C.F
01-28-2009, 05:33 PM
THE QUIET MAN
A C.F PRODUCTION
'No...please, please, please. No god, no.' She whimpered, her sobbing muffled by the wall adjoining the two rooms. They corroded away his pleasant dreams of her ivory face, it's beauty now masked by such horrendous suffering. He was eight years of age, and every night he could recall this man coming to torment his mother, yet this man never made a sound, this quiet man. But who would want to hurt her? His young mind could not fathom her cryptic condition, as he lay in bed with his eyes shut tight, employing such futile attempts to drown his mother's mournful melody in his memories of her love.
'You are my angel.' She always said to him, her face graced by an elegant smile. Yet, in all the eight years of his life, she was truly the only angel he had ever known. She was everything to him, and he was everything to her, for there was no one but each other. He remembered the way her eyes would glow with her extravagant love, filling him with elation in the times that he needed it the most. The way his heart would lift when she got home from work, toiling endless hours at various dead-end jobs to take care of him.
'No...please.' Her lamentations sounded, breaking him from his pleasant reveries. He pulled the covers closer around him as she continued her sad song, each sorrowful syllable tainting him with pity, filling him with the guilt of not being able to prevent her situation. Or could he? He slid stealthily from his bed, the cold floors icy embrace chilling his feet as he tip-toed barefoot through the kitchen, opening a drawer as he slipped his hand in, his fingers enveloping the grainy wooden handle of a kitchen knife. He slid it's length from the drawer, it's malevolent blade reflecting the moonlight, mirroring the seething in his eyes as his plan came to fruition.
He crouched beside his mother's door, the wicked blade held in hand as he set his trap. Longing for the quiet man's demise, an end to his mother's trials. Who did this man think he was to destroy his mother's love so, reducing her to such a pitiful creature? Tears welled in his eyes, who was this man to take her love away from him? His grip on the knife's handle hardened, the door-knob now slowly turning as the man cracked the portal.
He closed his eyes, squeezing out the tears that had built on their surface as he sprung his ambush. He felt the knife tip penetrate the quiet man's stomach, a sickly pop and the sudden rush of gases emitted from the cavity blew across his face as he recoiled his serpentine strike and delved the metal into the man's flesh once more. Again and again he stabbed, jabbing and jabbing in unrelenting determination. The quiet man's blood now flowing freely, cascading down the child's arms as he felt it's warmth spray across his face. He could taste the salty fluid in his mouth, driving him in the acquisition of his mother's freedom from this hideous monster.
He opened his eyes as he cried, 'Momma!' Anxious to inform her that she was free from the quiet man's torture, that she would never again have to suffer the grasp of his wretched hands, that they would once again be reunited in happiness. But his gaze was not met by her warming smile, as the room was completely empty. His eyes were damned to the floor, drawn to his mother's form that now lay at his feet. Her body lay in an ocean of blood, her muscles jerking sporadically in their death throes. Her glowing eyes quickly grew devoid of life as she looked up at him, her remaining breath fleeting from her lungs, playing from her lips as she mouthed the words, 'My angel...'
Her last words reverberated through him like a canyon, echoing his discontent as he opened his eyes to the morning sunlight. He glanced over at his alarm clock, it's shrieking calls sending shivers down his spine, and slammed a hand down to silence the whining. He sat up, resting both feet on the floor as he stretched his sleep-worn body. He rose from the bed, lighting a cigarette as he walked to the bathroom. He took a long drag as he relieved himself, the smooth tobacco burned in his mouth and throat, it's acrid smoke settling like filthy water in his cancer-ridden lungs.
He strode to the ashtray and put his poison out, a thunderous knock at the door snapping him out of deep contemplation. 'Who could that be?' He pondered, now suspicious of the voiced evocations rolling from the portal. He began his cautious prowling towards the crude wooden frame. "No!" He spat in the form of a frustrated whisper as he turned and retraced his steps, a look of worry etched into his features. 'Check the window.' He concluded, glancing over his shoulder at the shutter-guarded pane.
He tip-toed to the window, splitting the blinds with the tips of his fingers. He peered out to discover a black-suited man with a tie. "I know no men with suits." He said to himself as he crept to the door, drowning out his phobias as he cracked the entrance open, peering out at this well dressed intruder. "Hello," The man asked with a sincere look of apathy, "May I come in?" The grown boy stood in silence for seconds, perplexed by the inquiry.
"What do you mean?" He returned, his voice dripping with anxiety. His eyes darted about with precision, searching for signs of a potential threat. "I mean," The man with the tie replied, a crooked grin splicing his mouth at an angle, "May I come into your house?" The man finished, his face once more returning to it's solemn nature. 'How does he know you live here?' The grown boy's thoughts revised, his heart began racing as he proposed his next question, "Who are you?" His voice sounded miles away, drowned out by the pounding in his ears.
