She Has A Pretty Face Though (Part II)

Posted on April 4, 2013 by R. Richardsson

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

There were some punches thrown. There were also some taken as well. When it was over, the two bullies stood triumphantly over him as he lay bleeding and barely conscious on the ground.

“Tommy, that’s enough! Leave him alone!”

He had curled into the fetal position, so it was difficult to see who was talking, but there could be no mistaking the melodic chords of Misty Vandiver. The most popular girl in their class, she could have any boy she wanted and it was at this exact moment she was stopping hers from putting Scott in the hospital.

Tommy leaned down and grabbed a fistful of his hair, pulling his head up and backward, effectively exposing his neck. As Misty continued to scream at him from somewhere just out of sight, Tommy put his mouth next to his ear and whispered;

“You better listen to me, you little creep. I don’t want to see your pimply ghost face looking at my girl again, you got it? If I ever see you making eyes on her again, I’ll make sure next time there’s no one around to stop me.”

Tommy slammed his head into the ground, punctuating his threat with a resounding finality before letting him go.

“Damn it Tommy, can’t you just let it go? He didn’t mean anything by it…”

She stepped up behind him and wrapped an arm around his waist.

“Besides,” she whined. “I’m booored! Let’s go for a ride!”

“Yeah, sure thing baby. I’m finished here anyway.”

Scott watched them through his fingers. His hands had been covering his face protectively since Tommy had first attacked him and there they had remained. Despite the warning he had just received, his eyes roamed up the naked legs of the Redbird’s head cheerleader.

The skin was tight, well toned from years of track, volleyball and most recently, cheerleading. It was no secret that both of her parents were in the military and that they pushed her to ‘be all she could be’.

The seconds stretched by agonizingly slow as his eyes continued upward to the edge of her skirt. He cursed himself inwardly for perving on her so soon after having received a beating from her boyfriend, but he couldn’t stop himself. His teenage hormones forced his eyes further up her legs, to the holy grail of every boy’s fantasy.

And there it was, the source of inspiration for every future one on fun session he would have for the next several weeks.

Then, just like that, the moment was over. Tommy and Misty were walking toward the parking lot with their arms around each other. While his walk was straight and arrogant, she hopped gaily at his side, her legs crisscrossing in front of each other, and when they reached the edge of the sidewalk, she looked once over her shoulder and smiled brightly in his direction as she chewed on the tip of her index finger.

His cheeks flushed, embarrassed by the playful look she had given him. Had she known where he had been looking, he wondered? His face had been behind his hands, but in his excitement, he hadn’t been hiding the fact of where his eyes were looking.

He stood on shaky legs and brushed his jeans off. His body ached where he had taken his beating. Tommy had punched him several times on his side and stomach while B.J. held his arms from behind. When he had swooned from the injuries, they had both taken turns kicking him about the legs, back and stomach until Tommy had climbed atop him and given him his final message.

“Asshole,” he muttered.

He rubbed the back of his head gingerly as he inspected the most recent injury. He winced from the pain but was relieved when he didn’t find any blood.

“Hey, I saw what happened. You okay?”

As he was bending down to gather his things, he looked over as Arnie Jameson approached. Arnie, short for Arnold, was more of a reject than he was, but not by much. Barely over five foot, and so thin that even the slightest breeze threatened to topple him over, Arnie was every bit the poster boy for bullied school kids.

He made the mistake of looking up into his pimply face, giving the kid all the fuel he needed to attach himself to him until they had to be back in class. He sighed.

“Great… Things just keep getting better.”

“I’m sorry,” Arnie asked. He had apparently not heard him. Too bad, maybe he would have taken the hint.

“I said; never better.”

“Oh.” He stood a couple of feet away from Scott, shifting his weight back and forth.

Scott felt a surge of irritation rising up within him when he realized that the other wasn’t going to help him pick up his things.

“Are you going to help me or what?”

“Oh, sure!” He started gathering Scott’s papers while the latter finished getting his books together. “You know? Someday, someone’s gonna really hand it to him if he’s not careful.”

“Yeah… I’d pay to see that,” he murmured.

“Say, you sure are lucky!”

Scott turned to him with an incredulous look on his face.

