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| Fond Memories in the Pet Cemetery.; There's no place like home! | |
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| Topic Started: Feb 5 2007, 07:57 PM (172 Views) | |
| Foxy | Feb 5 2007, 07:57 PM Post #1 |
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It's time to take off the little boy gloves!
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![]() [RIP Clarence Carter] I crouched in the billowing mephitic fog aware; early morning in the pet cemetery and I was already stewing up some lunch. It had a pervasive sulfuric stink that stung at my nostrils, but inside this sanctum I was invincible. The others were as dumb as I used to be and showed it by stopping here. If rest was to be had inside the haze of a disgusting place such as this, weve not only lost our morals but our style as well. I felt the steam of the boiling gossamer muck wash over my face but ignored it for now. I had the main course to deal with at the moment. Todays special? Binky, the pet rat of a certain missus Sherry Andrews of Little Hillmoss town. The rotten meat was about all I could scavenge but at least it was free. I was livid, wrathful, I glanced toward their direction and allowed my face to contort and sour into a scowl of total acid. Arguing again, I could see. If they were always so pissed then why did they still travel together? In the beginning I ignored the nonsense as a joke. Now the bickering included insults of certain mothers and ways of carrying oneself. I swear, if one of them takes it to me I will show what a knife can accomplish in one simple stroke, one easy slash I waved my stump at them. Oh, yes, my stump. Used to be a hand. It was a good hand, too, never gave me any problems at all. Taught me lessons, too. The last lesson it taught me was to never take loans from albino men. Theyll end up asking for a lot more than you received and if youre like me you wont pay back all of it by the first of the month. Yeah, well, I can safely say that Ill never head back to Marrakech as long as that bastard still lives there. It wasnt fair; also, a simple finger would have been enough to grab my attention. But my entire left hand? I shuddered at the memory and decided to go back to stirring the stew. No spices at all, ever. They always patronize me when it comes to ingredients. Too expensive, not necessary, we can find them when we need them, which will always be the case. I scowled at the heat. We were a small conglomeration of investors that dealt with foreign technology and services. The work paid well, took us around the world, but felt like a burden when my two associates had to tag along. I barely needed them; they were my investors, my rich benefits that supplied the cash. I sought out the goods, determined if they were legit, and called the shots. Oh, and cooked. But that never was in the contract. My knife skimmed along the remains of the rat and peeled off the rest of the fur, but I left everything else on. Nothing should be wasted because nothing will be eaten; consumed by me, yes, theyll never get a taste. Something broke my tranquility. A sharp noise cut into my musings and forced me by instinct to jerk my head in its direction. The fat one was coming over, clumsily stepping around tombstones and weaving about flowers left by those fools who thought their pets were still around to appreciate them. Patiently, I slid the meat into the kettle and jabbed at the fire underneath with my stump. The only advantage to it was that I felt no sensation from the skin. Nerves killed long ago were replaced with synthetic mush and the skin up to my forearm was false. The knife rested at my feet. I stayed in a crouch and looked over my shoulder at Clarence, who was dumbly waddling toward me in his rose-tinted glasses and business suit. I never did understand that. Then again, I couldnt be bothered to ask the man. I couldnt stand his presence. He couldnt seem to see my expressions of disgust through those fucking glasses. Those thick, ugly, overpriced fashionable fucking glasses. I hate his type. Art gallery whores, button-down-beachwear fucks that were better than everyone else because they look at Picasso and eat fish eggs while more sensible people look at rear-ends and eat cheap steaks. It seems that they had grown fed-up with one another and had gone their separate ways. She was pouting under a tree and no-doubt writing in her journal. I quietly placed a lid on the kettle and sat back in the dead grass, propping my weight on my hands and staring ahead at the rising sun. A shine caught my eye. I followed its enthralling light and found the tool that I used to dig up the body of the rat. I took it up and admired it in the new perspective. I had never thought of it this way, or at least, truly considered using it in this way. I gripped the tool by its handle and placed