TheLastBookworm
04-30-2008, 06:45 AM
This is just some random writing I'd though I might as well share, not sure if I'll finish this or not. Unless you find something difficult to read then don't give grammar, spelling or mechanics feedback please. This is something really rough and has had no proofreading at all, its like the written equivalent of sketches.
It is the story of multiple characters experiencing strange and violent psychological changes and their attempts to discover the source. Yeah I know it sounds just like a Dean Koontz novel, oh well.
December 10th, 2003
It came on all at once, rushing in waves -- the emotions. First shock and disbelief at what he did. Then came fear, the fear of being caught. So all Lincoln did was start running -- running past everything. Running past; the shops, the cars, the people, past the sirens. Even past his own car, which upon reflection was a incredibly stupid decision. By the time he stopped, he was several blocks away, far beyond the chaos he'd created.
November 10th, 2003
Mark never thought he'd drink. After all the lectures he received at high school thoughts of drinking should have been the furthest from his mind. Perhaps it was constant lecturing itself which spurred the obscure interest in the substance he now found himself holding. Mark wondered which people would be angry at him and to what extent their anger would be. He assumed it would be his parent's who would react with the greatest anger; though not because they cared about him, on the contrary, it's the consumption of their liquor which would enrage them, especially his father. In the past, the prospect of rage from his father would have terrified Mark. But in recent years he had grown larger and stronger, and he now felt confident that his father would avoid any physical violence towards him. The verbal abuse would still occur, but he was used to that by now. In his 17 years he had experienced every insult, threat and otherwise, his father could dream up.
Mark now twirled the empty liquor bottle in his hand, watching the reflections of light from the dimly light room. He was fast becoming a drunk, and he new it. Only drunks could become fascinated by a simple container. Slowly, as if his movements were already being effected by the small amount of liquor flowing through his bloodstream, he raised himself from his chair. He had work to do. And he had to finish before his parents returned from vacation. He was going to kill them both and that took planning...
July 10th, 2003
Lily Kilmany stared up at the ceiling fan glimmering in her dimly lit hotel room.
Her husband of 10 days slumbered beside her. He was William Mckinley of the Mckinley empire, only son and heir
of Harry M. Mckinley, old and comfortable money. Publishing was what they liked to talk about because publishing was a gentleman's profession, but they owned everything from televisions studios to oil companies. Old money was always better than new riches, but either way they had money falling out of their *******s. If she ever said that aloud to Bill, he would undoubtedly go pale and might even faint dead away. No fear, Bill.
profanation of the Mckinley family shall never cross my lips. It was easy and quick money, and there was enough of it, that what she took wouldn't be missed. Perfect, she thought to herself. Just perfect.
July 13th, 2003.
It had been her idea to honeymoon at the Overlook in Colorado, and there had been two reasons for this. First, although it was
tremendously expensive (as the best resorts were), it was not a "hip" place to go, and Lily did not like to go to the hip places. Hip places where crowded, and crowds were bad. Where did you go on your honeymoon. Lily? Oh, this perfectly, wonderful resort hotel in Colorado - the Overlook. Lovely place. Quite out
of the way but oh so romantic. And her friends - whose stupidity was exceeded in most cases only by that of Bill,
would look at her in dumb - literally! - wonder. Lily had done it again.
Her second reason had been of more personal importance. She had wanted to honeymoon at the Overlook because Bill had wanted to go to
Rome. It was imperative to find out certain things as soon as possible. Would she be able to have her own way immediately? And if
not, how long would it take to grind him down? He was stupid, and he had followed her around like a dog with its tongue hanging out, but would he be as malleable after the ring was slipped on as he had been before?
Lily smiled a little, a very sadistic smile, which would have given even jack the ripper the creepies, in the dark. Despite her lack of sleep and the bad dreams she had had since they arrived here, she was very Up-itty. Arrived here, that
was the key phrase. "Here" was not the American Hotel in Rome but the Overlook in Colorado. She was going to be able to manage him just fine, and that was the important thing. She would only make him stay another four days and then they could go back to New York. At least thats what she told him. In reality he probably wouldn't be returning to New York with her. If you haven't guessed it after the subtle hint which I just gave you, she planned to kill him and then make off with his money.