The suited-man stood for a second, his face twisted in deep thought, "A friend of your mother's." The man stated finally as the grown boy slammed the door and turned it's lock. 'How can this be?' His mind screamed as he put his back to the door, his hands resting on it's grainy wood surface. "How can this be..." He muttered to himself, "Is this really him?" He whispered as he raced into the kitchen, 'I don't know! I don't know!' His mind reiterated in panic as he grabbed his pocket knife and ran to his car door. His hands fumbled with the keys in pathetic attempts to ignite the engine. He finally succeeded, slamming on the gas as he raced out of his driveway and down the street. "No! No! No!" He yelled, each yelp punctuated by a punch to the dashboard.
He pulled into a gas-station, calming his demeanor as he jumped out of his car and made his way inside. 'Could this be?' He thought as stood in line. 'Could it be that the quiet man has come for you, does he know what you've done?' He shook his head to clear the notion. "Impossible!" He muttered, drawing attention from the people loitering in front of him. 'Do they know what you've done?' He thought as the entire store's population seemed to turn their gaze on him. Their eyes penetrated him, turning his legs into rubber. His breathing became difficult as the world began to spin around him. He staggered to the door and pierced it's barrier, glad to be freed from such wicked confinement.
He fell to his hands and knees in the parking lot, counting each breath in attempts to calm his nerves. He heard a car door slam as he looked up, seeing only the suited-man striding toward him. 'He has come to kill you!' His thoughts screamed. "No!" He spat back, drawing the attention of all those in the parking lot. "No!" He sang in anguish to the suited-man, pulling his pocket knife from his pocket and opening the blade. "Drop the weapon, and get on the ground!" The suited-man issued with urgency as he pulled a gun from his waist, setting the sights directly on the grown boy's head. 'Don't let him take you!' His mind screamed as he dug the knife into his forearm, dragging it's embedded edge across his flesh as his arteries began to spew forth their liquid fortune.
He flung the knife away, slapping both palms against the chilled pavement. He reared his head back as if in seizure, then snapped it forward. His forehead sickly cracking as it impacted the sidewalk, the dripping blood blinded his star-filled vision as he recoiled and snapped forth again, this time splaying brain-matter in a shotgun blast across the asphalt. He realized then, as his body lie in the morning sun, now broken beyond repair. He realized now, as his body randomly twitched, the sudden shock of the trauma causing his muscles to sporadically convulse. The quiet man. He was like a cancer, impossible to eradicate unless you were willing to destroy the very thing you sought to protect.
His fingers pried at the pavement, ripping the nails from their tips, his bodies desperate attempt to regain control as it spiraled into the depths of death. He saw his mother's eyes, glowing, filling him with a loving radiance that warmed him to the core as he drifted towards their light. 'Mother.' His damaged mind managed, bringing his lips into a sly grin as his consciousness fleeted his body, leaving only the broken remnant of his mortal frame to decorate the parking lot.
A C.F PRODUCTION
'No...please, please, please. No god, no.' She whimpered, her sobbing muffled by the wall adjoining the two rooms. They corroded away his pleasant dreams of her ivory face, it's beauty now masked by such horrendous suffering. He was eight years of age, and every night he could recall this man coming to torment his mother, yet this man never made a sound, this quiet man. But who would want to hurt her? His young mind could not fathom her cryptic condition, as he lay in bed with his eyes shut tight, employing such futile attempts to drown his mother's mournful melody in his memories of her love.
'You are my angel.' She always said to him, her face graced by an elegant smile. Yet, in all the eight years of his life, she was truly the only angel he had ever known. She was everything to him, and he was everything to her, for there was no one but each other. He remembered the way her eyes would glow with her extravagant love, filling him with elation in the times that he needed it the most. The way his heart would lift when she got home from work, toiling endless hours at various dead-end jobs to take care of him.
'No...please.' Her lamentations sounded, breaking him from his pleasant reveries. He pulled the covers closer around him as she continued her sad song, each sorrowful syllable tainting him with pity, filling him with the guilt of not being able to prevent her situation. Or could he? He slid stealthily from his bed, the cold floors icy embrace chilling his feet as he tip-toed barefoot through the kitchen, opening a drawer as he slipped his hand in, his fingers enveloping the grainy wooden handle of a kitchen knife. He slid it's length from the drawer, it's malevolent blade reflecting the moonlight, mirroring the seething in his eyes as his plan came to fruition.
He crouched beside his mother's door, the wicked blade held in hand as he set his trap. Longing for the quiet man's demise, an end to his mother's trials. Who did this man think he was to destroy his mother's love so, reducing her to such a pitiful creature? Tears welled in his eyes, who was this man to take her love away from him? His grip on the knife's handle hardened, the door-knob now slowly turning as the man cracked the portal.
He closed his eyes, squeezing out the tears that had built on their surface as he sprung his ambush. He felt the knife tip penetrate the quiet man's stomach, a sickly pop and the sudden rush of gases emitted from the cavity blew across his face as he recoiled his serpentine strike and delved the metal into the man's flesh once more. Again and again he stabbed, jabbing and jabbing in unrelenting determination. The quiet man's blood now flowing freely, cascading down the child's arms as he felt it's warmth spray across his face. He could taste the salty fluid in his mouth, driving him in the acquisition of his mother's freedom from this hideous monster.
