Disclaimer

The following is one of many installments for a story designed specifically for my blog.  While it does step out of my usual genre, there are some things still not suitable for a younger audience.  Violent/Graphic descriptions, strong language and sexual situations may be found through different sections.  Each entry will tell a small portion of the story during different times and may not directly follow the one prior to it.  

This story follows the direct interactions, as well as the deteriorating thoughts of a young man who is struggling not only with the relationships he has with those around him, but with the relationship he has with himself as well.

Finally, all work is strictly fiction and does not reflect the views of the author.  Any resemblance to actual person(s) is only a coincidence.

If this isn’t your cup of tea, then avoid these excerpts and hopefully I’ll see you around my other posts and webseries!

———

From the cover of the hedges, he watched as Tommy crawled out from beneath his truck.  Several of the latter’s friends were leaning against another pickup, a white Chevy, sipping on beers and joking amongst themselves.  Nobody seemed knew that he was there, nor of the things he had done throughout the day.

“Has anyone got ahold of B.J. yet,” he asked as stood up and brushed his hands off on his jeans.

“Naw.  The phone just rings.  He’s probably pulling one off,” answered one of the other jocks, to which they all explode in laughter.

Scott shifted impatiently from one foot to the other.  He had fully expected to find Tommy and Misty together and was surprised that this wasn’t the case.  Time wasn’t on his side and he knew it.

“Seriously.  How about one of you guys go get him,” Tommy asked.  “He’s the only one of us who knows how to fix this thing.”

“No prob.  Hey, you want us to pick up some beers on the way back,” asked the same jock from before.  Scott recognized him as Danny Mathews, a defensive tackle who played on the team.

“That sounds good,” Tommy answered as he tossed him his wallet.  “It’s on me.  Get some smokes while you’re at it.”

The others made some jokes about spending his money as they climbed into the cab and bed of the truck.  Scott watched for several minutes as they bantered back and forth before leaving.  He waited several more afterward to be sure they weren’t coming back.  Confident that the time had come, he stepped forward.

As he exited the brush, his foot kicked an empty beer can that he hadn’t seen from where he was hidden.  It lifted several inches into the air and landed just behind his target, who had been leaning over the engine and hard at work with a ratchet.

Tommy jumped, hitting his head on the bottom of the hood.

“What the f-” he started, pausing mid-syllable when he saw Scott standing there.

“Jesus man, you look like shit,” he breathed while rubbing the back of his head.  “I-is that blood?!”

“Yeah, it kind of is,” he answered as he looked down at himself.  “I guess I cut myself deeper than I thought.”

“What?  But how?”

“It doesn’t matter.  I wanted to talk to you about Lucy,” he said as he took another step closer.

“Lucy…”  His voice trailed off in genuine confusion, having forgotten about the girl who Misty had set him up with all those months ago.

“Lucy.  Winters.”  He spoke with emphasis, each word forcing their way through his teeth as he tried to maintain his last ounce of control.

“Oh yeah!  Yeah, I remember her.  She’s that fat chick, right?”

Scott only nodded.  He was almost in range for his wakazashi, with which he was already beginning to picture the many ways he wanted to use it against him.

“Damn, she’s fat!  But she has a pretty face though, right?  Right?”

“Where’s Misty at,” he asked instead, ignoring the other’s question.  “I want to thank you two for setting me up with her.”

There were only four feet separating them when Tommy finally got it.  The blood covering him, the way his hair had completely turned white and the look in his eyes spoke of nothing less than murder.  Death was a scent so strong that it hung in the air around him like a cloud, corrupting everything that came into contact.

“What’s with the knives,” Tommy asked as he backed away.

Scott only repeated his question as he lunged forward.  Surprise was on his side this time, for Tommy didn’t expect the person he’d bullied for so many years to suddenly be stronger than him.  His hands shot forward and planted solidly on the jock’s shoulders, knocking him backward over the engine of his pickup.  Before Tommy could recover, Scott knocked the rod out from beneath the hood and, in the same movement, caught the latter and slammed it down onto his chest.

Stunned, Tommy began to slide out from beneath the steel and toward the ground. Scott watched, bemused, noting that the other’s nose was now broken and plastered to one side of his face.  Blood gushed down the front of him, quickly soaking the front of his t-shirt and pooling out beneath him after he fell face-first to the ground.

Placing a knee in his back, Scott then grabbed a handful of his hair yanked his head up, drawing a scream from the other, before slowly repeating his last question.

“I doanno,” Tommy slurred.

