#MWBB Week 2.26 – A Tale Of Wrath : Another Problem Solved

“I did what I had to, so she could rest peacefully.” Sarah placed the note on Billy’s head, where everyone would see it. “I took care of the problem for her. Since no one else would.” She nodded, and put her hand on her shoulder, over Tammy’s hand.

“You can rest now, Tammy.”

Sarah stood. She pulled the empty clip from her gun, did a quick inspection of the gun to make certain it was in working order, then inserted a full clip. “It’s time, isn’t it.” She touched Tammy’s cheek, let her hand rest for a moment.

“I know you’re sad. But it’s OK. Someone had to fix things. Make things right.”

Tammy’s cheek was warm, and she smiled. She kissed Sarah’s hand and pressed it against her cheek. “Thank you. I love you.” Tammy pulled her hand away, “Now, go. Do what you have to, so you can rest too.”

Sarah nodded, then walked toward the door. She heard sirens wailing in the distance, getting louder. “They’ll be here soon.” She paused a moment, took a deep breath, slowly let it out. “Time for me to end this.”

She walked into chaos. People screamed, “She’s got a gun!” “Oh my God, she shot Billy! She shot him over and over and over!” “Run!” They ran. Away from her. She saw a boy running. Steve. She shot him.

“Boys.” Sarah felt fire in her blood. “Animals.”

She remembered the truth. She knew the truth. How Tammy died. How Billy and his buddies got her drunk. Drugged her. And when she couldn’t say no, when she couldn’t say anything, couldn’t even move, Billy and company stripped her and raped her. They took pictures with their phones. Billy even took a movie of himself banging her.

No one believed Tammy when she said they’d raped her. Billy and his buddies were good boys. They’d only do that if Tammy wanted them to. Even the other girls at school said that. “They didn’t do anything wrong.” They said Tammy enticed them. The way she dressed. Those tight jeans. Those shirts that showed off her boobs.

Tammy cried every night. Every night things got worse.

Tammy wrote a note. She said no one believed her. She said she couldn’t live with it anymore.

Tammy took a bottle of sleeping pills.

Tammy never woke up.

That’s when Sarah saw her. In the mirror. Tammy was there. Behind her. She whispered, “Help me. Help me find peace. Help me rest.”

Sarah saw another boy, running down the hall. She shot him. “It was never Tammy’s fault!” She marched through the school halls, searching for other boys. “It was never Tammy’s fault!” She saw others, hiding in a classroom, beneath their desks. She walked in and shot more boys.

“They raped her! They drugged her!”

She put in another clip and kept shooting. The sirens grew louder. They were outside. It wouldn’t be long. It wouldn’t be long at all.

“It wasn’t her fault! She never let them do that!”

She fired away. She heard them. They were coming. Soon, she could rest.

“They took what they wanted! Like animals! And you blamed her!”

She put in her last clip.

“It was never Tammy’s fault!”

Sarah walked down the hall, toward the sounds of the police.

“Drop the gun! Drop the gun!”

Sarah shot at the ceiling.

When the echos of the gunfire ended, and silence returned to the school’s halls, Sarah’s body was prone in the hall, her blood discolored the tile floor, cruel splashes of dark red in calming beige and gray of the school.

Sarah was gone. It was over.

Wrath laughed. Nothing would change. Just another girl who went crazy. Another killer with a gun. Like so many before her. Another murder of the innocent. Wrath laughed.

“I love the way humans are!” He walked through the halls. “And they have so many schools. So many homes. So many gathering places.” He laughed. “And they love revenge.”

Wrath looked forward to growing the chaos, and raising the body count.

“Life is good.”

As Wrath walked the halls, he laughed. And laughed. And laughed.

“Life is good indeed.”

696 words
@LurchMunster

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This is my entry for Year 2, Week 26 (Week 2.26) of Jeff Tsuruoka‘s Mid-Week Blues-Buster flash fiction challenge. Please, go read the other stories in the challenge.

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Sensory Overload Time.

Well. Here I sit. In the waiting room at EVMS Internal Medicine. Pat’s doctors office. I’m the only one here. 20 chairs. All empty. TV on in corner. Lots of flourescent lights. One of those weird carpet tile floors. 2 foot squares of carpet that stick to the floor. In an alternating pattern. Typical dropped ceiling, hiding the ductwork, and wires. And the administrative services office. And I’m sitting here, overloaded.

Yeah. Totally alone, and I’m overloaded. Staring at the patterns of sunlight on the carpet, chairs, tables. Listening to the TV, the four people in the admin area talking, some on the phone, some to each other, the environmental (air conditioning?) system roar, watching the clock on the wall as the second-hand snaps from one second to the next. Magazines scattered on the table in the middle of the rom, and centerpiece of fake flowers. Several real plants scattered through the room. A water fountain stuck to one wall. Steel. Looks out-of-place. Pictures here and there. Three visible trash cans from where I sit. Big instruction signs taped to the back of computer monitors. Glass in the door and next to the door you enter the area from outside.