November 10th, 2003.
Jack hated this job more than every job before it. Manager at a MceD's was perhaps the most degrading job possible for a man of his former status. He had been a top executive at a publishing company in New York -- Random Ramblings. It all fell apart when his friend and president of Random Ramblings, Bill, heir to the Mckinley empire, was found dead in a Hotel in Colorado. Overlook, Colorado of all places. Bill's wife had convinced him to honeymoon there. Jack knew it had been a bad idea and he tried unsuccessfully to convince Bill of it, suggesting Rome instead. He almost convinced him, but ultimately it was Bill's wife who won his heart and mind over to Overlook.
Jack spent most of his days at Mickey ****s monitoring the actions of the various teenagers under his supervision. Especially Mitch, Mitch was the dumbest thing you've ever seen, and today was no exception. At this very moment he was struggling to put fry's in a container, fumbling and dropping fries all over the place. It was everything Jack could do not to hit the idiot. He kept trying to ignore the kid, but the kid just kept dropping fries. fries.. more ****ing fries on the floor. Jack's rage came on quicker than even he himself could have imagined. He was up out of the chair faster than a Mel Gibson rant. Mitch attempted to turn and defend himself, but he was no match for Jack. Jack was a tall stocky man who stood nearly 6FT 8 and weighed 300 pounds, mitch stood no chance.
Jack meant to just rough the kid up a bit, but he couldn't fight the urge to swing, and then he couldn't stop the swinging. He just kept hitting, hitting, and hitting the kid.
Sometime in January, 2004.
Jack stared at the entrance to the prison visitation room...
On the basis of his size, strength, military training, and position of authority, they wanted to charge him with deadly assault against a minor. Which would carry a minimum sentence of five years. Five years -- Jack couldn't serve five years. He had a child on the way, and he couldn't -- wouldn't miss him growing up. With the last of his savings (which totaled 1.3 million) Jack got the best lawyer he could find. The lawyer was heartless -- at least according to media. Good Jack thought, maybe he can get me off with assault and get me credit for time served. One year jail, a little house arrest plus probation and I'll be done. With a little luck it'd be one year and he would be back in his own bed, in his own house.
July 14th, 2003.
The most annoying thing about this marriage, or job as Lily liked to call them, was that Bill actually liked the Overlook. He was up even, at half past the crack of dawn, disturbing what dis-jointed bits of sleep she had managed, staring eagerly out at
the sunrise like some sort of Greek nature boy. He had been hiking two or three times, he had gone on several nature rides with other guests, and bored her almost to the point of screaming, with stories about the horse he rode on these jaunts, a mare
named Dotty. He had tried to get her to go on these outings with him, but Lily refused. The idiot had also suggested that she go hiking with him and some of the others - the caretaker's son
doubled as a guide. Bill practically gushed about the caretakers son, like some school girl. And he knows a hundred trails! Lily joked to herself. The amount of game you saw, Bill said, would make you think it was the nineteenth century. Lily dumped cold water on most of his ideas, but was careful to indulge him every so often. It wouldn't be wise not to.
November 8th, 2003.
Mike waited impatiently for the 10 O'clock bus to arrive. He hated being late, and he hated it even more when others made him late, especially when it was some bus driver. All he has to do is ****ing drive, not that damn hard. Mike said, not realizingly it was out loud. A old lady standing near him, gave him the "look". God he hated the "look", all women had a "look", and he'd never seen one which was even half way pleasant.
Up to this point Mike's anger would have been best described as a irritation, but as the bus turned the corner, it without warning, turned to rage. Mike, was unsure of were it came from, it seemed to flow from deep within, from some place dark inside him. Mike didn't know why but he suddenly had the urge to scream, to release the pent up rage... Mike shook his head, gain control of yourself man. Mike glanced at his watch 10:30. The bus was 30 minutes minutes late, which meant he was going to be at least 10 minutes late.
