Grit
11-15-2012, 07:33 PM
Not many folks are brave or desperate enough to walk through Old Seattle. Inexplicable screeching echoes from the grey titans of decimated buildings. A forgotten shell of times past, better times, the city is destitute. For many, it is an unwanted reminder of the cataclysm. The day that changed everything.
Raindrops smash like bullets onto skeletal cars, stripped of insides. Sam Irons is squatting in the grave of an old grocery store when pain shoots up his legs. His knees are worn, almost certainly rife with arthritis, and another headache is setting in. Massaging his head with stiff fingers, Sam feels wonder at the rough texture of his skin. Time is one thing that no man can steal.
Molly’s probably getting anxious, and if he’s being honest, so is he. It’s far past the caravan’s projected arrival time, if the sun was any indication. A large pink circle, obscured by rain and mist, rests at about two o’clock in the sky. Something everyone has learned is that the solar watch is the most reliable time piece. It doesn’t run out of batteries.
Long blonde hair, atop a gorgeous body of silken soft skin. It’s a miracle, Sam thinks with a smile, that Molly manages to stay so beautiful. Another testament to her natural charms.
Sam squeezes his fragile fingers into a fist at the sound of concrete crunching, and approaching voices. “-I cut him through his brisket.” Bellowing laughter echoes through the derelict grocery store. Sam can’t see the men, but they’re close. With every step that grows louder, he readies himself. Once again, Sam thanks his mama for his hearing. It hasn’t gone yet, without it, he’d be helpless at this. His vision has not had such longevity. Squinting helps some, but only so much.
Shifting silently, Sam leans against the wall closest to the voices, and near a window so he can spy outside. The weight on his hip is comforting, an old friend. As the two men walk in front of the store, Sam’s breath catches in his chest. One of the men is a delicate being, and walks confidently ahead of the donkey. The other is a brute of a man, just around six foot five as an estimate, and leaning a sawed-off shotgun against his shoulder blade. No one said anything about a shotgun. Sam curses mentally, and leans his head against the wall. Oh how he craved a cigarette right now. Just a little calm before the storm.
The brute lashes out with his gun, and hits the donkey, urging it forward. The donkey groans loudly, and stumbles, hooves clicking against the concrete. Jesus christ. Can he do it? There’s really no choice, is there? Taking a deep breath, Sam steps through the broken window.
The brute turns and Sam whips out his gun, a beautiful piece of long-barrelled magnum, cocks it and fires before the brute has time to process. God bless the stupid. Sam’s aim is true, and the bullet tears through the man’s shoulder, sending his massive form spinning to the ground. The small one spins and his eyes widen in shock and horror. Another second passes, as Sam’s brain processes the new target, adjusts and fires. This slug explodes in the small one’s chest, sending bone shrapnel and heavy, raspberry jam blood into the air.
Silence. After the thunder of battle, stillness reigns. Sam walks over to the Donkey, and checks the cargo. Bright gold bricks glitter and smile up at him, and Sam returns the favour. Molly be pleased.
***
The Sweet Tonic is busy as ever, pioneers of the old world and new drink like the world might run out of booze. As far as they know, it might. Hazel, the bar and inn’s proprietor operates a home-made distillery down stairs, and the result is the most popular establishment in the outpost. The bar is a small collection of wooden chairs and tables, and a large collection of knickknackery. A scavenger lounges on an upside down box, jar of whiskey in his hand, face cherry-red with glee. For many of the patrons, it wouldn’t matter if The Sweet Tonic was located in a pit of vipers. Nothing beats getting saucy after months on your feet in the insanity of Old America.
Perry “Prince” Jackson enters the bar, and smiles. He’s been a long time on the road, and finally, some salvation. He’d dropped off a large supply of food and been paid handsomely in gold. He has capital to spend. Hopefully on a woman and some good drink.
Prince saunters through the bar, the hum of laughing and rough voices like music. He spots a gorgeous blonde sitting at the bar, a jar of whiskey in her hands and sits down on her left. The girl has red fingernails, and the slightest application of make-up. Prince can’t help but wonder where she got it.
Hazel, a cow of a woman, walks over and leans across the bar towards Prince, like she’s doing a great favour. Maybe she was. “What’s drinkin’ well?” Prince asks.
Large brown eyes stare blankly at Prince and she extends a hand, palm up. Payment first, standard practice. Prince wasn’t a huge fan of the procedure, what ever happened to civility? Guess it went the way of the cities and corporations. Reaching into a pouch, and peeking over to see if the blonde was paying attention, Prince drops a small gold nugget into Hazel’s ham claw.
