SpaceCowboy
05-27-2012, 04:08 PM
Hello all. I'm new here and thought I would post the First chapter of a short story I'm working on. It's called 'True Power.' I've wrote poetry (free-verse, prose) a lot before but I've never done a short story. Please, be critical and honest.
Thanks
__Chapter 1
I had all the money in the world. I had all the women I wanted. I had access to any drug I wanted. There was no carnal pleasure under the sun that was kept from me. I had whatever I wanted, whenever I wanted it. Though of all my desires and pleasures, there was none like that of executing revenge. I could take whatever I wanted away from you, even your life, with word and ritual. Being born into the craft, I had been raised to promulgate hate, corruption, and power. I had been taught that if I wanted something, whatever it is, I take it. At whatever the cost. This had been my creed. I had defined who I was by the perverse tenants of the twisted philosophy of my fathers. It's all I had known.
Growing up as a young warlock you learn fairly quickly that to question is to rebel, and it is not tolerated. To rebel against rebellion. The very irony of it invaded my being as a young child, and became the subconscious drive to hate and destroy anyone that didn't agree with me. If I couldn't question, no one could. The craft could turn a subtle revelation of truth into yet another flaming arrow for the calvary to vainly shoot at opposition. Claiming that the very fire of the arrow, was reality. That anything not done in self-righteous glory was a pointless endeavor. The light of my epiphany was quickly suffocated by the air of sheer evil that I had breathed for seven years of my life. As the smoker becomes accustomed to carbon dioxide, so I became accustomed to this poison and it didn't take long for it to consume me.
I was involved in a strange ritual as a child that would bind me to friends that I wish I had never met. I didn't realize it at the time but it was a priming. A discipleship. People who didn't own my soul, sold it to those who had stole theirs. The vicious cycle continued itself, threatening to never be broken.
Marky was a smart aleck. A real wise guy that could twist and turn anything to fit his own agenda for me. In a lot of ways he was a mentor. A father figure if you will. My own parents had been lost in the spiral trap of the craft leaving me to fend for myself, so I would take any outside thoughts and conversation I could. He influenced every bit of my actions as a young boy and young adult. He even did what I told him to do, as long as the intentions of the action was hatred or selfishness. He was my main companion, in the sickest definition of the word. He taught me new magick rituals, he helped me control the spirits to do my bidding, he gathered women for my lust, and he maintained the constant flow of money to further feed the fires of my self-destruction. In the hollow life of the craft, he was my only foundation.
Markys' higher ranking officer was an enigmatic one. He went by the name of 82 and was rarely around. Marky would tell me when he was planning on visiting, and in preparation for his visits it was mandatory for me to sacrifice a life. He was ruthless. There was no mercy in him, there was no compassion, no quick wit. Just sheer evil. As depraved as I had become in my time in the craft I never once came close to encapsulating the level of ferocity he had. I dreaded his visits. He came to beat me down. Destroy who I was, and ensure his complete control over me. It was nothing more then a brainwashing session, with a list of demands that must be met before his return. I didn't know what happened if I didn't do what I was told , but I dared not to disappoint 82.
This had been my life. Take, steal, destroy, kill. With Markys' constant babbling and 82's relentless requests. I was fed up. I didn't want anymore money. I didn't want anymore women. I didn't want anymore drugs. I didn't want ANY of it ANYMORE. It was all without true gain and I knew it. The weight of my growing convictions of the vanity of the craft had it's head in one defining minute. In that space of time I had decided to leave it all, including my power, to search for a truth so pervasive that it didn't need hate to defend it. I gathered what I could that would fall into the category of 'necessities' and bought a one way ticket to middle of nowhere Nebraska. Marky and 82 were there, as always. With Markys' incessant drivol and 82's every aware presence I made my journey to start life anew. It took me two weeks of homelessness to find a job in a factory loading and unloading boxes. It was enough pay to get a place and sustain myself. What was a true feeling of accomplishment though is that I did it the old fashioned way. Marky had nothing to do with it. Albeit he still tries to convince me he DID, but I've known him long enough to know what's of him and what isn't.
