18680711 14:55:31
MK-S-4798
Gloria opened the door to her son's bedroom and turned her head around its edge to look in before entering. He saw him silently sitting on the edge of his bed, with his hands folded into his lap.
"Rodney?"
"Hi Mama." He looked up to her when he responded, but his face bore no change in reaction to her walking into his room.
"Oh, honey, are you OK?" She walked briskly over to him and suddenly wrapped her arms around him and pressed his body against hers. "Your father told me about the incident you were just in. I'm just relieved to see you back safe. That's the most important thing."
"I know, I know. I'm OK Mama, really."
Gloria placed her hands on his shoulders to pull herself away from him and kept her hands there as she knelt down. She has no reason to disbelieve that he was telling the truth, that he really was fundamentally unshaken by the incident - and this realization made her feel proud, yet worried. Neither she nor Jesse were the type to be overtly emotional, and to this point she had seen no difference in this regard with her son, and she was impressed by his stoic demeanor at this point. But a question began to form in the back of her mind as she realized this, and she wondered if it was normal for a child at the age of nine to have witnessed something horrible such as that and not show signs of distress? She looked Rodney over silently, turning her head from one angle to the next to look him over for any signs of cracking in his facade, and was unable to find any such fissure points.
"Y'know I'd understand if you were scared or disturbed, I would understand if you were. You can talk to your Mama about it."
"I know." Rodney said this with a nod that could have been otherwise interpreted as cheerful. "Daddy explained it, though. It's like he said - it was them or him. They were gonna kill him, or he was gonna kill them. He had no choice. That's the only way he could have done that to stay alive. That's the only way he keep me alive. It was the only way."
"That may be so, this time. But don't forget, it's not like that every time. Most every time there's always a way where-"
"But Mama, they had guns on him and they shot the guns. They tried to kill him first. I saw it."
"Rodney, listen to me. We're talking about death, here. Death. Those folks were killed. You watched your Daddy kill a man. There's no coming back from that. Deciding to kill a man isn't something you do the same way you choose what clothes to wear in the morning. It isn't like throwing away a bent nail. We can't just go killin everyone we have a problem with. That's what I mean."
"I know, Mama, I know."
"I hope you do. I mean it. This isn't some regular thing here. Oh and that's another thing - don't go talkin about this in the wide open to anyone else. Not at school, not away from school, not here, not anywhere else. Your Daddy may have saved you, and he may have done that to save you, but that doesn't mean it's something you go around and tell everyone about, and brag to everyone about. Death isn't something to celebrate, you hear?"
"Yes'm."
"Tell me again." Gloria suddenly cupped her hand under Rodney's chin and raised his head up to compel him to look into her eyes. "Who else are you gonna talk to about what happened today?"
"N, nobody."
"That's right." She stepped away and stood upright. "Well, I believe we have some supper to eat soon. As long as you say you're feeling good, I guess that's all there is to say, and you ought to wash up and get ready then."
She bent over at the waist to kiss her son on the forehead, then turned around to leave the room. Gloria closed the door partially shut behind her, and stood at the other side of the doorway in anticipation of hearing his footsteps on the ground. After a prolonged period of silence, she stomped her foot on the wooden floor and yelled out one word.
"Now!"
Finally, she heard his footsteps creak upon the wooden floor. As Gloria walked away from the bedroom, she still ruminated over whether Rodney was acting appropriately.
Thursday, October 3, 2013
Wednesday, October 2, 2013
18680711 13:20:18 continued
18680711 13:20:18
TA x 16 S
Cook watched the leader of the three men in front of him draw his pistol in position first. The two men who flanked him seemed to motion to do the same, but did so later, so Cook knew that his priority was on the man in the center. He fulfilled his promise and shot his gun at Cook without issuing another word of warning. When he pulled the trigger, Cook steadied his feet on the ground and turned his hand slightly to its side as he thrust the sword in a circular motion in front of him. In that instant, the sword appeared to create a shadow of its motion in mid air as a thin screen of the metal spread from the blade, and the bullet from the gun reached the screen and shattered in metallic fragments. The shooter let a trail of tobacco juice slowly dribble from the side of his mouth as he saw the bullet get deflected away and leave Cook unharmed. Cook knew Massac was at his right, and the two understood what to do next; the men pivoted away from each other and lunged their swords at the direction of the men on the sides of the leader. The inertia of the motion seemed to compel the metal in the blades to shoot forth from their tips, and the swords shot forth in length. Before the two men could fire their weapons, the tips of the swords had each pierced through each of their necks, which caused each to drop their pistols without having a chance to fire them. Massac braced his left hand under his right to thrust his sword upward, causing the sword to slice through the top of his target's head; Cook braced his hand in a similar manner but used the force to swing sideways, causing the impaled neck to be slashed in half and for the sword to race towards the leader. Before he could turn his head to see it, Cook's sword penetrated the leader at the shoulder with enough force to cleanly cut his right arm off and follow through to exit at the left side of his collar bone. Cook's first victim had his head fold over the side of his body, and the lack of balance and consciousness caused him to fall to the ground instantly and leave a trail of blood smear upon the horse's body. The fragment of the leader's torso fell forward and landed on the ground before the rest of his body reached the surface. Massac's target sat upright and stunned for a moment before the man fell forward and remained slouched over his horse.
Cook turned around before the leader's body finished falling to the ground and ran towards Rodney. The rider at the rear of the carriage behind Rodney was only capable of staring at Cook with eyes bulging from his head and his breath labored.
"You want it next?" Cook screamed the question at the rider as he put his arm around his son's shoulder to pull their bodies closer together. The rider remained standing still, except to silently shake his head. "Well gwan git then! Get the hell out of my home! I'll kill you next time! Go!"
The man did not hesitate to turn his horse around and race off away from the scene. Cook kept his gaze upon the man and watched him ride off until he noticed that Rodney was whimpering and weeping as he was being held against his body. Cook snapped his sword back into the chain length and motioned his arm around to use the centripetal force to wrap it around his body. He then knelt on both knees to face his son more directly.
"OK now look. Look at me. It's OK now, look at me." Rodney sniffled loudly as he looked up and felt his tears drip over the sides of his face. Cook rested both of his hands on the child's shoulders before speaking again. "This is the truth, here. This is the truth. There are some folks out there who want me dead, you see? You saw those guns. You heard them. They wanted to shoot me dead. It was them or me."
"But, ... but why kill you? What did you do? What did you do to them?"
"Uh, well, without knowing who they are, I don't know for sure. It might be a few different things."
"Like what?"
"That don't matter right now. Right now, what you need to understand is that I got to do things like that to keep me and you alive. If they don't die, I die. We die. That's what you need to know from this. Now, we gotta do some clean up here before we can get back goin home. You gotta stay out here where we can see you while we do that, OK? Stay right by us."