Hazel examines the gold closely, and tests it with a magnet. After she’s convinced, Hazel grunts and nods at Prince. He smiles, a winning smile. Hazel snorts, and spits a wad of phlegm into a metal pail with a pang. “What do you have to drink, ma’am?”
Hazel’s eyes narrow. “We’ve got Whiskey, young man.”
“I’ll take one.” Prince says, drumming lightly on the table with his palms. Soon after, a jar of whiskey slides toward him, and he catches it. Smells alright. Prince takes a sip and the hairs in his nose stick out like spikes. Stronger than anything he’s found recently. After a few more drinks from the jar, Prince begins admiring the blonde next to him.
She’s remarkably clean, and has a carefree, truly joyous laugh. However, much to Prince’s surprise, her attention is captivated by the grizzled piece of meat occupying the seat next to her. His ancient face is lined with wrinkles and has a rough texture like sandpaper from exposure. One of his eyes is blood-shot and yellow, the other is glass. Maybe this gal’s a workin’ gal, Prince thinks to himself with a smile. That’d be wonderful, she’s a delightful thing.
As the drinks continue into the night, Prince waits patiently for his chance with the girl. The old man keeps calling her Molly, and she is glued to him. Vomit fights to make it’s way out of Prince when the old man kisses her, hands roaming over her. What a waste. The old man is through his third jar of Whiskey, and stands. He walks steadily into the back, taking a piss in the gents room.
Prince leans over to Molly, and offers his hand. “Hey there, name’s Prince.”
Molly looks at him, raises her eyebrows and tosses her hair. “Some dumb name.”
Prince laughs, what is wrong with this girl? Hostility wafts from her in waves. “Why are you with that guy? You could do better you know.”
“Oh really?” Molly says, and spins towards him. “What do you have Prince, besides an arrogant, and conceited manner to you?”
“Two eyes, first off.” Prince says, laughing at his own wit, then rewarding himself with a drink of whiskey.
“A small dick?” Molly says and Prince chokes on his drink, harsh alcohol causing him to cough loudly.
Hazel glares at him, and walks over. “You sick?”
Prince shakes his head no, while continuing to cough.
“Best not be coughin’, or you’ll be scarin’ away my customers.” Hazel mutters, and turns away.
Prince takes a deep breath and looks at Molly again, who’s doing her best to ignore him. “Why do you like him Molly? You’re so beautiful.”
“That’s not my name.” Molly says, smiling at Prince.
Prince scoffs. “I heard him call you that.”
“He may call me Molly, but it’s not the name my mama gave me.”
“Listen, I’ll do right by you Molly. I’ve got gold.” Molly rolls her eyes and takes a drink of whiskey.
“No, you listen, Prince.” The way she said his name made Prince flinch. “I don’t know what you do, or why you think you’re so special, but I’m not interested in you. You don’t have enough gold for me. Alright?”
With a flip of her hair, Molly glances at the bathroom, where Sam is still occupied. Prince leans back, hands gripping the bar. Wow, so that was what it was.
“What’s he paying you?”
“More than you’ve ever seen in your life. I’m his girl. Just leave me alone, you don’t want to be askin’ after me when he gets back-.”
“I have one thousand grams of gold. I just finished a can run to Bellevue. I can pay you mor-“
Molly stands and walks several seats away where she sits facing away from Prince. Sam walks from the bathroom, sees Molly and his face breaks into a smile. She smiles back.
Sam leads Molly upstairs by the hand, and into their room. Prince watches with jealous eyes, and focuses on deep breaths. He wants to stay in town awhile, he can’t let that happen tonight.
***
“How did it go today?” Molly asks, twirling a strand of hair around her finger.
“Ah, that’s not for a pretty lass like you to be worryin’ about.” Sam winks with his good eyes, and reaches into his bag. He begins shovelling gold onto the foot of the bed. Soon a small mountain of precious glittering metal lies at Molly’s feet. About five kilo’s of gold by Molly’s eye. Molly stands with a swaying lurch and wraps her arms around Sam’s neck.
“You sweet, sweet man.” Leaning in, Molly kisses Sam deeply, and she feels his body loosen. Tension had been holding him stiff.