Damn, it’s bright in here.

Damn, it’s noisy.

See. I notice everything. No, I mean EVERYTHING. “EVMS – Your Opinion Matters!” “Accent Health” Even the typical EXIT sign over the door to the area. Even worse, the sign’s crooked. Yeah. Sucker hangs lower on the left end, by the E than it does on the right end, by the T. And look at all the ceiling panels. Gods. Some look like they’re hanging on for dear life. Some are a brighter white than others. Some aren’t quite cut cleanly on the edges. Blinds in the window. Mini-blinds. And they pull up, hiding behind a, what the hell is that? A valence? Same blue with pale orange dots as the friggin’ chairs. Hey, look. Flourescent light reflections on the screen of the TV.

I can hear myself typing on this Chromebook, you know. Oh, listen, they’re making copies of documents on the office printer in the admin area. Hey. Someone showed up. Talking with one of the check-in people. Did you know it’s not safe to leave the cabinet keys hanging from one of the locks to one of the cabinets? Yeah. That.

People from inside the offices, and patient rooms show up in the admin area every so often. The legs on one of the tables are crooked. Doesn’t look like it’ll collapse anytime soon, but it’s irritating to see it. This is where I do silly things. Like count the ceiling panels. 12 by 5. 60 panels. Roughly. I’ll settle for that now. Like all ceiling panels, they had to chop some up into wacky shapes to get them to fit the available space. Really distracting that the lights are shorter than the panels. They had to stick these inserts around the lights, and they’re not like the panels. Hey, look! There’s a seam on one of the walls. Bad drywall work.

Two people here now. Waiting. “They’ll call you back shortly.” What the heck is that constant background noise? Sounds like a big fan, blowing into a tiny duct. Breathe, Marcus. Breathe. And relax.

Yeah. Relax. That’s easier if I plug in the MP3 player, which I didn’t bring. So, instead of hearing must my music, I’m hearing 80 billion things. Dang, that’s a loud door. And that sounded like a toilet being flushed, whatever it was.

People being people. Talking to each other. Talking on the phone. And in comes one of the nurses, The door opens with loud clacking sounds, and she belts out, “Ray!”

I wonder. Do other people see all the things I see? Hear all the things I hear? Do they have built-in filters that cut out all the background information. God, those are ugly shoes. Pink laces, pink soles, on gray and white. Athletic shoes. I never will understand marketing. And more voices. Two more people checking in. Beeping from someone dialing a phone. Keys rattling. So many noises. So many things to see.

Of course, it’s chaos. Isn’t everything? But somehow, there’s order in there somewhere. I like how people seem oblivious to the chaos. I sometimes wish I was. Another door. And the second person in the waiting room got called back. The two that were at the check-in counter are now gone. Have no idea where they went, or why they were here.

Did I mention there are times I wish I was invisible. So no one could see me. No one could know I was here. No one would look in my direction, and verify I’m behaving. At least, that’s what it feels like. “Aieee! I’m being watched!” I wonder. Am I on a video camera somewhere?

And the water cooler cooling system just kicked in. Heard the click when it turned on, hearing the fan run now. Watching the admin people talk to each other. And everything seems to settle into a routine. The water cooler system turned off. Yeah. With another click. And now I can hear that air duct noise again.

I should probably get a system with a Solid State Drive in the future. They’re more resistant to vibration, and the Chromebook is enduring a lot of that now. My knees are bouncing. Wheee. Welcome to stimming. I’ve mentioned that before. I wonder. Do other people see everyone that walks through the are. Everyone that walks through their field of vision. There’s people on the other side of the admin area. Someone moves through every so often.

Did you ever notice how the outline around doors isn’t perfect. You know. That seam between the door and the frame. It’s not perfect. The top is more open that either of the sides. And one side is usually wider than the other. And the bottom’s so big light gets through, and shines in under the door. And you can see the shadow of the door on the floor. And why the heck are all the door knobs different? What’s up with that?

Reflections are so distracting. I always try to figure out what’s being reflected. And from where. Yeah. It never ends. One of the office staff came in to the water fountain. She’s cute. And I’m old. Holy smokies, look at those shoes! Those are hard to miss! Lots of pink, with what looks like blue. At least they look comfy.

Time to glance through the mini-blinds, and watch the parking lots, and roads outside. Yeah. I see that. Cars, humans on the sidewalks. It’s quiet out there today. I’m sitting here. Quietly. ‘Cause that’s what I’m supposed to do, isn’t it. Sit. Quietly. And not bother anyone. While I wait for her.

0910 hours. 2 hours and I’ll be rushing to get ready for work. Yeah. That. Same thing happens every day she has off, and I work. I end up rushed to get ready, ‘cause I try to spend time with her. We’re supposed to eat something after she’s done here.