"Urm, can't I just go sit in the wagon-"
"No! What just happened out here, boy? Pay attention! That wagon gets jumped again while we're taking care of things, then what? We might not be so lucky next time. No, you just hush and stay with me."
"Yes, Daddy." From this point on, Rodney obeyed his father's order without another word of protest, but kept his eyes to the ground and away from any pools of blood as best as he could. Massac and Cook approached the bodies and pulled the bandannas away on the men to get a closer look.
"Anyone you recognize? I don't." Cook took one of the fallen men up by his armpits and dragged him to the side of the road as he asked.
"Nope, nobody. That much is a relief." Massac let the body he was holding fall to the ground and ran to the body that Cook was dragging to help lift it by its feet. The two mean used the same teamwork to move the two other bodies, then Massac tended to the horse left behind to get it tethered to the carriage. Luckily, the animal was braced and ready to go with no difficulty and within a short span of time.
Nobody said another word for the rest of the ride home. By the time he entered the carriage, Rodney was able to regain his composure and stopped crying.
TA x 16 S
Cook watched the leader of the three men in front of him draw his pistol in position first. The two men who flanked him seemed to motion to do the same, but did so later, so Cook knew that his priority was on the man in the center. He fulfilled his promise and shot his gun at Cook without issuing another word of warning. When he pulled the trigger, Cook steadied his feet on the ground and turned his hand slightly to its side as he thrust the sword in a circular motion in front of him. In that instant, the sword appeared to create a shadow of its motion in mid air as a thin screen of the metal spread from the blade, and the bullet from the gun reached the screen and shattered in metallic fragments. The shooter let a trail of tobacco juice slowly dribble from the side of his mouth as he saw the bullet get deflected away and leave Cook unharmed. Cook knew Massac was at his right, and the two understood what to do next; the men pivoted away from each other and lunged their swords at the direction of the men on the sides of the leader. The inertia of the motion seemed to compel the metal in the blades to shoot forth from their tips, and the swords shot forth in length. Before the two men could fire their weapons, the tips of the swords had each pierced through each of their necks, which caused each to drop their pistols without having a chance to fire them. Massac braced his left hand under his right to thrust his sword upward, causing the sword to slice through the top of his target's head; Cook braced his hand in a similar manner but used the force to swing sideways, causing the impaled neck to be slashed in half and for the sword to race towards the leader. Before he could turn his head to see it, Cook's sword penetrated the leader at the shoulder with enough force to cleanly cut his right arm off and follow through to exit at the left side of his collar bone. Cook's first victim had his head fold over the side of his body, and the lack of balance and consciousness caused him to fall to the ground instantly and leave a trail of blood smear upon the horse's body. The fragment of the leader's torso fell forward and landed on the ground before the rest of his body reached the surface. Massac's target sat upright and stunned for a moment before the man fell forward and remained slouched over his horse.
Cook turned around before the leader's body finished falling to the ground and ran towards Rodney. The rider at the rear of the carriage behind Rodney was only capable of staring at Cook with eyes bulging from his head and his breath labored.
"You want it next?" Cook screamed the question at the rider as he put his arm around his son's shoulder to pull their bodies closer together. The rider remained standing still, except to silently shake his head. "Well gwan git then! Get the hell out of my home! I'll kill you next time! Go!"
The man did not hesitate to turn his horse around and race off away from the scene. Cook kept his gaze upon the man and watched him ride off until he noticed that Rodney was whimpering and weeping as he was being held against his body. Cook snapped his sword back into the chain length and motioned his arm around to use the centripetal force to wrap it around his body. He then knelt on both knees to face his son more directly.
"OK now look. Look at me. It's OK now, look at me." Rodney sniffled loudly as he looked up and felt his tears drip over the sides of his face. Cook rested both of his hands on the child's shoulders before speaking again. "This is the truth, here. This is the truth. There are some folks out there who want me dead, you see? You saw those guns. You heard them. They wanted to shoot me dead. It was them or me."
"But, ... but why kill you? What did you do? What did you do to them?"
"Uh, well, without knowing who they are, I don't know for sure. It might be a few different things."
"Like what?"
"That don't matter right now. Right now, what you need to understand is that I got to do things like that to keep me and you alive. If they don't die, I die. We die. That's what you need to know from this. Now, we gotta do some clean up here before we can get back goin home. You gotta stay out here where we can see you while we do that, OK? Stay right by us."
"Urm, can't I just go sit in the wagon-"
"No! What just happened out here, boy? Pay attention! That wagon gets jumped again while we're taking care of things, then what? We might not be so lucky next time. No, you just hush and stay with me."
"Yes, Daddy." From this point on, Rodney obeyed his father's order without another word of protest, but kept his eyes to the ground and away from any pools of blood as best as he could. Massac and Cook approached the bodies and pulled the bandannas away on the men to get a closer look.
"Anyone you recognize? I don't." Cook took one of the fallen men up by his armpits and dragged him to the side of the road as he asked.
"Nope, nobody. That much is a relief." Massac let the body he was holding fall to the ground and ran to the body that Cook was dragging to help lift it by its feet. The two mean used the same teamwork to move the two other bodies, then Massac tended to the horse left behind to get it tethered to the carriage. Luckily, the animal was braced and ready to go with no difficulty and within a short span of time.
Nobody said another word for the rest of the ride home. By the time he entered the carriage, Rodney was able to regain his composure and stopped crying.
Tuesday, October 1, 2013
18680711 13:20:18
18680711 13:20:18
TA x 16 S
Everything came to a sudden standstill when the gunshot ripped through the air and left a reverberating echo cascade over the road and houses nearby. Massac snapped the horses reins to his chest to immediately bring the carriage to a halt, then quickly stepped down away from the driver's seat to stand by the carriage door. He kept his back against the door and stood at attention with his hand at the side of his hips. Cook looked through the windows to see two horses rush past them, one from each side. They were being surrounded. Rodney looked up at him in total shock with white eyes widened and protruding. Cook took a sharp breath in and out through his nose, then leaned forward to place his hand on the doorway so that he could exit the carriage.
"We're being surrounded. C'mon out boy, no safe for you in here with guns out there."
"Guns? But Daddy, I-"
"Shut up and c'mon. Do exactly as I say. This ain't no game." Cook grabbed his son by the arm and applied enough strength to lift him out of his seat as they both got out of the carriage.