“How the hell do you figure that?!”

“You uh… I mean…”

“What, Arnie? You mean, what?”

“You know… From where you were laying…”

Scott knew what he was talking about. The image was burned into his retinas. He would have dream after wet dream thinking about the soft curves behind those hot pink garments.

“Goddamn, Arnie! What are you, some kind of pervert or something? Jesus…” The words flew out of his mouth before he could catch himself. After all, wasn’t it just a few moments before that he was positioning his fingers so that he could better see around them?

Arnie blushed, his eyes immediately downcast. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean anything by it.”

“Yeah, whatever Arnie. You keep telling yourself that.”

“You know what, Scott? Fudge you, okay. I was just trying to be friendly, you know? I thought…”

“You thought what, Arnie? That because you and I have now had our asses stomped by Tommy that we were suddenly gonna be pals? Oh, and ‘Fudge you’? Really? What are you, in middle school or something? I believe the term is; Fuck you, Arnie.”

He snatched his homework papers out of Arnie’s hand and brushed past him as he walked back to the commons area.

She Has A Pretty Face Though (Part I)

Posted on March 26, 2013 by R. Richardsson

The following is the first of what will be many short pieces of a story I thought of while at work. The title was actually overheard by a customer at my PT job, who was trying to set up her male friend with the female friend in question. I’ve never been a fan of this phrase, and when I heard it I thought of a great story to accompany it. Special thanks go out to my co-worker, Gabe, who let me in on some special insight and ideas for certain areas of the story. Finally, this story is a step away from what I am used to writing and not in the Horror genre. There will be some language, as well as violent scenes/descriptions along the way. If this isn’t your cup of tea, then I hope to see you in one of my other posts!

“Scott? Are you listening to a word I’m saying?”

“Yes mom…”

“Now, don’t forget. After school, I won’t be able to pick you up. You’re going to have to ride the bus. Also, I need you to walk over to the market after you get off. The list is in your lunchbox.”

“Yeeess mom, I won’t forget!”

He pulled the visor down and checked his hair for the umpteenth time. Just as it was the last time he looked, it was still parted to the side but he worried it with a comb anyhow. When he was sure that the part was where he wanted it; parted from the left side to the right, he took a moment to study the reflection looking back at him.

Scott was the youngest of four children and the only one who had inherited his father’s looks. Unlike his siblings, however, this was not a good thing. His shoulders were way too broad for his skinny frame and whenever he walked, it was with his toes facing in. His skin, sickly and pale compared to the rest of his family, always stood out in contrast to those around him and it was one of two things about him that made him a target with the bullies. The other was his round freckled face, topped by an unruly mop of red hair.

It was these last features he studied in the visor’s mirror. He looked into his brown eyes, trying to see in himself the good that his mother said was there but what she saw and what he found were two different things.

“…you listening?”

“Huh?”

“I swear… What am I ever going to do with you?”

The question was rhetorical, and when he didn’t offer any suggestions, she repeated her last question.

“Your sister has recital practice tonight and your brothers will be studying with friends, so you’ll have the house to yourself. Please see to the trash and make sure Tippy gets let out for a little bit?”

He let out a long, irritated sigh before answering.

“God mom, can’t she walk her own damn dog? Why do I always have to do it?”

“Scott! I’m not asking much you know. Would you please put the dog out? And watch your language when you talk to me.”

He angrily flipped the visor up and let out another long sigh as he rested his forehead against the window and watched the houses pass by.

“Okay?”

It wasn’t okay, however, and even though he nodded in agreement, he wasn’t very thrilled about it at all. Why should he be? His sister had been nothing short of a sneaky little bitch to him for the last two years. She watched him like a hawk, and whenever he did something that was even remotely against the rules, she was the first to blow the whistle.

“Whatever,” he muttered halfheartedly. .

The rest of the ride was in silence with his mom casting a few worried glances over at him, but he didn’t let her know that he knew she was watching him. It didn’t really matter to him what she was thinking, because right at that moment he was entertaining a dozen different ways to get rid of a certain little mutt.

