FA-N-0222
Stanley Deitz looked at the concierge desk in amazement as he approached it. Every time he came to this restaurant, there was a new girl behind it, and each of them was a stunning knockout. This girl couldn't have been older than 20 and sported immaculate features with an otherwise common body. Her skin was rather dark and held an unblemished glow under the soft lights overhead. Her straight black hair draped the sides of her long face and curled just under her chin, which was accentuated by her long lashes. The thin black ribbon tie clenched tightly to her neck helped to highlight her demure frame. When she noticed him approach, her eyes opened widely to reveal delicate light brown pupils.
"Good evening and welcome to Chordairs. Do you have a reservation?" He became even more enamored with her upon hearing her speak. Her voice wasn't too high pitched nor did she speak too slowly. He briefly wondered if it was an act.
"Actually, I have an appointment."
"Oh, I see." She peered down to the desk to look at the open book. "With who?"
"With Linda."
"Ah, I see. Please wait here a moment." Without hesitation she walked off to the dining area. Within a minute, she returned ahead of the escort. Linda wore her green dress today, which Stanley liked well enough.
"Good to see you, Stanley."
"And you, Linda."
She turned and offered her right arm out, which Stanley took into his left as the two returned to the table. Carbondale glanced up at them both when the two were nearby, and nodded to his girl when they were ready to sit with them in the booth. They shook hands over the table before Stanley sat down first and wiggled his way to the center. Once seated, the men turned their backs to each other and faced the ladies. They waited for the game to begin. All they had to do was mouth words silently and nearby to the men in alteration as the other's partner spoke.
"So what's the matter? This couldn't wait?" Carbondale kept a grin on his face as he asked this brusquely and maintained eye contact with his companion.
"I got a problem. I think it's in our interest to get it settled immediately." Deitz remained unemotional in his tone.
"Fine. What is it?"
"There's some Dutch faggot going into the Jew apartments and taking pictures of their shit in the middle of the night. He's making like some sort of social justice asshole, or a reporter. You know anything about this?"
"No, it's news to me."
"I asked around and it sounds like this guy's been doing this for a while. Seems like he's hit all the shitholes down there in the last few weeks. I heard the name 'Bojack' from a few of the people he busted on."
"So what do you want me to do about him?"
"Like I said, I think he's doing this for a show and not for a personal collection. I bet he's using them pictures to show to people in halls and such, to shock them and get their hearts to bleed so that they cry for the shit to get more cleaned. If that's what he's doing, he needs to be stopped."
"How badly do you want him to be stopped?"
"Oh, leave the guy alone. Yeah, I don't think it's that bad. If I were him, I'd double down if I got touched. Just shut him up."
Carbondale paused to calculate a price.
"Three." He said this referring to thousands.
"Phew, three? Three. OK, fine. Three. Yeah. You got it."
"Good."
With the price settled, the men each reached for their menus which rested on the table, giving their dates the indication that the business was settled and that they were now allowed to speak.
Friday, August 31, 2012
Thursday, August 30, 2012
18351022 05:58:08
Jesse shot up awake on the end of a bad dream. All he could recall afterward was the sensation of running - of running endlessly as fast as he could, and feeling panicked in fleeing from something which he didn't see. The several nights of being alone still caused him to sleep very lightly and rise in this manner frequently. While that was unsettling to Jesse, he was more perplexed in seeing Whitney Poole stare at him as this all transpired.
Whitney was seated in the tent, but not merely seated upright from where he had laid to rest the night before. He was seated with his back to the side of the tent so that Jesse and Daron were under his immediate view. Jesse didn't see Whitney hold anything while he sat there, so he could only assume that he had remained in that position for some time without doing anything else. Jesse nodded to Whitney and received no response of any kind. He continued to stare directly at him and Daron. Jesse quickly determined now to be a good time to address his need to urinate and quietly left the tent.
After a casual walk to the tree line and taking care of business, he took up some of the lighter loose branches and returned to the tent with them to start the fire. Jesse carefully arranged the twigs to lean against each other and set the pot of water on the spindle over it to catch the heat. He held the match inside the ring of rocks before lighting it, remembering not to do as he did yesterday which caused sparks to fly all over. He was glad that such a thing didn't happen in the summer. One chore done. Next was to make sure Randall had food. Jesse ambled to the remains of the barn, took up a giant pile of hay with both arms, and brought it to the carriage where Randall was standing. Jesse ran his hands over the canvas which covered the horse as it bent its head down to graze.
When he started to walk back to the tent he saw Whitney standing by the fire, staring towards him. He paused in his step before continuing his return. Jesse became increasingly uncomfortable with Whitney with each morning that he bore witness to this bizarre kind of behavior. Whitney would only speak to Jesse out of necessity and otherwise spent the small idle time like this doing nothing but simply looking at certain things. One morning it was the house, another it was the horse, today it was him. It all made Jesse feel uneasy and concerned, as much for the simple and focused manner in which he did it as well as not knowing if this was simply his natural way of being. Was there any harm in just looking around? No, but Jesse felt like his eyes pierced the subject of his view. He felt like his way of staring at things was done to make some sort of internal calculations for a purpose which he didn't betray. Was there an ulterior motive being formed? He couldn't tell - and it made him squeamish.
Wednesday, August 29, 2012
18970625 12:38:17
EG-S-0680
Momence stood next to one of the chairs which the secretary offered for him to sit in while he heard his arrival being told to the auditorium's manager, Martin Leasar. The friction of his chair against the parquet floor inside echoed into the hall before he saw Mr. Leasar lean out from the doorway and wave him over to approach.
"Please! Please come in, Richard."
As he approached the doorway, Martin held his hand out to him while speaking to secretary, whom Momence didn't recognize.
"Dottie, this is Richard. Any time he comes here asking for me, you bring him to me immediately. Okay honey?"
"Sure, boss. Nice to meet you, Mister Richard..."
"Just Rick is fine." Momence said this with a smile and taking her hand to shake.
Dottie quickly withdrew from the room and shut the door with a swift slam behind her. The noise caused Momence to stare at the door with a blink.
"She needs to get some grace about her, I say. Anyway, this is unexpected! I Would have told her to look out for you if I knew you were coming. Sit, sit."
"I would, but I am busy and just need to convey this message to you directly. I understand that you just recently starting having presentations by a person named Ryan Bojack."
"Oh, him, yeah. Just did his first show last week. Brings in his own lantern and talks about those bums and whores by the factories. It's all for shock and show."
"Right. You are to disallow him from making those presentations here."
Martin stared at Momence in contemplative response. He found it seem curious for it to apply specifically to this one individual and his show.
"Really? I mean, he did draw a decent crowd for it. Did you...", Martin now leaned forward in his chair and spoke in a reduced volume, asking, "did you want a direct taste from his pull instead? Would that be good?"
"No. He cannot make that presentation here. At all."
Momence issued the command with cold rigidity and an unwavering stare. The motive for him not sitting down was clear to Martin at this point. This wasn't something to be negotiated or discussed. This was an order to be followed.
"OK, Rick. OK. I'll tell him."
"Good. See you Tuesday."
"Yeah, will do." Martin's voice was timid and soft when saying this.
Momence immediately took leave of the room and closed the door gently after he stepped out.
"See you Tuesday, Miss Dottie." As he said this to her, he continued walking on and didn't stop to look back at her as she filed her fingernails and hummed softly to herself.
"Oh, see ya later Just Rick." Dottie said this cheerfully, but the features on her face turned dour as he left the room without so much as acknowledging her beyond that.
Momence stood next to one of the chairs which the secretary offered for him to sit in while he heard his arrival being told to the auditorium's manager, Martin Leasar. The friction of his chair against the parquet floor inside echoed into the hall before he saw Mr. Leasar lean out from the doorway and wave him over to approach.
"Please! Please come in, Richard."
As he approached the doorway, Martin held his hand out to him while speaking to secretary, whom Momence didn't recognize.
"Dottie, this is Richard. Any time he comes here asking for me, you bring him to me immediately. Okay honey?"
"Sure, boss. Nice to meet you, Mister Richard..."
"Just Rick is fine." Momence said this with a smile and taking her hand to shake.
Dottie quickly withdrew from the room and shut the door with a swift slam behind her. The noise caused Momence to stare at the door with a blink.
"She needs to get some grace about her, I say. Anyway, this is unexpected! I Would have told her to look out for you if I knew you were coming. Sit, sit."
"I would, but I am busy and just need to convey this message to you directly. I understand that you just recently starting having presentations by a person named Ryan Bojack."
"Oh, him, yeah. Just did his first show last week. Brings in his own lantern and talks about those bums and whores by the factories. It's all for shock and show."
"Right. You are to disallow him from making those presentations here."
Martin stared at Momence in contemplative response. He found it seem curious for it to apply specifically to this one individual and his show.
"Really? I mean, he did draw a decent crowd for it. Did you...", Martin now leaned forward in his chair and spoke in a reduced volume, asking, "did you want a direct taste from his pull instead? Would that be good?"
"No. He cannot make that presentation here. At all."
Momence issued the command with cold rigidity and an unwavering stare. The motive for him not sitting down was clear to Martin at this point. This wasn't something to be negotiated or discussed. This was an order to be followed.
"OK, Rick. OK. I'll tell him."
"Good. See you Tuesday."
"Yeah, will do." Martin's voice was timid and soft when saying this.
Momence immediately took leave of the room and closed the door gently after he stepped out.
"See you Tuesday, Miss Dottie." As he said this to her, he continued walking on and didn't stop to look back at her as she filed her fingernails and hummed softly to herself.
"Oh, see ya later Just Rick." Dottie said this cheerfully, but the features on her face turned dour as he left the room without so much as acknowledging her beyond that.
Friday, August 24, 2012
18970623 22:18:40
TR-S-4918X0755
Carolina Leicht was the first to notice the strange noises coming from down the hall. There were unfamiliar voices, and the volume was loud enough to carry over the sewing machines which she and her husband Simon were hunched over. Neither of them nor their son Freiderich were interrupted by the noises to incur so much as a moment's pause in the operation as it neared the final hour which they would normally allow themselves to work. While running the dark fabric through the flying needle as it deftly threaded the seam which she held at both sides, she idly wondered who the stranger nearby could be. There wasn't any forewarning and there hasn't been any sort of loud screaming or altercation, so it wouldn't be any sort of Health Inspector, and it wasn't the landlord either. Deliveries wouldn't be requested at this hour, and she didn't recall anyone new undertaking that task in several days. She spaced for a moment on the latest boy's name - William came to mind. That should be it. He seemed a nice boy, whatever his name was. But anyway, who was down there? There was no good reason for anyone unfamiliar to be in this apartment at this hour. Then she heard footsteps approach their room. There were two sets of steps coming near them. Soon, a small middle aged man stood in the opened doorway and addressed them in their native Yiddish.
"Can we take a picture of this room?"