There’s that loud clack, and the noise of the door opening again.

Realistically, fast food would work. But, she’s not much on fast food. She’s more of a sit down service person. So, I probably won’t get home until 1030 or 1100. And I’m scheduled to start work at 1200.

Did I mention I hate stress? Yeah. I do. And it’s everywhere. In everything. My left knee hurts. It’s a ligament damage thing. I do better when I get more exercise, more walking. Keeps the muscle strength around the bad ligaments up. And that helps keep the knee functional, and reduces the aches I feel from it.

Yeah. And you’d never know it was hurting to watch me walk.

The heat coming off the windows feels good. Too bad the aluminum frames around the windows are cold. I like it when those frames heat up in the sun. I can thaw my fingers on them.

She’s here today, ‘cause of the lab work last Thursday. When they stuck her to draw the blood for the blood work, they stabbed her in a nerve cluster. And her right hand and arm light up, so to speak, when she moves them certain ways. So, she’s having that checked out this morning. I’m expecting that to take longer than she thinks. So, I wouldn’t be surprised if it’s a pick up fast food on the way home to get me ready for work kind of morning.

If I close my eyes, that helps, but only so much. I end up hearing even more things when I close my eyes. I keep my eyes open, and I hear less, but see more, obviously. I’ve tried to explain to people how I see everything. How I hear everything. I process it all. And figure out what I’m supposed to hear. What’s normal sound. Once I class something as normal, it’s not that I can ignore it, or filter it out. I still hear it. I still see it. But it’s normal, so I don’t worry about processing it. But that takes a bit of time.

As I sit here, I’m doing that very thing. figuring out what I’m supposed to hear. What the “background” is in this waiting room. And deciding what to process, and what to ignore. I think, maybe, this is what people do, without realizing they’re doing it. I know they hear everything, but it’s like they don’t.

Of course, I pull out details. I can decide to process everything, and then describe what I’m processing. I’m not sure that’s normal. I think that’s a part of autism. A part of being on the spectrum. I like to think people can stop what they’re doing, and decide to listen, and hear everything, like I can.

But I’m not sure that’s true. And I have no way to really check on that.

I’m calmer now. Been here long enough to make a few decisions on what’s normal, and not worry about processing it. Yeah. Maybe this takes others a few seconds. Takes me minutes. Maybe a lot of minutes.

God, those lights are bright, aren’t they?

0930 hours. Yeah. 90 minutes, and I’ll be getting ready for work. 120 minutes and I’ll be on the way to work. And somewhere in there, I’m supposed to stuff a meal, a shower, and getting dressed. And it’s at least 20 minutes, probably 30, to the house.

The things I put myself through to support her.

I’d do this every time. Because, I’ll stand beside her. It’s what I do. It’s how I am. It’s what I believe. It’s what I want. If I have to rush to get to work, so what? I’ll be here when she comes out. And I’ll be able to talk with her, and hug her, and spend time with her, and help her deal with whatever comes of all this.

It’s what I want to do.

And now. I wait. Because. And that’s all I need to understand.

A Tale Of Wrath : Stand Your Ground

“Take your gun with you. And a couple of spare clips.” I’d never forget Mom’s words, just like I’d never forget that day, when I changed forever.

I wanted to listen to a public speech by Diane Harris, the feminist. Mom tried to talk me out of it. “Son. There are nasty people in the world who try to stamp out what they don’t understand, what they are afraid of. They will be there, and they will try to stop her from talking.”

“I know, Mom. But I need to go. I need to show I support the free expression of thought. Besides, I like the things she says. She makes sense. I want to help her change the world.”

When she knew she couldn’t talk me out of it, she changed to Mother Hen mode, and started trying to protect me. “Take your gun with you.” She insisted on walking me to the front door, and watched me get in my car. “Be careful. Be safe.”

Hell, I wouldn’t be surprised if she said, “Come home tonight.” I wouldn’t be surprised if she prayed, “God, bring my baby home safely.”

Everybody knew about the gun threats. “If Diane Harris gets to speak, there will be a massacre. We’ll kill everyone there.” It was one of those men’s groups. You know the type. “Men are superior. Women are subservient to men.” That kind of shit. Another group declared, “All you women, show up! We’ll take your picture, and hunt you down, and show you what women are for!”

Tommy, my best friend said he had to go. His girlfriend was going, and he had to try to keep her safe. Frank and Jimmy said the same thing. And my Dad told me, “You need to stand for something. Pick a side. Pick a cause. Pick something to believe in. And stand up for it.”

Yeah. I pretty much had to show up.

I patted my gun, under my jacket. Concealed, of course. Everyone had a concealed carry permit anymore. I’d never needed it. Never had to use it. But it made me feel safer knowing it was there, and I could defend myself if I needed to.

“Only an idiot would come here to shoot people,” I chuckled. With the Stand Your Ground law, everyone would probably be armed. If someone drew a gun, a dozen other guns would show up ready to shoot him.

