WARNING: DISTURBING CONTENT (Fan Boy came to me while I was driving back from dropping Hamster Wong off at work this morning. Very disturbing, I know. Leave me a comment, tell me if you hate it or love it. Feel free to tell your friends what a sicko I am!)
He sat still in his living room; her picture clutched to his chest and imagined their bodies entangled, their legs touching, his lips on her neck, his hands coasting over her body. He saw himself lying over her. In his mind, his hands moved to her neck and clamped down on it. He saw her shock unravelling, the sight of her pupils contracting, showing him her beautiful blue irises.
She was too beautiful for words, a goddess – possibly a mythological enchantress. He loved following her wherever she went, he loved watching her as she slept, picturing himself wrapping her beautifully long, blond hair around her long neck, pulling tight and whispering to her as she slipped into eternal bliss.
Drawn out of his ruminations by the white noise on the television, he looked down at his hands. They were great hands, gentle yet strong, rough yet comforting. Hands that once used to fix luxury cars. Everything had changed the moment she had walked into the garage, claiming her car was over-heating. He had been perfectly normal before, he used to have friends to pass time with after work, the occasional date with whichever girl he wanted. He never had a problem getting female companionship, he was good-looking enough, certainly well-built and was a gentleman – at least until she showed up.
Now, he was spellbound. He no longer needed to go to work; no longer felt the need to join his friends at night, no woman could steal his attention away from her. She brought peculiar thoughts bubbling to the surface. Sighing at her picture, now crumpled and worn from all the nights he had spent looking at it. He would have to get a better picture. Perhaps one of her running. How beautiful she would look if she were running away, her face contorted with the look of fear.
He had often wondered whether fear turned her on, whether it sent her into pure ecstasy. She did look quite scared the day he accidentally stepped on a twig outside her window. She was so afraid of the sounds coming from outside her house that she turned on every light in the house. She was a good girl, she never brought men home. He had wished she did, possibly because he would be able watch as other men failed to satisfy her. He was sure he would be able to give her everything she needed.
He reached down, grabbing his manhood and began to pump furiously as he imagined the sight of her body displayed for him on the wall. He imagined how breathtaking it would be to have her hanging on his wall, suspended in air with wall hooks with her naked perfection there for him to enjoy every second of the day. She would look like the angel that she was. The feeling of placing each one of those hooks, sinking them into her skin would be unrivalled joy.
He climaxed at the thought. It was time to freshen up, it was getting late and she would be readying her bath water soon. He loved watching her pour the bath salts into the tub; she did enjoy submerging herself completely before soaking. The sight of her hair floating in the water did things to him he could not understand.
Tonight, he would enter her home, through a window that she constantly forgot to lock and watch her sleep. She snored ever so lightly and it amused him. There were nights he massaged her feet when she was sleeping deeply, if only to illicit a moan. Poor thing, she worked so hard for nothing. If she had noticed him that day in the garage, he may not have dared to do such a thing. She had not seen him at all. She popped the hood of the car so easily and peered inside; telling the boys how she thought it was the radiator. So beautiful.
As he slipped on his gloves, he saw her bathroom light come on. It was not easy to climb up the tree nearest to the bathroom window, but it was worth it. He grunted as he climbed and just as he reached the perfect spot to observe her, he heard her sobs. She was crying. Why was she crying? She was talking into her mobile phone, attempting to talk between sobs. Her father had passed away.
Filled with queer joy at the thought of there being one less man between the two of them, he could no longer control the urge to reveal himself to her. To make her know that even if no man loved her, he did. To show her how truly beautiful she was. To teach her how to love him. He would make her feel him. Force her to see how beautiful pain could be.
She was getting into the tub now. He planned his move, and executed it with fast, deft moves. He appeared in her bathroom like a ghost while, she was submerging herself in the water. When she came up for air, she saw him. She screamed and he was filled with excitement. She was so beautiful. Droplets of water mixed with her tears, she began splashing. The sight of her naked body so close to him spurred a reaction.
He grabbed her neck, as he had imagined doing so many times before and began to squeeze. Her flailing arms flew to his hands, attempting to fight him off. He laughed and pulled her to him so she could see his face. Her eyes widened with recognition and he plunged her into the water. He just wanted her unconscious, at least momentarily until he got her back to his house. She needed to be awake when he nailed her to the wall. She fought, her nails digging into his wrists sending biting pain through him.
There was no way she was strong enough to fight him off, but he silently applauded her for trying. He liked his girls this way – fighting him. As she fell into an unconscious state, the grip of her beautiful hands on his wrists loosened. She was not dead, yet. He carried her wet body out of the water and flung her out the window. Her body landed with a soft thud, his senses reeling at the sight of her naked, twisted body lying on the ground.
Hours later, back in his living room, he stared at his beautiful work of art. She had begged, pleaded, cried and sobbed. She tried to scream each time a hook was passed through her skin. She was a fighter. A beautiful one. Her hair was artistically splayed on the wall. Her eyes, still open, had rolled to the side, staring at him, her dead, dilated pupils giving her an innocent look. Driving the nails through her palms had been exhilarating. She had kicked him, with her beautiful long legs, but all resistance ceased the moment he crushed her windpipe.
The blood seeping through her wounds and flowing down the wall in rivulets was breathtaking. Tomorrow he would go back to work. He would start meeting his friends and dating new girls. Now that he had possessed his woman the best way a man could, he was ready to go back to being himself. He fell into a deep slumber as she watched over him, as she would every night of every day - forever.
I would like to apologise in advance, if anyone has found this particular flash fiction piece offensive. I have written awful things before. Epic is also worth your time if you feel like getting down with the psychopath thing.
Catch chapters of The Builder here: Chapter 16.
Wednesday 25 August 2010
Monday 23 August 2010
Chapter 16 - finally!!!
It was almost midnight before they decided to pull into a strange-looking motel just off the freeway. It looked as though the place had been abandoned but Jake had taken over sometime back and was tired already. Fallon and Jo were in the parking lot making jokes about Norman Bates, James walked the dog around the motel complex and Jake stood by the vending machine. Nothing suspicious, no strange cars had followed them, no one was sending them evil looks or speaking into their watches to say that “The bird has landed”- nothing at all.
Staring at the numerous packets of junk food that he almost never eats, he could not decide what to pick. He stared so hard, one would have thought that he was willing a candy bar to fall out. The night was silent save for the sound of Jo pretending to be Marion Crane counting the money she had stolen before “taking a shower” while Fallon ran around screaming, “Mother! Oh God! Mother, blood! Blood! ”
James and the dog were watching the show silently and Jake could not pull himself away from the vending machine. How had things ended up like this? Every once in a while, someone with a normal, stable life thinks things should be different. Every once in a while, a man with a nine-to-five job, a sane wife with two and a half kids and a dog wished he was special. Every once in a while, we all wish that life was different. Every once in a while, we all want to be special – to be different, to be a hero, to be remembered, to be revered, to be loved by one and all, to do things other men cannot do, to go places other men haven’t. Every once in a while, we all wish we were the ultimate candy bar which stood out amongst all other candy bars in a vending machine.