A picture? Here? Now? How is that possible? There wasn't any camera equipment being lugged around which she could see. Regardless, she had nothing to hide and knew neither person standing nearby as anyone important, so she instinctively said yes without wanting to debate or discuss the request. The three Leichts remained motionless for the brief moment while the second man, taller than the first who spoke, came from behind and held out a small box into the open area with one hand and a small tube with the other. Suddenly, the tube shot out a puff of light which pierced their eyes and caused all three of them to vocally express their shock. Carolina blinked several times and started to panic while her vision slowly returned. The last hour was drawing to a close and this was time being wasted. The shorter man spoke again.
"The gentleman would like to know how much your family is earning for your work. Would you be willing to tell us about what you do?"
Her confusion increased with the question. She had no idea why any of this was happening, and became as irritated as she was perplexed with the intrusion into her work as it was being delayed.
"Is he, are you the police? Do you work for the city?"
"No, madam. He is documenting the lifestyle of people like you for journalistic purposes."
"Us? Why us? What does he care about us? What's important to see here?"
"He wants to investigate the conditions of the workers like you. He would like to ask questions about your work and lifestyle from it."
Carolina was not satisfied with the response. She saw no reason why someone would want to be here to take pictures of her room and her work area. It made no sense. Something didn't seem right. She responded with finality after a moment's contemplation.
"If he has questions, he can ask my boss Stanley. He should know that we are going to sleep soon and we need to keep working until we do. I have nothing further to say."
The man nodded and mumbled some words to the other man in words she knew to be English. The taller man then nodded with his hat tipped and a smile, and turned away without further action. The shorter man spoke before following him.
"Sorry to have bothered you, madam. Thank you for allowing us to take the photograph. Please have a good night."
As the two walked away, Simon resumed his sewing and their son resumed the folding of the finished garments. Carolina remained still as she watched them walk away.
"I wonder what that was all about." Her husband asked the question with a tone of indifference.
"I haven't the slightest idea - but I think I should tell Stanley what has just happened. Something isn't right."
Carolina Leicht was the first to notice the strange noises coming from down the hall. There were unfamiliar voices, and the volume was loud enough to carry over the sewing machines which she and her husband Simon were hunched over. Neither of them nor their son Freiderich were interrupted by the noises to incur so much as a moment's pause in the operation as it neared the final hour which they would normally allow themselves to work. While running the dark fabric through the flying needle as it deftly threaded the seam which she held at both sides, she idly wondered who the stranger nearby could be. There wasn't any forewarning and there hasn't been any sort of loud screaming or altercation, so it wouldn't be any sort of Health Inspector, and it wasn't the landlord either. Deliveries wouldn't be requested at this hour, and she didn't recall anyone new undertaking that task in several days. She spaced for a moment on the latest boy's name - William came to mind. That should be it. He seemed a nice boy, whatever his name was. But anyway, who was down there? There was no good reason for anyone unfamiliar to be in this apartment at this hour. Then she heard footsteps approach their room. There were two sets of steps coming near them. Soon, a small middle aged man stood in the opened doorway and addressed them in their native Yiddish.
"Can we take a picture of this room?"
A picture? Here? Now? How is that possible? There wasn't any camera equipment being lugged around which she could see. Regardless, she had nothing to hide and knew neither person standing nearby as anyone important, so she instinctively said yes without wanting to debate or discuss the request. The three Leichts remained motionless for the brief moment while the second man, taller than the first who spoke, came from behind and held out a small box into the open area with one hand and a small tube with the other. Suddenly, the tube shot out a puff of light which pierced their eyes and caused all three of them to vocally express their shock. Carolina blinked several times and started to panic while her vision slowly returned. The last hour was drawing to a close and this was time being wasted. The shorter man spoke again.
"The gentleman would like to know how much your family is earning for your work. Would you be willing to tell us about what you do?"
Her confusion increased with the question. She had no idea why any of this was happening, and became as irritated as she was perplexed with the intrusion into her work as it was being delayed.
"Is he, are you the police? Do you work for the city?"
"No, madam. He is documenting the lifestyle of people like you for journalistic purposes."
"Us? Why us? What does he care about us? What's important to see here?"
"He wants to investigate the conditions of the workers like you. He would like to ask questions about your work and lifestyle from it."
Carolina was not satisfied with the response. She saw no reason why someone would want to be here to take pictures of her room and her work area. It made no sense. Something didn't seem right. She responded with finality after a moment's contemplation.
"If he has questions, he can ask my boss Stanley. He should know that we are going to sleep soon and we need to keep working until we do. I have nothing further to say."
The man nodded and mumbled some words to the other man in words she knew to be English. The taller man then nodded with his hat tipped and a smile, and turned away without further action. The shorter man spoke before following him.
"Sorry to have bothered you, madam. Thank you for allowing us to take the photograph. Please have a good night."
As the two walked away, Simon resumed his sewing and their son resumed the folding of the finished garments. Carolina remained still as she watched them walk away.
"I wonder what that was all about." Her husband asked the question with a tone of indifference.
"I haven't the slightest idea - but I think I should tell Stanley what has just happened. Something isn't right."
Thursday, August 23, 2012
18351016 15:48:11
Jesse saw the horse drawing cart from nearly a half of a mile away, but didn't know for sure that it was Daron returning until he was able to make out the horse's brown hair that he knew it to be Randall. What confused him more was that he was able to discern two men seated in the carriage as it approached. The other man was bulkier and sat at a taller height than Daron in comparison. Rather than wait for them to approach, he began to run towards them when they were nearby. After being alone for so long, he was desperate to see another person.
"Hold on, Jesse, hold on." Daron yelled the command loudly to carry the voice over the squeaking wooden wheels of the carriage. "We're bringin this to the house." Jesse nodded and walked along the side of the carriage as they approached the front walkway to the charred remains of the house. Daron snapped the reins and Randal stopped immediately, then tossed his head side to side with a rough sigh as it was finally allowed to stop. The two men descended from opposite sides. Jesse ran to Daron and wrapped his arms around him.
"Praise God for your return, Misser Daron. It has been awful out here alone."
"I don't doubt it, and I am as thankful that you stayed to keep this place. I take it you're hungry?"
"Oh, starving, Misser Daron." When Jesse said this, he released his grip from Daron and made a point to rub his belly with both hands. "I feel like I can eat dirt, no lie."
By this point, the other man had walked around Randal from the side and stood before the both of them. He folded his hands under his stomach and stood still while staring at them.
"Jesse, this is Mister Whitney Poole. He heard of our plight when I was in Baltimore and decided to assist us here, with intent to remain and establish himself here."
"Nice to meet you, Jesse." Whitney extended a hand for Jesse to shake, which he did promptly. Jesse noticed that his voice was a lower timbre than Daron and his pace of speech was slower.
"Well," said Daron, "among the goods we have brought is some dried meat and a tent, so I think we should see to making it before night falls. Cmere and take the stuff, Jesse."
Jesse obliged and walked with Daron at his side as the pair went to the side of the wagon to get the tent and some other supplies. Jesse noticed that as they did so, Whitney remained in place and looked around at the entire area, inspecting the remains of the house and barn, and studying the surroundings. He wondered why he didn't volunteer to help acquire the supplies.
"Hold on, Jesse, hold on." Daron yelled the command loudly to carry the voice over the squeaking wooden wheels of the carriage. "We're bringin this to the house." Jesse nodded and walked along the side of the carriage as they approached the front walkway to the charred remains of the house. Daron snapped the reins and Randal stopped immediately, then tossed his head side to side with a rough sigh as it was finally allowed to stop. The two men descended from opposite sides. Jesse ran to Daron and wrapped his arms around him.
"Praise God for your return, Misser Daron. It has been awful out here alone."
"I don't doubt it, and I am as thankful that you stayed to keep this place. I take it you're hungry?"
"Oh, starving, Misser Daron." When Jesse said this, he released his grip from Daron and made a point to rub his belly with both hands. "I feel like I can eat dirt, no lie."
By this point, the other man had walked around Randal from the side and stood before the both of them. He folded his hands under his stomach and stood still while staring at them.
"Jesse, this is Mister Whitney Poole. He heard of our plight when I was in Baltimore and decided to assist us here, with intent to remain and establish himself here."
"Nice to meet you, Jesse." Whitney extended a hand for Jesse to shake, which he did promptly. Jesse noticed that his voice was a lower timbre than Daron and his pace of speech was slower.
"Well," said Daron, "among the goods we have brought is some dried meat and a tent, so I think we should see to making it before night falls. Cmere and take the stuff, Jesse."
Jesse obliged and walked with Daron at his side as the pair went to the side of the wagon to get the tent and some other supplies. Jesse noticed that as they did so, Whitney remained in place and looked around at the entire area, inspecting the remains of the house and barn, and studying the surroundings. He wondered why he didn't volunteer to help acquire the supplies.
Wednesday, August 22, 2012
18970722 05:56:11
MP-S-7918X0418
Ryan Bojack shot up from his bed when he heard the door knocked open. The proximity of the volume from the impact and subsequent scattering of his cat as it dashed off of his bed confirmed it instantly in his mind. Was he really being robbed? Why him? Why now? More importantly - what to do? He heard multiple footsteps quickly entering his apartment, so taking out the intruders was out of the question. He had no gun or any sort of weapon with which he could strike someone. He wasn't about to rush out to get into a fist fight with someone who likely would be armed. Regardless, he jumped out of the bed and backed to the corner of the room, clenching his fists tightly and bracing the heels of his feet against the sides of the walls. He felt that he had to make a stand, and thought of no better way to quickly do so.
The footsteps approached his room - both pairs did. There were two men. The weight and heavy sound of the steps registered to Ryan as men. But they were approaching his room - were they targeting him? Were they not here to steal? The confusion distracted him enough that when Exeter and Secor entered, he didn't have enough time to discern any recognizable features of them against the faint light coming from the hallway light which reached the dark room. Before he could throw a fist out at Secor as he came within range, a thick fabric was thrown over his body which was quickly wrapped around him, tight enough to bind him. He felt a rope being raveled around his torso and tied to keep the fabric cinched on his body. The other man stepped forward and leaned his mouth by Ryan's ear, and issued the command in a whisper.
"All right, faggot. Where's the camera and the film."
Ryan was even more confused with the request.
"You... you're looking for, for my cam-"
Before he could finish speaking, a fist was thrust into his stomach. It felt to him like the knuckles managed to make contact with his spine. He moaned loudly and felt ready to vomit but somehow managed to contain himself enough to only cough violently instead. The whisper came to his ear again.
"Answer me. Your camera and your film. Now."
"Cl. Closet." Ryan struggled to say the word through fits of gasping for air in coughs.