"Leave the kid inside!" The command came from one of the riders who stood to their right and was flanked by two other men on horses. They all had pistols in their hand, but the man in the middle had one trained in their direction. "He shouldn't have to watch you two die. Send him back in!" The man's voice was deliberately strained to sound unnatural, with the vowel and ending syllables being stretched out and grated over his vocal chords. This led Cook to believe that the man was concealing his identity, but he didn't recognize who the person was based on his other physical characteristics.
"No, I don't trust you. He sits inside, you'll miss and hit him first before one of us. He stays with us."
"Oh, you question my aim, do you? Very well!" The leader instantly flicked his wrist to turn it to the side and pulled the trigger. The bullet went through the horse's skull, cleanly between its eyes. The horse fell to the ground as if gravity had suddenly crushed it from above. Rodney gasped at the attack and suddenly felt the air escape his chest and his eyes well up with tears. He was about to yell out when he suddenly felt his father's hand cover his mouth. Rodney forced himself to swallow the air he was about to scream out in order to keep himself quiet. Cook stepped away from his son and activated the chain around his waist, and Massac did the same when he heard the metal transforming at his side. Within one second, both men stood with their swords pointed straight up from their hands and the edge steadied between their eyes. Cook silently walked towards the leader in a deliberate pace. The man lost the grin that was on his face from shooting the horse and scowled at their advance as he brandished the pistol towards them.
"One more step and we shoot! One more fucking-"
Cook continued to walk forward without making any kind of reaction or response to the ultimatum.
TA x 16 S
Everything came to a sudden standstill when the gunshot ripped through the air and left a reverberating echo cascade over the road and houses nearby. Massac snapped the horses reins to his chest to immediately bring the carriage to a halt, then quickly stepped down away from the driver's seat to stand by the carriage door. He kept his back against the door and stood at attention with his hand at the side of his hips. Cook looked through the windows to see two horses rush past them, one from each side. They were being surrounded. Rodney looked up at him in total shock with white eyes widened and protruding. Cook took a sharp breath in and out through his nose, then leaned forward to place his hand on the doorway so that he could exit the carriage.
"We're being surrounded. C'mon out boy, no safe for you in here with guns out there."
"Guns? But Daddy, I-"
"Shut up and c'mon. Do exactly as I say. This ain't no game." Cook grabbed his son by the arm and applied enough strength to lift him out of his seat as they both got out of the carriage.
"Leave the kid inside!" The command came from one of the riders who stood to their right and was flanked by two other men on horses. They all had pistols in their hand, but the man in the middle had one trained in their direction. "He shouldn't have to watch you two die. Send him back in!" The man's voice was deliberately strained to sound unnatural, with the vowel and ending syllables being stretched out and grated over his vocal chords. This led Cook to believe that the man was concealing his identity, but he didn't recognize who the person was based on his other physical characteristics.
"No, I don't trust you. He sits inside, you'll miss and hit him first before one of us. He stays with us."
"Oh, you question my aim, do you? Very well!" The leader instantly flicked his wrist to turn it to the side and pulled the trigger. The bullet went through the horse's skull, cleanly between its eyes. The horse fell to the ground as if gravity had suddenly crushed it from above. Rodney gasped at the attack and suddenly felt the air escape his chest and his eyes well up with tears. He was about to yell out when he suddenly felt his father's hand cover his mouth. Rodney forced himself to swallow the air he was about to scream out in order to keep himself quiet. Cook stepped away from his son and activated the chain around his waist, and Massac did the same when he heard the metal transforming at his side. Within one second, both men stood with their swords pointed straight up from their hands and the edge steadied between their eyes. Cook silently walked towards the leader in a deliberate pace. The man lost the grin that was on his face from shooting the horse and scowled at their advance as he brandished the pistol towards them.
"One more step and we shoot! One more fucking-"
Cook continued to walk forward without making any kind of reaction or response to the ultimatum.
Sunday, September 29, 2013
19370214 08:58:39
19370214 08:58:39
QH-N-5448
Her first priority was to do something about the taste of stale whisky and cigarettes in her mouth, so she opened the mirrored panel above the sink in search of a toothbrush and some toothpaste. The bottom shelf had a safety razor and an actual mug with a brush protruding from within it, as well as the typical headache ailments such as Alka Seltzer, aspirin, and milk of magnesia. A selection of small glass cylinders with golden liquid were at the top, which she assumed to be cologne and made a plan to try to isolate the one he was wearing last night at some point so that she could pour it into the toilet. On a middle shelf was a green flathead toothbrush and a mostly full tube of Pepsodent, and Helen Allegra wasted no time in smearing a line of the white goop onto the brush head and plunging it into her mouth. She scrubbed vigorously against the teeth within each half of her mouth for a full minute at a time, generating enough foam for it to dribble out of her mouth and leak into the sink as she cleansed herself. She forcefully spit the foamy residue from her mouth and then turned the faucet on to pour some water into her hand. The cold water was cupped into her palm, and she took some handfuls into her mouth to rinse it out. Helen smacked her lips after the procedure, felt that she still tasted something lingering in her mouth, and repeated the entire process again. During this second series of teeth brushing, she took the time to look around the room to see what kind of state it was in. The faucet head had some dried white spots on it and a small ring of rust around the base. There were no stray pieces of tissue to be found on the ground. She interpreted the presence of the safety razor within the cabinet as an additional sign that he took some kind of pride in his grooming, as opposed to using an electric razor and being lazy about it, but he didn't have the mindset of someone who uses a straight razor, so he was not quite impeccable in that regard. At this point, she heard sheets being moved on the bed in the room behind her and some footsteps on the ground soon after that - he had woken up. Helen maintained her stance and waited for him to approach from behind. The man slowly walked into the room and came up to reach his arms around her, and pressed his body against hers with a weak hug.
"Mmm, goo'mornin gorgeous."
Helen sighed and bent forward to spit her mouthful of toothpaste before responding. She closed her eyes for a prolonged blink and focused on putting a smile on her face before speaking. The easiest way she knew to make the illusion is to have the smile.
"Good morning to you, honey. Sorry to use your toothbrush, but I just needed to refresh myself. I hope you don't mind. I can buy you a new one later today."
"Oh, um, yeah, I mean, I was lookin to get a new one anyway so don't worry about it. I can take care of it. Honestly I'm a bit surprised to see you using it to begin with." It was only at this point that he realized that she was using his toothbrush, and that Helen turned to face him.
"Well, considering all else that we did last night, it doesn't seem terribly strange to me."
"Ha ha, yeah, that was a real blast, hee hee hee!" His laughter had a higher tone than his voice, and as he said this much and laughed, his lips curled back to form a toothy grin. Helen felt a bit irked by this kind of reaction from him, but quickly pushed it out of her mind, and used this chance to respond in order to push her next goal onto him.
