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Beldurin 
Mayor of Detnet
Group: Members
Posts: 1242
Joined: Aug. 2001
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Posted on: May 14 2002,06:31 |
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So inspiration struck me in the shower for a short story (get the jokes out of the way now, ppl). Anyway, I wrote this in about a half hour, so it's not great, but let me know what you think, ok? BTW, is this the kind of thing we're looking for as content (except probably better)?
School’s In
The hot water stung as it ran into the dozens of new cuts on his knuckles, souvenirs of the four encounters this evening. They had been pretty standard, drunks and hotheads showing off for their buddies or their women as disinterested bystanders looked on, distracted temporarily from their own miserable lives.
He winced slightly as he ran the dirty washcloth over his already-swelling eye. The squeaky voiced punk who claimed to “know karate” had been especially gratifying to hurt. The kid had managed to land one solid kick to the stomach before the man had caught his slow, clumsy follow-up punch and proceeded to educate the kid the way his father had educated him. His first punch had shattered his pimply opponents glasses, driving the nosepiece up and into the eyebrow above the left eye. His second blow clearly broke the other man’s nose. He smiled, remembering the sound of bone on bone, and the split lip that had only recently clotted tore open again. Absently, he ran his tongue over the cut, tasting the blood as he had earlier that evening.
He stepped dripping out of the shower onto the moldy linoleum of the bathroom. The single, bare bulb rocked slowly back and forth, casting it’s sad, wan light across the spiderwebbed sink, the cracked mirror, and the pile of mildewed clothes in the corner. The odor of stale sweat, alcohol, cigarettes, and anger seemed to have seeped into his very pores, perpetually surrounding him with the smell of despair. He toweled off, and then pulled on the same clothes, stiff with weeks of living, that he’d worn out that evening and walked heavily to his dirty, sagging bed.
Lying on the wrinkled covers, staring at the strange yellow water stains on the sagging plaster ceiling, he mulled slowly over the next day’s tasks. Pick up and cash unemployment check, go down to the corner and hustle craps until early afternoon, then come back to his 10th story apartment to sleep through until early evening when his prowling began. The strong always preyed on the weak. He had never been accused of being a smart man, a handsome man, or a nice man. He was, however, a survivor. He had survived a childhood of beatings and being locked in a closet. He had survived an adolescence where most of his peers had been caught up in drugs, gangs, or both. When he was 14 a stray bullet had gone through his left leg, just above the knee. It still hurt when it rained.
With a sour grunt, he rolled onto his side, facing the peeling wall to avoid the harsh blue and red glare of the neon sign on the building across the street. He hated Kite’s (the t and the y in “Kittey’s” had stopped working months ago), and thought again about throwing something to try to break the sign. Too much work, too much effort. It didn’t matter anyway. Hours later, the man drifted into a shallow, dreamless sleep, lulled by the humming of the radiator and the soft clickety-click of the cockroaches.
…
The sunset was blood red, an angry and sullen smudge above the shattered skyline. The light died slowly down into a kind of twilight purgatory, neither day nor night, which seemed to last for hours. Rising earlier than usual, the man prowled angrily around his small prison of an apartment, casting about for something unbroken that he could smash. Nothing presented itself, so he settled for catching the ever-present cockroaches and setting them in a heated pan on the stove, listening to them scream.
Soon the twilight reluctantly gave way to full night; it was hunting time.
“Time to go to school,” the man muttered, as was his nightly ritual, as he swaggered past the pitted door of 10C, locking the dead bolt that would only require a moderate amount of force to split the rotting jamb from the wall. His spirits were uncharacteristically high, and he even considered whistling until his still-tight lip and characteristic sullenness persuaded him otherwise. His face assumed it’s characteristic scowl, his brows lowering and coming together around the jagged scar just above his nose—a Christmas gift from his father.
As he finished rifling the pockets of the well dressed but unfortunate man with the scratched leather shoes (he always noticed shoes), he bared his teeth in a half smile half primal snarl. So focused was he on the task at hand that he failed to hear the slight scuff that should have alerted someone like him immediately. The big fish always preyed on the little fish; but there was always a bigger fish. The man began to straighten just in time to feel the knife slide cleanly between his ribs, making a small tearing sound as cloth and flesh alike parted before it. Bent over as he was, he was unable to bring his experienced fists to bear on his assailant, and a hand snaked across his neck and closed tightly, cutting of his air. The man was obviously a professional.
A small sigh escaped his dry, cracked lips as he sank slowly to the wet, dirty pavement of the alley. Not so much in regret, but in relief.
"No one will miss an old crook like me," he thought as darkness slowly drew in on his vision. He was right. No one did.
Edited by Beldurin on Jan. 01 1970,01:00
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If someone's ungrateful and you tell him he's ungrateful, okay, you've called him a name.
You haven't solved anything.
-- zen and the art of motorcycle maintenance
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smartsnake
fol ol de ol rol im a troll
Group: Members
Posts: 281
Joined: Sep. 2000
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Posted on: May 14 2002,23:07 |
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That was really good. 
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veistran
We don't listen to people that don't like us.
Group: Members
Posts: 967
Joined: May 2000
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Posted on: May 15 2002,06:44 |
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Nice story Bel, makes me think of film noir.
....
I should goad a friend of mine into posting this story he's writing on here. It's pretty good, imho....
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V|-
"Headed down the hard way
Concrete battleground
Urban monkey warfare
Sabotage underground camouflage"
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| Post Number: 4
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Beldurin
Mayor of Detnet
Group: Members
Posts: 1242
Joined: Aug. 2001
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Posted on: May 15 2002,07:30 |
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| Quote (veistran @ 15 May 2002,00:44) | Nice story Bel, makes me think of film noir.
....
I should goad a friend of mine into posting this story he's writing on here. It's pretty good, imho.... |
Yeah, it is just a little dark, isn't it?
Thanks for the comments, guys! I appreciate it!
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If someone's ungrateful and you tell him he's ungrateful, okay, you've called him a name.
You haven't solved anything.
-- zen and the art of motorcycle maintenance
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| Post Number: 5
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veistran
We don't listen to people that don't like us.
Group: Members
Posts: 967
Joined: May 2000
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Posted on: May 15 2002,07:57 |
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It has a lot of the same hooks that I associate with film noir, and yes more than just the dark setting.
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V|-
"Headed down the hard way
Concrete battleground
Urban monkey warfare
Sabotage underground camouflage"
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