And that’s exactly what happened.

First, one guy drew a gun. He shot the girl next to him. Of course, people pulled out their guns, to shoot him, and save themselves. He shot one of them, then another, They started shooting back. Yeah, they got him, and three or four people near him.

Then, a second guy drew his gun. And a third guy. I figure there were a dozen of them in the crowd, pulling guns, shooting at everyone. A guy in the row in front of me pulled out a friggin’ cannon. He pulled the trigger, and started mowing down everyone he saw, shooting merrily away.

So, I drew my gun. And the guy behind me shot me. In the back. “He’s got a gun too!”

It was hell on Earth. Bullets flew everywhere. People panicked. People ran. People died. Everybody screamed. It sounded like something out of a bad movie.

I don’t know how I’m still alive.

They tell me I was in the ICU for a week, no one knew if I’d wake up. They told me what happened. 56 people died. Yeah. 56. 109 wounded. I was one of the 109. Tommy and his girl were part of the 56. Jimmy was another part of the 109. He was recovering, but he’d lost his left arm. Got shot, fell down, got trampled. They couldn’t save it.

They tell me, with a little more technological advancement, I might learn to walk in a few years. Got shot in the back, remember. Spinal cord damage. My legs don’t work anymore. Oh, they’re alive. Blood flows through them just fine. But they don’t feel a damn thing, and I can’t wiggle my toes.

Mom cries every time she visits.

Dad tells me how proud he is, “You stood up for something you believed in! You’re a real man!”

Thanks Dad. Did I mention, I can’t feel my toes?

I keep hearing the numbers. 56 dead. 109 wounded.

The neighbors all sent get well cards. I hate them. Every card. I hate them. “Thank you for standing up for free speech!” “Get well soon!”

I keep thinking I should have gone to the beach instead of the speech. I’d have watched almost naked women in their tiny bikinis, and soaked up the sun. And maybe one of almost naked women would have asked me to spend the night with her. In her place. In her bed. With no clothes on. And I could have banged her.

Instead, I went to that damn speech.

A couple of police officers stopped by after I woke up. They asked me what happened. I told them. I asked them what happened. “It’s under investigation.” That’s all they said.

The nurses explained. No one got charged with anything. Except the first guy with a gun. He was dead, of course, but they’d charged him with instigating a riot. Everything that happened after he started firing was normal self-defense. No one got charged with anything. Even the guy that shot me in the back. “No hard feelings,” the nurses said, “He was only defending himself, standing his ground. It was just bad luck.”

Bad luck. He shot me in the back. I wasn’t looking at him. He drew his gun, and shot me. Crippled me. And he didn’t do anything wrong in the eyes of the law. Stand Your Ground, they call it. Defend yourself, and the people around you. Good, sensible law, ain’t it?

Did I mention I can’t wiggle my toes? I wonder sometimes. Do they itch?

The truth? Everyone went nuts. Everyone went crazy. And just started shooting. And they didn’t stop until they ran out of bullets. Yes, we defended ourselves. And we shot a lot of people defending ourselves. Most of them weren’t the bad guys. Most of them didn’t deserve to get shot.

I sure as hell didn’t.

Did I mention I can’t wiggle my toes? Hell, I can’t even reach the bottoms of my feet. For all I know, the nurses could have painted the blue.

56 dead. 109 wounded.

But we protected our right to free speech. And our right to bear arms. We defended ourselves. Yeah. We sure did that.

I wonder. If my toes itch, but I can’t feel them, do they still need to be scratched?

#FinishThatThought Week 2-15 : Happy Halloween

It is time to make the announcement. I wish it wasn’t. I wish I didn’t have to. I wish I was somewhere else. But I’m not, and I have to, and it’s time. I stand up, clear my throat, and wait for silence in the room. I don’t wait long, just a few seconds. Then I speak. “It’s time for the annual mystery race.”

All seventy-three people in the sanctuary cheers. I wait for silence to return. “Everyone knows the rules, of course.”

Someone raises his hand, “I don’t.”

“Yeah, the rules! We need a refresher!”

I grimace, “Humans,” I think.

“Very well.” I sigh. “The mystery race has four clues. The first three clues always show you where the fourth clue is. The fourth clue is an envelope containing the phone number you must call to complete the race.”

“What do we get?”

“This year, Mr. Anderson will send you a $50 gas card once a week for 52 weeks.”

They cheered, of course. For some of them, $50 of free gas a week meant they would drive all year for free. Others would cut their gas bill in half. Who wouldn’t want such a gift. Again, I waited for silence in the sanctuary.

“These are the clues Mr. Anderson has provided for this year’s challenge,” I push the button on the remote control, and a picture of the first clue displays on the movie screen. “A beaded necklace.” I close my eyes to avoid seeing the gaudy picture once more. “Only five copies of this necklace exist in the city. The beads of each necklace give you a street name.”