He stood over the Labradoodle, sneering in contempt for the wretched little creature. Its light brown hair is long and unkempt from not getting enough attention with the brush, and it was tangled into knots in several places on its body. The smell of its unwashed hide was enough to make him puke. The dog looked up at him with a stupid expression and it was all he could do to keep from laughing.

“Come on girl. Come on, you mangy sack of crap, let’s go outside. You wanna go outside? Yeah? Come on, you nasty waste of space, lets go!”

His shot his foot out at the dog, smiling with satisfaction when it connected with its ribs., Tippy yelped in pain as she flew through the open door and out into the…

“Scott? Heeeellllo McFly!”

He blinked, looking around warily as he recovered from his daydream.

“Huh..?”

“We’re almost there. Geez, Scott. Where do you go all the time?”

He didn’t answer, instead opting to watch out the window as they pulled into the school parking lot. He slunk down into his seat as the anxiety of being seen dropped off by his mother started to come over him. It was too late. Two of the worst possible people had spotted him.

“uuhhhnnn…” he moaned at the thought of having to walk by them.

The first of the two was Tommy Finkle, star quarterback of the Redbird’s football team. The regular lifting of weights, in conjunction with daily cardio regiments kept him in peak shape, while his blond hair, blue eyes and boyish good looks drew in the trust of the adults. He also knew just enough to get any girl he wanted.

The second of the two was William Jackson, a weaselly little boy whom Scott had always thought looked like a young Steve Buscemi, only without the crazy eyes.

As their car pulled up to the curb, William, also known as B.J. to his friends, covered his mouth and snickered.

“Scott? Everything okay?”

He scowled as he opened the door to get out.

“I wish you’d goddam listen to me when I say; Drop me off at the other entrance.”

Before she could respond, he stepped out of the car and slammed the door.

“ooOOoo,” came the inevitable catcall from Tommy. “Lover’s quarrel, Scotty? What’s the matter? Did mommy not give you a kiss goodbye?”

The words stung. Not that he cared much about what they said, it was the intent behind them which was most effective. It was one thing when those pricks found ways to pick on him without the teachers seeing, but when they did it in front of the rest of his class was when it hurt the most.

He heard the car pull away behind him, but didn’t bother to turn around and see her off. His jaw was set and his pace determined as he strode confidently up the stairs to the front entrance. The other students continued to laugh, pointing and whispering behind their hands to one another, but it made no difference. Nothing mattered anymore.

He walked in slow motion they way they do in the movies before the credits begin to roll, or when the hero sets off on some great adventure. He could even hear music playing out of the window of someones car, something about how he was wanted; dead or alive. As he approached the doors, B.J. and Tommy stepped in front of him.

“Where do you think you’re going,” Tommy sneered at him.

“I don’t want any trouble, partner,” he answered in a slow drawl.

“Easy there, Brokeback Mountain,” B.J. laughed. “We don’t want any trouble!”

Both boys broke into hysterical laughter, cackling as if that were the funniest joke in the world.

Tommy moved his right hand as if to push him, but he saw it coming. Stepping aside, he grabbed the preppie’s wrist, turning it over and bending his arm up behind him.

“Leave me be and I’ll allow you to finish the day without a broken arm,” he said menacingly while looking over Tommy and into B.J.’s eyes. “Or, if you like, I can finish it.” His last word spoken was punctuated by bending Tommy’s arm further backward, causing the latter to yelp in pain.

He smiled to himself as the fantasy continued to play out in his mind. There were some punches thrown. There were also some taken, but in his fantasy, he stood triumphant over the two as they lay bleeding and barely conscious on the ground.

(to be continued)

Burning the Midnight Oil

Posted on March 18, 2013 by R. Richardsson

Last night proved to be one of the longest nights I have had in long time, and not in a good way. In order for you to understand, however, let’s rewind just a little bit to yesterday afternoon.

My wife and I had just watched two episodes of ‘The Walking Dead’, on television. We are so far behind on episodes that it would literally take us a week to get caught up, and only then if we were to have the free time.

I’m a huge fan of the show. Now only does it have one of my all time favorite types of undead in it, but it is masterfully written as well! The episodes we watched were; 18 Miles Out, and Judge, Jury and Executioner. I’ll just say this, for any of you who haven’t watched the show yet (but are meaning to), or aren’t caught up; I’m glad it was Daryl.