Smiling, Sam laughs and falls into bed with her. His Molly has a golden tooth. Wrapping his arms around her, Sam is asleep in minutes. Molly has to fight laughter. The old man really is a sweetheart. Maybe she’d stay with him even if he had nothing. Smiling to herself, she knows that isn’t true.
Raindrops smash like bullets onto skeletal cars, stripped of insides. Sam Irons is squatting in the grave of an old grocery store when pain shoots up his legs. His knees are worn, almost certainly rife with arthritis, and another headache is setting in. Massaging his head with stiff fingers, Sam feels wonder at the rough texture of his skin. Time is one thing that no man can steal.
Molly’s probably getting anxious, and if he’s being honest, so is he. It’s far past the caravan’s projected arrival time, if the sun was any indication. A large pink circle, obscured by rain and mist, rests at about two o’clock in the sky. Something everyone has learned is that the solar watch is the most reliable time piece. It doesn’t run out of batteries.
Long blonde hair, atop a gorgeous body of silken soft skin. It’s a miracle, Sam thinks with a smile, that Molly manages to stay so beautiful. Another testament to her natural charms.
Sam squeezes his fragile fingers into a fist at the sound of concrete crunching, and approaching voices. “-I cut him through his brisket.” Bellowing laughter echoes through the derelict grocery store. Sam can’t see the men, but they’re close. With every step that grows louder, he readies himself. Once again, Sam thanks his mama for his hearing. It hasn’t gone yet, without it, he’d be helpless at this. His vision has not had such longevity. Squinting helps some, but only so much.
Shifting silently, Sam leans against the wall closest to the voices, and near a window so he can spy outside. The weight on his hip is comforting, an old friend. As the two men walk in front of the store, Sam’s breath catches in his chest. One of the men is a delicate being, and walks confidently ahead of the donkey. The other is a brute of a man, just around six foot five as an estimate, and leaning a sawed-off shotgun against his shoulder blade. No one said anything about a shotgun. Sam curses mentally, and leans his head against the wall. Oh how he craved a cigarette right now. Just a little calm before the storm.
The brute lashes out with his gun, and hits the donkey, urging it forward. The donkey groans loudly, and stumbles, hooves clicking against the concrete. Jesus christ. Can he do it? There’s really no choice, is there? Taking a deep breath, Sam steps through the broken window.
The brute turns and Sam whips out his gun, a beautiful piece of long-barrelled magnum, cocks it and fires before the brute has time to process. God bless the stupid. Sam’s aim is true, and the bullet tears through the man’s shoulder, sending his massive form spinning to the ground. The small one spins and his eyes widen in shock and horror. Another second passes, as Sam’s brain processes the new target, adjusts and fires. This slug explodes in the small one’s chest, sending bone shrapnel and heavy, raspberry jam blood into the air.
Silence. After the thunder of battle, stillness reigns. Sam walks over to the Donkey, and checks the cargo. Bright gold bricks glitter and smile up at him, and Sam returns the favour. Molly be pleased.
***
The Sweet Tonic is busy as ever, pioneers of the old world and new drink like the world might run out of booze. As far as they know, it might. Hazel, the bar and inn’s proprietor operates a home-made distillery down stairs, and the result is the most popular establishment in the outpost. The bar is a small collection of wooden chairs and tables, and a large collection of knickknackery. A scavenger lounges on an upside down box, jar of whiskey in his hand, face cherry-red with glee. For many of the patrons, it wouldn’t matter if The Sweet Tonic was located in a pit of vipers. Nothing beats getting saucy after months on your feet in the insanity of Old America.
Perry “Prince” Jackson enters the bar, and smiles. He’s been a long time on the road, and finally, some salvation. He’d dropped off a large supply of food and been paid handsomely in gold. He has capital to spend. Hopefully on a woman and some good drink.
Prince saunters through the bar, the hum of laughing and rough voices like music. He spots a gorgeous blonde sitting at the bar, a jar of whiskey in her hands and sits down on her left. The girl has red fingernails, and the slightest application of make-up. Prince can’t help but wonder where she got it.
Hazel, a cow of a woman, walks over and leans across the bar towards Prince, like she’s doing a great favour. Maybe she was. “What’s drinkin’ well?” Prince asks.
Large brown eyes stare blankly at Prince and she extends a hand, palm up. Payment first, standard practice. Prince wasn’t a huge fan of the procedure, what ever happened to civility? Guess it went the way of the cities and corporations. Reaching into a pouch, and peeking over to see if the blonde was paying attention, Prince drops a small gold nugget into Hazel’s ham claw.