“The second clue is a bridge.” I press the remote control button and replace the image of the necklace with one of a bridge. “The bridge is visible from somewhere along the named street.”

I click the remote and the third picture appears. “At one foot of the bridge is a glass of water. In the water is the key for a safe deposit box. Bring the key here, and open the matching safe deposit box. The first box opened will contain the envelope with the phone number.”

Chaos ensues, with countless questions. “How do we find the necklaces? What stores are they in? Are they all in one store? Is there a time limit?”

I answer as honestly, and calmly as I can. “There are five necklaces. They are in five different stores. The stores are not specified. They are any stores that carry necklaces, including Wal-Mart, jewelry stores. Any stores that sell necklaces. There is no time limit.”

It’s time for to finish the announcement. “And now, the contest starts. Mr. Anderson wishes you all a Happy Halloween, and hopes you enjoy his race.”

When the last person leaves the sanctuary, I close the doors, then lock them. Then, I pull my silver flask from my jacket pocket, and drain it. “God, I hate this annual challenge.”

488 words
@LurchMunster

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I wrote this for Week 2-15 (Year 2, week 15) of Alissa Leonard‘s Finish That Thought. Please, go read all the creatively shared stories in this week’s challenge.

A Tale Of Lust : Pictures Every Night [Adults Only]

[The following is for adult consumption only. If you can’t handle explicit sexual content, go away.]

11:30 at night. Thomas’s wife was asleep. “Finally,” he grinned. “Now I can do what I want.”

He pulled his tablet out and opened the WEB browser. “I’m not a bad guy. I’m not.” He typed in the familiar URL, and watched the page load. “It’s just. She’s not interested anymore.” He remembered when the two of them spent late nights exploring each other. He remembered how fun sex with her had been.

It wasn’t fun anymore. He didn’t know when that happened. Or why. It just had. “It’s not what I wanted.” But he wasn’t sure that was true. Perhaps, they got tired of each other. Perhaps the sex was always the same. Perhaps they ran out of things to try. “The thrill is gone,” he heard the song play in his mind. It wasn’t spontaneous anymore. She scheduled it, when it happened, and when it happened, it was a chore.

He hadn’t screwed her in two years, maybe longer, he’d quit keeping track. It was one of those never going to happen things. They’d done everything. And he’d enjoyed it all. Especially oral sex. She knew it. She used to tell him, “I know you liked that. You got your rocks off.” And, “I know that felt good to you,” when he finished.

Now, he never finished. “Sometimes, I wonder why we sleep in the same bed.” He looked at the screen of his tablet. A pornography site, with daily videos and pictures. He wondered when it became more fun to watch the videos, and stare at the pictures that it was to screw her. “It’s not my fault.” Thomas shook his head. Yeah, it wasn’t his fault. He didn’t know whose fault it was, but it wasn’t his. “It’s like she got tired of everything, and stopped.”

He clicked on the link for the daily video, and watched a girl do it all. The camera never left her. All it showed of her partner was his dong and his hands. It started with her getting naked, and riding her fingers. Next, she off his clothes, then knelt in front of him, and sucked his cock. Thomas always liked to watch the blow jobs. They reminded him of when his wife used to suck him. Since she never did anymore, he liked to imagine the girl in the video was sucking him, her head riding up and down the length of him, like in the video. He wished it was him she was eating, so he could feel it for real, instead of imagining it. He wished it was him she was taking in her throat, him exploding into her.

Hell, it never happened in his life anymore. Why shouldn’t he enjoy a little fantasy? What was wrong with that?

The girl in the video got on her hands and knees. She turned her ass to the guy, and used her hand to spread herself. Thomas watched as she finger fucked herself, and spoke of how much she wanted the man to fuck her. After a few minutes, she got her wish as the man slid his cock into her, and started stroking. Thomas listened to her moan with each stroke in the video, and imagined it was him doing the stroking, watching each stroke he made.

He knew what was coming, he’d seen enough videos to know. “How’s he gonna fuck her ass? With his fingers, or his dick?” He waited knowing he’d enjoy watching whatever happened. He licked his lips, and used his hand to adjust his crotch. “That’s better.” He waited, watching the girl drive her hips into the man so each stroke was a deep as it could be. “God, I wish it was my dick she was humping.”

Thomas grinned as the man moved his hand to her ass, and slowly slid his index and middle fingers into her. He liked how she moaned, “Mmmm. That’s what I wanted.” It was what Thomas wanted too. He wished it was him in the video, his dick in her, his fingers in her ass.

He watched every stroke of cock and fingers until the man peaked, and the video ended.

“That was good. Now, for the pictures.” He clicked through the daily pictures. There were pictures of a dozen naked girls, sucking dicks. Thomas thought it would be great to fuck a dozen different faces. Pretty faces. Watching them ride up and down his length. Making him feel good.

