Speaking of "I made this."
Posted: August 04, 2008 • 2:39 am
I was kicking around an idea that morphed into the first part of a piece of fiction.
CAUTION!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
This is not a fun and friendly piece of prose. It's not for the faint of heart. This is R rated material of a serious nature. If you think you might be offended......PLEASE DO NOT READ IT!!!!!
She walked the empty sodden streets, grey and muted black, littered with the garbage of thousands of lost souls like her in the city of discards. She kicked away a glass bottle, with a little more force than she imagined, and the tinkling sound of its shattering fell back to her. Much like the sound her heart might have made if she had cared about much of anything.
The slick asphalt slid underneath her heels, and threatened to trip her up. Trying its best to send her into the smear of oily green antifreeze and countless snot rockets that littered, glistening, under the sickly glow of the safety lights that swung on the post overhead.
“Safety.” She whispered under her breath with a laugh. Was there safety to be had in the cesspool that she called home? She shook her head, tossing the short violet hair cut in a severe bob back and forth, answering her own selfish question.
The curb ahead beckoned her forward, the flashing white hand, all is safe, quickly now. And she did, scurrying across, giving a passing glance to the storm drain, overflowing with refuse. A rat, slick fur shining wet silver with dark pink scar tissue completely covering one socket, watched her with the eye that remained, it’s humble meal of a mutilated crow forgotten. Her eyes, heavy with deep black makeup met his for a moment, and on a base level, as deep as the DNA they shared, they understood each other perfectly.
She moved on.
The rat went back to its munching, and she crossed the street, heels clicking in time to the machine noise in her head. Her slender and delicate hand, adored with long tendrils of inked ivy that went up to her armpit and around, waved to the furry little neighbor, and he passed out of her mind at almost the same instance.
A gaggingly putrid smell hit her as she made her way down the next block, a filthy homeless man cowered against the side of the building in a crouch, rocking back and forth. The mumblings were not quite audible through the matted and scraggly mess of hair that covered his face. His teeth were rotten and many were missing. She hugged the street as much as she could, daring only to watch out of her peripheral vision. He no longer even attempted to beg, no rattling of a paper cup with a few stray coins, or a worn out, heavily folded cardboard sign. There was no hope left in the man dying in the cold right beside her. Only the smell of his bowels that had emptied, who knows how long ago.
He stayed in her thoughts a bit longer than the rat.
The gum that snapped in her mouth, flavor long since gone, was the only thing that kept the bile from rising from her stomach up into her throat.
Only a few steps more, the quik stop ahead. It’s bright white light and shining tile, glass doors opening with a liquid whoosh, and she was away, back into normalcy. At least until she ventured out again.
She grabbed a hand basket, passing through the aisles slowly, savoring the time in the warmth and the myriad of options in front of her. There was only a few credits left in her account, so she chose the dry goods that would last, a bottle of sauce, and nut butter. The quik mart, meant for ones like her, the lower class, didn’t have the holo-screens, and she was thankful. No sense yearning for what she couldn’t have.
Her meager basket filled, she wandered up to the check stand, where the sallow Indian man stared, eyes traveling from her face, down to her breasts, her narrow waist, to the swell of her hips and back up again.
Her face flushed, and she slammed her basket down, emptying the contents to the conveyer.
The clerk seem non-plussed and picked a scab on his cheek, a lone drop of blood welling, and falling, trailing down his chin.
Serves the freak right, she thought to herself. Karmic balance.
She shook her head again and smiled, tucking a small strand of hair behind her ear, as she was wont to do when distracted.
“Credits?” The clerk noticed that his pasty yellow shift was mis-buttoned. His finger nails were caked with dark circles of dirt underneath, and pads of his fingers were discolored brown from a lifetime of smoking. The deep croak of his throat matched.
She nodded, and rotated her palm up, the barcode and chip positioned between the bones of her forearm, slightly raised and ready to be scanned under the flickering red light.
She passed it under the scanner with a beep, and a heavy metallic female voice clipped out. “Account of choice?”