"Yes, that was some fun, wasn't it? I was going to ask you..." Helen paused briefly here, but not for dramatic effect - she forgot the man's name at this precise moment. She blinked and pressed on. "Darling - I'm happy to have met you, and I think we can have that kind of fun again. I told you that I'm in a bit of a tight spot at the moment, so... I know this is very sudden to ask, but I was hoping if I could possibly stay here a few nights?"
His face suddenly froze. Helen turned her head slightly to the side and gave a gentle wink and a smile, while she gently caressed two of her fingers along the side of his face.
"Please? I promise I'll make it worth your while."
"Um, uh, uh, well. Well? Uh, I sorta guess you could, really. Hah, I didn't think that you'd ask that of me. I suppose you could. But, it is rather sudden for you to ask such-"
"Shh." Helen playfully pressed her index finger on his lips. "It's nothing serious. I just need your help for a bit. OK?"
"... OK. Sure."
"Good." Helen leaned her body in to kiss him on the cheek, then walked past him back to the bedroom. He remained standing in the bathroom and stared at her as she dressed.
QH-N-5448
Her first priority was to do something about the taste of stale whisky and cigarettes in her mouth, so she opened the mirrored panel above the sink in search of a toothbrush and some toothpaste. The bottom shelf had a safety razor and an actual mug with a brush protruding from within it, as well as the typical headache ailments such as Alka Seltzer, aspirin, and milk of magnesia. A selection of small glass cylinders with golden liquid were at the top, which she assumed to be cologne and made a plan to try to isolate the one he was wearing last night at some point so that she could pour it into the toilet. On a middle shelf was a green flathead toothbrush and a mostly full tube of Pepsodent, and Helen Allegra wasted no time in smearing a line of the white goop onto the brush head and plunging it into her mouth. She scrubbed vigorously against the teeth within each half of her mouth for a full minute at a time, generating enough foam for it to dribble out of her mouth and leak into the sink as she cleansed herself. She forcefully spit the foamy residue from her mouth and then turned the faucet on to pour some water into her hand. The cold water was cupped into her palm, and she took some handfuls into her mouth to rinse it out. Helen smacked her lips after the procedure, felt that she still tasted something lingering in her mouth, and repeated the entire process again. During this second series of teeth brushing, she took the time to look around the room to see what kind of state it was in. The faucet head had some dried white spots on it and a small ring of rust around the base. There were no stray pieces of tissue to be found on the ground. She interpreted the presence of the safety razor within the cabinet as an additional sign that he took some kind of pride in his grooming, as opposed to using an electric razor and being lazy about it, but he didn't have the mindset of someone who uses a straight razor, so he was not quite impeccable in that regard. At this point, she heard sheets being moved on the bed in the room behind her and some footsteps on the ground soon after that - he had woken up. Helen maintained her stance and waited for him to approach from behind. The man slowly walked into the room and came up to reach his arms around her, and pressed his body against hers with a weak hug.
"Mmm, goo'mornin gorgeous."
Helen sighed and bent forward to spit her mouthful of toothpaste before responding. She closed her eyes for a prolonged blink and focused on putting a smile on her face before speaking. The easiest way she knew to make the illusion is to have the smile.
"Good morning to you, honey. Sorry to use your toothbrush, but I just needed to refresh myself. I hope you don't mind. I can buy you a new one later today."
"Oh, um, yeah, I mean, I was lookin to get a new one anyway so don't worry about it. I can take care of it. Honestly I'm a bit surprised to see you using it to begin with." It was only at this point that he realized that she was using his toothbrush, and that Helen turned to face him.
"Well, considering all else that we did last night, it doesn't seem terribly strange to me."
"Ha ha, yeah, that was a real blast, hee hee hee!" His laughter had a higher tone than his voice, and as he said this much and laughed, his lips curled back to form a toothy grin. Helen felt a bit irked by this kind of reaction from him, but quickly pushed it out of her mind, and used this chance to respond in order to push her next goal onto him.
"Yes, that was some fun, wasn't it? I was going to ask you..." Helen paused briefly here, but not for dramatic effect - she forgot the man's name at this precise moment. She blinked and pressed on. "Darling - I'm happy to have met you, and I think we can have that kind of fun again. I told you that I'm in a bit of a tight spot at the moment, so... I know this is very sudden to ask, but I was hoping if I could possibly stay here a few nights?"
His face suddenly froze. Helen turned her head slightly to the side and gave a gentle wink and a smile, while she gently caressed two of her fingers along the side of his face.
"Please? I promise I'll make it worth your while."
"Um, uh, uh, well. Well? Uh, I sorta guess you could, really. Hah, I didn't think that you'd ask that of me. I suppose you could. But, it is rather sudden for you to ask such-"
"Shh." Helen playfully pressed her index finger on his lips. "It's nothing serious. I just need your help for a bit. OK?"
"... OK. Sure."
"Good." Helen leaned her body in to kiss him on the cheek, then walked past him back to the bedroom. He remained standing in the bathroom and stared at her as she dressed.
Saturday, September 28, 2013
19400510 16:23:55
19400510 16:23:55
JJ-S-6404
Quentin Forrester sat with his coworker acquaintance at the table near the bar and half attentively watched as he paged through the newspaper. Today's work load didn't demand him to do as much intensive lifting and brick moving as the busier summer days, but his hands and feet still had a dull sensation of soreness radiating from within. He bowed his head down nearly to the surface of the table so that he could reach down and remove his boots to give them some breathing air, then idly scratched at his legs a few times before sitting upright again. As he reached to remove his cigar from the ashtray, his coworker suddenly slid the newspaper closer to him with a look of excitement on his face. The newspaper was open to full page advertisement for a dancing girl revue, given the vague title of "The Heights". The starlet featured at the center of it was a young blonde girl, with a sultry yet energetic smile, radiant eyes, long flowing locks of hair, and her left leg kicked up high just enough to reveal the supple curves of her expose thigh. The name shown underneath the featured girl was recognized by Quentin as an alias. The stylized artistic rendering of this woman wasn't distorted enough for him to fail to recognize her immediately.
"Get a loada that broad, eh? Eh? I've heard about her before and now it looks like she's starring this one now. Man, what a dame that is, woo." The coworker accented the end of his vocal adoration with a loud sighed gasp of pleasure after taking a swig of the cold draft beer.
"Susan Lesco? Fuck that cunt. Ain't you heard how much of a bitch she is?" Quentin didn't particularly care if his statement was fully steeped in his own personal accounting.
"A bitch? Hm, that's news to me. But eh, who cares about that anyways? She can be a bitch all she wants as long as I get to suck on those fabulous tits all the while."