Hazel examines the gold closely, and tests it with a magnet. After she’s convinced, Hazel grunts and nods at Prince. He smiles, a winning smile. Hazel snorts, and spits a wad of phlegm into a metal pail with a pang. “What do you have to drink, ma’am?”
Hazel’s eyes narrow. “We’ve got Whiskey, young man.”
“I’ll take one.” Prince says, drumming lightly on the table with his palms. Soon after, a jar of whiskey slides toward him, and he catches it. Smells alright. Prince takes a sip and the hairs in his nose stick out like spikes. Stronger than anything he’s found recently. After a few more drinks from the jar, Prince begins admiring the blonde next to him.
She’s remarkably clean, and has a carefree, truly joyous laugh. However, much to Prince’s surprise, her attention is captivated by the grizzled piece of meat occupying the seat next to her. His ancient face is lined with wrinkles and has a rough texture like sandpaper from exposure. One of his eyes is blood-shot and yellow, the other is glass. Maybe this gal’s a workin’ gal, Prince thinks to himself with a smile. That’d be wonderful, she’s a delightful thing.
As the drinks continue into the night, Prince waits patiently for his chance with the girl. The old man keeps calling her Molly, and she is glued to him. Vomit fights to make it’s way out of Prince when the old man kisses her, hands roaming over her. What a waste. The old man is through his third jar of Whiskey, and stands. He walks steadily into the back, taking a piss in the gents room.
Prince leans over to Molly, and offers his hand. “Hey there, name’s Prince.”
Molly looks at him, raises her eyebrows and tosses her hair. “Some dumb name.”
Prince laughs, what is wrong with this girl? Hostility wafts from her in waves. “Why are you with that guy? You could do better you know.”
“Oh really?” Molly says, and spins towards him. “What do you have Prince, besides an arrogant, and conceited manner to you?”
“Two eyes, first off.” Prince says, laughing at his own wit, then rewarding himself with a drink of whiskey.
“A small dick?” Molly says and Prince chokes on his drink, harsh alcohol causing him to cough loudly.
Hazel glares at him, and walks over. “You sick?”
Prince shakes his head no, while continuing to cough.
“Best not be coughin’, or you’ll be scarin’ away my customers.” Hazel mutters, and turns away.
Prince takes a deep breath and looks at Molly again, who’s doing her best to ignore him. “Why do you like him Molly? You’re so beautiful.”
“That’s not my name.” Molly says, smiling at Prince.
Prince scoffs. “I heard him call you that.”
“He may call me Molly, but it’s not the name my mama gave me.”
“Listen, I’ll do right by you Molly. I’ve got gold.” Molly rolls her eyes and takes a drink of whiskey.
“No, you listen, Prince.” The way she said his name made Prince flinch. “I don’t know what you do, or why you think you’re so special, but I’m not interested in you. You don’t have enough gold for me. Alright?”
With a flip of her hair, Molly glances at the bathroom, where Sam is still occupied. Prince leans back, hands gripping the bar. Wow, so that was what it was.
“What’s he paying you?”
“More than you’ve ever seen in your life. I’m his girl. Just leave me alone, you don’t want to be askin’ after me when he gets back-.”
“I have one thousand grams of gold. I just finished a can run to Bellevue. I can pay you mor-“
Molly stands and walks several seats away where she sits facing away from Prince. Sam walks from the bathroom, sees Molly and his face breaks into a smile. She smiles back.
Sam leads Molly upstairs by the hand, and into their room. Prince watches with jealous eyes, and focuses on deep breaths. He wants to stay in town awhile, he can’t let that happen tonight.
***
“How did it go today?” Molly asks, twirling a strand of hair around her finger.
“Ah, that’s not for a pretty lass like you to be worryin’ about.” Sam winks with his good eyes, and reaches into his bag. He begins shovelling gold onto the foot of the bed. Soon a small mountain of precious glittering metal lies at Molly’s feet. About five kilo’s of gold by Molly’s eye. Molly stands with a swaying lurch and wraps her arms around Sam’s neck.
“You sweet, sweet man.” Leaning in, Molly kisses Sam deeply, and she feels his body loosen. Tension had been holding him stiff.
Smiling, Sam laughs and falls into bed with her. His Molly has a golden tooth. Wrapping his arms around her, Sam is asleep in minutes. Molly has to fight laughter. The old man really is a sweetheart. Maybe she’d stay with him even if he had nothing. Smiling to herself, she knows that isn’t true.