*sniff*

Yeah, that was an emotional moment. I was angry. I was sad. I probably went through most of the twelve steps in three seconds, but it was a perfect three seconds. “Sorry, brother.” I hadn’t felt that range of emotions so quickly in a long time and it felt good! I was inspired! I wanted to write and boy did I ever…

But alas, it could not be.

My bedtime had come and gone, and if I was to have any rest before my PT job, I had to attack that pillow with the back of my head like there was no tomorrow.

I have already experimented with a story about the zombie apocalypse. I wrote a short story set during the beginning stages of it last year, so I have already got a feel for it. However, I haven’t really spent any time with my rotting little friends yet.

I can’t give away any details just yet because I plan on releasing this story in a collection after my trilogy is complete, but I will answer one question; the story doesn’t place the zombies as the focus. As a result, I have yet to get into the really nasty business.

“Have you shelved your putrid pals,” you may ask? Not at all! In fact, in my second book, I have introduced a most malodorous mischief-maker into the fray. This little nasty mcassty has something unlike any other brain muncher you have ever seen; a sentient mind! Oh yes, not only is this foul flesheater intelligent, but it has identified itself to one of the main characters as well!

Okay, before things get out of hand here.

This is a special type of undead, I realize that. It seems like I have a few unique creatures up my metaphorical sleeves and there is no short supply of them either! Let’s put them aside for now and return to where I started, shall we?

So here I am with a dilemma on my hands. I have the worst kind of writer’s block! Except, I’m not being blocked between my mind and my fingers. No, the block happens to be this annoying chunk of time I have to fill with sleep and… Ugh, just say it already; work.

It would be sixteen hours before I would be able to sit before my screen again! Seriously, what a waste of creativity! Or, was it?

When sleep finally caught up with me, I tumbled over the precipice of consciousness and into those murky depths where only the most horrific of terrors lurked. I may or may not have played catch with Frankenstein’s monster, and, I may or may not have spread some of The Blob onto a peanut butter sandwich… What I DID do was dream about those stinking piles of vacuous vultures as they chased me down a cold, dark alley.

I remember it well…

The sky was cold and grey, the wintry air unforgiving. I pulled my jacket tighter around my round frame as close to closed as I could get it, but it had been years since I had had a zipper with which to do so. The streets were empty. A transparent layer of snow-covered the ground, allowing only the barest glimpse of what was underneath and it had yet to become too treacherous to walk upon.

There was a foul stench hanging in the air. It was one that I knew I should recognize, but for some reason I could not place a name to it. Was it garbage? The cooking of some exotic food?

A low moan interrupted my reverie, floating only a decimal higher than the sound of the blustery winds around me. Now here was a sound I recognized! Somewhere across the street, in the shadows behind the vehicles, someone was hurt!

Moving as fast as I dared to across the accumulating snow, I closed the distance between me and whomever was over there.

“Hello?” I called out. “Do you need help?”

“uuhhhnnn…”

I cocked my head to the side as I listened. There was probably twenty feet between me and that poor…man? Woman? I wasn’t quite sure which one it was, which I do find a little unusual now that I about it, and had I spent more time reflecting upon it things might have gone a little differently.

The distance between us slowly continued to shorten as I approached. That unknown smell continued to waft out from between the vehicles and I felt really sorry for whomever it was. There was hint of feces in the air, a smell that I can’t say I was happy to identify, but it led me to the conclusion that the person could be elderly, or incontinent. Of course, there was that OTHER smell as well, but I was no longer worried about it. I had to help!

“uuuuuhhhhnnnnnnnn…….”

“Hang on! I’m almost there!”

What a fool I was! As I smacked my forehead with the palm of my left hand, my right reached into the pocket of my jacket and closed around my cell phone. I might be able to offer my jacket for warmth, but I didn’t know the first thing about first aid! If this person was really hurt, where the hell were my good intentions going to get them? There was less then ten feet between me and the shadows when I dialed that triad of numbers most commonly used for those in need.

“We’re sorry, the number you are trying to reach has been disconnected or is no longer in service…”

“What the hell?” I asked.

I shook my head in frustration as I replaced my phone to my pocket. I had never had the need to use this service and the first time I need it, it’s out-of-order?!