"Listen." Quentin took a long drag from his cigar and shot a thick billow of smoke through his pursed lips before he snapped the tobacco back into its position on the edge of the tray. "I knew that girl. I used to pal around with her. Her name's not Susan, it's really Helen. And if she's as crazy and bitchy now as she was even back then, there's no question in my mind that she's a gigantic cunt. Wasn't always like that, though. She was a sweet kid at first, when she first shown up. Then some things happened and after a while, she got it in her head that she's too good for me and my friends. Next thing I know she's off doing auditions for any kind of performin gig; dancin, modelling, photography, whatever. Soon as she got her first real gig, she just dashed off without a trace and wouldn't even talk to us no more. We were her only family for a while and now we're like scum to her."
"You know that for sure, though? I mean you tried to talk to her directly?"
"Sure I did, man, sure. Seriously. There was one day, the boys informed me that she was playing in some community production of some showtune performance or something, some local thing. Volunteer. No pay. Community performance and all. Nothing big. The boys bring me a bill from it, and point out a girl's name, and it ain't Helen, she was using the name like uh, Mary or something I think it was. Margret. Something else. They assure me that it's her though. I haven't seen her in a while and wanted to see her again, and see if she was any good. I go to that showtune play and sure enough, there she is on stage after a while, there's Helen up there singing and dancing along with the rest of them. I sat through that whole fucking thing, that was like two and a half hours or something. What a waste of time that was. That shit was so boring after a while. But, I was there and I wanted to say that she did real good and all that. " His coworker now took another swig of beer from his mug and cupped the mug into his hands rather than replacing it to the table surface. "It finally ends, everyone's clapping, all that. I stick around and wander to the back stage to see if I can see her on her own and say hi. I get back there, I walk to the back and weave my way around the other people going around there, and I glance past a few heads and there she is in front of a dressing room or something, standing there talking with some old guy, probably the director or something. They're standing there and the guy's talking and she's all smiles and giggles and nodding and being all cute with the guy. I call out to her - and I guess, this was my big mistake - I call out to her by her real name. 'Helen! That was a great show you did there!' I said. Now, I do this, and she doesn't even look my way. Doesn't turn her head towards me at all. The smile on her face melts away for a moment, just for a moment, and I think her eyes moved over to look at me for a blink, but all the while the guy is still talking and she keeps her attention square on him the whole time. Another second, and she's back being all smiley like before. Then the guy leans over, gives her a hug, she hugs back, the guy sorta lets his hands wander below her waist a bit before letting go, they let go, he walks away, and she turns and goes into that changing room. Boom. Out. Just like that she was out. And I'm standing there like a fucking dope."
"Wow, what a bitch. A sexy bitch, but yeah, that's a bitch there. Woo."
JJ-S-6404
Quentin Forrester sat with his coworker acquaintance at the table near the bar and half attentively watched as he paged through the newspaper. Today's work load didn't demand him to do as much intensive lifting and brick moving as the busier summer days, but his hands and feet still had a dull sensation of soreness radiating from within. He bowed his head down nearly to the surface of the table so that he could reach down and remove his boots to give them some breathing air, then idly scratched at his legs a few times before sitting upright again. As he reached to remove his cigar from the ashtray, his coworker suddenly slid the newspaper closer to him with a look of excitement on his face. The newspaper was open to full page advertisement for a dancing girl revue, given the vague title of "The Heights". The starlet featured at the center of it was a young blonde girl, with a sultry yet energetic smile, radiant eyes, long flowing locks of hair, and her left leg kicked up high just enough to reveal the supple curves of her expose thigh. The name shown underneath the featured girl was recognized by Quentin as an alias. The stylized artistic rendering of this woman wasn't distorted enough for him to fail to recognize her immediately.
"Get a loada that broad, eh? Eh? I've heard about her before and now it looks like she's starring this one now. Man, what a dame that is, woo." The coworker accented the end of his vocal adoration with a loud sighed gasp of pleasure after taking a swig of the cold draft beer.
"Susan Lesco? Fuck that cunt. Ain't you heard how much of a bitch she is?" Quentin didn't particularly care if his statement was fully steeped in his own personal accounting.
"A bitch? Hm, that's news to me. But eh, who cares about that anyways? She can be a bitch all she wants as long as I get to suck on those fabulous tits all the while."
"Listen." Quentin took a long drag from his cigar and shot a thick billow of smoke through his pursed lips before he snapped the tobacco back into its position on the edge of the tray. "I knew that girl. I used to pal around with her. Her name's not Susan, it's really Helen. And if she's as crazy and bitchy now as she was even back then, there's no question in my mind that she's a gigantic cunt. Wasn't always like that, though. She was a sweet kid at first, when she first shown up. Then some things happened and after a while, she got it in her head that she's too good for me and my friends. Next thing I know she's off doing auditions for any kind of performin gig; dancin, modelling, photography, whatever. Soon as she got her first real gig, she just dashed off without a trace and wouldn't even talk to us no more. We were her only family for a while and now we're like scum to her."
"You know that for sure, though? I mean you tried to talk to her directly?"
"Sure I did, man, sure. Seriously. There was one day, the boys informed me that she was playing in some community production of some showtune performance or something, some local thing. Volunteer. No pay. Community performance and all. Nothing big. The boys bring me a bill from it, and point out a girl's name, and it ain't Helen, she was using the name like uh, Mary or something I think it was. Margret. Something else. They assure me that it's her though. I haven't seen her in a while and wanted to see her again, and see if she was any good. I go to that showtune play and sure enough, there she is on stage after a while, there's Helen up there singing and dancing along with the rest of them. I sat through that whole fucking thing, that was like two and a half hours or something. What a waste of time that was. That shit was so boring after a while. But, I was there and I wanted to say that she did real good and all that. " His coworker now took another swig of beer from his mug and cupped the mug into his hands rather than replacing it to the table surface. "It finally ends, everyone's clapping, all that. I stick around and wander to the back stage to see if I can see her on her own and say hi. I get back there, I walk to the back and weave my way around the other people going around there, and I glance past a few heads and there she is in front of a dressing room or something, standing there talking with some old guy, probably the director or something. They're standing there and the guy's talking and she's all smiles and giggles and nodding and being all cute with the guy. I call out to her - and I guess, this was my big mistake - I call out to her by her real name. 'Helen! That was a great show you did there!' I said. Now, I do this, and she doesn't even look my way. Doesn't turn her head towards me at all. The smile on her face melts away for a moment, just for a moment, and I think her eyes moved over to look at me for a blink, but all the while the guy is still talking and she keeps her attention square on him the whole time. Another second, and she's back being all smiley like before. Then the guy leans over, gives her a hug, she hugs back, the guy sorta lets his hands wander below her waist a bit before letting go, they let go, he walks away, and she turns and goes into that changing room. Boom. Out. Just like that she was out. And I'm standing there like a fucking dope."