“Not good enough,” he growled as he slammed the bully’s face into the ground.  “Tell me where…”  But the question hung unfinished when he noticed that the other had succumbed to the pain.  With a frustrated sigh, he dropped his head to the ground and searched through his pockets for a phone.  If he couldn’t get the answer he wanted, he would just find her himself.

He found it in the right-back pocket, but the victory was short-lived.  As his hands closed around it, Tommy struggled free from beneath him, desperately throwing him off as he fought his way back to his feet.

“You thun of a bith,” he cursed.  “I’m gonna kill you!”

Disclaimer

The following is one of many installments for a story designed specifically for my blog.  While it does step out of my usual genre, there are some things still not suitable for a younger audience.  Violent/Graphic descriptions, strong language and sexual situations may be found through different sections.  Each entry will tell a small portion of the story during different times and may not directly follow the one prior to it.  

This story follows the direct interactions, as well as the deteriorating thoughts of a young man who is struggling not only with the relationships he has with those around him, but with the relationship he has with himself as well.

Finally, all work is strictly fiction and does not reflect the views of the author.  Any resemblance to actual person(s) is only a coincidence.

If this isn’t your cup of tea, then avoid these excerpts and hopefully I’ll see you around my other posts and webseries!

———

The shadows from the den chased him as he fled through the tunnel.  There was only silence where he came from.  No more crying, no begging, only the absolute of nothing.  He could feel the ground falling out from beneath him, crumbling away into the void of his mind where everything else he knew had gone.  He would not be returning here, not later, nor tomorrow.  This part of his life was forever gone.

The young man who birthed from the tunnel’s exit was the living definition of his last name and there was only one purpose for him in this existence.  He slowly crawled into the dim light of evening, cautious of anyone who might detect him, and carefully sealed the exit behind him.

With a sigh, he looked to west.  In the end of every story he enjoyed, the hero always rode off into the sunset.  There was never any conclusion.  It was implied that said person moved on to face a new evil.  But this was no story, and he was no hero.  He knew there would be no celebration for the acts he had committed.  Nobody would cheer for the death of those who had fallen before him and in a few years, nobody would even remember his name.

It didn’t matter.  His was a life of neglect.  His father had left for selfish reasons, leaving him to deal with the first feelings of being unloved.  Soon after, his mother had taken on extra hours in order to maintain the bills.  He had rarely seen her over the years and when he did, she only treated him as if he was still the same age as when ‘he’ had left.

Megan was usually in charge while she was gone and he didn’t mind at first because she had left him alone.  But as the days stretched into weeks, she began to deal with her feelings by aggressively taking them out on him.  It started with an occasional jab here and there.  Even this wasn’t so bad, just the usual sort of brother/sister stuff, but it soon grew into something more humiliating.  She began to tease him in front of her friends.

She taunted him with barbed words meant to draw him into argument and when he flushed with anger, when he couldn’t form an intelligible come-back, she struck.  She was cold, she treated him as if she hated his very existence and at times, she seemed to enjoy it.

He had thought things changed on that day that Tommy had run into him with his truck.  He remembered lying on the porch, each facing another direction with their heads side by side, and talking as if there was nothing bad between them.  It was a dream.  It had to have been.  One shining light in the darkness because there had been the possibility of him getting laid?

A deep, feral growl made its way from his core as he thought about how false it had been.  Just as he had promised her in the basement, after that day, she had gone back to the being the Supreme Queen of all Bitches.

“Noo,” he moaned.  He was wrong!

He shook his head, trying to clear the darkness from between his ears, but it wouldn’t let go.  It was firmly rooted and would not be budged from where it feasted on food so rich.  For a moment, he felt his stomach clench.  It was the second time in an hour, but this time it was a memory that threatened to evacuate the acid and bile that had built up inside of him.

Even at his breaking point, he had still felt regret.  For nearly a week, he had cowered in his room thinking that he had crushed her head in the refrigeration door, then later buried her in the soil where Tippy lay hidden.  He didn’t know if it was love that caused these feelings, but there was some part of him that held onto it as tightly as it could.

“Whoa!  Get a load of this loser!”

The words yanked him back into reality as sure as a smack to the face.  Since leaving the hidden exit to the tunnel, he had been running.  His mind had retreated into itself while the ‘other’ guided him to his final location and he hadn’t been aware of where he was until this very moment.  He had come to be downtown, in an alley which was behind some of the less reputable establishments.  He had walked through here a dozen times during the day.  He had even rode his bike down here in the early morning, but never had he come when the bars and dance clubs were actually open.

