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 landed on his back with a thud and the breath whooshed from his lungs. He had heard Tommy threaten to kill him, but his voice swam through a haze of pain and agony so thick that it made him want to curl up into a ball and accept what was coming. The ‘other’ screamed madly in the back of his thoughts, jabbering insanely as a last ditch effort to get him motivated.
It was just enough, and as Tommy’s hands closed around his neck, he snapped back to reality. He sucked in a huge breath just as his opponent’s hands began to tighten. He pummeled the stronger boy with his fists, raining blow after blow about his chest, arms and the side of his head. Finally, his right fist struck solidly with the pulpy mess in the middle of his face and the jock screamed, quickly letting go to cover his face.
Scott reached down with his right hand and wrapped his fingers around the handle of his tanto. He was at a disadvantage, however, as Tommy noticed the movement and punched him in the elbow. The blow was well placed. It slammed into a pocket of nerves and caused his hand to not only open, but to become numb and tingly.
He growled, wildly swinging with his left fist. The blow was misplaced. Though it connected with Tommy’s jaw, it did so with the knuckles of his last two fingers. His voice matched the jock’s as they both cried out in pain, one due to the blow to the face, the other because of a broken finger.
Tommy slumped weakly to the side, allowing Scott enough time to struggle out from beneath him. Fresh blood oozed down the front of his pants. His breath wheezed through his bruised windpipe and he clutched his hand to his chest with a hurt look on his face.
“You broke my finger,” he accused the other.
“You bwoke my nothe,” Tommy screamed as he rose to his feet.
Scott took a step back, fearfully, as he suddenly realized that he might not have it in him to take him down. His energy was waning, and even worse, he was slowly bleeding out. As Tommy lunged for another attack, he did the only thing he could think of to stop him. He punted the jock’s right knee.
The crack of breaking bone was deafening. Tommy’s knee chicken-legged behind him before before completely giving out, effectively ending the football career of the young man. Bone jutted through skin, blood gushed through clutching hands and the jock screamed in a falsetto voice so high that it hurt his ears.
“Shut him up,” the other commanded, speaking for the first time in hours.
He looked around frantically for something that would help him do just that. In his panicked state, he had completely forgotten about the blades strapped to his waist. It would have been quicker to thrust one them through the other’s mouth, silencing him forever. But that did not occur to him. He, instead, did the only thing his mind allowed him to think of at the time. He kicked the release on the jack. The truck dropped to the ground with a thud and began to roll forward.
Tommy had become a screaming ball of pain and fury, clutching his shattered knee as he rocked back and forth on the ground. It was this that prevented him from seeing the approaching ton of steel.
The truck pinned his right foot to the ground and slowly began to roll over him as it continued down the driveway. The sound of breaking bones reminded Scott of a tree falling over and for the second time in an hour, he was sprayed by the blood of his victim.
The screaming ended when the truck crushed the other’s ribcage, but by then, Scott was already on the move.