the exposed steel against the grass and stood, hefting myself up by using the shovel as a crutch. Youre next, little man. "Hi! Im starving whats for lunch?" He asked me with too much pleasure. I stared at his mouth for a few moments as I pondered what to call wild onion mush with years old rat. He had to ask, too, like the meal wasnt cooking in front of him, and as if we ever ate anything else? I finally rested on "Soup." We could call it that. "Awesome!" He chirped. I stared at his neck. He seemed to notice my distaste at the moment and pondered it. Or he felt sorry for me and considered giving me a check, because all rich fucks like him thought donating to those in need was the ultimate way into heaven. "Everything okay? You seem a little less animated today." I pondered this. I normally was enthused about simple things, but today had me thinking more than acting. I was about to get my hands dirty; I just needed an opening. His neck looked fun and I continued staring at it. I decided to become more than usually grandiloquent to make up for my morning of silence. Words of gold flowed from my lips as I prepared the shovel inconspicuously. "Choice, friend, I feel great! And you, my fidus Achates?" He looked startled, but pushed forward nonetheless. I tightened my grip. "Yes, but she needs to lighten up!" He said jokingly, which curled my fake grin into a beaming smile. "Agreed!" The companionship forced us both to share a roar of laughter, which in his instinct tilted back his head to expose his neck. Open for the strike. I heaved the shovel and stabbed the wide blade into my attendants neck, faster than either of us could realize, and jerked it out with a snarl. His laughter had ceased and a moment of awkward silence weighted even the fog down. Another second passed and then his neck erupted in a spray of blood, which spurted over my clothes and onto the damp grass. I tried to remain stoic but failed. My smirk became a snicker, my snicker became a giggle, and my giggle became raucous laughter of ecstasy. I flipped the shovel forward and reversed its former position. I stabbed the dying man in the face, just below the left eye and next to his nose, connecting with the bridge of his emo fucking glasses and snapped them in two, along with his head. The body twitched and thrashed for a brief moment, then went limp as blood filled the grass and mingled with the soil. The head tilted and fell to the left, cocked back as though gazing at the sky. I brought his disfigured face to mine and whispered to it. "Thanks for the cash." Id call myself a grave robber if he were in a grave. I snaked my hand toward Clarences back pocket and withdrew his wallet, thumbed around in it for a brief moment, and then withdrew the bills for my own. I also took the liberty of taking his watch, even though I only had one hand to wear it on, it was still a nice watch. I stood and kicked the man in the stomach so hed roll over, sparing me the pain of looking at his face, and my first task was to throw the two halves of those broken emo fucking glasses into the fire. Now I had to bother with digging a grave. Binkys old spot would suffice, even if I had to widen the hole a bit. |
![]() We gonna run run run to the cities of the future. APL=~17.5 | |
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| imedbringerofewwwww | Feb 5 2007, 08:18 PM Post #2 |
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You're a regular decorated emergency.
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A grim deed you had committed, though it clearly had no effect on anything but what sanity you may have had left. Now, what was left were remains. Many, many types of clues for the police to find, had they wanted to search you dwelling, whatever it may have been. First was the body itself, the late Clarence; Second was your bloodied shirt, which could be used to easily identify your misdeeds (isn't DNA a wonderful thing?); Third was the pair of glasses, the horrible, emo fucking glasses which had already been disposed of, but maybe not well enough; and Fourth was the easily-carried weight of the guilt left on your consience, even if it was unnoticable. And, although harder to detect if you kept it on your person or even buried in the wilderness, miles from this place, was the ID in the watch, hidden behind the piles of zenni that most "rich" men carry. In fact, it was 4900z; not so much, probably so that if he was mugged (which he was), the theif wouldn't get much profit. So, there was evidence to destroy, but probably not enough time to carry out the destruction of all that was Clarence Carter, and a small wad of cash, and a single wrist watch. . . |
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Morte Menzoki's Profile APL: 7 Mystery Egg: 13/33 I am a rather uninteresting person. Go die. | |
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