Before him were two older men, one dressed in leather, the other wearing only a t-shirt and jeans.  They easily could have been bikers, and perhaps they had such transportation in front of the building, but here they were only a couple of people in his way.

“Damn,” the man in the t-shirt said.  “When did the Renaissance Festival come to town?”

Scott rested his left hand on the pommel of the wakazashi, carefully judging the distance between them and himself.  They had been leaning against the wall of The Bouncing Bunny, a gentleman’s club where he heard a dollar went a long way, when he had realized where he was.  Now, they walked three feet apart, filled the alley and blocking his passage as they approached.

“Move,” he barked.  His voice was firm, threatening, and it promised an outcome that wasn’t peaceful.

“Or what,” the man in leather asked with a laugh.

“Are you going to poke us with your little knives,” the other added.  As he spoke, he lunged toward Scott, reaching for the latter’s shoulders in an attempt to secure his arms against his sides.  It was something he had done dozens of times against older, larger men, and certainly something that should have worked on someone younger, but he didn’t understand the deadliness of the situation.  He only saw the person that was there before him.

Scott stepped quickly to the side.  As if it were one movement, his hand also drew the blade from its saya and into the air.  The action was impossibly quick, and certainly much easier than he expected it to be.  The blade of his flea market bargain passed through the man’s wrists cleanly, dropping his hands to the ground and sending two geysers of blood flying through the air.

With a snap of his wrist, he redirected the blade and sent it into the man’s mouth, widening it well beyond the point of his largest yawn and ending his life before he could even begin to scream.  The blade briefly caught against the back of his throat, but as the body dropped to its knees, its head flipped backward one hundred and eighty degrees, freeing it from its fleshy prison.

Scott placed his right hand on the bottom half of the sword’s handle and turned the blade before his eyes so that he was looking across it at the remaining attacker.  Or was he a victim?  Did it matter?

He narrowed his eyes and adjusted his stance as the other continued his approach. The man in leather was screaming, but he couldn’t hear him.  He could only hear the sound of his own blood rushing in his ears.  He couldn’t see him.  He could only see the face of Tommy leering back at him.

The man in leather had drawn a switchblade at some point and led his attack with it in his right hand.  He was fast, much faster than Scott, and the blade got past his guard.  Unfortunately for the biker, he came in at an angle, rather than with a thrust.  If he had only thrust, he might have stood a chance.  The blade glanced off of the chain links, the impact jolting it loose from his grasp, and he stumbled.

The wakazashi shot up into the air and before the other could turn around, it took the man’s left arm off at the shoulder.  It fell to the ground with a meaty thump.  Scott flinched as the blood sprayed from the man’s shoulder, covering him from his face to his belt-line in the seconds that followed.  The other screamed, but only once before he lost consciousness.  Scott didn’t know it, but he was dead with-in minutes of closing his eyes.

He was at the end of the alley when he heard the screams behind him.

“Damn,” he spat, but the other only wallowed in the adrenaline rush that coursed through his veins.  He may have been discovered, but it wasn’t over by a long shot.

Disclaimer

The following is one of many installments for a story designed specifically for my blog.  While it does step out of my usual genre, there are some things still not suitable for a younger audience.  Violent/Graphic descriptions, strong language and sexual situations may be found through different sections.  Each entry will tell a small portion of the story during different times and may not directly follow the one prior to it.  

This story follows the direct interactions, as well as the deteriorating thoughts of a young man who is struggling not only with the relationships he has with those around him, but with the relationship he has with himself as well.

Finally, all work is strictly fiction and does not reflect the views of the author.  Any resemblance to actual person(s) is only a coincidence.

If this isn’t your cup of tea, then avoid these excerpts and hopefully I’ll see you around my other posts and webseries!

———

Scott lunged across the room, closing the distance between himself and Megan, and clamped his left hand across her mouth.  She continued to scream until the air was exhausted from her lungs.  He listened with his head turned to the side as he tried to determine if she had alerted those who were upstairs.  Content that nobody was the wiser, he turned his attention back on his sister, who was beginning to struggle for lack of air.

“Shut the fuck up,” he growled through his teeth.  “Do you understand me?  Shut.  Up.” He fought to remain in control.  With the other so close to his consciousness, he knew that the outcome of this confrontation could be deadly if he allowed himself to fantasize.

She nodded emphatically, her eyes silently begging him to let off.  Slowly he did and was immediately sorry for being so close to her when he did.  Her breath reeked of vomit and the acrid smell of her stomach acids burnt his nose, causing his own stomach to clench in protest.

