Thursday, May 22, 2008

I need to write!

Writing has come to life for me, and seems to be a great stress reducer. I find that a quick short story can really get your creative juices flowing, and yet, is a nice outlet for "venting". What better way to "kill" someone! (I don't really want to kill anyone. But sometimes it's great to pretend!)


Sometimes it's even a little better to "off" yourself. Check it out:


A man walks into a bar. But it isn’t a bar. It’s a baseball bat. And this isn’t just any man; it’s me getting pummeled by the bat. I’m cradling my head with my hands and arms. At least a couple of ribs are busted, and my left knee hurts like hell. If I’m kicked one more time, my guts are going to spill out. All I can do is scream my head off and hope to God someone saves me.

Now there is a hand over my mouth, and so much weight on me I can’t move. Squeezed between all of these cars, a voice whispers to me, “Leave her alone. Just walk away. I’ll kill you next time, pretty boy.” And then they’re gone.

I’m crying and shaking. My ribs are killing me. They tried to kick me in the groin, but I scrunched up so much it must have been too hard to hit in the dark. My mouth is full of blood and tears, and my gums sting and ache. Pretty soon I hear yelling. And it’s not me, like it was before. I think someone is coming. Just when I think I’m going to pass out, a reassuring voice speaks.

“Hey buddy, I called the police, do you need the paramedics?”

I don’t know what to say. I don’t want the police, because Lisa and I don’t need their help. The last thing I need is her soon-to-be ex finding out I swore a complaint. It’s one thing to beat the hell out of me, but I can’t protect her. I can’t even protect myself. And Jack is a big guy with too many friends.

“Thanks, but I have a nurse acquaintance”, I hear myself say. I get up and head for my car. My new buddy is protesting, but I need to get to Lisa and make sure she’s okay, because that woman is the best thing that ever happened to me. But just because Jack beat the hell out of me doesn’t mean he’s done for the night. I find my keys, get in the car and tires squealing, I speed away. I’ve got to get home. Well, Lisa’s house, but my home too. I need to check on Lisa, but there’s a little stop I need to make first.

It takes me about ten minutes to get to Jack’s cabin. It’s not really a cabin, more a shack in the woods that his family owns. I see a couple of lights, but his truck is gone. Crap. That’s not good. I race down the road, bracing for the worst. I’m almost to Lisa’s house when Jack’s truck passes me going the other way. Fast, too, like he’s guilty of a dirty deed. I arrive and the house is dark and Lisa’s car is in the garage. Where is she? I see a note on the counter and fear grips me. “Honey, this has got to stop, just trust me. I’ll be with my friend Sheila.”

Now I’m really worried. Sheila owns guns and knows how to use them.

I hurry back to Jack’s. But I’m very frightened because there is absolutely no reasoning with this guy. His wife has left him for me, and he’s either going to kill me or her, or both of us.

At Jack’s, his truck is there, and I see Sheila’s car. I glimpse shadows inside and a lot of arms waving around. I have to surprise Jack. I smash through the door and burst into the room.

I’m too late. The gun goes off, and I can see by Jack’s face that he never saw it coming. I didn’t either. My chest explodes. The ache in my jaw recedes; my ribs don’t seem to hurt anymore. Lisa is clutching the smoking gun, screaming for help, but I know it won’t matter. I can feel what’s left of my heart pumping faster than a racing engine. Just before everything goes black, I see Jack’s face in a twisted smile. The feeling of defeat is overwhelming. Then I see Sheila’s outstretched arm, hear another roar, and Jack goes down. I can’t see it, but the last vision I have is of Sheila placing Lisa’s gun into Jack’s hand.

Somehow, I think that’s a good thing.

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