One man walked away while Ryan was still held in place by the other. His bedroom closet was thrust open and all of the contents were rattled and sifted about. Ryan heard strikes hit the glass plates as if they were hit by a bat, but he didn't recall seeing either of the men bring in a bat. He then heard a metal pan hit the floor, followed by some film prints being thrown into it. Next, he smelled the developing fluid being poured on top of the prints as the liquid dripped into the pan. Then the sound of a match strike rang in the air with the smell of sulfur in its wake. He could see an orange glow through the sack which covered his face. The pictures! Three weeks of work was being consumed in an instant! The man who was restraining him now leaned by his face to speak. His whisper had more volume and came out as a coarse grunt.
"No more pictures of the bums and their houses. Got it, cocksucker?"
Ryan Bojack shot up from his bed when he heard the door knocked open. The proximity of the volume from the impact and subsequent scattering of his cat as it dashed off of his bed confirmed it instantly in his mind. Was he really being robbed? Why him? Why now? More importantly - what to do? He heard multiple footsteps quickly entering his apartment, so taking out the intruders was out of the question. He had no gun or any sort of weapon with which he could strike someone. He wasn't about to rush out to get into a fist fight with someone who likely would be armed. Regardless, he jumped out of the bed and backed to the corner of the room, clenching his fists tightly and bracing the heels of his feet against the sides of the walls. He felt that he had to make a stand, and thought of no better way to quickly do so.
The footsteps approached his room - both pairs did. There were two men. The weight and heavy sound of the steps registered to Ryan as men. But they were approaching his room - were they targeting him? Were they not here to steal? The confusion distracted him enough that when Exeter and Secor entered, he didn't have enough time to discern any recognizable features of them against the faint light coming from the hallway light which reached the dark room. Before he could throw a fist out at Secor as he came within range, a thick fabric was thrown over his body which was quickly wrapped around him, tight enough to bind him. He felt a rope being raveled around his torso and tied to keep the fabric cinched on his body. The other man stepped forward and leaned his mouth by Ryan's ear, and issued the command in a whisper.
"All right, faggot. Where's the camera and the film."
Ryan was even more confused with the request.
"You... you're looking for, for my cam-"
Before he could finish speaking, a fist was thrust into his stomach. It felt to him like the knuckles managed to make contact with his spine. He moaned loudly and felt ready to vomit but somehow managed to contain himself enough to only cough violently instead. The whisper came to his ear again.
"Answer me. Your camera and your film. Now."
"Cl. Closet." Ryan struggled to say the word through fits of gasping for air in coughs.
One man walked away while Ryan was still held in place by the other. His bedroom closet was thrust open and all of the contents were rattled and sifted about. Ryan heard strikes hit the glass plates as if they were hit by a bat, but he didn't recall seeing either of the men bring in a bat. He then heard a metal pan hit the floor, followed by some film prints being thrown into it. Next, he smelled the developing fluid being poured on top of the prints as the liquid dripped into the pan. Then the sound of a match strike rang in the air with the smell of sulfur in its wake. He could see an orange glow through the sack which covered his face. The pictures! Three weeks of work was being consumed in an instant! The man who was restraining him now leaned by his face to speak. His whisper had more volume and came out as a coarse grunt.
"No more pictures of the bums and their houses. Got it, cocksucker?"
Monday, August 20, 2012
18550519 22:18:06
"Were you scared?", she asked.
Cook contemplated for a moment before responding.
"No, not scared. Not like, shivering and babbling and crying out like 'oh what in the world are we gonna do' scared. I was just more or less just like shocked, yknow? I had no idea why anything was happening but when you see the house you was in burning and the barn burning next to it and watching it from a hundred steps away because you can't get no closer without the heat choking you, you see all that. That's the end of the world, basically, right there. I'm asleep and next thing I'm running to the woods and turning around to see that. And just watch. No way to stop it. We were just dazed. Yeah, that's it. Dazed. Dulled and awestruck. But once we could start diggin things out, we had some luck on it right off."
"Mhm." Elise curled into Cook's body, nuzzling the bridge of her nose against his arm.
"We found Randy, then once we could get back to the place, we found the chest there. They just there to burn the place, they didn't steal nothin. And that chest was just in the right place or somethin because it was still there and the coin still inside. Then he go for three days to get the stores, and then - then, yeah, I got scared yeah. All I could do was lay down some dead branches by a tree, make a fort like thing, and find a place to lay down and store some berries or whatever I could find. Randy had some of the hay left behind, and I started chewin on that some days too, I was so hungry and there was just barely nothin to find. And it was just that clearing in the woods that whole time, just me in there. Me bein a child and alone there, yeah I was jumpin and spooked by damned everything I heard."
Cook contemplated for a moment before responding.
"No, not scared. Not like, shivering and babbling and crying out like 'oh what in the world are we gonna do' scared. I was just more or less just like shocked, yknow? I had no idea why anything was happening but when you see the house you was in burning and the barn burning next to it and watching it from a hundred steps away because you can't get no closer without the heat choking you, you see all that. That's the end of the world, basically, right there. I'm asleep and next thing I'm running to the woods and turning around to see that. And just watch. No way to stop it. We were just dazed. Yeah, that's it. Dazed. Dulled and awestruck. But once we could start diggin things out, we had some luck on it right off."
"Mhm." Elise curled into Cook's body, nuzzling the bridge of her nose against his arm.
"We found Randy, then once we could get back to the place, we found the chest there. They just there to burn the place, they didn't steal nothin. And that chest was just in the right place or somethin because it was still there and the coin still inside. Then he go for three days to get the stores, and then - then, yeah, I got scared yeah. All I could do was lay down some dead branches by a tree, make a fort like thing, and find a place to lay down and store some berries or whatever I could find. Randy had some of the hay left behind, and I started chewin on that some days too, I was so hungry and there was just barely nothin to find. And it was just that clearing in the woods that whole time, just me in there. Me bein a child and alone there, yeah I was jumpin and spooked by damned everything I heard."
Saturday, August 18, 2012
18961127 07:36:58
MK-S-4798
Carbondale opened the door to her bedroom and saw her sitting upright on the chair set before her dresser and mirror. She looked directly upon him as he entered the room, and remained precisely still as he approached her.
"Your mother can make you some toast. You should have something before the service."
"No, thank you."
The only part of her body which she allowed to move was her eyelids as she blinked. He found himself looking around the room at random spots while searching for what to say next - though it had been some time since he was fully within her room, he didn't quite recall it being so disheveled and brown. He recalled there being more floral decorations in here before, but couldn't recall specifically when now. The lack of organization also intrigued him - it wasn't like her to have so many books removed from proper placement in shelves and in haphazard piles on the floor.
"Well, your mother would like to see you before we leave, and we both would appreciate to see you join us and be around us. It would mean a lot to us both."
"I'd rather not, though."
"OK. By the way, you may like to know that my collection efforts have been great, and I have close to fifty thousand set to donate to the hospital. I think-" He stopped speaking when he noticed her eyes begin to well up.
"What good is it, Dad? Why bother? What difference will it make?"
He nodded and rolled his tongue around in his mouth while choosing his words.
"The difference is that we learn from her passing. The difference is that we start to find a way to keep people from thinking that way. That seems like a good thing to me. Isn't it?"
"Maybe a good thing for you." Her response was barely above a whisper and stated with her head turned away to the side "Make you feel good about yourself."
"Grace. Look. It's one thing for me to just pat you on the back and tell you everything will be fine and walk away. I don't need to do anything else. Don't even have to do that. And I could just take that money anywhere else and not give that place a dime. What I'm doing is to show how I can make things better for people like her in the future. That's something you should be proud of. To know that in response to this crisis, I do something to help all of us - not just you or this family, but everyone living here. All of us. This is what I can do for all of us."
She smiled weakly in response.
"You're right." He caressed her cheek gently with his fingertips.
"That's better. You should come down for some toast." He turned away from her and left the room. She remained seated.
"You're too late." Grace said this no louder than a whisper to the empty room.
Carbondale opened the door to her bedroom and saw her sitting upright on the chair set before her dresser and mirror. She looked directly upon him as he entered the room, and remained precisely still as he approached her.
"Your mother can make you some toast. You should have something before the service."
"No, thank you."
The only part of her body which she allowed to move was her eyelids as she blinked. He found himself looking around the room at random spots while searching for what to say next - though it had been some time since he was fully within her room, he didn't quite recall it being so disheveled and brown. He recalled there being more floral decorations in here before, but couldn't recall specifically when now. The lack of organization also intrigued him - it wasn't like her to have so many books removed from proper placement in shelves and in haphazard piles on the floor.
"Well, your mother would like to see you before we leave, and we both would appreciate to see you join us and be around us. It would mean a lot to us both."
"I'd rather not, though."
"OK. By the way, you may like to know that my collection efforts have been great, and I have close to fifty thousand set to donate to the hospital. I think-" He stopped speaking when he noticed her eyes begin to well up.
"What good is it, Dad? Why bother? What difference will it make?"
He nodded and rolled his tongue around in his mouth while choosing his words.
"The difference is that we learn from her passing. The difference is that we start to find a way to keep people from thinking that way. That seems like a good thing to me. Isn't it?"
"Maybe a good thing for you." Her response was barely above a whisper and stated with her head turned away to the side "Make you feel good about yourself."
"Grace. Look. It's one thing for me to just pat you on the back and tell you everything will be fine and walk away. I don't need to do anything else. Don't even have to do that. And I could just take that money anywhere else and not give that place a dime. What I'm doing is to show how I can make things better for people like her in the future. That's something you should be proud of. To know that in response to this crisis, I do something to help all of us - not just you or this family, but everyone living here. All of us. This is what I can do for all of us."
She smiled weakly in response.
"You're right." He caressed her cheek gently with his fingertips.
"That's better. You should come down for some toast." He turned away from her and left the room. She remained seated.
"You're too late." Grace said this no louder than a whisper to the empty room.
Friday, August 17, 2012
19490206 10:02:44
AA-N-8814
19490206 10:02:44
When Brian Forenze approached the door way, it opened before him as he reached out to the door handle. A large man dressed in an impeccably clean business suit held the door open for him from the inside. He nodded once. Brian looked away as he entered, and the man holding the door open closed it after he entered and remained in the doorway. The only direction in which he could go was to the immediate right, and upon turning the corner he looked over to the main living room of the house and saw four other men standing there. All five in the room stood silent, the other four of which stood surrounding a simple wooden table with no chairs. There were four small boxes arranged on the table. Against the left wall stood Phillip Torro, to Phillip's left was Xavier Stillman, to Xavier's left was Albert Courin, and standing to Albert's left against the right wall was Judge Nicholas Carrel. This was the first time these five men were ever in the same room together, and Brian assumed that nobody knew each other, neither by name or face.