At that moment, by the vending machine, Jake wanted his old life back. He wanted to be back at his hardware store, he wanted to eat bad pecan pie and he wanted to play with his niece. He had not been away for more than a day, yet life had changed so much that he felt like he had not been home in years.
Slamming the side of the vending machine with his fist, he paid no attention to his surroundings. He thought they had grown tired of playing the Norman Bates game and had gone in to register for rooms, which explained the silence. It was so dark and he felt safer standing under the flickering flourescent light. An odd looking candy bar fell out, and Jake bent over to retrieve it from what Jordi used to call “the candy catch”. As he stood up, he heard an unfamiliar hissing sound. He reached his full height and saw what looked like a bullet hole in the metal panel on the vending machine. Glancing through the glass, he saw the ominous red laser ray. He did not see where it ended, so he figured it was pointed at his back.
He did not know what to do. Should he stand still or should he run? Should he crouch down or turn around? He did not know who was pointing a gun at him, but he prayed it was not Jo. Looking left and right without moving his head, he saw Jo’s raven mass of hair shift about through a window. She was going to kill whoever it was, for him. Filled with pride for the girl he had come to love, he sighed with relief knowing she was covering him.
A whisper came, most probably from Fallon, “When Sun Tzu throws the rock, the general’s soldier must run to protect his right and rear.”
“What the fuck?” came another whisper, which Jake figured was James.
“That was for our littlest one - The Builder, motherfucker. Let’s pray he’s smart enough to have heard it. Get your gun out, and I mean the one which shoots bullets,” Fallon whispered. Jake would have laughed, if his life was not in danger.
“Asshole. I’m going to fucking shoot you after I shoot whoever it is that’s out there,” James replied in an angry whisper.
“Blah. Here goes. Wish I had brought my slingshot!” Fallon whispered, excited beyond control. Something moved and the laser pointer flashed away. Jake could not see anything from the reflection of the glass.
Deciding it was time to move, as he was told – to the rear right, he heard the hissing sound of a silenced rifle follow him through the darkness. As he reached the door where he had seen Jo’s mass of hair, he crouched down and the door almost automatically opened. He was dragged in violently, and shoved aside.
“Fuckers have night-vision goggles. Assholes. I’ll fucking kill them,” she said angrily. She turned to Hootch, who had assumed an attack stance and was growling quietly, “Stay, Hootch. They’ll shoot you. I nearly lost Jakie-poo and for that I’m going to get close enough to rip their heads off, night-vision goggles attached.”
Her phone buzzed silently, and she handed it to Jake. It was a message from James, “One sniper, two foot men. Night vision. Protect Builder, truck, dog and self.” Jake whispered the message to Jo.
“The fight is on, Jakie-poo. Ever seen a girl take down some sissy soldiers? This is going to be a whole lot of fun. I promise. And then we’ll raid the motel kitchen for food, like rebels!” she laughed quietly. “Send a reply. Type this out; flashbang fuckers on foot. That will show them to use night-vision on our turf. Need to retrieve sniper rifle from Hummer. Release bullet diarrhea at tree line on my count. Watch my cute butt go!”
Yes, folks! It's on now! Please do keep reading! I'm baaaacccckkkk! Catch older chapters here! Chapter 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15 Leave me comment! Will definitely respond! Cheers to all!
Staring at the numerous packets of junk food that he almost never eats, he could not decide what to pick. He stared so hard, one would have thought that he was willing a candy bar to fall out. The night was silent save for the sound of Jo pretending to be Marion Crane counting the money she had stolen before “taking a shower” while Fallon ran around screaming, “Mother! Oh God! Mother, blood! Blood! ”
James and the dog were watching the show silently and Jake could not pull himself away from the vending machine. How had things ended up like this? Every once in a while, someone with a normal, stable life thinks things should be different. Every once in a while, a man with a nine-to-five job, a sane wife with two and a half kids and a dog wished he was special. Every once in a while, we all wish that life was different. Every once in a while, we all want to be special – to be different, to be a hero, to be remembered, to be revered, to be loved by one and all, to do things other men cannot do, to go places other men haven’t. Every once in a while, we all wish we were the ultimate candy bar which stood out amongst all other candy bars in a vending machine.
At that moment, by the vending machine, Jake wanted his old life back. He wanted to be back at his hardware store, he wanted to eat bad pecan pie and he wanted to play with his niece. He had not been away for more than a day, yet life had changed so much that he felt like he had not been home in years.
Slamming the side of the vending machine with his fist, he paid no attention to his surroundings. He thought they had grown tired of playing the Norman Bates game and had gone in to register for rooms, which explained the silence. It was so dark and he felt safer standing under the flickering flourescent light. An odd looking candy bar fell out, and Jake bent over to retrieve it from what Jordi used to call “the candy catch”. As he stood up, he heard an unfamiliar hissing sound. He reached his full height and saw what looked like a bullet hole in the metal panel on the vending machine. Glancing through the glass, he saw the ominous red laser ray. He did not see where it ended, so he figured it was pointed at his back.
He did not know what to do. Should he stand still or should he run? Should he crouch down or turn around? He did not know who was pointing a gun at him, but he prayed it was not Jo. Looking left and right without moving his head, he saw Jo’s raven mass of hair shift about through a window. She was going to kill whoever it was, for him. Filled with pride for the girl he had come to love, he sighed with relief knowing she was covering him.
A whisper came, most probably from Fallon, “When Sun Tzu throws the rock, the general’s soldier must run to protect his right and rear.”
“What the fuck?” came another whisper, which Jake figured was James.
“That was for our littlest one - The Builder, motherfucker. Let’s pray he’s smart enough to have heard it. Get your gun out, and I mean the one which shoots bullets,” Fallon whispered. Jake would have laughed, if his life was not in danger.
“Asshole. I’m going to fucking shoot you after I shoot whoever it is that’s out there,” James replied in an angry whisper.
“Blah. Here goes. Wish I had brought my slingshot!” Fallon whispered, excited beyond control. Something moved and the laser pointer flashed away. Jake could not see anything from the reflection of the glass.
Deciding it was time to move, as he was told – to the rear right, he heard the hissing sound of a silenced rifle follow him through the darkness. As he reached the door where he had seen Jo’s mass of hair, he crouched down and the door almost automatically opened. He was dragged in violently, and shoved aside.
“Fuckers have night-vision goggles. Assholes. I’ll fucking kill them,” she said angrily. She turned to Hootch, who had assumed an attack stance and was growling quietly, “Stay, Hootch. They’ll shoot you. I nearly lost Jakie-poo and for that I’m going to get close enough to rip their heads off, night-vision goggles attached.”
