Some Serious Writing./

[The Dark Jester]

Chapter 1.


"I can't find it."

No matter how hard I try. I've searched every square inch of this truck.

"I can't find the knife"

"What do you need the knife for, Bruce?"

"They put something in my head."

I could feel it. Protruding out the back. Almost like a switch, a button, of flesh.

"And you're going to cut it out, Bruce? What if you mess it up? It could kill you."

At this point I don't really care about the consequences. I had lost so much already that at this point, whatever this is, is the least of my worries.

"Damn" No knife. This whole trip out here was a disaster. Arrested. By the Feds no less. They thought I had drugs or something. All I know is, this thing in my head hurts and not a thing I can do about it.

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I hope you like it, its my first attempt at real writing.

[RPGD]

Re: Some Serious Writing./

Definitely not a bad start.

[The Dark Jester]

Re: Some Serious Writing./

Chapter 2.

They burned him. Danny O. They lit him on fire and watched him burn. Figuratively, of course. But everyone turned against him. Except me.

I was still there at his side, and Todd. We knew he didn't do anything. Hell, I still believe that. Danny O, was just at the wrong place at the wrong time. Just hanging out with some guys I hardly knew. They went into a local grocer, shot the place up, and left Danny at the scene. No security cameras, to catch his innocence. Just witnesses that saw him holding a gun. Those friends he had? Gone.

Everyone had turned their back on Danny O. His friends. His family. But not me. Not me and Todd.

Danny O became another statistic.

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Chapter 3.

3 o' clock.

Day light is shining bright from under the cracks of the door. I know this because, for some reason, I'm staring right at the door.

"Where the hell am I?"

I'm laying on the floor. Maybe I passed out?

Jesus. My head is throbbing. It feels like someone took a hammer and nail right to the back of my head. I feel it. A bump. Some kind of protrusion.

I slowly get up and take a look around. Cheap. A cheap motel room. How did I get here? The remote for the TV is attached to the night stand. A bible's in one of the drawers.

Where the hell have I been and how did I get here?

My head is killing me.

[Big Rick Cook]

Re: Some Serious Writing./

I... don't know how to react to this.

[Redneck 2000]

Re: Some Serious Writing./

It kind of sounds like Chuck Palahniuk, except I have no idea what's going on.

[The Dark Jester]

Re: Some Serious Writing./

Chapter 4.

"That's bull**** man."
"No I'm serious. I know each and every real name of the whole cast of the Golden Girls."
"Shawn, ladies and gentlemen, the King of Trivial Information."

These guys are my best friends. Here at the table we have Kincaid, that's his last name of course. His first name, Marcus, is only used by his mother, only when she's mad at him of course. Next is Shawn J. who apparently is the King of Trivial information. Then there's Walter, reliable Walter, who always wants to hang out and always seems to need a friend. Of course I'm there, often times just a wall flower.

"Friends, this drink here is for Danny O. A toast to Danny O."

Chapter 5.

I hadn't seen him in a week. Todd practically fell off the face of the Earth. He wasn't there last night, with all of us at the toast in rememberance of Danny O. None of them meant it, at times I think they believed they had to feel like he was innocent out of obligation, because we were all friends. Those others, Kincaid, Walter, Shawn J., their words seem so hollow and empty. Kincaids just a jock, stereotypical dumb jock, playing Junior College Football. He has no real thoughts, dreams or ambitions. He's happy with mediocrity. But then again what the hell do I got going for me? 23, manager of a bread shop in a town nobody wants to be in, but noone can ever leave.

Jesus.

What a tangent.

The road to Todd's was an unfamiliar one, as he had just moved out on his own. Finally away from his oppresive parents who dominated his life through out high school. This will be the first time I visit him at his new place. It looks great from the outside, though. A nice, quiet apartment exactly what he needs. The front door to his place wasn't completely closed. I knocked twice just to be polite and it slowly went ajar.

Something was definatly wrong at Todds.

[Big Rick Cook]

Re: Some Serious Writing./

Yep. Still no idea what's actually going on.

In Chapter 4, it occurs to me that a possibly better way to describe who these guys are and what they're like would be to have it come through in dialogue in some way. A prime example is the cafe scene in Reservoir Dogs, where there's nothing but bull**** being talked about, but it offers so much insight into the main characters of Harvey Keitel and Steve Buscemi. What they say and how they act brings forth their characters and personality in ways that just having it told to you through narrative couldn't accomplish.

Just a thought. I'm particularly interested to see where this goes.

[The Dark Jester]

Re: Some Serious Writing./

Chapter 6.

No more good days, good evenings or good nights. No more good mornings. No more good thoughts, bad thoughts or anything in between. The twelve plus years of education that you had invested in? Worthless. Thats what death is. I know it for sure now more than ever, because for the last hour and a half I stared into the eyes of Todd Browning. Maybe it's the shock. Maybe I'm just inconsiderate. I can't help but wonder what happend to Todd.

I'm too scared to poke around his body. Todd is or was my best friend. What the hell should I do?

Maybe it wasn't the smartest decision in my life, but I decided, at that very moment to get the hell out of there.

Chapter 7.

One of the smartest things I had ever done in my life was to get out of Todd's when I did. Petrov, The Russian, must have arrived at Todds just after I did, because he was taken in for questioning.

We knew Petrov for years. He was a regular at the dive bar we went to, most of the guys couldn't pronounce his name right so we just called him "The Russian". Kincaid however would try to pronounce it on a daily basis and after every try he was met with a slap in the face from The Russian.

"Petrol"
Slap.
"Petrom"
Slap.

The Russian didn't hit hard. It was playful, though with his big frame it would be easy to knock that smirk right off of Kincaids' face.

Often times, after the guys were done drinking I would walk to the pier, as our dive bar is close to the beach, and I would walk and think and talk to myself. This night in particular, I think I had a little too much to drink.

[The Dark Jester]

Re: Some Serious Writing./

Chapter 8.

"What are you searching for, Bruce?"

"Excuse me?"

"It's just that when someone goes to the same place, time after time, it's usually because they lost something. So, Bruce, I ask, what are you searching for?"

I could not believe this. How much did I have to drink? I woke up. On the beach. Next to a homeless man, who somehow knew my name. When the homeless man spoke, it had its own rhythem. A cadence.

To tell him what I'm searching for would be hard. I tell him I'm looking for a friend. But really what I'm looking for are the guys who got Danny O. locked up. I had no clue who he was with, and Danny was too proud to talk about it.

Apparently the homeless man dug through my wallet and that's how he knew my name, he swore he didn't take anything, and for some reason, I trusted him.

Chapter 9.

Todd Browning was not a good person by any means. He never did anything as mean as kicking dogs or cats, or kicking anything for that matter. Todd played God.

You might have heard of random shootings happening on freeways and streets. People, just living their lives, that Todd deemed worthless.

He carried a gun with him in his car. The gun he stole from his father before he abandoned his own family, much like fathers tend to do.

He would drive and see people, people he felt didn't want to live anymore. Almost as if he was doing them a favor by putting them out of their misery. Rich, poor, black, white, it really didn't matter to him. He felt like he knew that they were tired of the monotony of life and it was his duty as a human to put them out of their "misery".

He would often ask if I wanted to go with him. I couldn't. I never really believed that he could do that. I'm not even sure how many he "saved". But it made me feel safer to think that I had an angel of death behind me.

Todd played God.