"Good, you're on time. Glad to see you.", said the man at the right wall, who then continued speaking promptly. "We have no time to waste, gentlemen. I am Judge Nicholas Carrel. The only person here who may recognize me is you," he said while nodding to Xavier, who quickly shook his head to say "no" in response. "Right, I recall you mostly staring off in your trial. Even better. Regardless. The language I will use here will be very vague, and you will soon understand it is to all of our benefits. The reason that you are all gathered here is the reason why you were all given leave on your incarceration - because we have a job for you all to do, and you were chosen as the best men to do the job. Recall that this is your chance to redeem yourself, as well - you found yourself where you were because you fucked up. Consider this your Last Chance. You may not get another. Particularly since I - we - can put you right back in a blink. Never forget it. Now. The way this was done before was through a protocol of code names. It may seem stupid, but it does the job. We have chosen how you will adopt them for yourselves and your future comrades of your choosing. Your particular identities will be assigned now." Judge Carrel then slid one box to each of the other four men. "Each box has poker cards in them. Only of one particular suit, and only of two through ten. You will now choose one from the box at random."
Albert was given the hearts box, and drew a nine.
Phillip was given the clubs box, and drew a four.
Brian was given the spades box, and drew a seven.
Xavier was given the diamonds box, and drew a two.
The Judge spoke again.
"Nine of Hearts. Four of Clubs. Seven of Spades. Two of Diamonds. Remember these names, everyone. The suit assignments weren't random, if you were wondering. You can figure out the rest. Report to my office at the courthouse at 8AM. Hearts on Monday, Clubs Tuesday, Spades Wednesday, Diamonds Thursday."
19490206 10:02:44
When Brian Forenze approached the door way, it opened before him as he reached out to the door handle. A large man dressed in an impeccably clean business suit held the door open for him from the inside. He nodded once. Brian looked away as he entered, and the man holding the door open closed it after he entered and remained in the doorway. The only direction in which he could go was to the immediate right, and upon turning the corner he looked over to the main living room of the house and saw four other men standing there. All five in the room stood silent, the other four of which stood surrounding a simple wooden table with no chairs. There were four small boxes arranged on the table. Against the left wall stood Phillip Torro, to Phillip's left was Xavier Stillman, to Xavier's left was Albert Courin, and standing to Albert's left against the right wall was Judge Nicholas Carrel. This was the first time these five men were ever in the same room together, and Brian assumed that nobody knew each other, neither by name or face.
"Good, you're on time. Glad to see you.", said the man at the right wall, who then continued speaking promptly. "We have no time to waste, gentlemen. I am Judge Nicholas Carrel. The only person here who may recognize me is you," he said while nodding to Xavier, who quickly shook his head to say "no" in response. "Right, I recall you mostly staring off in your trial. Even better. Regardless. The language I will use here will be very vague, and you will soon understand it is to all of our benefits. The reason that you are all gathered here is the reason why you were all given leave on your incarceration - because we have a job for you all to do, and you were chosen as the best men to do the job. Recall that this is your chance to redeem yourself, as well - you found yourself where you were because you fucked up. Consider this your Last Chance. You may not get another. Particularly since I - we - can put you right back in a blink. Never forget it. Now. The way this was done before was through a protocol of code names. It may seem stupid, but it does the job. We have chosen how you will adopt them for yourselves and your future comrades of your choosing. Your particular identities will be assigned now." Judge Carrel then slid one box to each of the other four men. "Each box has poker cards in them. Only of one particular suit, and only of two through ten. You will now choose one from the box at random."
Albert was given the hearts box, and drew a nine.
Phillip was given the clubs box, and drew a four.
Brian was given the spades box, and drew a seven.
Xavier was given the diamonds box, and drew a two.
The Judge spoke again.
"Nine of Hearts. Four of Clubs. Seven of Spades. Two of Diamonds. Remember these names, everyone. The suit assignments weren't random, if you were wondering. You can figure out the rest. Report to my office at the courthouse at 8AM. Hearts on Monday, Clubs Tuesday, Spades Wednesday, Diamonds Thursday."
Wednesday, August 15, 2012
19380216 03:41:03
Addendum to yesterday's entry about Pine Grove Hospital: The Racine Project is the means by which Carbondale was able to make an official connection to have Runners get direct and anonymous treatment for job related injury, as well as make sure that rivals who may have needed to be eliminated and had not met such a fate would assuredly do so in this location.
IW-N-1610X1816
19380216 03:41:03
He knew that it didn't actually happen, but as the elevator took him up to the floor where his room was, it felt to Kedzie like there was a small pause and rest upon each floor as he ascended upwards. As he leaned his forehead against the side wall of the carriage, he felt the vibrations which coursed through the compartment. The sensation felt unpleasant, but standing upright seemed less appealing. When the eighteenth floor was finally reached and the door opened to the dimly lit hallway, he lurched away from his position with an audible groan and staggered out just as the door closed behind him. As he slowly ambled to his room, he used his right hand to anchor himself against the wall, repositioning himself with each pair of steps. When he finally reached his doorway, he resumed leaning his forehead against the door so that he could have his right hand free to dig through his pants pocket to get the key.
Kedzie nearly fell to the floor when he opened the door, but summoned enough energy to maintain balance and limp to the couch in the main room, where he finally fell upon his side in a heap. He clenched his eyes shut and took protracted breaths as the numb pain pulsated through his left arm and his feet. This is when Booker jumped upon Kedzie, and began kneading at his chest after walking up his body.
"Mmm... go get me some water, cat." Booker purred and kneaded harder as Kezdie rubbed at his sides and haunches; but rather than sitting upon him, Booker jumped down and stared up at Kedzie from the floor. When Kedzie shifted his body, the cat jumped back and walked towards the kitchen. The intent was clear.
"Fucking cat." He sighed and rose to his feet to walk over to the kitchen. Booker led the way to the refrigerator, from which Kedzie took out the bottle of milk and poured some for the cat in a nearby dish on the ground. He then took a glass and quickly filled it with water from the kitchen sink before returning to the sofa. He sat upright and held the cup to his body while not drinking from it. Booker returned to the sofa and kneaded his front paws into Kedzie's lap before resting upon it. Kedzie generously rubbed behind its ears, in response to which the cat contorted its head to feel the rubbing more deeply.
In times like this, Kedzie found himself contemplating how incredible the situation was, in that just hours ago he was in the middle that exhausting battle, and here he was with an animal which completely trusted his touch and care. Kedzie imagined how easy he could take an animal like that and commit horrible abuse within a blink of an eye - he could simply pick the cat up from the back of the neck and throw it against the wall, or even carry it to the balcony and throw it out to let it fall hundreds of feet. He could unsheath his sword and mutilate the thing as he had done to Victor just hours ago or countless other people before him. The violence which he inflicted on them he could just as easily impose upon this living creature with as much ease as flipping a light switch. But the cat wouldn't know that. The cat would want his care and attention regardless. Despite the disparity between a delinquent gambler and a housecat, he still found it amazing how differently he handled either living being.
IW-N-1610X1816
19380216 03:41:03
He knew that it didn't actually happen, but as the elevator took him up to the floor where his room was, it felt to Kedzie like there was a small pause and rest upon each floor as he ascended upwards. As he leaned his forehead against the side wall of the carriage, he felt the vibrations which coursed through the compartment. The sensation felt unpleasant, but standing upright seemed less appealing. When the eighteenth floor was finally reached and the door opened to the dimly lit hallway, he lurched away from his position with an audible groan and staggered out just as the door closed behind him. As he slowly ambled to his room, he used his right hand to anchor himself against the wall, repositioning himself with each pair of steps. When he finally reached his doorway, he resumed leaning his forehead against the door so that he could have his right hand free to dig through his pants pocket to get the key.
Kedzie nearly fell to the floor when he opened the door, but summoned enough energy to maintain balance and limp to the couch in the main room, where he finally fell upon his side in a heap. He clenched his eyes shut and took protracted breaths as the numb pain pulsated through his left arm and his feet. This is when Booker jumped upon Kedzie, and began kneading at his chest after walking up his body.
"Mmm... go get me some water, cat." Booker purred and kneaded harder as Kezdie rubbed at his sides and haunches; but rather than sitting upon him, Booker jumped down and stared up at Kedzie from the floor. When Kedzie shifted his body, the cat jumped back and walked towards the kitchen. The intent was clear.
"Fucking cat." He sighed and rose to his feet to walk over to the kitchen. Booker led the way to the refrigerator, from which Kedzie took out the bottle of milk and poured some for the cat in a nearby dish on the ground. He then took a glass and quickly filled it with water from the kitchen sink before returning to the sofa. He sat upright and held the cup to his body while not drinking from it. Booker returned to the sofa and kneaded his front paws into Kedzie's lap before resting upon it. Kedzie generously rubbed behind its ears, in response to which the cat contorted its head to feel the rubbing more deeply.
In times like this, Kedzie found himself contemplating how incredible the situation was, in that just hours ago he was in the middle that exhausting battle, and here he was with an animal which completely trusted his touch and care. Kedzie imagined how easy he could take an animal like that and commit horrible abuse within a blink of an eye - he could simply pick the cat up from the back of the neck and throw it against the wall, or even carry it to the balcony and throw it out to let it fall hundreds of feet. He could unsheath his sword and mutilate the thing as he had done to Victor just hours ago or countless other people before him. The violence which he inflicted on them he could just as easily impose upon this living creature with as much ease as flipping a light switch. But the cat wouldn't know that. The cat would want his care and attention regardless. Despite the disparity between a delinquent gambler and a housecat, he still found it amazing how differently he handled either living being.
Tuesday, August 14, 2012
HQ-S-3191
HQ-S-3191
This is the site of the Pine Grove Hospital, which originally opened on August 15, 1883. The initial three story structure is within a portion of the current building which faces 32nd street to the South and was since renovated when the entire hospital was rebuilt in 1897. The 1897 renovation project was initiated by Carbondale after the suicide of Marilou Saunders occurred the previous November of 1896, who was subsequently referred to by the Runner members as "Racine" after the incident. The renovation led to the creation of an entire new building built adjacent to the original structure, the two of which being connected by a pair of external hallways at the third floor. The new structure was developed as a specific and independent psychiatric ward to treat mental trauma and illnesses. In 1943, this secondary facility because focused with the treatment of autism after the publishing of the article "Autistic disturbances of affective contact" by Leo Kanner of nearby Johns Hopkins Hospital. It is believed that there were several patients transferred to this hospital from Johns Hopkins when that facility became overwhelmed with an increasing number of newly identified autism cases. Pine Grove was rebuilt once more in its entirety in 1981 when the segregated building concept proved untenable, and the separate buildings had its inner walls removed to allow the hospital to be essentially combined into one structure, as it presently stands today. Pine Grove employs a staff of over one hundred doctors and nurses, fifty EMS persons, and can accomodate a maximum of two thousand patients. Current estimates indicate that Pine Grove has handled a minimum of two million patients in its span of operation.