Her phone buzzed silently, and she handed it to Jake. It was a message from James, “One sniper, two foot men. Night vision. Protect Builder, truck, dog and self.” Jake whispered the message to Jo.
“The fight is on, Jakie-poo. Ever seen a girl take down some sissy soldiers? This is going to be a whole lot of fun. I promise. And then we’ll raid the motel kitchen for food, like rebels!” she laughed quietly. “Send a reply. Type this out; flashbang fuckers on foot. That will show them to use night-vision on our turf. Need to retrieve sniper rifle from Hummer. Release bullet diarrhea at tree line on my count. Watch my cute butt go!”
Yes, folks! It's on now! Please do keep reading! I'm baaaacccckkkk! Catch older chapters here! Chapter 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15 Leave me comment! Will definitely respond! Cheers to all!
Thursday 19 August 2010
Stupid things, in words – not pictures and videos, by Reading Raynes
Folks, I'm having a serious block here. I sat down to write today, and this was all I could come up with. Seriously, I need to be shot. I've got it bad.
1) It was a “trust” exercise, one of those things you do at a motivational course for staff. She thought he would catch her. He didn’t.
2) She was chatting with her best friend on her mobile phone. She saw a man dart out in front of her to cross the road and swerved. She hit a garbage bin.
3) He thought she meant a plastic cup instead of a glass mug when she said, “Light beer, please.”
4) The three of them were walking down the street, like the tourists they actually were. Paying no attention to the pigeons fluttering about them, they chatted and pointed their cameras at the national monuments ahead of them. It was then that a pigeon flew a little too low and hit Reading Raynes in the head. True story.
5) Reading has always been a little clumsy. She thought it would be funny to take a photo in a classic phone booth, with the red grills and the handy little door that swings outwards. It was the end of winter, and things weren’t as icy as expected. She slipped and fell – in a phone booth. True story.
6) She was going to hit him hard. Just as she swung her hand toward him, he farted – a near fatal odour released. He then said, “It’s my guard dog.” True story.
7) She knew it was going to be a tight-fit when she saw the size of the parking spot. Worse still was the fact that she had to reverse in. She took a grand total of 17 minutes before a man knocked on her window and offered to park for her.
8) It was truly an impressive sight, Batu Caves in Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia. Having climbed over a thousand steps to reach the top to see the cave and being only seven years old, she could not have known that monkeys may attack her. They stole the slice of blackforest cake she had been carrying. They stole cake from a seven-year old. True story.
9) The cramping pain in her stomach meant only one thing – diarrhea was imminent. Lucky for her she was in a hospital. She made her way to one of the “visitor” toilets and let the brown waters of the Reading Raynes River flow. And then realised the flush was broken. True story.
10) It was a group discussion. Andy Warhol’s painting of Chairman Mao fetched over a 100 million dollars. He thought they should do something to make some money. He suggested they paint Celine Dion. True story.
11) Why did the phone have to ring when she was rushing through the door to get to the toilet. The ringing was persistent. Could it be an emergency? Ignoring the call of her bladder, she charged towards the phone and picked it up. Her socks got wet in the process. True story.
12) She wanted to make fun of the hot, young dancer on tv. She began to groove and shimmy for his entertainment – and heard her own back break. True story.
13) She was brilliant. With an IQ of over 130 and a PhD, she got stuck in a tank top.
14) Feeling light-legged after a long night, she got out bed and her feet got tangled in a bra on the floor. Next to it, she found a post-it note that read, "It's a booby trap." True story. Damn him.
A conversation I had with my Hamster Boyfriend named Wong recently:
RR: Bee, I think I’m having angina. It’s an angina attack. It’s so painful. It feels like something is crushing my chest! I can’t breathe. The pain is radiating up my neck. I’m having tachycardia, tachypnea, and on a scale of 1 to 10, the pain is a 4! Oh my god, I’m having a heart attack! (flailing arms alternating with clutching her neck)
Wong: (very calmly, almost ignoring the panicked RR) Maybe your bra is too tight, love?
RR: I took it off because I couldn’t breathe! Oh my god, I think I have ischemic heart disease! What should I do? Oh shit. I’m nauseous. It’s a heart attack. Bee, if I die, will you arrange my funeral?
Wong: (still does not care about RR) Bee... uh... maybe you overate again. It’s reflux.
RR: (disappointed) Oh... Whatever. I could have died... (suddenly begins to panic again) Oh my god! I have reflux! Holy shit!
Wong: Stop eating so much. Piggy child.
RR: *sulk*
Now you all know how bad I've got it. I really can't seem to hold an idea in my head long enough to put it in words. I will try again tomorrow, okay? For now, this'll have to suffice. You poor things. Heathens. Maybe if you guys read my blog more often I wouldn't have to write crap, now would I? Leave me a comment, give me some inspiration, will you? Catch chapters of The Builder and other stories at the "Lost Something? Find a Story here!" Section. I will keep trying to churn out something new for you, okay? I'm sorry! Much love!
1) It was a “trust” exercise, one of those things you do at a motivational course for staff. She thought he would catch her. He didn’t.
2) She was chatting with her best friend on her mobile phone. She saw a man dart out in front of her to cross the road and swerved. She hit a garbage bin.
3) He thought she meant a plastic cup instead of a glass mug when she said, “Light beer, please.”
4) The three of them were walking down the street, like the tourists they actually were. Paying no attention to the pigeons fluttering about them, they chatted and pointed their cameras at the national monuments ahead of them. It was then that a pigeon flew a little too low and hit Reading Raynes in the head. True story.
5) Reading has always been a little clumsy. She thought it would be funny to take a photo in a classic phone booth, with the red grills and the handy little door that swings outwards. It was the end of winter, and things weren’t as icy as expected. She slipped and fell – in a phone booth. True story.
6) She was going to hit him hard. Just as she swung her hand toward him, he farted – a near fatal odour released. He then said, “It’s my guard dog.” True story.
7) She knew it was going to be a tight-fit when she saw the size of the parking spot. Worse still was the fact that she had to reverse in. She took a grand total of 17 minutes before a man knocked on her window and offered to park for her.
8) It was truly an impressive sight, Batu Caves in Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia. Having climbed over a thousand steps to reach the top to see the cave and being only seven years old, she could not have known that monkeys may attack her. They stole the slice of blackforest cake she had been carrying. They stole cake from a seven-year old. True story.
9) The cramping pain in her stomach meant only one thing – diarrhea was imminent. Lucky for her she was in a hospital. She made her way to one of the “visitor” toilets and let the brown waters of the Reading Raynes River flow. And then realised the flush was broken. True story.
10) It was a group discussion. Andy Warhol’s painting of Chairman Mao fetched over a 100 million dollars. He thought they should do something to make some money. He suggested they paint Celine Dion. True story.