November 8th, 10:35 am.
Mike lay flat on the floor of the bus, face almost entirely covered in blood, his emotion was stone cold disbelief. How could he have done this? He thought. Only five minutes ago he stepped onto the bus. Only five minutes ago... He repeated. Only five minutes ago he was human, and now he felt like some sort of monster. Upon entering the bus, Mike had felt a uncontrollable urge to harm someone, and the first person he saw was the bus driver. The bus driver, the man who had made him late, the man who had stolen 30 minutes of his life 30 minutes he would never get back. So he did the only rational thing, he took his briefcase and with all the strength he could muster he smacked the driver in the forehead with it. Upon impact, everything impacted Mike, he wondered what he was doing, how he was doing it, and more importantly why. Why had he suddenly raged like this? As Mike lay on the floor, held there by some very shocked pedestrians, all he could think of was why. Why? Damnit.. Why? What had pushed him into insanity?
November 14th, 1997.
The paintings on the cave walls shimmered in the spot lights, but still they lacked a sense of life in the cold dead darkness of the cave. Mitch had never experienced this sort of feeling before. As a archaeologist specializing in Neanderthal art, paintings allways seem to come alive to him. Neanderthal art to him was life, the beauty, the expression, the paint, all came together for him in perfect portraits of reality. He could see what only children could see. All he could think was something was wrong here, something wrong with the painting. Yes, thats it he assured himself, something is not right.
Then again today was one of the few days he had not shot up. Mitch was addicted to heroine, and without it his brain usually failed to function. Mitche's thoughts turned to the heroine back at the hotel. The rusted, shining, glistening, glowing, previously used needles.....
"Well, whatdya think? " Mitch's boss asked. Mitch scrambled for a bul**** answer, but stumbled mid way through. God he needed to shoot up bad, his brain just wans't working. "You see this here" Mitch pointed to a
series of dots at the edge of one of the paintings. "Umm, well.. I think, thats.." Boss man interrupted him " ****ing hell mitch. Your talking out your *** man. " "I.." Mitch tried to get a word in "Shut the **** up. Let me tell ya something alright. We're paying up our asses to have you out here and alll you've done is ****ing stare at the paintings all day. I wanna see some ****ing results, damnit. " "It takes time" "How much ****ing time do you need? They're god damn paintings drawn by people with brains half your ****ing size. Just tell us what they ****ing mean god damnit. You stupid little ****."
God mitch hated the incessent cussing, the guy used ****ing like it was a adjective, adverb, noun, and a verb. Not like he didn't cuss himself, he could string together quite a ****ing sentence. It was just the constant unnecessary use of it which got on his nerves. The guy couldn't emphasize anything without the use of "****ing".
" I'll tell you what. If you ain't done here by tonight, I'll ****ing fire you.. i'm sure i can find another useless mother****er for much cheaper. Got it ? " Mitch wanted to punch this guy so bad, but refained from it. " Alright, tonight then." " Good. I'm glad we ****ing understand each other"
As night fell Mitch's mind finally clicked, making a sound much like cracking knuckles. With the distraction of his brain accomplished, he was finally able to make a discovery. He rushed off to tell his boss, Dick. Mitch excitedly pounded on the make shift trailer/office his boss occupied. Mitch heard “Come in”, and he hurriedly entered.
“ Oh its you mitch. What the **** you want? You better have something for me.” “I do. I do.” Mitch practically shouted. “Jesus, ****, will you calm yourself the **** down..” There he went again with useless cussing. Mitch mumbled “ Huh wahts that you saying? boy, sit the **** down, and spit it the **** out.” “Okay. Well, anyways I was standing staring at the painting. And well I started to think about..” “Look mitch I don't give **** about how it came to you. You could have been taking a **** upside down for all I care. Just give me the ****ing information.” “ Okay. Alright. The umm stickmen they're.. !” “What the hell Mitch?! I don't give **** about who is in the ****ing painting. Are you ****ing serious? I'll ****ing kil.. “
Dick stood in shock at the scene before him. Mitch -- the stupid little prick, had pulled a gun on him. “What the **** you pulling here mitch? Huh?” Mitch was silent and still. “Come on mitch answer me you stupid ****. You'd got five seconds to put that ****ing gun down before I kick your ****ing *** out my trailer.” There was still no real response from Mitch, just a slight twitching in his face. Dick begun to look around the room for a weapon, when..