The night had been a long, lonely one. I decided to work overtime tonight, and was relieved to finally be on the trek home.
"They hate you there, you know that right?" Marky chimed in with his infamous optimism.
"They know all about your history. They know your past. Your a fool if you think they don't. It's written all over your face. It's described in paragraphs with every action you take."
"Yeah???...Well, I'd hate me to, so their anger is justified. Don't you remember the sacrifices??? The lives we've destroyed?? "
"Correction, the lives YOU'VE destroyed." Marky replied with his favorite tactic. Shifting the blame. "I simply told you what would happen. YOUR the one that did them all. Your fate has been sealed by the blood of the innocent. There is no point in turning away from your destiny. It's already found you."
That was the nature of our conversations now. He was scared. I had begun to pull the veil away. I was starting to seize back control, and he was frantic with desperation. His words were wise, and at times convincing. But his ever growing anxiety over my new choices were the only indication that I was finally doing something right for a change.
"You know it's only a week away till 82 comes..He is NOT going to be pleased with you."
"I don't care. I've done enough for him. He can't do anything to me that I haven't already done myself, so what's there to fear?! Huh?!?" I was getting angry, which is exactly what he was trying to do to me. But I didn't care. "I spent years of my life fully dedicated to you and 82 and what do I have to show for it!?"
"You had everything you ever wanted and mo-"
"NO!!" I cut him off with an anger I haven't felt in years. "YOU had everything at MY expense! Of all the women, how many loved me? Of all the drugs, which ones didn't control me? Of all the money, how much wasn't spent on YOU!?" At this point I was shaking. The cold air of a Nebraskan winter didn't help. Only two more blocks and I would be home.
"hahahahahaha!! Oh how wise you've grown!! Regardless, it's inconsequential. Your words may be built to sway away from the foundation thats kept you, but your heart is forever grounded in the pact you made when you were a boy. There is no escape. You know it. I know it, and 82 knows it.
I made it to the building and started my ascent up the stairs to my room when suddenly Mr. Parks, the only person on the planet I was able to consider an acquaintance, came out of the main office behind me at the bottom of the stairs and shouted my name. I turned around. His smile was warm. Selfless. Alien. I've faced off with generals of hells army, but nothing in existence was more terrifying to me then love. I walked slowly down the stairs, fighting between a weak stumble and a proud stride, to where he was.
"I had been thinking of you for a while now and have really been worried for you." His face started to melt. His eyes become black voids, and the words he spoke to me materialized and fell to the ground, shattering into a million pieces as they hit the floor. The walls began to breath and reach out for me. Kill him, kill him, kill him, kill him.
"STOP IT MARKY!!!" I blurted out as reality snapped back. I was ashamed but Mr. Parks understood. I had no idea how, or why, but he did. He jumped. Startled at my sudden proclamation. Then, eyes watered up, with a big sigh to keep in check his human drive to embrace he handed me a book, A bible,and without another word left the building. Heavy with burden.
"Awesome, now you'll have some kindle for when 82 evicts you."
"Yeah, yeah." I get up to my room and go to my stash spot for some marijuana. With the T.V. talking to itself in the background I began to break up a bowl. "..And another man murdered in his own home in the sixth brutal attack this week. The man was found on the floor in his bedroom in the center of whats been reported as a Satanic pentagram. The murder shows the same gruesome scene as the others and there's little doubt that it was committed by the same person or persons that..."
"Looks like 82 has already grown wise of your little decision."
"Good for him." I said, hiding my apprehension.
"It looks like this is gonna be his laaaast visit, hahaha!" Marky said with a smug grimace. He was right.
I woke up the next morning to a banging sound. I jumped up quickly and scrambled to get my clothes on.
"He's here, he's here!! Your ****ed now!!" Marky said, jumping around and feeding off my excited mood.
