She Has A Pretty Face Though (Part XL)

Posted on February 23, 2014 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. 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!

———

He was alone in his thoughts, surrounded by a series of disjointed memories, with no clue as to how he got here. The other was gone, or at least he couldn’t feel it at the moment, and it was everything he could do to hold onto the small sliver of consciousness that came to him. He was in pain, more than he had ever known before and his skin felt as if there were millions of insects marching relentlessly over him.

“shh”

The voice came from far away. It sounded vaguely familiar to him, but for some reason he couldn’t associate a face with it. It was soothing, and even before it faded away he felt a warm cloth against his forehead. Until this moment, he felt his body tensing up, ready to rebel against whatever new threat he had to face, but all of this vanished beneath the caring attention he was receiving.

“I’m almost done…”

There was a slight pressure in his lower stomach, followed by the sound of something tearing above him. It was loud, hollow and he in the sea of memories that still wouldn’t come together, he saw the briefest glimpse of something grey. After several more small ripping noises, his unknown savior began applying something against the area of his stomach from which the most pain emanated.

“Uhnnn,” he groaned weakly.

“It’s okay buddy. I’m almost done,” the other whispered. “But you have to be quiet now. They’re looking for you.”

“But,” he drawled weakly. “Why?”

“Don’t you worry about that, my friend. Just rest. Just you rest now.”

He fought against it. He wasn’t ready to return to sleep, but he had absolutely no control over the lethargy which overtook him. Though his eyes had never truly opened, he ‘closed’ them once more and fell back into the void of his subconsciousness.

…….

“…ta…ay,…erp…”

He blinked in confusion, trying to sort out the massive influx of images assaulting his eyes.. A familiar voice had just spoken, but it was as out of place as the things around him. He was in the living room of his house, sitting on the floor before the family television. The sun was shining through the picture window to his right, something that only happened in the late afternoon when the sun was making its slow trek toward the horizon, and there were cartoons dancing on the screen before him.

“I said, get the fuck outta the way, twerp! I’m trying to change the channel,” Megan screeched from behind him.

He slowly turned, and sure enough, there she sat on couch. She still wore her cheerleader’s outfit, having most likely gotten home from school herself, with her legs tucked underneath of her and off to the side.

“Mom said I could watch cartoons after school today,” he whined.

He jumped at the sound of his voice, an action which only enhanced the incredibly pathetic image his whiny voice had just created. He hadn’t intended to speak, but as he was beginning to realize, he couldn’t have controlled himself if he tried. He was looking through the portals of his eyes from the prison of his mind, trapped and powerless to affect the younger Scott with his own will. He couldn’t have spoken if he wanted to, just as he couldn’t have controlled the movement of his younger body.

“Jesus Scott,” the thought venomously, “Why don’t you grow some fucking balls and tell her where she can shove that remote?”

The younger version of himself jumped again, startled by the sound of his voice when it suddenly filled his head. He looked from one end of the room to the other, frantically searching for the source of this unknown ‘other’.

“Wha-who,” he started to ask. His words were violently cut off, however, when something slammed into the side of his face, knocking him to the floor. Because his thoughts had been preoccupied with the possibility of an intruder, he hadn’t noticed when his sister sprung from the couch and stormed over to him. He hadn’t seen her hand as it flew through the air, and he didn’t know that even as he was falling from the initial attack, she was kicking him the rest of the way to the floor.

“I SAID, get out of the goddamn way! GOD! You can be so worthless sometimes!”

As he watched through the eyes of his younger self, who was now scrambling to his feet and fleeing the room in tears, he began to fantasize of the different ways he wanted her to suffer for what she did. Before they reached the top of the stairs, the tears and stopped and the young Scott was beginning to share the same smile the older version of himself was also making.

…….

“Wake up.”

The voice of his unknown savior pulled him out of his prison, forcing him to once more return to a reality where there was nothing left for him. But none of this mattered. As he slowly opened his eyes, Scott Vali began to smile.

To Slay A Troll

Posted on February 22, 2014 by R. Richardsson

“There’s no place out there for graft, or greed, or lies, or compromise with human liberties…” Jefferson Smith, Mr. Smith Goes to Washington

They come in many forms and yet, they are all one in the same. We call them critics in film, hecklers in comedy, negative reviews on our books but it comes to what we should call them, it boils down to one word; troll.

It’s hard not to be affected by their words. We’re pouring our hearts and souls into our work. Some of us are truly gifted and are able to do this with little effort, but the majority of us labor over our little niche in creativity. No matter the ease of which we get there, all it takes are the words of one troll to break us down.