November 14th, 1997.
The sound was deafening as it echoed through the whole research facility, it was as if the sound searched for a exit, as if it had its own mind, a frantic, desprate, insane mind. Walter M White or Mr. White as most called him, held his head up intently listening for the source of the noise now pummeling through his lab
July 2003
It wasn't that Andy was crazy or that he was angry he was simply consumed, consumed by a desire to get it, only he didn't know what it was. He spent nearly every free hour now searching for it, the source of his unrelenting drive to move, to do, to fight, to punch, to scream out of his ****ing lungs. Everyday for the past year now he'd take to the streets running, just running, for hours and hours on end he run, sometimes he'd cover 20 or 40 miles before dark. Then he'd catch a bus from where every he was back to his apartment on 5th Avenue. 5th Avenue, Andy often wondered if that was the very source of his distress, the intense desire to leave the ****-hole that is 5th Avenue. Maybe that was it he thought it was simply a desire to leave, a desire to leave his dead end house, his dead end life, his dead end job.
Andy is a middle aged corporate loser, sure he makes seven figures, has an expensive car and a expensive apartment but he is still a loser, there was just no meaning in his life. He hadn't slept with someone other than a hooker for almost a year and he hadn't had a real relationship with someone since his wife left him almost five years ago to the day. He had a kid but he hated him and after his divorce chose to live with his mother in Buffalo. Andy worked for a division of the Mckliney media empire Random Ramblings a publishing house, he was upper management and he had a high paying but a dead end job. He was also as high up as he'd ever get and the only place he'd ever move in the ladder is down a prospect which scared Andy half to death, which was Ironic considering how much he hated his job.
It is the story of multiple characters experiencing strange and violent psychological changes and their attempts to discover the source. Yeah I know it sounds just like a Dean Koontz novel, oh well.
December 10th, 2003
It came on all at once, rushing in waves -- the emotions. First shock and disbelief at what he did. Then came fear, the fear of being caught. So all Lincoln did was start running -- running past everything. Running past; the shops, the cars, the people, past the sirens. Even past his own car, which upon reflection was a incredibly stupid decision. By the time he stopped, he was several blocks away, far beyond the chaos he'd created.
November 10th, 2003
Mark never thought he'd drink. After all the lectures he received at high school thoughts of drinking should have been the furthest from his mind. Perhaps it was constant lecturing itself which spurred the obscure interest in the substance he now found himself holding. Mark wondered which people would be angry at him and to what extent their anger would be. He assumed it would be his parent's who would react with the greatest anger; though not because they cared about him, on the contrary, it's the consumption of their liquor which would enrage them, especially his father. In the past, the prospect of rage from his father would have terrified Mark. But in recent years he had grown larger and stronger, and he now felt confident that his father would avoid any physical violence towards him. The verbal abuse would still occur, but he was used to that by now. In his 17 years he had experienced every insult, threat and otherwise, his father could dream up.
Mark now twirled the empty liquor bottle in his hand, watching the reflections of light from the dimly light room. He was fast becoming a drunk, and he new it. Only drunks could become fascinated by a simple container. Slowly, as if his movements were already being effected by the small amount of liquor flowing through his bloodstream, he raised himself from his chair. He had work to do. And he had to finish before his parents returned from vacation. He was going to kill them both and that took planning...
July 10th, 2003
Lily Kilmany stared up at the ceiling fan glimmering in her dimly lit hotel room.