"Wow, what a bitch. A sexy bitch, but yeah, that's a bitch there. Woo."
Friday, September 27, 2013
19351004 23:07:06
19351004 23:07:06
MT-N-7600 alleyway
"Get a load of this! A girl hanging out with these guys! Hey, girl, are you the group whore for these pricks or what eh? Hah!"
"No! I'm their fri-" Helen Allegra had her response cut off with a gesture of Quentin's hand, as he stood facing forward and held it out to his side. He didn't want her to get into the middle of this situation. The dog walked from behind Helen and stood beside her and glared at the intruders.
"Whatever, it's time for you little boys and girls to fuck off now. This is gonna be our spot now. So move it." The squat loudmouth gave this edict with a thrust of his thumb backwards and a curled lip making a smirk.
"Make us." When Quentin said this, he reached into his pocket, which was the signal for Arnold and Bill to do the same; instantly, the three boys snapped their wrists out to let the blades of the stiletto knives protrude from the handles. The four boys standing in opposition responded by bringing their own knives out to wield; the tallest of the group unsheathed a large Bowie knife from a holster that was supported on his belt and underneath his shirt, the other three had stilettos of their own which were promptly brandished.
Quentin stepped forward and approached the group while his friends flanked behind him at an angle, while the quiet leader of the other boys responded in kind and had his supporters follow closely behind. Helen kept her position firm and watched the two lines converge. Once within a yard of each other, they stared at each other unwaveringly, breathed harder through clenched teeth and flared nostrils, and began to pace side to side in an imagined circle. The silence in the alleyway allowed each sidestep that was dragged through the dirt and loose gravel of the road to echo against the buildings around them. Suddenly, the loudmouth dashed behind the tall leader and ran straight for Helen. The sudden rush caught her by surprise and before she understood that she should have started to run, the boy grabbed her by her hair to arch her head backwards and expose her neck, against which he held the blade and pressed into the flesh enough to make a small incision. Helen felt choked up as the small trickle of blood rolled its way down her neck.
"All you queers drop it now or I kill her! I fuckin kill her right now! Like a fucking pig! I'll do it!"
Immediately in response, the dog started to growl loudly and snap its fangs at the loudmouth boy. The hair stood up at the back of his neck as he hunched down on his forepaws and pinned his tail to the ground.
"Aw, fuck off, you mutt!" The loudmouth pulled the blade away to swing it towards the dog to scare it away, and the tip of it scraped under the dog's chin. The dog immediately felt the cut and retaliated. It lunged forward to pounce upon the loudmouth and wrapped it's mouth around the boy's neck as they fell to the ground. The boy kicked the dog off of him, but didn't try to stand up or scurry away. He waited. The dog recovered from the kick and lunged forward again to jump on top of the boy, and before he landed the boy held the knife up to the dog's chest and pierced the blade through the dog's body up to the hilt. The dog's cry of pain echoed sharply through the alleyway and into the night air. Now, the loudmouth boy pushed the dog off of the blade and rose to his knees to kneel over the dog, and proceeded to slice the dog's neck from the top to its bottom. The boy took a deep breath as he rose to his feet with his eyes joining the rest of the group watching over the dog as it lie twitching in the expanding pool of blood on the roadway.
Helen, for that instant moment, stood completely motionless. She stood without a processed thought, without a breath going into or out of her lungs, without her eyelids closing shut to blink. She continued to watch the dog lie dying and felt her body run cold. She did not scream. She did not whimper. She did not cry. She felt her body lean forward without the balance of weight on her feet, and she twitched as her body convulsed from the lack of involuntary breathing. A small breath came out of her mouth.
Then, her lips peeled back from her teeth.
Helen remained silent and kept her eyes on the dog as she stepped to her side, and reached over to the hand in which Arnold held his blade. Before he noticed that she had moved beside him and was reaching for the blade, it was out of his fingers and within her grasp. The loudmouth boy had only enough time to look up as he saw Helen's hand thrust down towards his body. The point of the blade found its way over the collar bone and dug into his neck. The boy screamed out and reflexively contracted his body inward, but Helen now knelt her body on top of his to keep the blade held in its target. The other two assailants remained motionless while the tall leader started to move towards Helen with his knife ready, but before he was close enough to attack, Helen screamed out with all of the force that her lungs could produce, yet did so with her eyes still fully open. The whites of her eyes contrasted brilliantly against the darkness as her face and screaming mouth took on the form of a banshee. The taller boy stopped in his tracks, and the two friends were transfixed and startled enough to let their blades loosely fall from their fingers and drop to the alley ground.
"Out!" The single word that she yelled caused her friends to focus their gaze towards the three standing boys and watch for their response. The taller boy felt an instinct to try to recover his friend and curled his knife back into the sheath before he walked forward again. Helen ripped the knife out of the boy's body, bringing a trail of unseen blood splattering from the wound to the tip of her blade, and shot her body straight up to stand up against him. Her mouth quivered as she held the knife directly forward in front of her and the boy's blood dripped from the weapon onto her hand.
"Out!"
The tall boy took the instruction to heart this time and quickly turned around to run away. Once she understood that he was gone, Helen slowly turned her head back to the boy on the ground, whose own body was now twitching involuntarily as the blood poured forth from his neck and formed a pool around him. Helen did not want to watch this boy die slowly. She blinked once, snorted one breath through her nose, and thrust her body over the boy to kneel upon him. She rocked her knees upon him to get him to lie upon his back, then she took the blade into both of her hands and plunged it straight into his chest. The boy's groan of pain was barely audible. She pulled the blade out and repeated the attack to stab him again. And again. And again.
Bill ducked away backwards and began to vomit as Quentin and Arnold stood motionless to watch Helen stand up and face them. Her clothes were soaked with blood and her face and body trembled. She flicked the knife away from her hand to toss it to the side. Bill finally recovered to stand with his friends to stare at her, and didn't know what else to immediately do. Nobody did for a moment. Finally, Helen blinked several times while she looked down her body to see it painted red, and looked over to the ground at her side to see the lifeless dog and boy lie in the alleyway. She darted her eyes around the area and coarsely swallowed a few times before she was able to speak.
"We need to throw him out."
"Th. Throw him out? But where? Here? I don't wanna handle no stiff." Quentin said this with strong trepidation, as he was still in shock.
"No. I meant the dog. He can get eaten by the rats for all I fucking care." Helen looked over the garbage cans that were lined against the buildings and soon pointed at one near by. "One of you hold that open. I'll do it."