“Primary 1.” It came out as remotely as brushing her teeth every morning, and she touched her bag of purchases, ready to walk back outside with her goods, when the voice clipped back.
“Account overdrawn.” The voice was dispassionate, but the clerk’s wasn’t. His face broke into a lurid sneer, laughing at her predicament.
The register tried again. “Account of choice?”
Her pulse pounded in her head, her cheeks felt hot with embarrassment. She was afraid what would happen next.
“Line of credit 1.”
The computer thought a minute, and spit out a similar response. “Insufficient funds available.”
She hung her head in frustration and shame. She was certain that she still had credits left, her brain racing over what might have happened when the computer spoke again.
“Based on your rating, you are pre-approved for a 50 credit advance for 72 hours for an daily compound interest rate of 18.9%. Would you like to take advantage of this limited time offer?”
Her only choice was going hungry for the next 3 days, until payday. She nodded her head. “Yes.”
The metallic voice spoke. “Scan again to accept the terms.”
Her arm trembled slightly, but she scanned it again. The sensor beeped, and white receipt tape came spilling out from the top of the register.
“Thank you for your business with Savings for America, and have a nice day.”
She snatched her purchases and bolted out of the store, ignoring the snicker from the counter help. She threw her body weight against the glass, doors swinging outward, the biting cold wind welcome against her overheated face.
=============================
There was only four more blocks until she reached her building, and she couldn’t walk quickly enough. Her mind was swimming. Beating herself up for getting further into the hole. Every week she resolved to clamp down and chip away at it; and the shame of being exposed in front of a stranger burned hot. This was the end.
Heavy thunder boomed from overhead, matching exactly to the flashing light above her, and she stepped up her pace to almost a jog. Her eyes focused dead ahead, two blocks now, almost home.
A blinding flash caused her to jump in fright, and another scream, louder than her own, came crying from the alley to her right. Deep in the shadows she could see the struggling form of a young woman, caught in a vice-like grip from four men. One had his arm around her throat in a choke hold, her long blonde hair trapped, pulling her neck backward at a dangerous angle. Each leg grabbed securely by another figure. Her body frantically twisting, trying to break free, like an animal caught in a trap. The fourth one straddled between her thighs.
“Hold her, damn it, hold her.” The angry voice echoed. They had no idea that they were being watched.
From the street, all she could do was stare, her breath gone, a crippling fear caused her bladder to loosen. Her voice was nothing, a squeak. The horror in front of her burning into her brain. It was a nightmare that you couldn’t get away from.
Not a DREAM!
Her paralysis broke, and she grabbed the first object she could find on the ground next to her. It was half of a broken brick. The edges bit sharply into her hand, tiny red pieces crumbling. The pain went unheeded.
She finally found her voice. She bellowed at the top of her lungs, flinging the chunk solidly against the head of one of the men gripping the woman’s outstretched leg.
He stumbled almost instantly. She looked frantically for another weapon, this time a broken bottle. With one leg free, the blonde woman struggled, and broke loose, her leg pirouetting, crashing across the bridge of the nose of the man that had been straddling her a moment ago.
He fell, clutching his face, and that gave her enough strength to wrench herself free from the choke hold. Blondie dropped to her knees, digging deep into her discarded purse. Fingers searching blindly until the shot rang out. A miss fire.
The next one didn’t miss. The man who had her neck in a choke hold was now clawing at this own, wetness and heat spraying against her face. Crying, she turned the gun on the others, emptying the chambers, until there was nothing but a ragged series of clicks.
Shocked into silence, the two women, the only survivors, wild eyed and staring, looked at each other, both shaking and in shock.
Blondie struggled to compose herself, wiping the tears and blood from her face. “We’ve got to get out of here.”
“My place is just two blocks away. Let’s go. “
Blondie quickly approached each body, hunted and grabbed their wallets, and with the butt of the gun, broke the identi-chips in each of their arms.
They joined hands and turned to run.
“Wait!” Blondie. “Your bag.”
The groceries, all but forgotten, were snatched up, and they ran together in the night, to the safety of her apartment.