There were a dozen more girls with dicks in their pussies. Some on their hands and knees, taking it from behind, some sitting on the man, some on their backs with their legs pulled up, and their cunts wide open. “I’d love to line them up, and fuck them all. Watch my dick pump into them. God, that would be good.”

There was a third dozen girls getting their asses fucked. All of them smiling, moaning, or groaning. Some on their knees, some sitting on the man, and some on their backs with their legs over his shoulders, and their butt cheeks spread. “I’d love a bunch of asses to fuck. Whenever I wanted. As much as I wanted.” Thomas imagined it was him in each girls ass, stroking away. “I like fucking ass.”

The fourth set of pictures had lots of naked girls, eating each other. “I’d love to have two at once. Two mouths, Two pussies. Two asses. And I could fuck them while they licked each other. God. That would be fun.”

The fifth set of pictures was of two girls and one guy. The girls ate each other while the guy fucked them everywhere. Faces, pussies, and asses. “It’s what I’d do. God I wish I could do that.”

When he finished the pictures, it was past midnight. Thomas turned off his tablet, “God, I needed this tonight.” He knew he’d sleep well, with fun dreams, and he knew he’d find release for the stress between his legs in the shower the next morning.

“God knows, I won’t find any release with her.”

He fell asleep dreaming of fucking a 20 something blonde’s face. Shoving himself all the way in. Exploding. Her swallowing it all.

Lust sat in on his sofa two hours later, “A guy needs a few fantasies,” he told Thomas’s wife, as she reviewed the browsing history on his tablet. In another month, she’d file for divorce, and get him thrown out of her house.

She knew he didn’t love her anymore. Their marriage had died years ago. She thought of it as a mercy killing.

Lust laughed. “It’s too easy, isn’t it. A few pictures, a video, and presto. Another happy couple bites the dust. And he’ll never see it coming. Everybody wins!” Lust would feed on human misery. Thomas would have his fantasies. His wife would have her freedom. And the girls in the pictures would have their money.  Everybody’d win.

“Whores. The world has always had them. And always will. No matter how much it changes.” He laughed. “And men will always find them.” He looked at Thomas’s future ex-wife. “Just like he has.”

Life was good. And Lust knew it. And it would stay good, so long as men had dicks between their legs. Lust laughed, and laughed until dawn.

#ThursThreads Week 139 – A Tale Of Wrath : Watch Them Bleed

Jessica loved rodeos. The horses. The bulls. The contests. As she walked through the gate, with her ticket, the man collecting them looked her over good, “This isn’t your first rodeo…”

“No, it’s not,” she gave him a smile.

She sat in the stands, and watched, and waited, hoping for something special to happen.

On that day, she was not disappointed. It happened during the bull rides. A rider, thrown from the bull. The bull got him good. A big hoof planted on his right knee. “Yes!” Jessica leaped to her feet, her video recorder in hand, and zoomed in on the fallen rider. She recorded his fall from grace. The look of agony and fear on his face. The impossible angle at his knee, his lower leg jutting sideways, sticking out.

She had another scene to add to her collection.

“For you, Sis. For you.”

Wrath stood in the shadow of the bull, “It was a cowboy who killed your sister.” He pushed the bull, “Go stomp him more!” He laughed as the bull went wild, and Jessica recorded it all. “If enough of them get torn up, your sister will finally rest in peace.”

Jessica smiled. “For you, Sis. For you.” She hoped he’d never walk without a cane. “Cowboys will pay for what they did.” She hoped there’d be more to record as the day went on. “Let them all bleed, God. All of them. It’s what they deserve.”

Wrath laughed, and laughed.

246 Words
@LurchMunster

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I wrote this for Siobhan Muir‘s #ThursThreads, Week 139. Please go read all the entries in this week’s #ThursThreads. They are good reading.

Hanging Rock State Park, Wednesday, 01 October 2014

Well! We did it! We survived! The Hanging Rock State Park Five Peaks Challenge. You get one day, sunrise to sunset, to make the loop to Balancing Rock and the Lookout Tower, Cooks Wall, House Rock, Wolf Rock, and Hanging rock. The loop, for us, started at our tent, and ended at our tent.

Once we got to Cooks Wall, the walk was wearing her down. I worried about her. Hey! I worry about her. It’s what I do, so deal with it. She had to stop for some Gatorade, peanut butter, and pretzels. Trail food. We packed light. And I can’t ever explain how proud of her I am. She hung in, and made the 5 peaks loop.

We started with Balancing Rock and the Lookout Tower. The highest point in the park. Also the steepest ascent, with the most stairs. My God, but it hurt to scale those stairs. I have no idea how many there were. At times, they just seemed endless. Which is why we started with them. Get the hardest part over first.

Of course, that put Hanging Rock last, and that’s not a cake walk either.