“uuuUUUHHHNNNnnnn…..”

There was a slight scraping noise from behind the vehicles. I squinted my eyes and tried to determine what the vehicle model was, but it was just too dark. It didn’t matter, however. The person I was trying to reach had grown tired of waiting for me to get there.

From the darkness behind the car in front of me, clawing its way out of the shadows was the hand of the one I had crossed the street for. It was long and slender with a large diamond ring on the fourth finger of (her?) hand. I couldn’t be sure, the color of skin was off somehow.

“Uh, miss?”

“ggrrrhhhhhhnnnnnn….”

At that moment, all of reality came crashing down around me. She crossed the threshold of darkness and into the light with her hair hanging around her face. She could have very well been Sadako crawling from the well at that moment, come to take first my eyes and then my soul!

Her hair might have once been blond, not that it mattered. I don’t think that even if it did, she would be brushing it anytime soon! From the middle of the top of her head to somewhere around where her nose would be, her scalp had been torn from her skull. It flapped back and forth in front of her mouth as she continued to pull her decrepit body toward me.

I could only stand there in shock. It was as if my feet had suddenly sprouted roots, which had in turn busted through the asphalt beneath them and taken hold in all directions. I now knew the name for the odor which had been tickling my nose and turning my stomach. It was decay.

The crawling dead lifted her skull upward, focusing her glazed orbs upon me and I could hear the bony sound of her teeth clacking hungrily together. I was in her sights. At that moment, I had no doubts that this is what a donut must feel like when it crosses the threshold into a police station. I began to back pedal away, moving nowhere near fast enough for my sanity to bear.

I fled backwards at a crawl. My mouth hung open in a perfect “O” and I could feel my eyes bugging out of my head. Her hands worked in overtime, *clack*, *shcrrr*, *clack*, *shcrr* as they feverishly pulled her torso fully into the light. If I had had time to think about how comical it looked, I might have laughed.

“huuuuhhhnnnnn…”

This sound was different. I was looking directly at flap-face, but it had emanated from off to my right. As if I were underwater, I slowly turned my O-face to the right of my groan gal, only to see a new antagonist approaching.

He was probably around my height, let’s say six-foot for shits and giggles, and wearing a black and white pinstripe suit. Or, rather, I should say he was wearing what was left of it. The once ‘All Business’ attire was shredded and hanging from him in bloody tatters. Also hanging from him were his intestines as he dragged several feet of them toward me.

The smell of rotten flesh intensified . It was the worst thing I could ever have imagined, and you believe me when I say that I have imagined some pretty effed up stuff! My eyes began to water from the pungent assault and I finally managed to snap my mouth shut. This one stank like the interior of a slaughter-house. The scent of blood hung around him, thick and iron-y, wafting toward me with his approach.

That was the breaking point, I’d had enough of this shit. I turned and ran.

The buildings blurred past me as I left behind my loathsome lady, but her rictus grin was quickly replaced by dozens of her putrid pals. They closed in quickly. Some were crawling, others were ambling forward with their arms outstretched. I took the first right turn I came upon, dashing down an alley between two buildings.

A dead-end!

“Shi-“

“UUUUHHNNNN,” came the groan from somewhere next to me. From ground level, a hand reached out and grabbed me by the ankle, holding me tight… I was trapped!

It was at that point that my alarm called to me, screaming its message from worlds away. As always, I feel myself being pulled upward, drawn toward the sound that beckons from afar. The grip around my ankle lessens and is gone. So too, does the snow-covered streets of Dreamtown USA fade away and suddenly I am opening my eyes and looking at the clock.

*sigh* Time for me to get to work.

And so it was. I spent the next nine hours stocking the Chemicals department of my Wal-Mart, trying to hold onto that inspiration I had went to bed with earlier that day. It wasn’t easy. I won’t lie to you, I forgot most of the ideas I wanted to write down. Okay, okay, I won’t lie to you. I forgot them all.

When I got home this morning, I spent nearly two hours trying to recover that lovely bit of fiction I wanted to write about, but it wasn’t meant to be.

That’s really too bad, too, because I think you would have liked what I had to share with you! 🙂