She was afraid that they wouldn’t be safe there for very long.
CAUTION!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
This is not a fun and friendly piece of prose. It's not for the faint of heart. This is R rated material of a serious nature. If you think you might be offended......PLEASE DO NOT READ IT!!!!!
She walked the empty sodden streets, grey and muted black, littered with the garbage of thousands of lost souls like her in the city of discards. She kicked away a glass bottle, with a little more force than she imagined, and the tinkling sound of its shattering fell back to her. Much like the sound her heart might have made if she had cared about much of anything.
The slick asphalt slid underneath her heels, and threatened to trip her up. Trying its best to send her into the smear of oily green antifreeze and countless snot rockets that littered, glistening, under the sickly glow of the safety lights that swung on the post overhead.
“Safety.” She whispered under her breath with a laugh. Was there safety to be had in the cesspool that she called home? She shook her head, tossing the short violet hair cut in a severe bob back and forth, answering her own selfish question.
The curb ahead beckoned her forward, the flashing white hand, all is safe, quickly now. And she did, scurrying across, giving a passing glance to the storm drain, overflowing with refuse. A rat, slick fur shining wet silver with dark pink scar tissue completely covering one socket, watched her with the eye that remained, it’s humble meal of a mutilated crow forgotten. Her eyes, heavy with deep black makeup met his for a moment, and on a base level, as deep as the DNA they shared, they understood each other perfectly.
She moved on.
The rat went back to its munching, and she crossed the street, heels clicking in time to the machine noise in her head. Her slender and delicate hand, adored with long tendrils of inked ivy that went up to her armpit and around, waved to the furry little neighbor, and he passed out of her mind at almost the same instance.
A gaggingly putrid smell hit her as she made her way down the next block, a filthy homeless man cowered against the side of the building in a crouch, rocking back and forth. The mumblings were not quite audible through the matted and scraggly mess of hair that covered his face. His teeth were rotten and many were missing. She hugged the street as much as she could, daring only to watch out of her peripheral vision. He no longer even attempted to beg, no rattling of a paper cup with a few stray coins, or a worn out, heavily folded cardboard sign. There was no hope left in the man dying in the cold right beside her. Only the smell of his bowels that had emptied, who knows how long ago.
He stayed in her thoughts a bit longer than the rat.
The gum that snapped in her mouth, flavor long since gone, was the only thing that kept the bile from rising from her stomach up into her throat.
Only a few steps more, the quik stop ahead. It’s bright white light and shining tile, glass doors opening with a liquid whoosh, and she was away, back into normalcy. At least until she ventured out again.
She grabbed a hand basket, passing through the aisles slowly, savoring the time in the warmth and the myriad of options in front of her. There was only a few credits left in her account, so she chose the dry goods that would last, a bottle of sauce, and nut butter. The quik mart, meant for ones like her, the lower class, didn’t have the holo-screens, and she was thankful. No sense yearning for what she couldn’t have.
Her meager basket filled, she wandered up to the check stand, where the sallow Indian man stared, eyes traveling from her face, down to her breasts, her narrow waist, to the swell of her hips and back up again.
Her face flushed, and she slammed her basket down, emptying the contents to the conveyer.
The clerk seem non-plussed and picked a scab on his cheek, a lone drop of blood welling, and falling, trailing down his chin.
Serves the freak right, she thought to herself. Karmic balance.
She shook her head again and smiled, tucking a small strand of hair behind her ear, as she was wont to do when distracted.
“Credits?” The clerk noticed that his pasty yellow shift was mis-buttoned. His finger nails were caked with dark circles of dirt underneath, and pads of his fingers were discolored brown from a lifetime of smoking. The deep croak of his throat matched.
She nodded, and rotated her palm up, the barcode and chip positioned between the bones of her forearm, slightly raised and ready to be scanned under the flickering red light.
She passed it under the scanner with a beep, and a heavy metallic female voice clipped out. “Account of choice?”
“Primary 1.” It came out as remotely as brushing her teeth every morning, and she touched her bag of purchases, ready to walk back outside with her goods, when the voice clipped back.
