Tuninks
01-08-2009, 01:53 PM
(An opening idea for a story)
Why is it that I have come here? Oh, that is but a simple question. I find it more curious to ask you why you have not asked 'who are you?' 'Why have you brought me here?' 'What has happened to my sweet, dear daughter?' Oh, or 'Why am I chained to this cold steel table by wrist and ankle?'
All simple questions also, simple for you to ask, and me to answer.
Oh well, I shall answer your first question then. I have come here to tell you my story. To tell you how I have chosen you. To show you that even though you worked so hard to be rid of me, that I am a **** roach that is impervious to shoes and pesticides. I am your disease, and I shall be the end of you... But first! I must tell you how I've done this all!
'Why?' What a stupid question to ask... I have my reasons, and those I shall not speak of.
Oh, Joseph, you're turning red. There is no reason for this, here, let me calm you down. There, that should work. That's it Joseph, breath, relax. Yes... Now then! My story!
I believe it was at fifteen when I first noticed my 'thrill.' You see, unlike the normal rabble I found it difficult to even so much as speak to any one person. I thought it necessary to find my reprieve from the norm. How does a person do this? Why, how does any teenager? We experiment. First, it was sexual. No, that failed, but perhaps that was because a fat cow of a woman cannot provide the satisfaction a beautiful, thin, small breasted, woman could.
I digress, well, then there was reading. Failed. Writing, a few poems here, a short story there. No, this also did not work. Television. Movies. Comics. Exercise. Driving. All failed. You could imagine the frustration... But then, my mother told me I was going to go hunting with my father. At first, it didn't take. I didn't want to go, I didn't want ANYTHING to do with harming an innocent, defenseless animal. But no, I had to go I had to please my mother.
I can remember the exact day, February 12th, it was early. The sun was just peaking over the horizon, the skies burned on that plane, pushing the shadows of dark blues, purples and violets away to the gentle orange glow. With my father's old 1917 Springfield I stared down the scope into the dense trees and foliage looking, scanning. There! I saw it! A small deer drinking from a small creek. My stomach churned, as if my intestines, stomach, kidneys and liver were in a blender. My index finger pressed against the cold steel of the trigger. And for a split second, time seemed to stop. My senses keen, watching the mist of my warm breath against the cold Virginia air. I could hear the gentle flapping of a bird's wing. I could taste the sweet glorious victory. Bang.
I remember this one detail specifically. Yes, pay attention, this is important. I wasn't aiming at the deer...
Why is it that I have come here? Oh, that is but a simple question. I find it more curious to ask you why you have not asked 'who are you?' 'Why have you brought me here?' 'What has happened to my sweet, dear daughter?' Oh, or 'Why am I chained to this cold steel table by wrist and ankle?'
All simple questions also, simple for you to ask, and me to answer.
Oh well, I shall answer your first question then. I have come here to tell you my story. To tell you how I have chosen you. To show you that even though you worked so hard to be rid of me, that I am a **** roach that is impervious to shoes and pesticides. I am your disease, and I shall be the end of you... But first! I must tell you how I've done this all!
'Why?' What a stupid question to ask... I have my reasons, and those I shall not speak of.
Oh, Joseph, you're turning red. There is no reason for this, here, let me calm you down. There, that should work. That's it Joseph, breath, relax. Yes... Now then! My story!
I believe it was at fifteen when I first noticed my 'thrill.' You see, unlike the normal rabble I found it difficult to even so much as speak to any one person. I thought it necessary to find my reprieve from the norm. How does a person do this? Why, how does any teenager? We experiment. First, it was sexual. No, that failed, but perhaps that was because a fat cow of a woman cannot provide the satisfaction a beautiful, thin, small breasted, woman could.
I digress, well, then there was reading. Failed. Writing, a few poems here, a short story there. No, this also did not work. Television. Movies. Comics. Exercise. Driving. All failed. You could imagine the frustration... But then, my mother told me I was going to go hunting with my father. At first, it didn't take. I didn't want to go, I didn't want ANYTHING to do with harming an innocent, defenseless animal. But no, I had to go I had to please my mother.
I can remember the exact day, February 12th, it was early. The sun was just peaking over the horizon, the skies burned on that plane, pushing the shadows of dark blues, purples and violets away to the gentle orange glow. With my father's old 1917 Springfield I stared down the scope into the dense trees and foliage looking, scanning. There! I saw it! A small deer drinking from a small creek. My stomach churned, as if my intestines, stomach, kidneys and liver were in a blender. My index finger pressed against the cold steel of the trigger. And for a split second, time seemed to stop. My senses keen, watching the mist of my warm breath against the cold Virginia air. I could hear the gentle flapping of a bird's wing. I could taste the sweet glorious victory. Bang.
I remember this one detail specifically. Yes, pay attention, this is important. I wasn't aiming at the deer...