Her husband of 10 days slumbered beside her. He was William Mckinley of the Mckinley empire, only son and heir
of Harry M. Mckinley, old and comfortable money. Publishing was what they liked to talk about because publishing was a gentleman's profession, but they owned everything from televisions studios to oil companies. Old money was always better than new riches, but either way they had money falling out of their *******s. If she ever said that aloud to Bill, he would undoubtedly go pale and might even faint dead away. No fear, Bill.
profanation of the Mckinley family shall never cross my lips. It was easy and quick money, and there was enough of it, that what she took wouldn't be missed. Perfect, she thought to herself. Just perfect.
July 13th, 2003.
It had been her idea to honeymoon at the Overlook in Colorado, and there had been two reasons for this. First, although it was
tremendously expensive (as the best resorts were), it was not a "hip" place to go, and Lily did not like to go to the hip places. Hip places where crowded, and crowds were bad. Where did you go on your honeymoon. Lily? Oh, this perfectly, wonderful resort hotel in Colorado - the Overlook. Lovely place. Quite out
of the way but oh so romantic. And her friends - whose stupidity was exceeded in most cases only by that of Bill,
would look at her in dumb - literally! - wonder. Lily had done it again.
Her second reason had been of more personal importance. She had wanted to honeymoon at the Overlook because Bill had wanted to go to
Rome. It was imperative to find out certain things as soon as possible. Would she be able to have her own way immediately? And if
not, how long would it take to grind him down? He was stupid, and he had followed her around like a dog with its tongue hanging out, but would he be as malleable after the ring was slipped on as he had been before?
Lily smiled a little, a very sadistic smile, which would have given even jack the ripper the creepies, in the dark. Despite her lack of sleep and the bad dreams she had had since they arrived here, she was very Up-itty. Arrived here, that
was the key phrase. "Here" was not the American Hotel in Rome but the Overlook in Colorado. She was going to be able to manage him just fine, and that was the important thing. She would only make him stay another four days and then they could go back to New York. At least thats what she told him. In reality he probably wouldn't be returning to New York with her. If you haven't guessed it after the subtle hint which I just gave you, she planned to kill him and then make off with his money.
November 10th, 2003.
Jack hated this job more than every job before it. Manager at a MceD's was perhaps the most degrading job possible for a man of his former status. He had been a top executive at a publishing company in New York -- Random Ramblings. It all fell apart when his friend and president of Random Ramblings, Bill, heir to the Mckinley empire, was found dead in a Hotel in Colorado. Overlook, Colorado of all places. Bill's wife had convinced him to honeymoon there. Jack knew it had been a bad idea and he tried unsuccessfully to convince Bill of it, suggesting Rome instead. He almost convinced him, but ultimately it was Bill's wife who won his heart and mind over to Overlook.
Jack spent most of his days at Mickey ****s monitoring the actions of the various teenagers under his supervision. Especially Mitch, Mitch was the dumbest thing you've ever seen, and today was no exception. At this very moment he was struggling to put fry's in a container, fumbling and dropping fries all over the place. It was everything Jack could do not to hit the idiot. He kept trying to ignore the kid, but the kid just kept dropping fries. fries.. more ****ing fries on the floor. Jack's rage came on quicker than even he himself could have imagined. He was up out of the chair faster than a Mel Gibson rant. Mitch attempted to turn and defend himself, but he was no match for Jack. Jack was a tall stocky man who stood nearly 6FT 8 and weighed 300 pounds, mitch stood no chance.
Jack meant to just rough the kid up a bit, but he couldn't fight the urge to swing, and then he couldn't stop the swinging. He just kept hitting, hitting, and hitting the kid.
Sometime in January, 2004.
Jack stared at the entrance to the prison visitation room...
On the basis of his size, strength, military training, and position of authority, they wanted to charge him with deadly assault against a minor. Which would carry a minimum sentence of five years. Five years -- Jack couldn't serve five years. He had a child on the way, and he couldn't -- wouldn't miss him growing up. With the last of his savings (which totaled 1.3 million) Jack got the best lawyer he could find. The lawyer was heartless -- at least according to media. Good Jack thought, maybe he can get me off with assault and get me credit for time served. One year jail, a little house arrest plus probation and I'll be done. With a little luck it'd be one year and he would be back in his own bed, in his own house.