11) Why did the phone have to ring when she was rushing through the door to get to the toilet. The ringing was persistent. Could it be an emergency? Ignoring the call of her bladder, she charged towards the phone and picked it up. Her socks got wet in the process. True story.
12) She wanted to make fun of the hot, young dancer on tv. She began to groove and shimmy for his entertainment – and heard her own back break. True story.
13) She was brilliant. With an IQ of over 130 and a PhD, she got stuck in a tank top.
14) Feeling light-legged after a long night, she got out bed and her feet got tangled in a bra on the floor. Next to it, she found a post-it note that read, "It's a booby trap." True story. Damn him.
A conversation I had with my Hamster Boyfriend named Wong recently:
RR: Bee, I think I’m having angina. It’s an angina attack. It’s so painful. It feels like something is crushing my chest! I can’t breathe. The pain is radiating up my neck. I’m having tachycardia, tachypnea, and on a scale of 1 to 10, the pain is a 4! Oh my god, I’m having a heart attack! (flailing arms alternating with clutching her neck)
Wong: (very calmly, almost ignoring the panicked RR) Maybe your bra is too tight, love?
RR: I took it off because I couldn’t breathe! Oh my god, I think I have ischemic heart disease! What should I do? Oh shit. I’m nauseous. It’s a heart attack. Bee, if I die, will you arrange my funeral?
Wong: (still does not care about RR) Bee... uh... maybe you overate again. It’s reflux.
RR: (disappointed) Oh... Whatever. I could have died... (suddenly begins to panic again) Oh my god! I have reflux! Holy shit!
Wong: Stop eating so much. Piggy child.
RR: *sulk*
Now you all know how bad I've got it. I really can't seem to hold an idea in my head long enough to put it in words. I will try again tomorrow, okay? For now, this'll have to suffice. You poor things. Heathens. Maybe if you guys read my blog more often I wouldn't have to write crap, now would I? Leave me a comment, give me some inspiration, will you? Catch chapters of The Builder and other stories at the "Lost Something? Find a Story here!" Section. I will keep trying to churn out something new for you, okay? I'm sorry! Much love!
Monday 16 August 2010
Blocked? - a letter to my editor
Dear Mr. Tight-Arse Editor,
It seems that I, Reading Raynes and my alter ego Dr. I-can't-get-off-my-ASS, are unable to produce anything new for my readers today. Sad as it seems, I am now searching for ways to prove to the world that Hulk Hogan is awesome, as is the act of getting your cat to urinate on bad DVDs which were an absolute waste of bloody time, such as Marmaduke and Percy Jackson and the Lightning Thief. (pirated copy available at your nearest Beng-Beng shop)
I am also very busy picking yesterday's lunch out of my teeth and cannot find the time to switch on my lap top to earn some money. That said, I will understand if you no longer want to be my editor. Rest assured that if you drop me, you will be making the biggest mistake of your life - since I am so fucking talented that I fart good stories and I am so famous that homeless people follow me down the street with machetes.
After I am done picking my teeth, my schedule will be packed not with various interviews and book-signings but with the ultimate honour of clipping my toenails with my boyfriend's nose-hair trimmer. I implore you not to disturb me, call me or try to communicate with me in any way whilst I am clipping my toenails with said trimmer. Heaven forbid that I allow the fungus on my toes to colonize the poor boy's nose. I also humbly request that you do not inform him of such activities. (yes, I have a boyfriend. He's a hamster named Wong)
Recently, I have found that I may be suffering from a deadly, incurable disease. Writer's block has attacked me so severely that I have developed backne (acne on the back, pronounced "back-knee" - in case you are actually as fucking stupid as you look, what with that God awful bow tie, ladies baby-tee and shiny shoes). I have dragged my spot-ridden body to a doctor, and it's been certified -WRITER'S BLOCK, and I have been warned "not to overdo" lest my spleen ruptures and I turn into a man with a beard.
It would be only right for me to apologise for everything that has happened. Recently, many tragic things have occurred; I was forced into resignation from a "real" job, retained so much flatus (my colon is about to go bust) that I floated in a flooded pothole and found lint in my belly button. Hence, I shall apologise for all my shortcomings (I said comings) and also for all my future shortcummings (I said it again, this time with "gooding" spelling).
To end my letter, I shall leave you with a strict warning: DO NOT DROP ME. If you do, I'll defecate on your car dashboard (like in that awesome book/movie Christine), vandalise your potted plants and violate your dog.
Thank you for wasting your time and mine. May God be with you. You are so ugly that only God could possibly love you.
Sincerely,
Reading Raynes, M.D.
Registered user of "Ooops-a-poopie Adult Diapers"
Now all I need is an editor! Sorry fellas, I'm stuck. You'll have to wait for chapter 16. Recently wrote a draft of it, and it was quite simply SHIT. Catch older stories and chapter of The Builder at the "Lost Something? Find a story here!" section. Leave me a comment you losers. Much love. Share my letter with your friends, family, neighbours, boss and distant in-bred cousins. Much love. If the block continues, I'll be giving you a copy of my CV to pass around.
It seems that I, Reading Raynes and my alter ego Dr. I-can't-get-off-my-ASS, are unable to produce anything new for my readers today. Sad as it seems, I am now searching for ways to prove to the world that Hulk Hogan is awesome, as is the act of getting your cat to urinate on bad DVDs which were an absolute waste of bloody time, such as Marmaduke and Percy Jackson and the Lightning Thief. (pirated copy available at your nearest Beng-Beng shop)
I am also very busy picking yesterday's lunch out of my teeth and cannot find the time to switch on my lap top to earn some money. That said, I will understand if you no longer want to be my editor. Rest assured that if you drop me, you will be making the biggest mistake of your life - since I am so fucking talented that I fart good stories and I am so famous that homeless people follow me down the street with machetes.
After I am done picking my teeth, my schedule will be packed not with various interviews and book-signings but with the ultimate honour of clipping my toenails with my boyfriend's nose-hair trimmer. I implore you not to disturb me, call me or try to communicate with me in any way whilst I am clipping my toenails with said trimmer. Heaven forbid that I allow the fungus on my toes to colonize the poor boy's nose. I also humbly request that you do not inform him of such activities. (yes, I have a boyfriend. He's a hamster named Wong)
Recently, I have found that I may be suffering from a deadly, incurable disease. Writer's block has attacked me so severely that I have developed backne (acne on the back, pronounced "back-knee" - in case you are actually as fucking stupid as you look, what with that God awful bow tie, ladies baby-tee and shiny shoes). I have dragged my spot-ridden body to a doctor, and it's been certified -WRITER'S BLOCK, and I have been warned "not to overdo" lest my spleen ruptures and I turn into a man with a beard.