The Lookout is about 1.3 miles out from our tent. Give or take a bit. We got there about 0930 hours. It was gorgeous. No, better than that. I can’t begin to describe it. Oh. Look. Bug guts on the display screen. Ah well. Where was I? Oh, yeah. The Lookout. We were above the cloud deck. There were some breaks in the clouds, and we could see the ground, way, way, way down there, and miles away from where we were. We could see other peaks sticking up above the clouds. We spent a little while taking pictures.

Then.

We started on the longest part of the trail. It went downhill from The Lookout, then went uphill to Cooks Wall. That walk didn’t want to end. It’s something like 5+ miles. Holy crap, did it hurt to walk that. Especially since none of it was flat.

Cooks Wall wasn’t anything spectacular. But we did climb the big blocks of granite, and took a few pictures. I even took pictures of The Lookout. You could see it from Cooks Wall. I looked at The Lookout, and said, “Wow. That’s a long way off.” It was. The only way I could verify it was The Lookout was zoom in with the 35X optical zoom on my camera, then look at the picture. Yep. It was The Lookout. Way the hell away from us.

Next, we staggered back down the trail (The last mile to Cooks Wall is an out and back deal. A mile there. A mile back.) to House Rock. I asked her why they called it House Rock. She said, “‘Cause it’s big as a house.”

OK. I can’t argue with that. We had company while at House Rock. Two black vultures. They watched us taking pictures. Figured out we weren’t a threat, and let us take pictures of them. Pat discovered those suckers have one nasty hook on their beaks. The better to shred things with when it’s time to eat.

Next, we walked to Wolf Rock. The 4th stop on our merry jaunt. I was very concerned she wouldn’t make it. But, she said, “We’ve come this far.” And soldiered on. Wolf Rock didn’t really look like a wolf. I got more scenery shots. And we found a lizard of some kind, who was nice enough to let us take some pictures. She told me, “No further! Come back in here!” Yeah. I know. Sometimes I’ll get up to the edge of a zillion foot cliff. I made a point of sticking out my right leg, to get my foot in the picture, to lend some perspective to the view. Yeah. A tiny blue Avia shoe overlooking a cliff.

Then, the walk to Hanging Rock. She sent me ahead of her. Hanging Rock trail is a bitch. Momma. The last 4 tenths of a mile is stairs. Most of them cut from rocks. Most of them better than 8 inches high.

It speaks volumes when a microscopic Pekingese dog, all of a foot tall at her highest point, raced by me, with her part of 3 humans trying to keep up with her. That dog was a fireball of energy.

I took pictures from the top, and kept my promise to her. “No going near the edge!” I found the geo-marker, took a picture of it, and took all my pictures from within ten feet of it. Lots of pictures of people out by the edges. Perspective, I have learned, is important in showing people the scale of Hanging Rock.

Then.

The trip down.

The trip up, I knew I could make. That’s just brute strength and endurance, and pacing yourself. The trip down terrified me. Last year, when we climbed to the peak, the trip down brought me to my knees. My left knee especially. There’s enough ligament damage in my knee that the steep descent from Hanging Rock pushes my knee to its limits. The walk down is a walk of pain. A walk of misery. A walk I can never forget.

And I’ve walked it twice now. Once last year. And today. Most people, the walk down from Hanging Rock is a party. It’s all downhill. Me? It’s torture. And she knows it. She slowed the pace down. She stopped at the benches along the way. She monitored the pain levels by talking with me on the trip down, and when they got too bad, she could hear it in my voice, and she stopped.

Did I mention I love my lady? 🙂

Now, we are in the tent. It’s 2011 hours. She’s on the air bed, under the covers, headed to sleep. I won’t be far behind her.

And tomorrow? We rest. 🙂

Hanging Rock State Park, Tuesday, 30 September 2014

It is now 1907 hours, per the Chromebook. We are now settling into the tent for the first of our three nights here, at campsite 14, in Hanging Rock State Park, North Carolina. This is our second visit to Hanging Rock. We visited last October, for 3 nights. As a result, I’m less stressed being here this year than I was last year.

It’s an autistic thing. No. Really. It is. As much as I like to explore new places, the act of exploring them places me under a ton of stress. Because I’m in an unfamiliar environment, which means I don’t know what can happen, how to respond to whatever does happen, how to behave in a social situation in the new environment.

Yeah, yeah. I know. Everybody knows how to behave in any given setting, and can figure it out by observing body language, tone of voice, eye signals, and all the other forms of unspoken communication people have, and use.

Autistic. Remember? That means I don’t pick up on those very things. Yep. Look at me like I’m out of my mind, and I very likely won’t notice.

So, being here a second time means I am less stressed this trip. Because I have some experience in this environment, and some frame of reference to draw from. And that’s a good thing. It means I’ll have more fun, and take more pictures, and experiment more with my camera this trip.

Now…. Now, I want to change the rules, and do something I know how to do. Capture a dream, a feeling, a moment, and put it on paper.