“…y-your,” she sputtered weakly.  She was looking upward as she began to speak, but her words were seized upon by a series of sharp coughs.  The corners of her eyes filled with tears of pain, and when he only looked at her in puzzlement did she lift her right hand and point toward the top of his head.

He reached up and quickly ran his hand over his head, through his hair, around his ears and down the back of his neck, but felt nothing there.

“What the hell’s wrong with you,” he barked.  “There’s nothing there.”

She still hadn’t regained control of her breath and could only manage to shake her head back and forth as she continued to cough and gasp.  She only redirected her finger from where she was pointing, to a small mirror that was positioned over the mantle where his sword collection rested.

He turned and took steps which seemed to be heavier than they should have been, watching as the mirror slowly drew closer.  He watched with dread, his mind taunting him as it would in a dream by making the distance seem much further than it actually was.  Some part of him knew what was going to be on the other side of the reflective glass, but he had to see it for himself.

He didn’t recognize the person looking back at him.  He was much older, much more tired looking than he remembered himself looking.  There were lines under his eyes, and his skin had grown haggard.  Most shocking was his hair.  It had turned completely white!

“Sonofabitch,” he whispered in awe.  “Would you look at that?  I mean, just look at it.”

He giggled after the words were spoken.  The apparition before him was truly terrifying, but his words only reminded him of a YouTube meme he had watched in a past lifetime.

“What’s happening to you,” Megan sobbed from behind him.

“I’m dying,” he answered quietly.  It was weird saying it, but he knew it was true.  He should have died a long time ago, and had it not been for his dark passenger he would have.  He knew that he should feel something; loss, regret, anything, but there was only emptiness.

Ironically, the words seemed to strike his sister more sharply.  His sister, who had tormented him for years, who had called him names and belittled him in front of all her friends.  The words crushed her, sending her spiraling into a hole of loss so great that she crumbled to the ground, clutching her small frame as if to hold it together from the sobs which shook it.

It was several minutes before he spoke again.  In the silence that followed his last words, he had begun to arm himself.  There wasn’t much that he needed, his hands touched more than he strapped on, but in the end it was the two weapons he valued the most.

“What are you going to do?”

He slowly turned to regard her.  She sat with her back against the door, which he noticed had been left unlocked after she entered, watching him with an expression that was part fear, part wonder.  As she usually does at home, she was wearing yoga pants and a tank top.  Her hair was in a ponytail, but there were loose strands here and there, and her face was streaked by tears and mascara.

“I’m going out for a while, twerp,” he said with a sarcastic grin.

“B-but…”

“No butts but yours kiddo,” he said laughingly.  “This is the end of the road for me.  There’s no place for annoying sisters, where I’m going.”

He turned and began to walk towards the hidden door, but was stopped by her hand on his shoulder.  She had leapt to her feet to stop him, and now wrapped her arms around him from behind, holding onto him tightly.

“I’m scared,” she cried into his back.  “You’re scaring me, bro.”

He reached down and gently removed her arms from his waist, turning around to regard her with a thoughtful expression on his face.  He noted that her tank top stuck to her skin, saturated by his blood, and it occurred to him that there wouldn’t be very much time for him to finish what he was doing if she was discovered like this.

“Over by the TV,” he said as he gestured to where he kept his video games, “there’s a t-shirt of mine.  Do me a favor and put it on after I leave.”

“I don’t want to lose you,” she argued.

“It’s too late for me,” he answered firmly.  “And besides, what are you really losing?  A brother, or someone for you to put down when you’ve had a bad day?”

“You’re all, all, all I’ve g-g-got,” she sobbed.  “Y-y-you and M-m-mooom!”

He sighed, shaking his head at her sudden show of sentiment.  It was unusual to him, now, and it did very little to move him.  A long time ago, before any of this ever began, there was a chance that he might have enjoyed such attention.  But now?  It meant nothing.  Even if he allowed himself to fall for it, even IF he didn’t get caught for what he had done, she would never be this good to him for very long.  It wouldn’t take long before she went back to being the bitch he had come to know and hate.

“I’m already gone, Megan,” he said coldly.

The words were no sooner out of his mouth than when her hand had connected across it with a resounding “Smack!”

His head turned to the side from the force of the blow, and as she stood there watching for a reaction, he slowly turned his head back to face her.  She took a step back as his murderous eyes locked onto hers, and her hands covered her trembling lips.

“I’m sorry,” she gasped quickly, instantly regretting what she had done.