It would be only right for me to apologise for everything that has happened. Recently, many tragic things have occurred; I was forced into resignation from a "real" job, retained so much flatus (my colon is about to go bust) that I floated in a flooded pothole and found lint in my belly button. Hence, I shall apologise for all my shortcomings (I said comings) and also for all my future shortcummings (I said it again, this time with "gooding" spelling).
To end my letter, I shall leave you with a strict warning: DO NOT DROP ME. If you do, I'll defecate on your car dashboard (like in that awesome book/movie Christine), vandalise your potted plants and violate your dog.
Thank you for wasting your time and mine. May God be with you. You are so ugly that only God could possibly love you.
Sincerely,
Reading Raynes, M.D.
Registered user of "Ooops-a-poopie Adult Diapers"
Now all I need is an editor! Sorry fellas, I'm stuck. You'll have to wait for chapter 16. Recently wrote a draft of it, and it was quite simply SHIT. Catch older stories and chapter of The Builder at the "Lost Something? Find a story here!" section. Leave me a comment you losers. Much love. Share my letter with your friends, family, neighbours, boss and distant in-bred cousins. Much love. If the block continues, I'll be giving you a copy of my CV to pass around.
Saturday 14 August 2010
Coffee
Turn off the lights and put the kids to bed. This one is just for you. The Builder continues next week. Much love! Catch up with older chapters here: Chapter 15
She did not know why or how the basement parking lot seemed darker than usual. Knowing it was all her fault for working late on a Friday night, she halted at the door to the parking lot and peeped out of the meshed window. It was one of those stupid doors that let you out and never let you back in, so she knew she had to make a dash to the car once she was out the door. For the life of her she could not figure out why she had parked further than usual. It was a good 40 metres to the car, and then she would have to drive three storeys up - all alone in the dark, dark parking lot.
Steeling herself and pressing her ear to the door in an effort to hear what was going on in the parking lot, she clutched her handbag closer and hoped it would be able to protect her. Memories of Al, the parking lot attendant who had not showed up for work in over a week, saying “I’m telling yas, it’s bloody haunted. The place gives me the creeps!” flooded her mind, almost as though she was intentionally poisoning herself.
The parking lot was virtually empty, save for the maintenance trucks and the rare car. Was that Joe’s car in the corner of the lot? She could not be sure, and she knew he was supposed to be away on business. Willing herself to pay no more attention to things that do not matter, she pressed down on the door handled and whispered, “Door from hell, why do you lock from the inside?”
She pushed the heavy door open and stepped out, her hand still holding it open. Was that a draft of chilly air she just felt? Unconsciously, she let go of the door to adjust her scarf and pull her coat closer. Realising her mistake a little too late, she heard the door shut with a customary “Pffftt” as though it was being hermitically sealed. Straightening herself, she figured she would make a dash for it.
She cursed herself for wearing ridiculous heels – and they were bloody ridiculous. “Six inches of pure sex” her best friend had called them. Bitch. She would tell her a thing or two if she survived the run. Silence deafening, she began to break out into a run and three metres later found herself on the ground, with the left heel of the six-inches-of-pure-sex lying a fancy distance away. Whore. She would kill her best friend for convincing her to buy the stupid, impractical shoes.
Knees scuffed and shoes wasted, she kicked the other side off and mumbled to herself. The sound of scratching, like claws on a chalkboard, pulled her out of her ruminations. “Fucking epic,” she thought to herself. Trying to calm herself, she pulled herself and her things off the floor. “Get a move on, damn it.”
She figured her car alarm would scare anything that was nearby away, she fished out her car keys and pressed the alarm button. Her car began honking and beeping, lights began flashing. And then she started to run. Did something move under the maintenance truck? She did not know and she did not want to know. She kept running. She now heard the scratching become louder and now there was an even more confusing sound, a constant beating of a drum – which she was sure was not her heart. Scratching and the steady beat of the drum only spurred her on.
Skidding a little as she came to a halt, she tried to pry open the car door and something touched her hair. She was sure of it. “Damn it. I’ll fucking kill you with my six-inches-of-pure-sex!” she shouted out. Now whatever it was touching her bare feet.
Stupidly, she jumped back, away from the car. The car alarm stopped, lights turned off and auto- locked. “In movies, jumping away from the car would’ve been the stupid thing to do. Idiot me.”
The parking lot was silent again. Figuring everything was just a figment of her imagination, she unlocked the car, and got in as fast as she could. As soon as she was in, she locked the doors. She looked through the window to see if anything was really moving outside and when she was sure, she adjusted her mirror and saw something dash behind the car. Was it a person? A bat or a bird maybe? Nothing moved that fast. Completely freaked out, she revved the car to life and flicked the gear into reverse.
She accelerated out of the parking spot and began her drive out of the parking lot. She would have to drive three storeys up. How convenient, she figured. She passed the rusty maintenance truck, glancing at it, almost willing something to emerge and show itself. Nothing. As she drove up the ramp to next floor, the lights in the basement died.
“Fucking great. Today I’m going to die in a fucking parking lot. Why not, for special effect, make the lights go out gradually? Fuck my life,” she said, slamming the steering wheel. Good thing her head lights were on. She continued her slow ascent.
With only one more floor to go, she felt better but she knew she would be afraid again when she had to open the window to flash her parking card at the boom gate to get out. She could see the exit already, in the distance. Even Al’s security post was not lit. She wondered if the boom gate would still open. She slowly approached it and pressed the button to wind the window down. The parking lot exit faced the highway and it was well lit, so she could see clearly. No one walked by, no cars drove by. Everyone was back home with their families - or out in some bar getting tanked.
As soon as the window was down, she heard the scratching sound again. Was it coming from inside the car? She thought she was freaked out before. At that moment she was bordering on hysterical. Trying not to scream, steeling herself, she pulled out her pass card and flashed it at the card port. Nothing.
“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck,” she said, almost crying. The steady banging she had heard before was now thumping on the roof of her car. She pushed the gear into reverse and accelerated. She reversed a good twenty feet, and then stopped. Flipping it back into drive, she revved her car, urging it move. She picked up speed and braced herself for the impact against the boom gate.
She did not stop, would not stop. “You can do it, Carter. Be a fucking man.” She charged at it, pedal to the metal and crash straight into it. The boom gate flung upwards, and she was off. Not slowing down for anything, she flew up the ramp and did not stop at the curb.
She did not see the speeding truck heading her way. It slammed right into her. Metal crunched, glass flew, the airbags that she did not bother to replace after the last accident did not inflate. She died almost instantly. As the air left her lungs and life flew from her body, she heard the scratching and thumping sound and whispered, “Told you to stay off the fucking coffee at night.”
Keep reading Reading Raynes! Much love to all!
She did not know why or how the basement parking lot seemed darker than usual. Knowing it was all her fault for working late on a Friday night, she halted at the door to the parking lot and peeped out of the meshed window. It was one of those stupid doors that let you out and never let you back in, so she knew she had to make a dash to the car once she was out the door. For the life of her she could not figure out why she had parked further than usual. It was a good 40 metres to the car, and then she would have to drive three storeys up - all alone in the dark, dark parking lot.