This afternoon, after we set up the tent, we hopped in the xB, and drove to the Lower Cascades Water Fall of the park. The fall is beautiful. What waterfall isn’t? The top is next to a rock face nearly as tall as the fall. At the base of that rock face where the water pulls away, heading toward the cascade, lies a moss and fern garden that could only grow in such a place, partly shielded from the sun, and receiving all the water it needs from the fall. The water plummets down the fall, into a cove. The water of the cove is calm, almost still. You can watch the ripples of leaves as they fall from the trees, trace the paths of the water bugs, as they flit about on its surface. Beside the waterfall, and the cove is an ancient rock face, laced with cracks, nooks, crannies, and holes. Trees, flowers, weeds, grasses, mosses, and lichen grow from the cracks, bringing splashes of green to the somber gray of the rock.

You would love to see it. No picture can ever do it justice.

We took pictures, of course. Lots of pictures. I experimented with camera settings, trying to shorten the exposure time so I could take a picture without the blur of moving the camera. After I finished playing with my camera, I decided to try something different. I turned off my camera, and took the time to experience the place.

The colors, so many shades of green in the trees, grasses, mosses, leaves. splashes of white flowers accenting the scene here and there. The glistening wet rock of the fall. The clarity of the water. The roots of trees, spread on the ground, looking for ways into and through the rock.

The sounds of the fall, of its echo of the rock face in the cove, of the cascades to the far side of the cove. How they washed away the sounds of city life. No cars, no horns, no machines, no phones. Just the sounds of water flowing over rocks.

Then, the rock itself. I closed my eyes, and felt it. Not cold, and unfeeling. Old. Ancient. It was there before humans existed. It will be there after we’re all gone. It has seen so much. It has been there so long.

As I have been known to say, every once in a while. Close your eyes and dream.

Close your eyes and dream.

#MWBB Week 2.22 – A Tale Of Wrath : I Try

Brian sat in the church pew. It was Friday night, and the church was available for prayers. Those who wished to talk with God in private. The priest sat in the chair beside the altar, and was available for any who approached him.

Brian was thankful the church was available. He wished to speak with God. He needed to speak with God. When he closed his eyes, he still saw the blood on his hands. Her blood.

“She never listened! God! She never listened!” He didn’t speak aloud, his words echoed in his head instead. “I played the song for her, but she never listened!” Brian shook his head. “I even sang them to her. I did.”

The words of the song echoed in his head.

I try to say goodbye and I choke.
I try to walk away and I stumble.
Though I try to hide it, it’s clear.
My world crumbles when you are not near.

He even heard the words In Macy Gray’s voice.

“I explained, God. I did. And still, she wouldn’t talk to me. Wouldn’t hold my hand. Wouldn’t be with me. Wouldn’t love me.”

Brian remembered his frustration. His agony. Feeling she’d stabbed him in his heart. “I loved her, God!” He quietly cried, sitting in the church, unable to raise his head to look at the cross before him.

He’d bought flowers. He knew they were her favorites. White lilies. A dozen of them. He’d bought chocolates. Godiva, in a heart container. And a bottle of her favorite wine. He put on his best Sunday suit, the gray one, with pinstripes. A clean, white shirt. A white tie. He’d bought the tie to match the lilies.

He’d been nervous, sitting in his car, waiting for her to get home from work.

He’d been furious when she’d arrived with that other guy. “God, he should have known! He should have known she was mine!”

He left the lilies and chocolate in his car. He followed them to her apartment. He listened to her laughter, he could hear her in the hall. He didn’t know what to do. Everything had gone wrong. Nothing was like he wanted it. Like he needed it.

He remembered his shoulder colliding with the door, several times, the sound of wood cracking, then splintering. He hadn’t felt anything as he broke through the door. The two of them stood there, half-naked, staring at the door in horror.

He attacked the man. He grabbed anything within reach, to help him. The crystal clock on the table by the front door. Brian stared at his hands, but the memory wouldn’t go away. That clock, striking the man’s face. Over and over, until the man stopped moving.

She clawed at him. Jumped on his back. Pounded on his shoulders. Her fingernails scraped at his neck, and face. The clock struck her head. “I told you! I told you! I try! But you never listen!” Her beautiful face wasn’t beautiful anymore. Her beautiful neck bent funny. “I can’t live without you!”

Brian stood in the church. He screamed at God, “I told her! I told her!”

He closed his eyes, and saw the blood on his hands. Blood he knew he could never wash away.

He sat down on the pew. “Why, God? Why didn’t she listen?”

The police entered from the back of the church. The priest nodded to them, and pointed to Brian.

Wrath stood in the shadow of the cross and laughed. He kept laughing long after the police took Brian away.

591 Words
@LurchMunster

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This is my entry for Year 2, Week 22 (Week 2.22) of Jeff Tsuruoka‘s Mid-Week Blues-Buster flash fiction challenge. Please, go read the other stories in the challenge.