"Throw out the dog? You, you want to just throw him out? Wouldn't you want to uh, like, bury-"
"Bury? Arnold! We don't fucking have two shovels and two hours to dig a fucking grave! Now one of you go hold that god damned can open for me! Now!"
Quentin walked backwards three paces before turning around and walking over to the wall of the building and waited by the garbage can.
Helen looked down at the dog and paused for a brief moment. The feeling of emptiness came over her again, but she managed to suppress it from overcoming her body. She closed her eyes and struggled with the weight of the still warm dog corpse for a moment before she managed to drape it over her arms. Quentin held the lid open as she laboriously walked over to the can, then gingerly lay the dog inside of it. All four remained silent and motionless again, but Helen quickly spoke to break the void.
"We can't return here. Meet in the MW alley in a week. We gotta split up now." Helen gave these orders with a dryness that would come with speaking a passage from a school textbook. She walked away without looking back to see if any of them had moved.
MT-N-7600 alleyway
"Get a load of this! A girl hanging out with these guys! Hey, girl, are you the group whore for these pricks or what eh? Hah!"
"No! I'm their fri-" Helen Allegra had her response cut off with a gesture of Quentin's hand, as he stood facing forward and held it out to his side. He didn't want her to get into the middle of this situation. The dog walked from behind Helen and stood beside her and glared at the intruders.
"Whatever, it's time for you little boys and girls to fuck off now. This is gonna be our spot now. So move it." The squat loudmouth gave this edict with a thrust of his thumb backwards and a curled lip making a smirk.
"Make us." When Quentin said this, he reached into his pocket, which was the signal for Arnold and Bill to do the same; instantly, the three boys snapped their wrists out to let the blades of the stiletto knives protrude from the handles. The four boys standing in opposition responded by bringing their own knives out to wield; the tallest of the group unsheathed a large Bowie knife from a holster that was supported on his belt and underneath his shirt, the other three had stilettos of their own which were promptly brandished.
Quentin stepped forward and approached the group while his friends flanked behind him at an angle, while the quiet leader of the other boys responded in kind and had his supporters follow closely behind. Helen kept her position firm and watched the two lines converge. Once within a yard of each other, they stared at each other unwaveringly, breathed harder through clenched teeth and flared nostrils, and began to pace side to side in an imagined circle. The silence in the alleyway allowed each sidestep that was dragged through the dirt and loose gravel of the road to echo against the buildings around them. Suddenly, the loudmouth dashed behind the tall leader and ran straight for Helen. The sudden rush caught her by surprise and before she understood that she should have started to run, the boy grabbed her by her hair to arch her head backwards and expose her neck, against which he held the blade and pressed into the flesh enough to make a small incision. Helen felt choked up as the small trickle of blood rolled its way down her neck.
"All you queers drop it now or I kill her! I fuckin kill her right now! Like a fucking pig! I'll do it!"
Immediately in response, the dog started to growl loudly and snap its fangs at the loudmouth boy. The hair stood up at the back of his neck as he hunched down on his forepaws and pinned his tail to the ground.
"Aw, fuck off, you mutt!" The loudmouth pulled the blade away to swing it towards the dog to scare it away, and the tip of it scraped under the dog's chin. The dog immediately felt the cut and retaliated. It lunged forward to pounce upon the loudmouth and wrapped it's mouth around the boy's neck as they fell to the ground. The boy kicked the dog off of him, but didn't try to stand up or scurry away. He waited. The dog recovered from the kick and lunged forward again to jump on top of the boy, and before he landed the boy held the knife up to the dog's chest and pierced the blade through the dog's body up to the hilt. The dog's cry of pain echoed sharply through the alleyway and into the night air. Now, the loudmouth boy pushed the dog off of the blade and rose to his knees to kneel over the dog, and proceeded to slice the dog's neck from the top to its bottom. The boy took a deep breath as he rose to his feet with his eyes joining the rest of the group watching over the dog as it lie twitching in the expanding pool of blood on the roadway.
Helen, for that instant moment, stood completely motionless. She stood without a processed thought, without a breath going into or out of her lungs, without her eyelids closing shut to blink. She continued to watch the dog lie dying and felt her body run cold. She did not scream. She did not whimper. She did not cry. She felt her body lean forward without the balance of weight on her feet, and she twitched as her body convulsed from the lack of involuntary breathing. A small breath came out of her mouth.
Then, her lips peeled back from her teeth.
Helen remained silent and kept her eyes on the dog as she stepped to her side, and reached over to the hand in which Arnold held his blade. Before he noticed that she had moved beside him and was reaching for the blade, it was out of his fingers and within her grasp. The loudmouth boy had only enough time to look up as he saw Helen's hand thrust down towards his body. The point of the blade found its way over the collar bone and dug into his neck. The boy screamed out and reflexively contracted his body inward, but Helen now knelt her body on top of his to keep the blade held in its target. The other two assailants remained motionless while the tall leader started to move towards Helen with his knife ready, but before he was close enough to attack, Helen screamed out with all of the force that her lungs could produce, yet did so with her eyes still fully open. The whites of her eyes contrasted brilliantly against the darkness as her face and screaming mouth took on the form of a banshee. The taller boy stopped in his tracks, and the two friends were transfixed and startled enough to let their blades loosely fall from their fingers and drop to the alley ground.
"Out!" The single word that she yelled caused her friends to focus their gaze towards the three standing boys and watch for their response. The taller boy felt an instinct to try to recover his friend and curled his knife back into the sheath before he walked forward again. Helen ripped the knife out of the boy's body, bringing a trail of unseen blood splattering from the wound to the tip of her blade, and shot her body straight up to stand up against him. Her mouth quivered as she held the knife directly forward in front of her and the boy's blood dripped from the weapon onto her hand.
"Out!"
The tall boy took the instruction to heart this time and quickly turned around to run away. Once she understood that he was gone, Helen slowly turned her head back to the boy on the ground, whose own body was now twitching involuntarily as the blood poured forth from his neck and formed a pool around him. Helen did not want to watch this boy die slowly. She blinked once, snorted one breath through her nose, and thrust her body over the boy to kneel upon him. She rocked her knees upon him to get him to lie upon his back, then she took the blade into both of her hands and plunged it straight into his chest. The boy's groan of pain was barely audible. She pulled the blade out and repeated the attack to stab him again. And again. And again.
Bill ducked away backwards and began to vomit as Quentin and Arnold stood motionless to watch Helen stand up and face them. Her clothes were soaked with blood and her face and body trembled. She flicked the knife away from her hand to toss it to the side. Bill finally recovered to stand with his friends to stare at her, and didn't know what else to immediately do. Nobody did for a moment. Finally, Helen blinked several times while she looked down her body to see it painted red, and looked over to the ground at her side to see the lifeless dog and boy lie in the alleyway. She darted her eyes around the area and coarsely swallowed a few times before she was able to speak.