Steeling herself and pressing her ear to the door in an effort to hear what was going on in the parking lot, she clutched her handbag closer and hoped it would be able to protect her. Memories of Al, the parking lot attendant who had not showed up for work in over a week, saying “I’m telling yas, it’s bloody haunted. The place gives me the creeps!” flooded her mind, almost as though she was intentionally poisoning herself.
The parking lot was virtually empty, save for the maintenance trucks and the rare car. Was that Joe’s car in the corner of the lot? She could not be sure, and she knew he was supposed to be away on business. Willing herself to pay no more attention to things that do not matter, she pressed down on the door handled and whispered, “Door from hell, why do you lock from the inside?”
She pushed the heavy door open and stepped out, her hand still holding it open. Was that a draft of chilly air she just felt? Unconsciously, she let go of the door to adjust her scarf and pull her coat closer. Realising her mistake a little too late, she heard the door shut with a customary “Pffftt” as though it was being hermitically sealed. Straightening herself, she figured she would make a dash for it.
She cursed herself for wearing ridiculous heels – and they were bloody ridiculous. “Six inches of pure sex” her best friend had called them. Bitch. She would tell her a thing or two if she survived the run. Silence deafening, she began to break out into a run and three metres later found herself on the ground, with the left heel of the six-inches-of-pure-sex lying a fancy distance away. Whore. She would kill her best friend for convincing her to buy the stupid, impractical shoes.
Knees scuffed and shoes wasted, she kicked the other side off and mumbled to herself. The sound of scratching, like claws on a chalkboard, pulled her out of her ruminations. “Fucking epic,” she thought to herself. Trying to calm herself, she pulled herself and her things off the floor. “Get a move on, damn it.”
She figured her car alarm would scare anything that was nearby away, she fished out her car keys and pressed the alarm button. Her car began honking and beeping, lights began flashing. And then she started to run. Did something move under the maintenance truck? She did not know and she did not want to know. She kept running. She now heard the scratching become louder and now there was an even more confusing sound, a constant beating of a drum – which she was sure was not her heart. Scratching and the steady beat of the drum only spurred her on.
Skidding a little as she came to a halt, she tried to pry open the car door and something touched her hair. She was sure of it. “Damn it. I’ll fucking kill you with my six-inches-of-pure-sex!” she shouted out. Now whatever it was touching her bare feet.
Stupidly, she jumped back, away from the car. The car alarm stopped, lights turned off and auto- locked. “In movies, jumping away from the car would’ve been the stupid thing to do. Idiot me.”
The parking lot was silent again. Figuring everything was just a figment of her imagination, she unlocked the car, and got in as fast as she could. As soon as she was in, she locked the doors. She looked through the window to see if anything was really moving outside and when she was sure, she adjusted her mirror and saw something dash behind the car. Was it a person? A bat or a bird maybe? Nothing moved that fast. Completely freaked out, she revved the car to life and flicked the gear into reverse.
She accelerated out of the parking spot and began her drive out of the parking lot. She would have to drive three storeys up. How convenient, she figured. She passed the rusty maintenance truck, glancing at it, almost willing something to emerge and show itself. Nothing. As she drove up the ramp to next floor, the lights in the basement died.
“Fucking great. Today I’m going to die in a fucking parking lot. Why not, for special effect, make the lights go out gradually? Fuck my life,” she said, slamming the steering wheel. Good thing her head lights were on. She continued her slow ascent.
With only one more floor to go, she felt better but she knew she would be afraid again when she had to open the window to flash her parking card at the boom gate to get out. She could see the exit already, in the distance. Even Al’s security post was not lit. She wondered if the boom gate would still open. She slowly approached it and pressed the button to wind the window down. The parking lot exit faced the highway and it was well lit, so she could see clearly. No one walked by, no cars drove by. Everyone was back home with their families - or out in some bar getting tanked.
As soon as the window was down, she heard the scratching sound again. Was it coming from inside the car? She thought she was freaked out before. At that moment she was bordering on hysterical. Trying not to scream, steeling herself, she pulled out her pass card and flashed it at the card port. Nothing.
“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck,” she said, almost crying. The steady banging she had heard before was now thumping on the roof of her car. She pushed the gear into reverse and accelerated. She reversed a good twenty feet, and then stopped. Flipping it back into drive, she revved her car, urging it move. She picked up speed and braced herself for the impact against the boom gate.
She did not stop, would not stop. “You can do it, Carter. Be a fucking man.” She charged at it, pedal to the metal and crash straight into it. The boom gate flung upwards, and she was off. Not slowing down for anything, she flew up the ramp and did not stop at the curb.
She did not see the speeding truck heading her way. It slammed right into her. Metal crunched, glass flew, the airbags that she did not bother to replace after the last accident did not inflate. She died almost instantly. As the air left her lungs and life flew from her body, she heard the scratching and thumping sound and whispered, “Told you to stay off the fucking coffee at night.”
Keep reading Reading Raynes! Much love to all!
Wednesday 11 August 2010
Chapter 15 - Philosophy
Missed a chapter or two? Catch them here: Chapter 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14
Loading the weapons delivery system into the U-haul truck was a feat none of them looked forward to. Jake realised that everything he assumed should be “the easy part” actually turned out to be the hardest. The three men hoisted the large and considerably heavy hunk of metal onto a trolley that Jake had pinched from the hardware store the night before.
So this was what everything was all about. He thought about his father, and how there is always “a guy for something”. The stuff in movies, where the ominous-looking weapon of mass destruction arrived in a truck for delivery now so easily, from out of nowhere seemed false, the complex and high-tech labs from sci-fi movies a complete exaggeration – they had built an extremely complex weapon in the crummy Coroner’s office with barely enough power supply to keep Jo’s thermo-scan running.
Funnily, he thought of the supposed terrorists that looked incredibly villainous and mean. Poor things – the world disrespected them for what they manage to create time and time again in almost awful circumstances, with harsh surroundings. They should be applauded for their sheer genius. Of course, what they did was completely wrong, but the world should not insult their intelligence, under estimate them. It took brains to plan attacks and build bombs. Bombs can be made just about anywhere, with just about anything, and they were incredibly resourceful people.
Need to build a nuclear weapon? Why not build it in your backyard with the help of that cool guy at the video store with a funny accent who has a PhD in particle physics? Need to procure a rocket- launcher? Why not call the neighbourhood Jihad-ists? The Americans complicated things by saying things like, “research facility” instead of “lab”, “surveillance” instead of “violating privacy”, “mutually assured destruction” instead of “you kill me, I kill you” – which was exactly what was going on with the terrorists he figured, “insurgents” instead of “people we really don’t like”, “terrorists” instead of “people who know how to do the same things we do at a cheaper price with a lot more publicity” and strange abbreviations like “CHECMATE” to name a stupid electric gun.