July 14th, 2003.
The most annoying thing about this marriage, or job as Lily liked to call them, was that Bill actually liked the Overlook. He was up even, at half past the crack of dawn, disturbing what dis-jointed bits of sleep she had managed, staring eagerly out at
the sunrise like some sort of Greek nature boy. He had been hiking two or three times, he had gone on several nature rides with other guests, and bored her almost to the point of screaming, with stories about the horse he rode on these jaunts, a mare
named Dotty. He had tried to get her to go on these outings with him, but Lily refused. The idiot had also suggested that she go hiking with him and some of the others - the caretaker's son
doubled as a guide. Bill practically gushed about the caretakers son, like some school girl. And he knows a hundred trails! Lily joked to herself. The amount of game you saw, Bill said, would make you think it was the nineteenth century. Lily dumped cold water on most of his ideas, but was careful to indulge him every so often. It wouldn't be wise not to.
November 8th, 2003.
Mike waited impatiently for the 10 O'clock bus to arrive. He hated being late, and he hated it even more when others made him late, especially when it was some bus driver. All he has to do is ****ing drive, not that damn hard. Mike said, not realizingly it was out loud. A old lady standing near him, gave him the "look". God he hated the "look", all women had a "look", and he'd never seen one which was even half way pleasant.
Up to this point Mike's anger would have been best described as a irritation, but as the bus turned the corner, it without warning, turned to rage. Mike, was unsure of were it came from, it seemed to flow from deep within, from some place dark inside him. Mike didn't know why but he suddenly had the urge to scream, to release the pent up rage... Mike shook his head, gain control of yourself man. Mike glanced at his watch 10:30. The bus was 30 minutes minutes late, which meant he was going to be at least 10 minutes late.
November 8th, 10:35 am.
Mike lay flat on the floor of the bus, face almost entirely covered in blood, his emotion was stone cold disbelief. How could he have done this? He thought. Only five minutes ago he stepped onto the bus. Only five minutes ago... He repeated. Only five minutes ago he was human, and now he felt like some sort of monster. Upon entering the bus, Mike had felt a uncontrollable urge to harm someone, and the first person he saw was the bus driver. The bus driver, the man who had made him late, the man who had stolen 30 minutes of his life 30 minutes he would never get back. So he did the only rational thing, he took his briefcase and with all the strength he could muster he smacked the driver in the forehead with it. Upon impact, everything impacted Mike, he wondered what he was doing, how he was doing it, and more importantly why. Why had he suddenly raged like this? As Mike lay on the floor, held there by some very shocked pedestrians, all he could think of was why. Why? Damnit.. Why? What had pushed him into insanity?
November 14th, 1997.
The paintings on the cave walls shimmered in the spot lights, but still they lacked a sense of life in the cold dead darkness of the cave. Mitch had never experienced this sort of feeling before. As a archaeologist specializing in Neanderthal art, paintings allways seem to come alive to him. Neanderthal art to him was life, the beauty, the expression, the paint, all came together for him in perfect portraits of reality. He could see what only children could see. All he could think was something was wrong here, something wrong with the painting. Yes, thats it he assured himself, something is not right.
Then again today was one of the few days he had not shot up. Mitch was addicted to heroine, and without it his brain usually failed to function. Mitche's thoughts turned to the heroine back at the hotel. The rusted, shining, glistening, glowing, previously used needles.....
"Well, whatdya think? " Mitch's boss asked. Mitch scrambled for a bul**** answer, but stumbled mid way through. God he needed to shoot up bad, his brain just wans't working. "You see this here" Mitch pointed to a
series of dots at the edge of one of the paintings. "Umm, well.. I think, thats.." Boss man interrupted him " ****ing hell mitch. Your talking out your *** man. " "I.." Mitch tried to get a word in "Shut the **** up. Let me tell ya something alright. We're paying up our asses to have you out here and alll you've done is ****ing stare at the paintings all day. I wanna see some ****ing results, damnit. " "It takes time" "How much ****ing time do you need? They're god damn paintings drawn by people with brains half your ****ing size. Just tell us what they ****ing mean god damnit. You stupid little ****."