“Account overdrawn.” The voice was dispassionate, but the clerk’s wasn’t. His face broke into a lurid sneer, laughing at her predicament.
The register tried again. “Account of choice?”
Her pulse pounded in her head, her cheeks felt hot with embarrassment. She was afraid what would happen next.
“Line of credit 1.”
The computer thought a minute, and spit out a similar response. “Insufficient funds available.”
She hung her head in frustration and shame. She was certain that she still had credits left, her brain racing over what might have happened when the computer spoke again.
“Based on your rating, you are pre-approved for a 50 credit advance for 72 hours for an daily compound interest rate of 18.9%. Would you like to take advantage of this limited time offer?”
Her only choice was going hungry for the next 3 days, until payday. She nodded her head. “Yes.”
The metallic voice spoke. “Scan again to accept the terms.”
Her arm trembled slightly, but she scanned it again. The sensor beeped, and white receipt tape came spilling out from the top of the register.
“Thank you for your business with Savings for America, and have a nice day.”
She snatched her purchases and bolted out of the store, ignoring the snicker from the counter help. She threw her body weight against the glass, doors swinging outward, the biting cold wind welcome against her overheated face.
=============================
There was only four more blocks until she reached her building, and she couldn’t walk quickly enough. Her mind was swimming. Beating herself up for getting further into the hole. Every week she resolved to clamp down and chip away at it; and the shame of being exposed in front of a stranger burned hot. This was the end.
Heavy thunder boomed from overhead, matching exactly to the flashing light above her, and she stepped up her pace to almost a jog. Her eyes focused dead ahead, two blocks now, almost home.
A blinding flash caused her to jump in fright, and another scream, louder than her own, came crying from the alley to her right. Deep in the shadows she could see the struggling form of a young woman, caught in a vice-like grip from four men. One had his arm around her throat in a choke hold, her long blonde hair trapped, pulling her neck backward at a dangerous angle. Each leg grabbed securely by another figure. Her body frantically twisting, trying to break free, like an animal caught in a trap. The fourth one straddled between her thighs.
“Hold her, damn it, hold her.” The angry voice echoed. They had no idea that they were being watched.
From the street, all she could do was stare, her breath gone, a crippling fear caused her bladder to loosen. Her voice was nothing, a squeak. The horror in front of her burning into her brain. It was a nightmare that you couldn’t get away from.
Not a DREAM!
Her paralysis broke, and she grabbed the first object she could find on the ground next to her. It was half of a broken brick. The edges bit sharply into her hand, tiny red pieces crumbling. The pain went unheeded.
She finally found her voice. She bellowed at the top of her lungs, flinging the chunk solidly against the head of one of the men gripping the woman’s outstretched leg.
He stumbled almost instantly. She looked frantically for another weapon, this time a broken bottle. With one leg free, the blonde woman struggled, and broke loose, her leg pirouetting, crashing across the bridge of the nose of the man that had been straddling her a moment ago.
He fell, clutching his face, and that gave her enough strength to wrench herself free from the choke hold. Blondie dropped to her knees, digging deep into her discarded purse. Fingers searching blindly until the shot rang out. A miss fire.
The next one didn’t miss. The man who had her neck in a choke hold was now clawing at this own, wetness and heat spraying against her face. Crying, she turned the gun on the others, emptying the chambers, until there was nothing but a ragged series of clicks.
Shocked into silence, the two women, the only survivors, wild eyed and staring, looked at each other, both shaking and in shock.
Blondie struggled to compose herself, wiping the tears and blood from her face. “We’ve got to get out of here.”
“My place is just two blocks away. Let’s go. “
Blondie quickly approached each body, hunted and grabbed their wallets, and with the butt of the gun, broke the identi-chips in each of their arms.
They joined hands and turned to run.
“Wait!” Blondie. “Your bag.”
The groceries, all but forgotten, were snatched up, and they ran together in the night, to the safety of her apartment.
She was afraid that they wouldn’t be safe there for very long.