The Americans also claim to be the best at “catching” bad people. There is a fat, bald guy who sits at his computer checking through every single internet search done worldwide to find “terrorists” – he really never finds anything, another fat dude sitting and watching a television screen showing satellite images of supposed “terrorists” – he’s actually watching the elaborate birthday party of some poor family in Iraq, trained militia beating the crap out of some poor chemical engineer who bought 10kgs of copper in some hut in the middle of nowhere, a lab technician who dusts mobile phones for prints and then there was Jake - some guy, from Somerset who was building a weapons-delivery system with three other people and the government did not know about it? They did – they approved of it. It saddened Jake.
To top things off, it seemed almost stupid to expect that someone was watching them, that they were under some kind of surveillance. No one, nothing – not even a weird-looking mechanical fly fitted with cameras was watching them build a delivery system for nuclear weapons. He knew it was because what they were doing was “government-approved”. Gone were his disillusioned days of Jason Bourne, dead was idea of James Bond, demolished was the story of a sovereign man who fought to free his people. The government chooses whom to watch, how to watch them and when to watch, and they allow the people they choose to win – the people who bring benefit to them.
Feeling angry and hurt, he asked himself if he was part of the “American Dream”. He used to believe in the constitution his country was built on. Now it all seemed very silly for him to think that patriotism had anything to do with wars fought. Now it was clear that he too was part of the problem. Now he knew that there was nothing noble about the people who ran the country. They were fancy “terrorists”, with cool looking medals worn on their lapels and shoulders.
He recalled things that Fallon and the other two had said, things like “everything is done for land”, “Dynaco is owned by the spooks”. It really bit into him that he actually felt anything for Dynaco’s plight - if it could be called a plight. America fought for nothing but land they could claim. Land for resources, land for government facilities, land for nuclear weapon testing – land for everything. Only they wanted nothing to do with the people on the land, the people that actually owned the land.
While he silently applauded himself for being able to think for himself, it was quite an effort to push the trolley into the truck. Everything locked and loaded, they were prepared to set off for Nevada. Where exactly Jake did not know, but he was sure James did. Still feeling angry and a little upset, Jake went to grab Jo from the kitchen.
“Phoooaa. I’m tired just watching you fellas load that thing into the truck! Iced tea? Hootch is in the loo, he’ll be ready in a minute. You okay, Jakie-poo? You look a little... uh, angry?” Jo asked, making Jake wonder if he was really so easy to read.
“I’m okay, maybe just a little tired,” he said trying to avoid eye-contact with her. Now that he knew how he felt about her as opposed to how he felt about everything they were doing, he was determined to distance himself from her – and Fallon. But could he really sever ties with James?
He would not allow himself to feel like “part of the team” anymore. He really did not want to go to Nevada anymore. He did not want to participate in the damned “sell” or the stupid “test”. He did not want to see Dynaco’s headquarters in Prague. He wanted nothing to do with Dynaco, and even though it seemed ungrateful, he wanted nothing to do with America.
She grabbed the keys to her truck and called for Hootch. He watched her through shuttered eyes. She really was beautiful, and quite possibly she was an innocent party in all everything – he thought futilely. He really did wish she was, but she was too smart and philosophical to be an innocent party. Fallon was too honest to play coy and James was far too involved to even be close to innocence.
He waited while she locked up the “facility” and powered down the “surveillance” system. James and Fallon were already seated in the big truck, eyeing each other suspiciously. Jo hauled a huge plastic bag with her. She gave Hootch a pat on the bottom and he jumped into the truck, placing himself comfortably in the front middle seat. Jake was actually comforted by the fact that a canine will be separating Jo and himself.
Before getting in, she lugged the plastic bag to the big truck and passed it to James and Fallon. Jake was seated and ready.
“Seriously Hootch, someone should give you a tic-tac, you’ve got bad breath and you smell like... uh, a dog,” Jake said quietly to him while scratching him under the chin. Hootch was obviously enjoying the attention Jake was showering on him, and moved even closer to breathe even more on Jake. Jake tried to gently push the smelly dog away, but Hootch would not have it. He wanted to sit almost right on top of Jake and he was going to have his way.
“Now, now, Hootch. The only person who should snuggle up to big ‘ol Jakie-poo here is me! Back off!” Jo said as she got into the truck. “What do you feel like listening to, Jakie-poo? I’ve handed food to the heathens, so they shouldn’t kill each other just yet.”
“Could you not call me that anymore? I hate it,” Jake said gruffly. He dared not look at her, knowing that he had hurt her feelings. The name was affectionate and he did not want to get any closer to her.
“Uh, yeah, okay, whatever. Jake. What would you like to listen to? We’ll be driving with only pit-stops for the next twelve hours, so let’s just let my Ipod shuffle the tunes, shall we?” she said tersely.
“Okay” was Jake’s only response. Jo turned down the volume to an acceptable level which did not make him want to strangle her and they set off behind the U-haul truck, travelling at a decent speed. It was going to be a really long trip and now that he had successfully hurt her feelings it was going to be a long and painful trip.
Keep reading Reading Raynes! Thanks for all the support so far, much love! Am jones-ing to write a horror flash-fiction piece, so chapter 16 is going to have to wait, okay? Leave me a comment, damn you.
DISCLAIMER: This is a fictional story and serves with all intentions and purposes for entertaiment. Any concept, idea or person mentioned in the story of The Builder is completely fictional. Any similarities, apart from scientific facts and historical events, are purely unintentional.
Loading the weapons delivery system into the U-haul truck was a feat none of them looked forward to. Jake realised that everything he assumed should be “the easy part” actually turned out to be the hardest. The three men hoisted the large and considerably heavy hunk of metal onto a trolley that Jake had pinched from the hardware store the night before.
So this was what everything was all about. He thought about his father, and how there is always “a guy for something”. The stuff in movies, where the ominous-looking weapon of mass destruction arrived in a truck for delivery now so easily, from out of nowhere seemed false, the complex and high-tech labs from sci-fi movies a complete exaggeration – they had built an extremely complex weapon in the crummy Coroner’s office with barely enough power supply to keep Jo’s thermo-scan running.
Funnily, he thought of the supposed terrorists that looked incredibly villainous and mean. Poor things – the world disrespected them for what they manage to create time and time again in almost awful circumstances, with harsh surroundings. They should be applauded for their sheer genius. Of course, what they did was completely wrong, but the world should not insult their intelligence, under estimate them. It took brains to plan attacks and build bombs. Bombs can be made just about anywhere, with just about anything, and they were incredibly resourceful people.