This is the site of the Pine Grove Hospital, which originally opened on August 15, 1883. The initial three story structure is within a portion of the current building which faces 32nd street to the South and was since renovated when the entire hospital was rebuilt in 1897. The 1897 renovation project was initiated by Carbondale after the suicide of Marilou Saunders occurred the previous November of 1896, who was subsequently referred to by the Runner members as "Racine" after the incident. The renovation led to the creation of an entire new building built adjacent to the original structure, the two of which being connected by a pair of external hallways at the third floor. The new structure was developed as a specific and independent psychiatric ward to treat mental trauma and illnesses. In 1943, this secondary facility because focused with the treatment of autism after the publishing of the article "Autistic disturbances of affective contact" by Leo Kanner of nearby Johns Hopkins Hospital. It is believed that there were several patients transferred to this hospital from Johns Hopkins when that facility became overwhelmed with an increasing number of newly identified autism cases. Pine Grove was rebuilt once more in its entirety in 1981 when the segregated building concept proved untenable, and the separate buildings had its inner walls removed to allow the hospital to be essentially combined into one structure, as it presently stands today. Pine Grove employs a staff of over one hundred doctors and nurses, fifty EMS persons, and can accomodate a maximum of two thousand patients. Current estimates indicate that Pine Grove has handled a minimum of two million patients in its span of operation.
Monday, August 13, 2012
18961121 01:34:39
HQ-S-3191
Emptiness. A numb emptiness is all that she could acknowledge feeling within herself. Her body still registered external sensations, yes; the frigid air caused her to shiver, her brain still understood that it wasn't comfortable in the night's breeze and undertook the chemical reaction to cause her body to vibrate and alleviate the coldness. She recognized the sound of that cold wind as it swept over the rooftop and caused the naked trees below to sway. Her body still knew how to inhale and exhale and circulate blood through her veins. But she struggled to perceive anything beyond that. With her bare feet upon the rooftop pitch, she understood that she felt cold, and she understood that she does not want to feel cold, but she felt no compulsion to move to somewhere warmer. She felt fully detached from her body, and as she held out her own hand in front of her body, she required a moment to analyze the vision and accept that she was looking at her own body in the present moment. She felt no grounding in her own body or in reality. She imagined herself to feel like a chimney on the roof upon which she stood - an inanimate object which was exposed to the elements of the autumn night.
The rape did more than change her. A change would imply a refinement, or an exchange of one state for another. The rape did more than just physically harm Marilou - it uprooted her perception of reality and meaning. She had an upbringing in a comfortable house, parents who supported her, hobbies which she enjoyed, aspirations to maybe become a mother one day; but that all seemed totally foreign to her now. Those memories, those ambitions, seemed to belong to someone else who she didn't know. Who wasn't her, at least. The thought of stitching a pattern into a dress or sitting down to play a Bach composition seemed pointless. The thought of becoming a mother filled her with disgust, as much for the physical act as for knowing that there was no protection from the kind of evil to which she was subjected. All the love and support and protection which she ever may have felt she had from her friends and family vanished. This entire sensation of purpose and security is what she knew she had lost, and she didn't see any way it would ever come back. She convinced herself it would never come back.
This is how she convinced herself to ultimately end her grief. This is what brought her to the rooftop. She knew that she had to do this completely if she were to do it at all, and not take any chances. As she walked closer to the side of the building, she felt her heart begin to beat faster, but still felt no compulsion to reverse her course. She couldn't foresee an alternative. Much as her body instructed her to keep breathing, she felt chills within herself as an instinct for survival came from within to tell her to refrain. But she saw either choice as leading to suffering. The only question is what duration in suffering did she want. With each step towards the edge, she struggled to ask and answer that question. She finally reached the brick edge and climbed upon it to stand with her toes curled over the side. Her nervously deep breathing caused her body to shift in position, from which she instinctively corrected her balance. The struggle continued and her heart beating echoed in her ears. Again, she asked herself the same question and again she answered.
She leaned forward.
Emptiness. A numb emptiness is all that she could acknowledge feeling within herself. Her body still registered external sensations, yes; the frigid air caused her to shiver, her brain still understood that it wasn't comfortable in the night's breeze and undertook the chemical reaction to cause her body to vibrate and alleviate the coldness. She recognized the sound of that cold wind as it swept over the rooftop and caused the naked trees below to sway. Her body still knew how to inhale and exhale and circulate blood through her veins. But she struggled to perceive anything beyond that. With her bare feet upon the rooftop pitch, she understood that she felt cold, and she understood that she does not want to feel cold, but she felt no compulsion to move to somewhere warmer. She felt fully detached from her body, and as she held out her own hand in front of her body, she required a moment to analyze the vision and accept that she was looking at her own body in the present moment. She felt no grounding in her own body or in reality. She imagined herself to feel like a chimney on the roof upon which she stood - an inanimate object which was exposed to the elements of the autumn night.
The rape did more than change her. A change would imply a refinement, or an exchange of one state for another. The rape did more than just physically harm Marilou - it uprooted her perception of reality and meaning. She had an upbringing in a comfortable house, parents who supported her, hobbies which she enjoyed, aspirations to maybe become a mother one day; but that all seemed totally foreign to her now. Those memories, those ambitions, seemed to belong to someone else who she didn't know. Who wasn't her, at least. The thought of stitching a pattern into a dress or sitting down to play a Bach composition seemed pointless. The thought of becoming a mother filled her with disgust, as much for the physical act as for knowing that there was no protection from the kind of evil to which she was subjected. All the love and support and protection which she ever may have felt she had from her friends and family vanished. This entire sensation of purpose and security is what she knew she had lost, and she didn't see any way it would ever come back. She convinced herself it would never come back.
This is how she convinced herself to ultimately end her grief. This is what brought her to the rooftop. She knew that she had to do this completely if she were to do it at all, and not take any chances. As she walked closer to the side of the building, she felt her heart begin to beat faster, but still felt no compulsion to reverse her course. She couldn't foresee an alternative. Much as her body instructed her to keep breathing, she felt chills within herself as an instinct for survival came from within to tell her to refrain. But she saw either choice as leading to suffering. The only question is what duration in suffering did she want. With each step towards the edge, she struggled to ask and answer that question. She finally reached the brick edge and climbed upon it to stand with her toes curled over the side. Her nervously deep breathing caused her body to shift in position, from which she instinctively corrected her balance. The struggle continued and her heart beating echoed in her ears. Again, she asked herself the same question and again she answered.
She leaned forward.
Wednesday, August 8, 2012
19490616 06:21:18 (continued)
BM-S-5683
Chene then pulled out from Albert's neighbor's driveway and began to follow him.
Albert drove up to South 56th already in a hurried state - Chene had to tail at 30 MPH almost immediately and had to bank hard in making the left hand turn behind Albert, as Albert managed to make the turn with little room behind him for the oncoming traffic. Chene could not allow more than roughly two car lengths between them without the connection to the metal in Albert's car being too thin to be maintained. They approached the intersection at C with the light being red, as planned. Chene saw a man standing behind the metal door of the control box near the corner street light, which told him everyone was in place so far. He wondered if Albert would take his usual route of going all the way to K before going North, but Albert took the right turn once the light turned green and roared off down the street. His temper was indeed getting to him. The next light was 48th, and there were two lanes to choose from on this portion of C. Albert weaved his way around two alternating pairs of cars which were staggered apart within the two lanes, and Chene kept pace in kind right behind him. By this point, Albert had already turned the radio in his car off and felt the blood pulsating within his fingers as they forcefully clenched the steering wheel. He ground his teeth in seething rage and released an audible grunt every time he darted around the next car in front of him. He paid no attention to Chene following closely behind. Albert didn't slow down for the red light at 48th until he was less than a block away - and then he suddenly accelerated even harder and ran through the intersection at a faster clip. Chene laughed softly and pressed on behind him, hearing a car horn blare and depress in tone as he sped past the cars. Albert gave a passing glance in his rear view mirror once he noticed that someone did follow behind him, but he didn't pay it any attention. He was in a hurry and already had a shitty start to his day, and it wasn't any of his concern if someone was following him. If it was a cop, he'd set it straight. With that thought in his head, Albert sped down C even faster now as he approached 32nd; who cares if a cop was following him, who cares about the other traffic around him - he was one of the Runners now, and it was almost his duty to bend the law to his will. He wondered why he didn't bother doing this every day since being indoctrinated into the system. "Fuck it all! This is my road!" is the thought Albert said outloud to himself as he approached the intersection. He reached the crossing as the light was still green. Now was his chance to turn! He started the left turn early and left a visible and audible streak behind him as his car slid on the pavement with the momentum carrying him forward.
The location wasn't what he had planned, but Chene saw it as the time to strike. He snapped his wrist down as Albert skidded to the left in front of him, and the trap sprung. The metal which lined the wheel hubs in Albert's car shot out in rigid spikes, which caused the two tires on the passenger side to rupture with a loud bang. The metal then swiftly slinked back into Chene's weapon as Albert's car tipped to the side and rolled onto the ceiling, which threw sparks into the air as it scraped against the asphalt. Chene continued driving Northward and pulled his nightstick away once the metal had fully retracted from the outside. Albert's car careened into the corner grocery store at full force, making it crash into the brick wall and display window glass which lined the wall. The steering column and engine block of the car became immobilized by the brick base upon which it hit, and Albert's body carried its inertia into the car parts and wedged itself into the metal. His body had no resistance from crushing into the steering wheel in front of him and exploded around the wheel. There was no prolonged suffering - the collision was instantly fatal.
The Nine of Hearts was down.
Chene then pulled out from Albert's neighbor's driveway and began to follow him.
Albert drove up to South 56th already in a hurried state - Chene had to tail at 30 MPH almost immediately and had to bank hard in making the left hand turn behind Albert, as Albert managed to make the turn with little room behind him for the oncoming traffic. Chene could not allow more than roughly two car lengths between them without the connection to the metal in Albert's car being too thin to be maintained. They approached the intersection at C with the light being red, as planned. Chene saw a man standing behind the metal door of the control box near the corner street light, which told him everyone was in place so far. He wondered if Albert would take his usual route of going all the way to K before going North, but Albert took the right turn once the light turned green and roared off down the street. His temper was indeed getting to him. The next light was 48th, and there were two lanes to choose from on this portion of C. Albert weaved his way around two alternating pairs of cars which were staggered apart within the two lanes, and Chene kept pace in kind right behind him. By this point, Albert had already turned the radio in his car off and felt the blood pulsating within his fingers as they forcefully clenched the steering wheel. He ground his teeth in seething rage and released an audible grunt every time he darted around the next car in front of him. He paid no attention to Chene following closely behind. Albert didn't slow down for the red light at 48th until he was less than a block away - and then he suddenly accelerated even harder and ran through the intersection at a faster clip. Chene laughed softly and pressed on behind him, hearing a car horn blare and depress in tone as he sped past the cars. Albert gave a passing glance in his rear view mirror once he noticed that someone did follow behind him, but he didn't pay it any attention. He was in a hurry and already had a shitty start to his day, and it wasn't any of his concern if someone was following him. If it was a cop, he'd set it straight. With that thought in his head, Albert sped down C even faster now as he approached 32nd; who cares if a cop was following him, who cares about the other traffic around him - he was one of the Runners now, and it was almost his duty to bend the law to his will. He wondered why he didn't bother doing this every day since being indoctrinated into the system. "Fuck it all! This is my road!" is the thought Albert said outloud to himself as he approached the intersection. He reached the crossing as the light was still green. Now was his chance to turn! He started the left turn early and left a visible and audible streak behind him as his car slid on the pavement with the momentum carrying him forward.