God mitch hated the incessent cussing, the guy used ****ing like it was a adjective, adverb, noun, and a verb. Not like he didn't cuss himself, he could string together quite a ****ing sentence. It was just the constant unnecessary use of it which got on his nerves. The guy couldn't emphasize anything without the use of "****ing".
" I'll tell you what. If you ain't done here by tonight, I'll ****ing fire you.. i'm sure i can find another useless mother****er for much cheaper. Got it ? " Mitch wanted to punch this guy so bad, but refained from it. " Alright, tonight then." " Good. I'm glad we ****ing understand each other"
As night fell Mitch's mind finally clicked, making a sound much like cracking knuckles. With the distraction of his brain accomplished, he was finally able to make a discovery. He rushed off to tell his boss, Dick. Mitch excitedly pounded on the make shift trailer/office his boss occupied. Mitch heard “Come in”, and he hurriedly entered.
“ Oh its you mitch. What the **** you want? You better have something for me.” “I do. I do.” Mitch practically shouted. “Jesus, ****, will you calm yourself the **** down..” There he went again with useless cussing. Mitch mumbled “ Huh wahts that you saying? boy, sit the **** down, and spit it the **** out.” “Okay. Well, anyways I was standing staring at the painting. And well I started to think about..” “Look mitch I don't give **** about how it came to you. You could have been taking a **** upside down for all I care. Just give me the ****ing information.” “ Okay. Alright. The umm stickmen they're.. !” “What the hell Mitch?! I don't give **** about who is in the ****ing painting. Are you ****ing serious? I'll ****ing kil.. “
Dick stood in shock at the scene before him. Mitch -- the stupid little prick, had pulled a gun on him. “What the **** you pulling here mitch? Huh?” Mitch was silent and still. “Come on mitch answer me you stupid ****. You'd got five seconds to put that ****ing gun down before I kick your ****ing *** out my trailer.” There was still no real response from Mitch, just a slight twitching in his face. Dick begun to look around the room for a weapon, when..
November 14th, 1997.
The sound was deafening as it echoed through the whole research facility, it was as if the sound searched for a exit, as if it had its own mind, a frantic, desprate, insane mind. Walter M White or Mr. White as most called him, held his head up intently listening for the source of the noise now pummeling through his lab
July 2003
It wasn't that Andy was crazy or that he was angry he was simply consumed, consumed by a desire to get it, only he didn't know what it was. He spent nearly every free hour now searching for it, the source of his unrelenting drive to move, to do, to fight, to punch, to scream out of his ****ing lungs. Everyday for the past year now he'd take to the streets running, just running, for hours and hours on end he run, sometimes he'd cover 20 or 40 miles before dark. Then he'd catch a bus from where every he was back to his apartment on 5th Avenue. 5th Avenue, Andy often wondered if that was the very source of his distress, the intense desire to leave the ****-hole that is 5th Avenue. Maybe that was it he thought it was simply a desire to leave, a desire to leave his dead end house, his dead end life, his dead end job.
Andy is a middle aged corporate loser, sure he makes seven figures, has an expensive car and a expensive apartment but he is still a loser, there was just no meaning in his life. He hadn't slept with someone other than a hooker for almost a year and he hadn't had a real relationship with someone since his wife left him almost five years ago to the day. He had a kid but he hated him and after his divorce chose to live with his mother in Buffalo. Andy worked for a division of the Mckliney media empire Random Ramblings a publishing house, he was upper management and he had a high paying but a dead end job. He was also as high up as he'd ever get and the only place he'd ever move in the ladder is down a prospect which scared Andy half to death, which was Ironic considering how much he hated his job.