no longer.
And he could finally feed.
Mars' Revenge
{{This is kinda dead. I don't think I'll ever finish it. The nonexsistant first part of chapter one actually is the first part of A Duet.}}
Mars' Revenge
Prologue (Kind of...)
“I try not to make a habit out of begging for my... unlife, but I swear that I will do everything within my power as a prince to locate her.” The room the two vampires were in smelled of incense, cigarettes and iron. It was filled to the brim with garish gold statues and equally bad fake Persian rugs. Long streaks of blood were haphazardly strewn across one wall. All in all it looked pretty fucked up.
Anyone other than a blind man, who had a bad cocaine habit, could see, and smell, that the source of the blood seemed to be a well dressed man, who was bowing at the feet of another. A large gash tore across the kneeling man's suit, and a steady stream of blood gushed onto the floor staining the aforementioned rug.
The other man was dressed all in black from his bathrobe to his rabbit slippers. Excluding the black, the man looked hardly menacing, except when he picked up the bleeding man by his throat and threw him across the large room, landing with a dull thud next to a blood stained statue of a naked woman.
“Deimos, I'll kill you, blasphemer!!!”, he roared, the blood flowing more freely now. The man in black laughed as he suddenly appeared next to his injured foe,” I know what your kind does, Oh yes! I know. . . You devoured her, devoured her essence, like a starving wolf devours an injured hiker. Your blood is hers, and I'm taking it back, Allah or your little blood stained friends be damned.”
The suit laughed and spit blood at Deimos, “Your words have promised you a spot in hell, heretic!”
Deimos continued to laugh, “I know I'm goin' to hell, Mars however went into the light. Now she's gone and nothing can bring her back... So I'm going to send some more guests to her party. Oh yes, she'll have a full guest list.”
And with that Deimos feasted, blood dripping down his pale neck, making him match the rest of the decor.
Chapter One
Mars' Revenge
Prologue (Kind of...)
“I try not to make a habit out of begging for my... unlife, but I swear that I will do everything within my power as a prince to locate her.” The room the two vampires were in smelled of incense, cigarettes and iron. It was filled to the brim with garish gold statues and equally bad fake Persian rugs. Long streaks of blood were haphazardly strewn across one wall. All in all it looked pretty fucked up.
Anyone other than a blind man, who had a bad cocaine habit, could see, and smell, that the source of the blood seemed to be a well dressed man, who was bowing at the feet of another. A large gash tore across the kneeling man's suit, and a steady stream of blood gushed onto the floor staining the aforementioned rug.
The other man was dressed all in black from his bathrobe to his rabbit slippers. Excluding the black, the man looked hardly menacing, except when he picked up the bleeding man by his throat and threw him across the large room, landing with a dull thud next to a blood stained statue of a naked woman.
“Deimos, I'll kill you, blasphemer!!!”, he roared, the blood flowing more freely now. The man in black laughed as he suddenly appeared next to his injured foe,” I know what your kind does, Oh yes! I know. . . You devoured her, devoured her essence, like a starving wolf devours an injured hiker. Your blood is hers, and I'm taking it back, Allah or your little blood stained friends be damned.”
The suit laughed and spit blood at Deimos, “Your words have promised you a spot in hell, heretic!”
Deimos continued to laugh, “I know I'm goin' to hell, Mars however went into the light. Now she's gone and nothing can bring her back... So I'm going to send some more guests to her party. Oh yes, she'll have a full guest list.”
And with that Deimos feasted, blood dripping down his pale neck, making him match the rest of the decor.
Chapter One
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