Why do we let it get to us so easily? We’re willing to give up everything for our passions, to sacrifice every comfort, and in some cases the ones who mean the most to us, in order to fulfill the desire to create. Hours slip by, and in some cases, days, as we build our routines, write our breakthrough novels and create our next masterpieces. We’re THAT dedicated to our art that we don’t even notice.

And yet, when that first criticism arrives, it’s as if we’ve been stabbed in the heart. We’re standing on the middle of the bridge with our aspirations behind us, our dreams ahead of us and we’re putting our gem on display when ‘it’ happens. ;-( I know, right?

We’re mortally wounded, or so we think. The troll has leapt upon the bridge, taken our shining gem and then plunged it directly into our meaty ticker. We’ve fallen to our knees. We can feel our very essence pouring onto the unforgiving stone beneath us and for that brief moment we wonder if we’re going to survive the encounter.

I assure you, you can and you will. You’ve taken a piece of that infinite and immortal soul of yours to create this new thing, this piece of art. You’ve poured gallons of your hearts love sauce onto it, coating it until the material became saturated. It’s yours, Dr. Frankenstein. You created it. It LIVES!

Get back to your feet, actor! Arise, author! Stand and remove the stain left upon you by this beastie!

What you have created, what you have labored over with love and soul CANNOT be destroyed by the words of another. They try because they are jealous. They attack because they cannot create this beautiful thing that you have. They lash out, but because you possess something they can only ever dream of achieving!

Stand up and brandish your gem! Let not the words of the troll sting you, for they are but words. These creatures exist only to inflict pain upon others. They thrive upon hate, even when they don’t understand what it is they are attacking, for they are but children lost in an adult’s playground.

You may think it’s hard to find your footing once more, but you need only but remember what you have done to get here. You arrived on this bridge for a reason. You are here to show the world beneath you the treasure born of your hands. Let the troll come forth I say! Let them fling their measly weapons at you! And when they do, allow your creation room to breath. Give the troll it’s fair chance, and when it fails so miserably? Ask it if it would like to sit down now.

Chins up, artists!

Your determination brought you here. You’ve labored, you’ve sacrificed and you have suffered worse things than what the troll can inflict upon you.

——

This is for those of us who have received a negative review, who have been heckled while performing our routines and for those who find the occasional negative criticism when we’ve given it our all.

She Has A Pretty Face Though (Part XXXIX)

Posted on February 18, 2014 by R. Richardsson

Disclaimer

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!

———

Though the knife was tucked safely behind him, to Scott it as if a broadsword was strapped to his back. The closer he drew to Arnie, the heavier it became. It was silly and he knew it, but the distant sound of sirens were enough to remind him of how serious things had become.

He walked on the far edge of the sidewalk, his feet brushing against the dewy grassy, hoping that there were enough shadows to hide the nature of his injury. His left hand remained firmly pressed against the wound, holding back the contents that were once safely contained behind his flesh. And, with the ‘other’ doing whatever it was doing to him, the blood no longer ran down his side.

Arnie’s head suddenly jerked in his direction and he took two fearful steps away.

“W-who’s there,” he yelled much louder than he had probably intended.

Scott didn’t answer. He was too tired. He concentrated instead on moving one leg before the other as he continued to narrow the distance between them. Some rational part of him calculated twenty feet left before Arnie saw him, and what was left found it funnier than it should have been.

“Come on,” Arnie whined. “This isn’t funny. You’re scaring the bejeepers outta me!”

Arnie’s pleas only furthered the insanity that had taken root in his mind, which gave way to an escalating series of giggles. Each vibration sent waves of pain shooting up his spine, but with the ‘other’ in control and him pushed into the back of his mind, he only vaguely felt it. He knew that the pain was like nothing he had ever felt, but it only registered as if it were a paper-cut on the mend.

“Scott?! OH MY GOD!”

He knew he was tired, but he still cursed himself when he realized that he had weaved into the range of a nearby street lamp. Arnie recognized him immediately, but the sight of him was too much for the other to bear. He back-pedaled into the can he had just deposited his trash into, in the process knocking it over and falling on his rump.

“Arnie,” he moaned weakly. “Help me.”

The other was going to have absolutely none of that. He was nearing a full panic and unless Scott could think of some way to snap him out of it, was going to scramble to his feet and run as far in the other direction as he could get.

“I’m hurt Arnie. I’m hurt real bad.”

He stepped fully into the light with the intention of leaning up against the light pole, but his legs finally gave out. His knees slammed into the concrete, each just a little over a foot apart, and he slumped backward on his heels. He could still sense that the other was in control of his nervous and vascular system, but there was going to be no help with his consciousness.

It no longer mattered if Arnie ran screaming. It didn’t matter if his insides were to empty onto the ground beneath him and he no longer cared if the police caught up with him. From the void of his captivity, Scott watched helplessly as the huge portals that were his eyes finally closed.