He opened his eyes as he cried, 'Momma!' Anxious to inform her that she was free from the quiet man's torture, that she would never again have to suffer the grasp of his wretched hands, that they would once again be reunited in happiness. But his gaze was not met by her warming smile, as the room was completely empty. His eyes were damned to the floor, drawn to his mother's form that now lay at his feet. Her body lay in an ocean of blood, her muscles jerking sporadically in their death throes. Her glowing eyes quickly grew devoid of life as she looked up at him, her remaining breath fleeting from her lungs, playing from her lips as she mouthed the words, 'My angel...'
Her last words reverberated through him like a canyon, echoing his discontent as he opened his eyes to the morning sunlight. He glanced over at his alarm clock, it's shrieking calls sending shivers down his spine, and slammed a hand down to silence the whining. He sat up, resting both feet on the floor as he stretched his sleep-worn body. He rose from the bed, lighting a cigarette as he walked to the bathroom. He took a long drag as he relieved himself, the smooth tobacco burned in his mouth and throat, it's acrid smoke settling like filthy water in his cancer-ridden lungs.
He strode to the ashtray and put his poison out, a thunderous knock at the door snapping him out of deep contemplation. 'Who could that be?' He pondered, now suspicious of the voiced evocations rolling from the portal. He began his cautious prowling towards the crude wooden frame. "No!" He spat in the form of a frustrated whisper as he turned and retraced his steps, a look of worry etched into his features. 'Check the window.' He concluded, glancing over his shoulder at the shutter-guarded pane.
He tip-toed to the window, splitting the blinds with the tips of his fingers. He peered out to discover a black-suited man with a tie. "I know no men with suits." He said to himself as he crept to the door, drowning out his phobias as he cracked the entrance open, peering out at this well dressed intruder. "Hello," The man asked with a sincere look of apathy, "May I come in?" The grown boy stood in silence for seconds, perplexed by the inquiry.
"What do you mean?" He returned, his voice dripping with anxiety. His eyes darted about with precision, searching for signs of a potential threat. "I mean," The man with the tie replied, a crooked grin splicing his mouth at an angle, "May I come into your house?" The man finished, his face once more returning to it's solemn nature. 'How does he know you live here?' The grown boy's thoughts revised, his heart began racing as he proposed his next question, "Who are you?" His voice sounded miles away, drowned out by the pounding in his ears.
The suited-man stood for a second, his face twisted in deep thought, "A friend of your mother's." The man stated finally as the grown boy slammed the door and turned it's lock. 'How can this be?' His mind screamed as he put his back to the door, his hands resting on it's grainy wood surface. "How can this be..." He muttered to himself, "Is this really him?" He whispered as he raced into the kitchen, 'I don't know! I don't know!' His mind reiterated in panic as he grabbed his pocket knife and ran to his car door. His hands fumbled with the keys in pathetic attempts to ignite the engine. He finally succeeded, slamming on the gas as he raced out of his driveway and down the street. "No! No! No!" He yelled, each yelp punctuated by a punch to the dashboard.
He pulled into a gas-station, calming his demeanor as he jumped out of his car and made his way inside. 'Could this be?' He thought as stood in line. 'Could it be that the quiet man has come for you, does he know what you've done?' He shook his head to clear the notion. "Impossible!" He muttered, drawing attention from the people loitering in front of him. 'Do they know what you've done?' He thought as the entire store's population seemed to turn their gaze on him. Their eyes penetrated him, turning his legs into rubber. His breathing became difficult as the world began to spin around him. He staggered to the door and pierced it's barrier, glad to be freed from such wicked confinement.
He fell to his hands and knees in the parking lot, counting each breath in attempts to calm his nerves. He heard a car door slam as he looked up, seeing only the suited-man striding toward him. 'He has come to kill you!' His thoughts screamed. "No!" He spat back, drawing the attention of all those in the parking lot. "No!" He sang in anguish to the suited-man, pulling his pocket knife from his pocket and opening the blade. "Drop the weapon, and get on the ground!" The suited-man issued with urgency as he pulled a gun from his waist, setting the sights directly on the grown boy's head. 'Don't let him take you!' His mind screamed as he dug the knife into his forearm, dragging it's embedded edge across his flesh as his arteries began to spew forth their liquid fortune.
He flung the knife away, slapping both palms against the chilled pavement. He reared his head back as if in seizure, then snapped it forward. His forehead sickly cracking as it impacted the sidewalk, the dripping blood blinded his star-filled vision as he recoiled and snapped forth again, this time splaying brain-matter in a shotgun blast across the asphalt. He realized then, as his body lie in the morning sun, now broken beyond repair. He realized now, as his body randomly twitched, the sudden shock of the trauma causing his muscles to sporadically convulse. The quiet man. He was like a cancer, impossible to eradicate unless you were willing to destroy the very thing you sought to protect.
His fingers pried at the pavement, ripping the nails from their tips, his bodies desperate attempt to regain control as it spiraled into the depths of death. He saw his mother's eyes, glowing, filling him with a loving radiance that warmed him to the core as he drifted towards their light. 'Mother.' His damaged mind managed, bringing his lips into a sly grin as his consciousness fleeted his body, leaving only the broken remnant of his mortal frame to decorate the parking lot.