"We need to throw him out."
"Th. Throw him out? But where? Here? I don't wanna handle no stiff." Quentin said this with strong trepidation, as he was still in shock.
"No. I meant the dog. He can get eaten by the rats for all I fucking care." Helen looked over the garbage cans that were lined against the buildings and soon pointed at one near by. "One of you hold that open. I'll do it."
"Throw out the dog? You, you want to just throw him out? Wouldn't you want to uh, like, bury-"
"Bury? Arnold! We don't fucking have two shovels and two hours to dig a fucking grave! Now one of you go hold that god damned can open for me! Now!"
Quentin walked backwards three paces before turning around and walking over to the wall of the building and waited by the garbage can.
Helen looked down at the dog and paused for a brief moment. The feeling of emptiness came over her again, but she managed to suppress it from overcoming her body. She closed her eyes and struggled with the weight of the still warm dog corpse for a moment before she managed to drape it over her arms. Quentin held the lid open as she laboriously walked over to the can, then gingerly lay the dog inside of it. All four remained silent and motionless again, but Helen quickly spoke to break the void.
"We can't return here. Meet in the MW alley in a week. We gotta split up now." Helen gave these orders with a dryness that would come with speaking a passage from a school textbook. She walked away without looking back to see if any of them had moved.
Thursday, September 26, 2013
18480917 15:31:36
18480917 15:31:36
Despite the strength of the sunlight upon his back, Jesse felt refreshingly cool within the confines of the cafeteria as the early autumn breeze rushed through the windows. The winds carried the odor of the freshly cut fish everywhere in the kitchen, and that odor came from the growing pile of filets which Jesse was forming. His routine was refined to a rhythmic precision as he systematically separated the edible fish from the bones; one pinched chop down to remove the head at the neck, another pinch down to remove the tail, one middle slice from the wider portion of the body at left to the right to slice it in half. The bucket at his feet collected the scraps, and afterwards, his left hand pulled the two filets to the pile at his left while his right hand, with the knife still being held in it, reached for the next fish out of the basket. He nodded to himself while humming random notes to himself in the process of the preparation. His actions all quickly came to a stop as he stood up at attention when Daron struck at the pair of doors to the kitchen and stormed into the room.
"Jesse! The hell the matter with you?" His name hissed out through his teeth and his tone was hushed, yet stern.
"What's this about?"
"Don't give me that shit, you know exactly what I'm talkin about!"
"If that's the case, you better say it." Jesse kept a cool composure in his delayed response, but he did internally start to feel a bit nervous and threatened. He wasn't used to seeing Daron act this way, at least towards him.
"Oh fine, fine! The Runners! Why you put your name in for that? You? You! Why you! That's not the kind of thing you were meant to do!" Daron's words were still in a raspy whisper, despite standing directly in front of Jesse.
"Now listen, just bec-"
"No! No I won't listen, no! This isn't right for you, Jesse, this isn't-"
"Daron, let me speak."
"No!"
"Daron!" Jesse pounded the handle of the knife on the table top when he said this, causing some of the filets in the pile to slide from the top to the side.
Silence hung in the air with the smell of the fish.
"Daron. Listen. We - and I mean both you and I specifically, as well as this town - we have endured too much in trying to find someone to take that role. We have been burned again and again in putting our trust in people to perform that task within the letter of the law, and it hasn't happened. I am someone who you can trust. I am someone who can command and have the respect of other people. I will not flinch away from performing the job's ultimate tasks, as I have seen and done so much already. As you have done already. As you have done for your own life and for my life. I believe I can do this. I think you know that I can do it too."
"You might be right, yes. You might be. But. You basically like my son, like my only son. I'd just hate to see you get hurt doin that, after all we've been through."
"Right, and I just as much would hate to let you down, just like I hate seeing you be hurt by what those other men have done to you, by breaking your trust and faith that you had in them. I thought about it, and I thought about how angry it makes me feel now, and how useless I used to feel sometimes before, and I want to have an answer to that. I want to try to change that."
Despite the strength of the sunlight upon his back, Jesse felt refreshingly cool within the confines of the cafeteria as the early autumn breeze rushed through the windows. The winds carried the odor of the freshly cut fish everywhere in the kitchen, and that odor came from the growing pile of filets which Jesse was forming. His routine was refined to a rhythmic precision as he systematically separated the edible fish from the bones; one pinched chop down to remove the head at the neck, another pinch down to remove the tail, one middle slice from the wider portion of the body at left to the right to slice it in half. The bucket at his feet collected the scraps, and afterwards, his left hand pulled the two filets to the pile at his left while his right hand, with the knife still being held in it, reached for the next fish out of the basket. He nodded to himself while humming random notes to himself in the process of the preparation. His actions all quickly came to a stop as he stood up at attention when Daron struck at the pair of doors to the kitchen and stormed into the room.
"Jesse! The hell the matter with you?" His name hissed out through his teeth and his tone was hushed, yet stern.
"What's this about?"
"Don't give me that shit, you know exactly what I'm talkin about!"
"If that's the case, you better say it." Jesse kept a cool composure in his delayed response, but he did internally start to feel a bit nervous and threatened. He wasn't used to seeing Daron act this way, at least towards him.
"Oh fine, fine! The Runners! Why you put your name in for that? You? You! Why you! That's not the kind of thing you were meant to do!" Daron's words were still in a raspy whisper, despite standing directly in front of Jesse.
"Now listen, just bec-"
"No! No I won't listen, no! This isn't right for you, Jesse, this isn't-"
"Daron, let me speak."
"No!"
"Daron!" Jesse pounded the handle of the knife on the table top when he said this, causing some of the filets in the pile to slide from the top to the side.
Silence hung in the air with the smell of the fish.
"Daron. Listen. We - and I mean both you and I specifically, as well as this town - we have endured too much in trying to find someone to take that role. We have been burned again and again in putting our trust in people to perform that task within the letter of the law, and it hasn't happened. I am someone who you can trust. I am someone who can command and have the respect of other people. I will not flinch away from performing the job's ultimate tasks, as I have seen and done so much already. As you have done already. As you have done for your own life and for my life. I believe I can do this. I think you know that I can do it too."
"You might be right, yes. You might be. But. You basically like my son, like my only son. I'd just hate to see you get hurt doin that, after all we've been through."
"Right, and I just as much would hate to let you down, just like I hate seeing you be hurt by what those other men have done to you, by breaking your trust and faith that you had in them. I thought about it, and I thought about how angry it makes me feel now, and how useless I used to feel sometimes before, and I want to have an answer to that. I want to try to change that."
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)