"Oh shut the hell up." I opened the door to see boxes, and furniture. Someone was moving into the room across from me. As I was looking at the boxes a very beautiful women in her late twenties, came out from the room to grab another box. We made eye contact. She smiled and continued to work as I eased myself back into my room.
"She would make a perfect sacrifice for 82. Maybe there's still hope for you."
"Yeah??? And maybe tomorrow it'll rain stop signs." I ate breakfast and proceeded to get ready for work. As I went to leave I found that all the boxes and furniture was out of the hallway except for a mural painting of Jesus Christ. I made my way out of the building and started the long walk to the factory.
--She was brought in by a lower ranking priest. Mid twenties. She was brought in the same way they all were. Bound and gagged. It was almost midnight and the coven was gathered around the pentagram, with me at the alter. Ready to make the sacrifice. She was thrown in front of me. I noticed something was different with this one. She displayed the same terror they all did, but the way she looked at me cut straight to my soul and it's something to this day that I cannot shake. It wasn't a look of hopeless desperation like the rest of them who have accepted their fate. It was a look of maybe. It was a look of 'there's a chance.' She looked at me as if I had the option to spare her life. I didn't like it. She needed to die, now. She was tied on the alter, and with each heaving cry I grew more and more angry. I couldn't let my followers see the frustration I had. I couldn't let them see the thoughts and feelings that weren't demonically inspired. I plunged the dagger in her chest and--
"HEY!!!" I snapped back just before another box was thrown at me from the truck.
"Pay attention!! If you keep slipping off into daydreams you'll.." His face started to twist. His eyes became red spirals that grew more intense with each word. His mouth became a gapping hole that Marky jumped in and out of. The ground was shaking.
"You got it!?!"
"Yes sir." I hustled off to the bathroom before the hallucination overwhelmed me. Splashing cold water on my face I looked at the mirror. My face was aged and look like one of a 90 year old man. My eyes were black with sleepless nights. I was trembling.
"Cut it out Marky. I'm not killing anyone ever again. Your wasting your time."
"Wasting my time?? It's still affecting you isn't?? Your wasting YOUR time by telling me to stop!" In a flash of fury I punched the mirror and everything snapped back. I looked at my hand as it trickled blood. This has to stop. This has to end.
_______
Thanks
__Chapter 1
I had all the money in the world. I had all the women I wanted. I had access to any drug I wanted. There was no carnal pleasure under the sun that was kept from me. I had whatever I wanted, whenever I wanted it. Though of all my desires and pleasures, there was none like that of executing revenge. I could take whatever I wanted away from you, even your life, with word and ritual. Being born into the craft, I had been raised to promulgate hate, corruption, and power. I had been taught that if I wanted something, whatever it is, I take it. At whatever the cost. This had been my creed. I had defined who I was by the perverse tenants of the twisted philosophy of my fathers. It's all I had known.
Growing up as a young warlock you learn fairly quickly that to question is to rebel, and it is not tolerated. To rebel against rebellion. The very irony of it invaded my being as a young child, and became the subconscious drive to hate and destroy anyone that didn't agree with me. If I couldn't question, no one could. The craft could turn a subtle revelation of truth into yet another flaming arrow for the calvary to vainly shoot at opposition. Claiming that the very fire of the arrow, was reality. That anything not done in self-righteous glory was a pointless endeavor. The light of my epiphany was quickly suffocated by the air of sheer evil that I had breathed for seven years of my life. As the smoker becomes accustomed to carbon dioxide, so I became accustomed to this poison and it didn't take long for it to consume me.
I was involved in a strange ritual as a child that would bind me to friends that I wish I had never met. I didn't realize it at the time but it was a priming. A discipleship. People who didn't own my soul, sold it to those who had stole theirs. The vicious cycle continued itself, threatening to never be broken.