The location wasn't what he had planned, but Chene saw it as the time to strike. He snapped his wrist down as Albert skidded to the left in front of him, and the trap sprung. The metal which lined the wheel hubs in Albert's car shot out in rigid spikes, which caused the two tires on the passenger side to rupture with a loud bang. The metal then swiftly slinked back into Chene's weapon as Albert's car tipped to the side and rolled onto the ceiling, which threw sparks into the air as it scraped against the asphalt. Chene continued driving Northward and pulled his nightstick away once the metal had fully retracted from the outside. Albert's car careened into the corner grocery store at full force, making it crash into the brick wall and display window glass which lined the wall. The steering column and engine block of the car became immobilized by the brick base upon which it hit, and Albert's body carried its inertia into the car parts and wedged itself into the metal. His body had no resistance from crushing into the steering wheel in front of him and exploded around the wheel. There was no prolonged suffering - the collision was instantly fatal.
The Nine of Hearts was down.
Monday, August 6, 2012
19490616 06:21:18
BM-S-5683
19490616 06:21:18
Albert Courin walked to the front of the garage in an unhurried pace and opened it without urgency. He had a full list of things to do today - such as people to meet for bill collection, which required travel to several distant points of the city, and this knowing that a day full of meandering travel awaited him was chief amongst his current irritants. It wasn't until after he opened the door and looked down his driveway that he noticed a garbage truck parked and idling specifically at the end of it. He was boxed in. He figured that all he would have to do is get in the car and begin to back out, and the garbage men inside would hear him approaching and move up to allow him to pass through. But when he did start the car and begin backing out, the garbage truck stayed. He parked the car and let it sit idle in the driveway for a moment. The garbage truck stayed. Albert put the car in park and got out to approach the truck. It wasn't until he was nearby that he heard a steady stream of coughing coming from the truck's cab. Eventually, he saw that the driver was doubled over and coughing with alarming force, while the passenger was turned to face him.
"Is everything OK?" Albert asked with genuine concern.
"Nah, Mac, something's up. Alla sudden, Teddy here just started hackin a lung, seems like he's gonna run out of breath any second here."
"Is there anything I can do to help?"
"No," said Teddy in response, "no, I'll be OK." He needed several heaving breaths to utter each word.
"OK, well, see, I gotta get going to work so, if you can just move up a bit."
"Right, Mac, right. Just give it a minute and we can go."
"Well, could you drive, Sir?"
"See, I can't move him though. He's all sensitive right now." The passenger touched Teddy on the shoulder and he screeched in animated pain. "See?"
Albert narrowed his eyes at the scene. Was this a joke of some kind? There are two men in the truck and it is anchored until he overcomes some unexplained sudden pain? "OK, well, I do have to get going."
"Right, Mac."
Albert returned to sit in his car and turned the radio on to wait for clearance. He tuned one station to the next, finding a commercial break each time, and spending less time on each station in growing irritation. He went out of park and inched the car backwards. The truck moved, but only for an instant before it parked again. There were manicured flower beds lining each side of the driveway, a decoration which he felt he paid too much for but his wife appreciated, and he didn't want to have to drive over them just to get out of his own driveway. But the garbage truck remained in his way. A seemingly interminable few minutes passed, and the truck moved forward again, only to come to a halt again. Albert threw his door open with a furious thrust of his arm and rose out with full intent to start screaming, but was immediately responded to by the passenger again.
"Just a bit more, Mac! He's tryin!"
Albert had enough of waiting. He was sure this was some kind of joke, but he had no idea what the point of it was, and didn't want to wait to find out. He pulled up to the front of the garage door at an angle and reversed his way through the flower bed and bounced the car over the curb to reach the street. He sped off from his house with determined force.
Chene then pulled out from Albert's neighbor's driveway and began to follow him.
19490616 06:21:18
Albert Courin walked to the front of the garage in an unhurried pace and opened it without urgency. He had a full list of things to do today - such as people to meet for bill collection, which required travel to several distant points of the city, and this knowing that a day full of meandering travel awaited him was chief amongst his current irritants. It wasn't until after he opened the door and looked down his driveway that he noticed a garbage truck parked and idling specifically at the end of it. He was boxed in. He figured that all he would have to do is get in the car and begin to back out, and the garbage men inside would hear him approaching and move up to allow him to pass through. But when he did start the car and begin backing out, the garbage truck stayed. He parked the car and let it sit idle in the driveway for a moment. The garbage truck stayed. Albert put the car in park and got out to approach the truck. It wasn't until he was nearby that he heard a steady stream of coughing coming from the truck's cab. Eventually, he saw that the driver was doubled over and coughing with alarming force, while the passenger was turned to face him.
"Is everything OK?" Albert asked with genuine concern.
"Nah, Mac, something's up. Alla sudden, Teddy here just started hackin a lung, seems like he's gonna run out of breath any second here."
"Is there anything I can do to help?"
"No," said Teddy in response, "no, I'll be OK." He needed several heaving breaths to utter each word.
"OK, well, see, I gotta get going to work so, if you can just move up a bit."
"Right, Mac, right. Just give it a minute and we can go."
"Well, could you drive, Sir?"
"See, I can't move him though. He's all sensitive right now." The passenger touched Teddy on the shoulder and he screeched in animated pain. "See?"
Albert narrowed his eyes at the scene. Was this a joke of some kind? There are two men in the truck and it is anchored until he overcomes some unexplained sudden pain? "OK, well, I do have to get going."
"Right, Mac."
Albert returned to sit in his car and turned the radio on to wait for clearance. He tuned one station to the next, finding a commercial break each time, and spending less time on each station in growing irritation. He went out of park and inched the car backwards. The truck moved, but only for an instant before it parked again. There were manicured flower beds lining each side of the driveway, a decoration which he felt he paid too much for but his wife appreciated, and he didn't want to have to drive over them just to get out of his own driveway. But the garbage truck remained in his way. A seemingly interminable few minutes passed, and the truck moved forward again, only to come to a halt again. Albert threw his door open with a furious thrust of his arm and rose out with full intent to start screaming, but was immediately responded to by the passenger again.
"Just a bit more, Mac! He's tryin!"
Albert had enough of waiting. He was sure this was some kind of joke, but he had no idea what the point of it was, and didn't want to wait to find out. He pulled up to the front of the garage door at an angle and reversed his way through the flower bed and bounced the car over the curb to reach the street. He sped off from his house with determined force.
Chene then pulled out from Albert's neighbor's driveway and began to follow him.
Sunday, August 5, 2012
18961118 16:41:54 (continued)
HQ-S-3191
18961118 16:41:54
Grace quickly thought of something else to bring up - she figured something lighthearted and irrelevant might not be so bad.
"Oh, you would have loved to see it at class today. Mrs. Betten had a big stack of papers she was about to hand out when she slipped on the floor somehow, and the papers went up flying everywhere like a parade! We were all laughing."
"Hm."
Grace held the smile briefly, then looked down to her feet in embarrassment. No, inane humor probably wasn't going to go over well, but what would? She didn't want to hear how her Dad was busy tracking the rapist down, did she? She didn't want to hear about how two of the other men were caught and being questioned by them right now, did she? She didn't want to hear patronizing genial speech about how "things will get better with time" and other frivolous, empty phrases. Right? Could Grace give her a hug? Just hold her? Just do something to show support and care? Would that make things worse? The complete lack of knowing how to best respond to this made Grace angered and disgusted, with herself as much as the situation and for Marilou's condition. Grace's father had the position in the city where things like this could happen to family members. Marilou just happened to be Grace's friend who was with her that day. For all the power which she could only imagine her Dad having, this is what was brought upon them. For all of the intellect which Grace had and the sympathy which she could offer, she was completely failing at doing anything helpful for her friend now. Grace became terrified over how powerless this ordeal made her feel. The sensation was completely alien to her.
"How are you feeling?"
Grace snapped her attention back to Marilou. She maintained her position on the bed and her sight away from making eye contact.
"I'm... fine, really. Fine. And I'm glad they let me here to see you."
"M."
"Uh... oh, say. Y'know what might be good? A walk maybe? Get you on your feet a bit, out of this stuffy room? It might-"
"No, thanks. I'm comfy here. I'm comfy here." Marilou said this while rocking her head slowly forwards and back, with her arms wrapped around her knees as they pressed against her chest.
"OK, Louie, OK. That's fine. S'ok if I stay here a while with you then?"
"M."
Grace nodded with a faint smile and turned around to sit in the sparsely padded chair behind her. She had brought a copy of the novel assigned for the Literature study - Thoreau's Walden - and resumed reading. Marilou remained seated upright in the bed.
18961118 16:41:54
Grace quickly thought of something else to bring up - she figured something lighthearted and irrelevant might not be so bad.
"Oh, you would have loved to see it at class today. Mrs. Betten had a big stack of papers she was about to hand out when she slipped on the floor somehow, and the papers went up flying everywhere like a parade! We were all laughing."
"Hm."
Grace held the smile briefly, then looked down to her feet in embarrassment. No, inane humor probably wasn't going to go over well, but what would? She didn't want to hear how her Dad was busy tracking the rapist down, did she? She didn't want to hear about how two of the other men were caught and being questioned by them right now, did she? She didn't want to hear patronizing genial speech about how "things will get better with time" and other frivolous, empty phrases. Right? Could Grace give her a hug? Just hold her? Just do something to show support and care? Would that make things worse? The complete lack of knowing how to best respond to this made Grace angered and disgusted, with herself as much as the situation and for Marilou's condition. Grace's father had the position in the city where things like this could happen to family members. Marilou just happened to be Grace's friend who was with her that day. For all the power which she could only imagine her Dad having, this is what was brought upon them. For all of the intellect which Grace had and the sympathy which she could offer, she was completely failing at doing anything helpful for her friend now. Grace became terrified over how powerless this ordeal made her feel. The sensation was completely alien to her.
"How are you feeling?"
Grace snapped her attention back to Marilou. She maintained her position on the bed and her sight away from making eye contact.
"I'm... fine, really. Fine. And I'm glad they let me here to see you."
"M."
"Uh... oh, say. Y'know what might be good? A walk maybe? Get you on your feet a bit, out of this stuffy room? It might-"
"No, thanks. I'm comfy here. I'm comfy here." Marilou said this while rocking her head slowly forwards and back, with her arms wrapped around her knees as they pressed against her chest.
