She Has A Pretty Face Though (Part XLVIII)

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!”

She Has A Pretty Face Though (Part XLVII)

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!

———

An hour had passed since his encounter in the alley, but he was fortunate enough to continue on without being seen.  Part of him was completely baffled that it hadn’t ended in the alley with the two bikers.  They had been discovered before he had escaped into the street, and there was no logical explanation as to why he hadn’t been seen.

The shadows reached out to him as he passed.  They latched onto his bloody form and hugged him close, passing him onto the next as he ran.  His chainmail shirt rattled with each step as it softly bounced against his skin.  The saya of his weapons clacked together from his movements, and yet it was as if he were on the outside of perception.

When he did come across the path of another, they continued on as if he wasn’t there.  It was no different from any other day in his life, that feeling of being an outsider had never felt stronger.  He sought out their eyes and they suddenly found something more important to look at.  He spoke a brief greeting and they mumbled in disinterest.  He was the most wanted person in All Saints, and yet, he was also the least important.

“Welcome to my life,” he muttered in disgust.

It no longer mattered.  There was nothing left for him but the end of this twisted journey, an end which would find the perpetrators of his recent downfall against the edges of his daisho.

He thought about the first of the two people he would be paying a visit to.

“You better listen to me, you little creep…”

His words jumped out of the recesses of memory, reminding him of when this all started.  He could still feel the cold impact of the concrete against his skull from when Tommy had slammed him against it for emphasis.  He had caught Scott looking at his girlfriend, something that nearly every guy in their class did, but because Scott had been one of the ‘shunned ones’, he had received the brunt of his anger.

He smiled.  The joke had been on him, because as he lay curled on the ground, he had seen everything when she stepped over him.

“Say, you sure are lucky!”

Arnie’s voice floated out of the void and just like that, the smile was gone.  Just as he had been there at the shed, so had he been from the beginning as well.  Always there, helping him back to his feet.  Always seeming to care about how he was doing and whether or not he needed someone to talk to.

“What the hell’s with that guy anyways,” he asked softly.

The sound of his voice startled a nearby jogger, causing her to lose her stride.  She glanced his way with a look of mild irritation, but did nothing more than to widen the distance between them as she passed.  He watched with mild amusement.  Normally when someone approaches you covered in blood, it tended to make more of an impact.  She had only given him a second glance and had gone on her way.

How long had it been since this had all begun?  Hours?  Days?  He wasn’t sure anymore.  Even though a part of him knew that what had begun with Lucy had been in the late hours of the night before, it felt weeks away from this moment.  Much like the shadows, time had stretched itself around him, stealing away the seriousness of his actions.  He had finally become the Outsider that he had thought he was and it felt nothing like it was supposed to.

It much more cold and unforgiving than he ever imagined.  The last of Scott Vali was dying inside of him and what was left frightened the fragments of his former self. What was left was a creature capable of crushing the family dog beneath the door. What was taking his place was something who could throw someone off of a balcony and hunt them down like a wounded animal.  What he had become was something ‘other’ than human that could cut down two bikers as if they were made of Papier-mâché.

A thick, hot tear escaped from the corner of his right eye and slowly burned its way down his cheek and he mourned the life that was lost.  While it may not have been much, it might have been better than this.  As Tommy’s house came into sight, Scott mourned the last of what little life he’d had.

 

 

She Has A Pretty Face Though (Part XLVI)

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.