Marky was a smart aleck. A real wise guy that could twist and turn anything to fit his own agenda for me. In a lot of ways he was a mentor. A father figure if you will. My own parents had been lost in the spiral trap of the craft leaving me to fend for myself, so I would take any outside thoughts and conversation I could. He influenced every bit of my actions as a young boy and young adult. He even did what I told him to do, as long as the intentions of the action was hatred or selfishness. He was my main companion, in the sickest definition of the word. He taught me new magick rituals, he helped me control the spirits to do my bidding, he gathered women for my lust, and he maintained the constant flow of money to further feed the fires of my self-destruction. In the hollow life of the craft, he was my only foundation.
Markys' higher ranking officer was an enigmatic one. He went by the name of 82 and was rarely around. Marky would tell me when he was planning on visiting, and in preparation for his visits it was mandatory for me to sacrifice a life. He was ruthless. There was no mercy in him, there was no compassion, no quick wit. Just sheer evil. As depraved as I had become in my time in the craft I never once came close to encapsulating the level of ferocity he had. I dreaded his visits. He came to beat me down. Destroy who I was, and ensure his complete control over me. It was nothing more then a brainwashing session, with a list of demands that must be met before his return. I didn't know what happened if I didn't do what I was told , but I dared not to disappoint 82.
This had been my life. Take, steal, destroy, kill. With Markys' constant babbling and 82's relentless requests. I was fed up. I didn't want anymore money. I didn't want anymore women. I didn't want anymore drugs. I didn't want ANY of it ANYMORE. It was all without true gain and I knew it. The weight of my growing convictions of the vanity of the craft had it's head in one defining minute. In that space of time I had decided to leave it all, including my power, to search for a truth so pervasive that it didn't need hate to defend it. I gathered what I could that would fall into the category of 'necessities' and bought a one way ticket to middle of nowhere Nebraska. Marky and 82 were there, as always. With Markys' incessant drivol and 82's every aware presence I made my journey to start life anew. It took me two weeks of homelessness to find a job in a factory loading and unloading boxes. It was enough pay to get a place and sustain myself. What was a true feeling of accomplishment though is that I did it the old fashioned way. Marky had nothing to do with it. Albeit he still tries to convince me he DID, but I've known him long enough to know what's of him and what isn't.
The night had been a long, lonely one. I decided to work overtime tonight, and was relieved to finally be on the trek home.
"They hate you there, you know that right?" Marky chimed in with his infamous optimism.
"They know all about your history. They know your past. Your a fool if you think they don't. It's written all over your face. It's described in paragraphs with every action you take."
"Yeah???...Well, I'd hate me to, so their anger is justified. Don't you remember the sacrifices??? The lives we've destroyed?? "
"Correction, the lives YOU'VE destroyed." Marky replied with his favorite tactic. Shifting the blame. "I simply told you what would happen. YOUR the one that did them all. Your fate has been sealed by the blood of the innocent. There is no point in turning away from your destiny. It's already found you."
That was the nature of our conversations now. He was scared. I had begun to pull the veil away. I was starting to seize back control, and he was frantic with desperation. His words were wise, and at times convincing. But his ever growing anxiety over my new choices were the only indication that I was finally doing something right for a change.
"You know it's only a week away till 82 comes..He is NOT going to be pleased with you."
"I don't care. I've done enough for him. He can't do anything to me that I haven't already done myself, so what's there to fear?! Huh?!?" I was getting angry, which is exactly what he was trying to do to me. But I didn't care. "I spent years of my life fully dedicated to you and 82 and what do I have to show for it!?"
"You had everything you ever wanted and mo-"
"NO!!" I cut him off with an anger I haven't felt in years. "YOU had everything at MY expense! Of all the women, how many loved me? Of all the drugs, which ones didn't control me? Of all the money, how much wasn't spent on YOU!?" At this point I was shaking. The cold air of a Nebraskan winter didn't help. Only two more blocks and I would be home.
"hahahahahaha!! Oh how wise you've grown!! Regardless, it's inconsequential. Your words may be built to sway away from the foundation thats kept you, but your heart is forever grounded in the pact you made when you were a boy. There is no escape. You know it. I know it, and 82 knows it.