"OK, Louie, OK. That's fine. S'ok if I stay here a while with you then?"
"M."
Grace nodded with a faint smile and turned around to sit in the sparsely padded chair behind her. She had brought a copy of the novel assigned for the Literature study - Thoreau's Walden - and resumed reading. Marilou remained seated upright in the bed.
Saturday, August 4, 2012
18961118 16:41:54
HQ-S-3191
18961118 16:41:54
"Now, we've told her that you were coming, and even though she understood and accepted to have you visit, you need to understand that she's still very uh, sensitive, and that you need to be careful around her. Be sure to remain calm and not do anything to upset her."
"Of course." Grace didn't feel patronized by the instruction. The nurse spoke in a caring and motherly tone which she imagined would be difficult to do on a daily basis in a hospital. She suspected that the nurse was likely a mother herself. Her words reflected her nature and intent of genuine concern for patients like Marilou. The remainder of the walk up the flight of stairs and through the hallway to her room was in silence. When they arrived at the doorway, the nurse placed a hand gently upon Grace's shoulder and instructed her to "Wait here." with a whisper, referring to the doorway. The nurse proceeded inside.
Rather than eavesdrop on whatever the nurse was saying to Marilou then, Grace took the moment's wait to collect her thoughts on how she would conduct herself now. Specifcally, she contemplated on what she would say first beyond the initial greeting. "How are you feeling now?" seemed to be the exact kind of question to not ask at this point. The answer was not something which needed to be the subject of conversation. Grace specifically didn't bring any sort of gift, as she was unsure if there was anything appropriate to bring at this time. The nurse called out to Grace and said she could come to see her now.
The nurse made a point to see both girls and nod to them before walking backwards a few paces and showing herself out of the room. Grace stood before Marilou with her hands neatly folded into each other and around her waist. Marilou sat upright in the bed beneath the thin sheet and could only manage to look at Grace directly for a brief moment. Even this much seemed to make Marilou take deeper breaths. Grace studied her and she looked away, and first noticed the puffiness of her eyelids and how her hair was so unusually disheveled. The tone of her skin was discernibly more pale. Finally a question she felt comfortable in asking came to mind.
"Have your parents been here to see you yet?"
Marilou silently moved her lips to form words, as if she was analyzing each word of the question and constructing an appropriate response. "Yes. Daddy was here... a while ago." The word choice shocked Grace. She can't remember how many years it has been since she ever referred to her father as "Daddy".
18961118 16:41:54
"Now, we've told her that you were coming, and even though she understood and accepted to have you visit, you need to understand that she's still very uh, sensitive, and that you need to be careful around her. Be sure to remain calm and not do anything to upset her."
"Of course." Grace didn't feel patronized by the instruction. The nurse spoke in a caring and motherly tone which she imagined would be difficult to do on a daily basis in a hospital. She suspected that the nurse was likely a mother herself. Her words reflected her nature and intent of genuine concern for patients like Marilou. The remainder of the walk up the flight of stairs and through the hallway to her room was in silence. When they arrived at the doorway, the nurse placed a hand gently upon Grace's shoulder and instructed her to "Wait here." with a whisper, referring to the doorway. The nurse proceeded inside.
Rather than eavesdrop on whatever the nurse was saying to Marilou then, Grace took the moment's wait to collect her thoughts on how she would conduct herself now. Specifcally, she contemplated on what she would say first beyond the initial greeting. "How are you feeling now?" seemed to be the exact kind of question to not ask at this point. The answer was not something which needed to be the subject of conversation. Grace specifically didn't bring any sort of gift, as she was unsure if there was anything appropriate to bring at this time. The nurse called out to Grace and said she could come to see her now.
The nurse made a point to see both girls and nod to them before walking backwards a few paces and showing herself out of the room. Grace stood before Marilou with her hands neatly folded into each other and around her waist. Marilou sat upright in the bed beneath the thin sheet and could only manage to look at Grace directly for a brief moment. Even this much seemed to make Marilou take deeper breaths. Grace studied her and she looked away, and first noticed the puffiness of her eyelids and how her hair was so unusually disheveled. The tone of her skin was discernibly more pale. Finally a question she felt comfortable in asking came to mind.
"Have your parents been here to see you yet?"
Marilou silently moved her lips to form words, as if she was analyzing each word of the question and constructing an appropriate response. "Yes. Daddy was here... a while ago." The word choice shocked Grace. She can't remember how many years it has been since she ever referred to her father as "Daddy".
19220421 15:41:44 (revised date)
JF-N-7399
19220421 15:41:44
Mark didn't have to look back to know that Henry was on his trail - he could hear the gallop coming from behind him. He judged himself to be maintaining distance and knew that he wasn't running at his utmost of speed, so he felt assured of his escape. His premeditated route of weaving through the alleyway behind some stores facing 72nd to make it through the main street seemed to be working as he had planned. The alleyway approached and he banked into it while maintaining speed. Yesterday's rain still sat in puddles and kept the loose gravel of the alley moist, which meant that Mark's footing wasn't as assured. He made it out of the alley and ran through a small parking lot where he had to hold a sharp right turn to dash through the adjoining driveway. A car was pulling up just as he was getting through and Mark planted his hands on its hood so that he could pivot away from it and continue running. His handplant on the car shook the car's body against its shocks and made it lazily bounce. Henry maintained pursuit and anchored his hands on the corner of the same car to jump over its right headlight. Now Mark noticed that Henry seemed to be gaining on him and he forced himself to run harder, which led to his direction becoming unfocussed. Mark was forced to weave his way through the pedestrians in front of him on the sidewalk of 72nd, while Henry kept a linear stride in his wake as the people parted to the sides and gawked. The opposing traffic to the right of them was dense and couldn't be crossed. Mark reached out to grab some trashcans on his right side and pull them down, and Henry responded by simply jupming over the entire canister and not losing a stride upon landing. The gap was narrowing. Mark meandered and dashed in a crazed sprint while Henry ran behind in precise strides and hands pointed at tips and alternating between his steps as if he were running for sport.
The intersection ahead finally put up the red light for to the oncoming traffic to stop, which gave Mark a chance to cross the street. The driver approaching northbound on J and turning into their direction was quick on anticipating the green and began to move out as soon as the cross traffic stopped. The oncoming car slowed to a crawl in order to avoid hitting Mark as he turned hard to his right to avoid the collision. The lack of forward progress at this point was the moment that Henry caught up with him. Before he made it to the southern sidewalk, Henry made a lunge to tackle Mark and caught him by the legs. The two boys tumbled together over the street, and Lilian's bag scattered to the sidewalk gutter after Mark lost his grip. Henry rolled on his back with the momentum and came to his knees before Mark could get up by his back. Henry pounced upon Mark and pinned his knees over his body and held him in place under him. Henry leaned back to swing and connected his fist right into Mark's mouth. The second punch split Mark's lip. The fifth punch dislodged some of his front teeth. The ninth punch splattered red blood over his face and hair, and clung to Henry's fist and clothing. Each strike caused Henry to scream out in a piercing screech which successively increased in volume and pitch. Eleven. The blows were coming less rapidly but still with as much force. Fifteen. No traffic moved on the street, and everyone on the sidewalks froze to watch the beating. Seventeen. Mark's body ceased to spasm in pain. Eighteen. Henry's body heaved in breath as he stared at the shattered face beneath his legs. He tilted his head back and released a primal scream that echoed against the buildings lining the intersection. He then slowly raised himself, his right foot before his left, and walked over to retreive the bag. Henry left the body on the ground behind him and walked back to where he left Lilian.
Lilian made it to the end of the block when she heard the screaming and nothing else coming from her left. Her body cringed in knowing how horrifying her brother would now become. She was too far away to make it stop before Henry was done. She folded her hands demurely into her waist and looked down upon them, unsure of what else to do but wait for the incident to conclude and not draw attention to herself. The wait for Henry to return to her seemed to be interminable. Once by her side, Henry froze in place and extended his bloodied fist which clenched her bag in offering. She quickly took it from him and spun around without saying a word to walk away from 72nd. They walked past the school again within a few minutes. She decided that it was probably the best course of action to take the long way home after all.
19220421 15:41:44
Mark didn't have to look back to know that Henry was on his trail - he could hear the gallop coming from behind him. He judged himself to be maintaining distance and knew that he wasn't running at his utmost of speed, so he felt assured of his escape. His premeditated route of weaving through the alleyway behind some stores facing 72nd to make it through the main street seemed to be working as he had planned. The alleyway approached and he banked into it while maintaining speed. Yesterday's rain still sat in puddles and kept the loose gravel of the alley moist, which meant that Mark's footing wasn't as assured. He made it out of the alley and ran through a small parking lot where he had to hold a sharp right turn to dash through the adjoining driveway. A car was pulling up just as he was getting through and Mark planted his hands on its hood so that he could pivot away from it and continue running. His handplant on the car shook the car's body against its shocks and made it lazily bounce. Henry maintained pursuit and anchored his hands on the corner of the same car to jump over its right headlight. Now Mark noticed that Henry seemed to be gaining on him and he forced himself to run harder, which led to his direction becoming unfocussed. Mark was forced to weave his way through the pedestrians in front of him on the sidewalk of 72nd, while Henry kept a linear stride in his wake as the people parted to the sides and gawked. The opposing traffic to the right of them was dense and couldn't be crossed. Mark reached out to grab some trashcans on his right side and pull them down, and Henry responded by simply jupming over the entire canister and not losing a stride upon landing. The gap was narrowing. Mark meandered and dashed in a crazed sprint while Henry ran behind in precise strides and hands pointed at tips and alternating between his steps as if he were running for sport.
The intersection ahead finally put up the red light for to the oncoming traffic to stop, which gave Mark a chance to cross the street. The driver approaching northbound on J and turning into their direction was quick on anticipating the green and began to move out as soon as the cross traffic stopped. The oncoming car slowed to a crawl in order to avoid hitting Mark as he turned hard to his right to avoid the collision. The lack of forward progress at this point was the moment that Henry caught up with him. Before he made it to the southern sidewalk, Henry made a lunge to tackle Mark and caught him by the legs. The two boys tumbled together over the street, and Lilian's bag scattered to the sidewalk gutter after Mark lost his grip. Henry rolled on his back with the momentum and came to his knees before Mark could get up by his back. Henry pounced upon Mark and pinned his knees over his body and held him in place under him. Henry leaned back to swing and connected his fist right into Mark's mouth. The second punch split Mark's lip. The fifth punch dislodged some of his front teeth. The ninth punch splattered red blood over his face and hair, and clung to Henry's fist and clothing. Each strike caused Henry to scream out in a piercing screech which successively increased in volume and pitch. Eleven. The blows were coming less rapidly but still with as much force. Fifteen. No traffic moved on the street, and everyone on the sidewalks froze to watch the beating. Seventeen. Mark's body ceased to spasm in pain. Eighteen. Henry's body heaved in breath as he stared at the shattered face beneath his legs. He tilted his head back and released a primal scream that echoed against the buildings lining the intersection. He then slowly raised himself, his right foot before his left, and walked over to retreive the bag. Henry left the body on the ground behind him and walked back to where he left Lilian.
Lilian made it to the end of the block when she heard the screaming and nothing else coming from her left. Her body cringed in knowing how horrifying her brother would now become. She was too far away to make it stop before Henry was done. She folded her hands demurely into her waist and looked down upon them, unsure of what else to do but wait for the incident to conclude and not draw attention to herself. The wait for Henry to return to her seemed to be interminable. Once by her side, Henry froze in place and extended his bloodied fist which clenched her bag in offering. She quickly took it from him and spun around without saying a word to walk away from 72nd. They walked past the school again within a few minutes. She decided that it was probably the best course of action to take the long way home after all.
Thursday, August 2, 2012
19210422 15:41:44
JF-N-7399
19210422 15:41:44
Lilian was not in a very happy mood as she started to walk home with Henry. It was bad enough that she had to wait so long to leave because of Henry's extra work that he had to do with his class, which meant that their normal bus ride had gone by the time they were ready to go. She was also unsure of how long she'd have to wait for the 72nd Street city bus to come around, and if it would be worth it to wait for it to arrive as opposed to just walking all the way home from here. Her shoes still weren't worn in after a week of little use, and she didn't need or want to imagine how her feet would feel after the trek. She didn't have the luxury of voicing her displeasure to Henry, because her speaking would cause him to stop walking and try to process her speech, despite his inability to give any sort of reaction to it. Lilian had no choice but to simmer over her displeasure to herself. It was then that he called out to them.
"Hey, you!"
Lilian knew it was addressed to either of them, as there was nobody else around on the sidewalk. She turned around to see Mark Voller approaching them. Lilian knew of Mark in passing, mostly because he was in a grade higher than she was, but he was distinctive enough with his large stature and ears which stood out from his short hair. She also heard that he was essentially a bully who seemed to enjoy to throw his considerable weight around. She was perturbed that she didn't notice him before he called out - where did he come from? Did he start following them when they left the school? Was he too far away that she didn't hear him walk in their wake? Was she too distracted with her own displeasure of the walk home that she didn't notice him beforehand? She resolved to try to be more attentive in the future. Mark was finally close enough to address them.
"You're Lilian, right?"
"Yes. And your name is Mark, I believe, yes?"
"Yeah. So uh, I heard that you uh, sell ... stuff."
She gave a wan smile. New customers are always welcome, but she didn't know what to make of him approaching her like this instead of in the school like normal. "Well, what kind of stuff did you mean, Mark?"
"Uh, some cigs, basically, yeah."
"Well sure, Mark. It's a quarter for a score."
"Uh, OK."
With the terms agreed upon, Lilian still felt uneasy about the exchange. He shifted his hands in his pockets haphazardly, in what she assumed was a search for the money. She knelt down to get a pack of cigarettes from Henry's backpack.
This was the confirmation Mark waited for. Before she could get a pack in her hand, he quickly scooped the backpack up and took off running down the street.
"Hey! What-" Lilian started to run after him but only advanced a few steps before she stopped in realization that his speed was considerable and that she couldn't possibly catch up to him. "Hey!" she called out again, unable to think of anything better to do. She felt a wave of coldness sweep over her body. Henry didn't contemplate the situation for long, after seeing his sister's face. He looked at her, read the frowned wrinkles about her eyes, looked up to see Mark running away, and decided what to do. He took off after him.
19210422 15:41:44
Lilian was not in a very happy mood as she started to walk home with Henry. It was bad enough that she had to wait so long to leave because of Henry's extra work that he had to do with his class, which meant that their normal bus ride had gone by the time they were ready to go. She was also unsure of how long she'd have to wait for the 72nd Street city bus to come around, and if it would be worth it to wait for it to arrive as opposed to just walking all the way home from here. Her shoes still weren't worn in after a week of little use, and she didn't need or want to imagine how her feet would feel after the trek. She didn't have the luxury of voicing her displeasure to Henry, because her speaking would cause him to stop walking and try to process her speech, despite his inability to give any sort of reaction to it. Lilian had no choice but to simmer over her displeasure to herself. It was then that he called out to them.
"Hey, you!"
Lilian knew it was addressed to either of them, as there was nobody else around on the sidewalk. She turned around to see Mark Voller approaching them. Lilian knew of Mark in passing, mostly because he was in a grade higher than she was, but he was distinctive enough with his large stature and ears which stood out from his short hair. She also heard that he was essentially a bully who seemed to enjoy to throw his considerable weight around. She was perturbed that she didn't notice him before he called out - where did he come from? Did he start following them when they left the school? Was he too far away that she didn't hear him walk in their wake? Was she too distracted with her own displeasure of the walk home that she didn't notice him beforehand? She resolved to try to be more attentive in the future. Mark was finally close enough to address them.
"You're Lilian, right?"
"Yes. And your name is Mark, I believe, yes?"
"Yeah. So uh, I heard that you uh, sell ... stuff."
She gave a wan smile. New customers are always welcome, but she didn't know what to make of him approaching her like this instead of in the school like normal. "Well, what kind of stuff did you mean, Mark?"
"Uh, some cigs, basically, yeah."
"Well sure, Mark. It's a quarter for a score."
"Uh, OK."
With the terms agreed upon, Lilian still felt uneasy about the exchange. He shifted his hands in his pockets haphazardly, in what she assumed was a search for the money. She knelt down to get a pack of cigarettes from Henry's backpack.
This was the confirmation Mark waited for. Before she could get a pack in her hand, he quickly scooped the backpack up and took off running down the street.
"Hey! What-" Lilian started to run after him but only advanced a few steps before she stopped in realization that his speed was considerable and that she couldn't possibly catch up to him. "Hey!" she called out again, unable to think of anything better to do. She felt a wave of coldness sweep over her body. Henry didn't contemplate the situation for long, after seeing his sister's face. He looked at her, read the frowned wrinkles about her eyes, looked up to see Mark running away, and decided what to do. He took off after him.
Wednesday, August 1, 2012
18351003 06:00:00
18351003 06:00:00
Daron's body stood motionless in numbed silence as he watched the embers of the house and barn glow. It wasn't long after the fire began that he felt courageous enough to slowly approach the premises, as he didn't hear the men anywhere nearby. Jesse withdrew from his concealment within the woods and joined him shortly thereafter. The vandals didn't take the time to enclose the barn or the coops, so all of the animals were able to flee from the conflagration without injury. The crackling of the burning wood was all to be heard around them, until a soft hissing began to emit from the burnt wood. The morning's sunrise didn't pierce through the dense gray clouds hanging overhead, and drops of rain now began to fall upon the scene. Neither Daron nor Jesse made any attempt to find any sort of cover from it, as much from paralysis in spectating the horror as from lack of any place they could immediately go to do so. Daron remained still and let the rain melt the dirt over his face and body for some time before he finally began to walk. He took a route to pace around the house, as if he needed to verify that the entirety of the house was indeed consumed by the fire.
The surprise came when he turned around the corner of the house and was able to see past the other side for the first time since he had retreated in the night. In the distance, standing idly by a tree at the edge of the of the road leading North, stood a horse. It had a mostly white coat with patched of brown hair speckled on the bridge of its nose. It still had a bridle attached to its torso. Daron immediately recognized the horse as one of the animals which was kept in the barn. When Daron realized this, an addled smile gave way to a nearly delirious grin and a sputtered laugh.
"He didn't run. He stayed. He stayed. He didn't run." Daron briskly took Jesse by the wrist and began walking towards the horse - slowly at first, but gaining in speed as he became closer until he ran at full stride until he was within arms length of the horse. Jesse had to skip and jump to keep from being dragged in his wake. Daron held a hand out nervously to the horse's nose, and rubbed the side of its face in broad strokes when it brushed against his hand in response. Daron now cackled in glee.
"He stayed! You see, boy! You see! He stayed! We still got him!" Out of exhaustion, Jesse did little more than reach his hands to the top of the horse's side and leaned against it, as if he was trying to hug the creature. Daron became nearly incoherent in his jubilation.
"He stayed, boy. He - the hell is your name, anywho." Daron fumbled at the tags in the middle of the horse's brace until a small circle of engraved brass fell into his fingers. The tag bore the word "RANDALL". "Randy. Randy the God Bless'd Horse. Randy Our Horse. He's here. He stayed. Oh, thank heavens."
Daron's body stood motionless in numbed silence as he watched the embers of the house and barn glow. It wasn't long after the fire began that he felt courageous enough to slowly approach the premises, as he didn't hear the men anywhere nearby. Jesse withdrew from his concealment within the woods and joined him shortly thereafter. The vandals didn't take the time to enclose the barn or the coops, so all of the animals were able to flee from the conflagration without injury. The crackling of the burning wood was all to be heard around them, until a soft hissing began to emit from the burnt wood. The morning's sunrise didn't pierce through the dense gray clouds hanging overhead, and drops of rain now began to fall upon the scene. Neither Daron nor Jesse made any attempt to find any sort of cover from it, as much from paralysis in spectating the horror as from lack of any place they could immediately go to do so. Daron remained still and let the rain melt the dirt over his face and body for some time before he finally began to walk. He took a route to pace around the house, as if he needed to verify that the entirety of the house was indeed consumed by the fire.
The surprise came when he turned around the corner of the house and was able to see past the other side for the first time since he had retreated in the night. In the distance, standing idly by a tree at the edge of the of the road leading North, stood a horse. It had a mostly white coat with patched of brown hair speckled on the bridge of its nose. It still had a bridle attached to its torso. Daron immediately recognized the horse as one of the animals which was kept in the barn. When Daron realized this, an addled smile gave way to a nearly delirious grin and a sputtered laugh.
"He didn't run. He stayed. He stayed. He didn't run." Daron briskly took Jesse by the wrist and began walking towards the horse - slowly at first, but gaining in speed as he became closer until he ran at full stride until he was within arms length of the horse. Jesse had to skip and jump to keep from being dragged in his wake. Daron held a hand out nervously to the horse's nose, and rubbed the side of its face in broad strokes when it brushed against his hand in response. Daron now cackled in glee.
"He stayed! You see, boy! You see! He stayed! We still got him!" Out of exhaustion, Jesse did little more than reach his hands to the top of the horse's side and leaned against it, as if he was trying to hug the creature. Daron became nearly incoherent in his jubilation.
"He stayed, boy. He - the hell is your name, anywho." Daron fumbled at the tags in the middle of the horse's brace until a small circle of engraved brass fell into his fingers. The tag bore the word "RANDALL". "Randy. Randy the God Bless'd Horse. Randy Our Horse. He's here. He stayed. Oh, thank heavens."
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