I made it to the building and started my ascent up the stairs to my room when suddenly Mr. Parks, the only person on the planet I was able to consider an acquaintance, came out of the main office behind me at the bottom of the stairs and shouted my name. I turned around. His smile was warm. Selfless. Alien. I've faced off with generals of hells army, but nothing in existence was more terrifying to me then love. I walked slowly down the stairs, fighting between a weak stumble and a proud stride, to where he was.
"I had been thinking of you for a while now and have really been worried for you." His face started to melt. His eyes become black voids, and the words he spoke to me materialized and fell to the ground, shattering into a million pieces as they hit the floor. The walls began to breath and reach out for me. Kill him, kill him, kill him, kill him.
"STOP IT MARKY!!!" I blurted out as reality snapped back. I was ashamed but Mr. Parks understood. I had no idea how, or why, but he did. He jumped. Startled at my sudden proclamation. Then, eyes watered up, with a big sigh to keep in check his human drive to embrace he handed me a book, A bible,and without another word left the building. Heavy with burden.
"Awesome, now you'll have some kindle for when 82 evicts you."
"Yeah, yeah." I get up to my room and go to my stash spot for some marijuana. With the T.V. talking to itself in the background I began to break up a bowl. "..And another man murdered in his own home in the sixth brutal attack this week. The man was found on the floor in his bedroom in the center of whats been reported as a Satanic pentagram. The murder shows the same gruesome scene as the others and there's little doubt that it was committed by the same person or persons that..."
"Looks like 82 has already grown wise of your little decision."
"Good for him." I said, hiding my apprehension.
"It looks like this is gonna be his laaaast visit, hahaha!" Marky said with a smug grimace. He was right.
I woke up the next morning to a banging sound. I jumped up quickly and scrambled to get my clothes on.
"He's here, he's here!! Your ****ed now!!" Marky said, jumping around and feeding off my excited mood.
"Oh shut the hell up." I opened the door to see boxes, and furniture. Someone was moving into the room across from me. As I was looking at the boxes a very beautiful women in her late twenties, came out from the room to grab another box. We made eye contact. She smiled and continued to work as I eased myself back into my room.
"She would make a perfect sacrifice for 82. Maybe there's still hope for you."
"Yeah??? And maybe tomorrow it'll rain stop signs." I ate breakfast and proceeded to get ready for work. As I went to leave I found that all the boxes and furniture was out of the hallway except for a mural painting of Jesus Christ. I made my way out of the building and started the long walk to the factory.
--She was brought in by a lower ranking priest. Mid twenties. She was brought in the same way they all were. Bound and gagged. It was almost midnight and the coven was gathered around the pentagram, with me at the alter. Ready to make the sacrifice. She was thrown in front of me. I noticed something was different with this one. She displayed the same terror they all did, but the way she looked at me cut straight to my soul and it's something to this day that I cannot shake. It wasn't a look of hopeless desperation like the rest of them who have accepted their fate. It was a look of maybe. It was a look of 'there's a chance.' She looked at me as if I had the option to spare her life. I didn't like it. She needed to die, now. She was tied on the alter, and with each heaving cry I grew more and more angry. I couldn't let my followers see the frustration I had. I couldn't let them see the thoughts and feelings that weren't demonically inspired. I plunged the dagger in her chest and--
"HEY!!!" I snapped back just before another box was thrown at me from the truck.
"Pay attention!! If you keep slipping off into daydreams you'll.." His face started to twist. His eyes became red spirals that grew more intense with each word. His mouth became a gapping hole that Marky jumped in and out of. The ground was shaking.
"You got it!?!"
"Yes sir." I hustled off to the bathroom before the hallucination overwhelmed me. Splashing cold water on my face I looked at the mirror. My face was aged and look like one of a 90 year old man. My eyes were black with sleepless nights. I was trembling.
"Cut it out Marky. I'm not killing anyone ever again. Your wasting your time."
"Wasting my time?? It's still affecting you isn't?? Your wasting YOUR time by telling me to stop!" In a flash of fury I punched the mirror and everything snapped back. I looked at my hand as it trickled blood. This has to stop. This has to end.
_______