Need to build a nuclear weapon? Why not build it in your backyard with the help of that cool guy at the video store with a funny accent who has a PhD in particle physics? Need to procure a rocket- launcher? Why not call the neighbourhood Jihad-ists? The Americans complicated things by saying things like, “research facility” instead of “lab”, “surveillance” instead of “violating privacy”, “mutually assured destruction” instead of “you kill me, I kill you” – which was exactly what was going on with the terrorists he figured, “insurgents” instead of “people we really don’t like”, “terrorists” instead of “people who know how to do the same things we do at a cheaper price with a lot more publicity” and strange abbreviations like “CHECMATE” to name a stupid electric gun.
The Americans also claim to be the best at “catching” bad people. There is a fat, bald guy who sits at his computer checking through every single internet search done worldwide to find “terrorists” – he really never finds anything, another fat dude sitting and watching a television screen showing satellite images of supposed “terrorists” – he’s actually watching the elaborate birthday party of some poor family in Iraq, trained militia beating the crap out of some poor chemical engineer who bought 10kgs of copper in some hut in the middle of nowhere, a lab technician who dusts mobile phones for prints and then there was Jake - some guy, from Somerset who was building a weapons-delivery system with three other people and the government did not know about it? They did – they approved of it. It saddened Jake.
To top things off, it seemed almost stupid to expect that someone was watching them, that they were under some kind of surveillance. No one, nothing – not even a weird-looking mechanical fly fitted with cameras was watching them build a delivery system for nuclear weapons. He knew it was because what they were doing was “government-approved”. Gone were his disillusioned days of Jason Bourne, dead was idea of James Bond, demolished was the story of a sovereign man who fought to free his people. The government chooses whom to watch, how to watch them and when to watch, and they allow the people they choose to win – the people who bring benefit to them.
Feeling angry and hurt, he asked himself if he was part of the “American Dream”. He used to believe in the constitution his country was built on. Now it all seemed very silly for him to think that patriotism had anything to do with wars fought. Now it was clear that he too was part of the problem. Now he knew that there was nothing noble about the people who ran the country. They were fancy “terrorists”, with cool looking medals worn on their lapels and shoulders.
He recalled things that Fallon and the other two had said, things like “everything is done for land”, “Dynaco is owned by the spooks”. It really bit into him that he actually felt anything for Dynaco’s plight - if it could be called a plight. America fought for nothing but land they could claim. Land for resources, land for government facilities, land for nuclear weapon testing – land for everything. Only they wanted nothing to do with the people on the land, the people that actually owned the land.
While he silently applauded himself for being able to think for himself, it was quite an effort to push the trolley into the truck. Everything locked and loaded, they were prepared to set off for Nevada. Where exactly Jake did not know, but he was sure James did. Still feeling angry and a little upset, Jake went to grab Jo from the kitchen.
“Phoooaa. I’m tired just watching you fellas load that thing into the truck! Iced tea? Hootch is in the loo, he’ll be ready in a minute. You okay, Jakie-poo? You look a little... uh, angry?” Jo asked, making Jake wonder if he was really so easy to read.
“I’m okay, maybe just a little tired,” he said trying to avoid eye-contact with her. Now that he knew how he felt about her as opposed to how he felt about everything they were doing, he was determined to distance himself from her – and Fallon. But could he really sever ties with James?
He would not allow himself to feel like “part of the team” anymore. He really did not want to go to Nevada anymore. He did not want to participate in the damned “sell” or the stupid “test”. He did not want to see Dynaco’s headquarters in Prague. He wanted nothing to do with Dynaco, and even though it seemed ungrateful, he wanted nothing to do with America.
She grabbed the keys to her truck and called for Hootch. He watched her through shuttered eyes. She really was beautiful, and quite possibly she was an innocent party in all everything – he thought futilely. He really did wish she was, but she was too smart and philosophical to be an innocent party. Fallon was too honest to play coy and James was far too involved to even be close to innocence.
He waited while she locked up the “facility” and powered down the “surveillance” system. James and Fallon were already seated in the big truck, eyeing each other suspiciously. Jo hauled a huge plastic bag with her. She gave Hootch a pat on the bottom and he jumped into the truck, placing himself comfortably in the front middle seat. Jake was actually comforted by the fact that a canine will be separating Jo and himself.
Before getting in, she lugged the plastic bag to the big truck and passed it to James and Fallon. Jake was seated and ready.
“Seriously Hootch, someone should give you a tic-tac, you’ve got bad breath and you smell like... uh, a dog,” Jake said quietly to him while scratching him under the chin. Hootch was obviously enjoying the attention Jake was showering on him, and moved even closer to breathe even more on Jake. Jake tried to gently push the smelly dog away, but Hootch would not have it. He wanted to sit almost right on top of Jake and he was going to have his way.
“Now, now, Hootch. The only person who should snuggle up to big ‘ol Jakie-poo here is me! Back off!” Jo said as she got into the truck. “What do you feel like listening to, Jakie-poo? I’ve handed food to the heathens, so they shouldn’t kill each other just yet.”
“Could you not call me that anymore? I hate it,” Jake said gruffly. He dared not look at her, knowing that he had hurt her feelings. The name was affectionate and he did not want to get any closer to her.
“Uh, yeah, okay, whatever. Jake. What would you like to listen to? We’ll be driving with only pit-stops for the next twelve hours, so let’s just let my Ipod shuffle the tunes, shall we?” she said tersely.
“Okay” was Jake’s only response. Jo turned down the volume to an acceptable level which did not make him want to strangle her and they set off behind the U-haul truck, travelling at a decent speed. It was going to be a really long trip and now that he had successfully hurt her feelings it was going to be a long and painful trip.
Keep reading Reading Raynes! Thanks for all the support so far, much love! Am jones-ing to write a horror flash-fiction piece, so chapter 16 is going to have to wait, okay? Leave me a comment, damn you.
DISCLAIMER: This is a fictional story and serves with all intentions and purposes for entertaiment. Any concept, idea or person mentioned in the story of The Builder is completely fictional. Any similarities, apart from scientific facts and historical events, are purely unintentional.
Monday 9 August 2010
The Party
Yes, this time I'm delivering on time. Chapter 14, served with veggies. Tell your friends. Missed a chapter or two? Catch up here: Chapter 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13
With so little time left to the “big test” in Nevada, Jake wondered how a birthday party got thrown into the mix – that and for the life of him, he could not figure out what a “propulsion system” for guinea pigs was. His mind conjured images of the poor animal being flung into the air and he hoped he was not right.
He spent the afternoon going over the pay-load carrier and mount, proud of himself. In such a short time, he had gone from Mr. Jake Foster to The Builder. In forty short days, he had given up the shop, spied on a crazy lady, learned multiple new skills, built a nuclear weapons delivery system, enlightened himself to the conspiracies of the supposed great Americans, became part of a team and he could not be happier.
Based on what he knew so far, he was sure things were only going to get more exciting – more dangerous and mysterious, the trip to Nevada would be anything but dull. And then there was Jo. Something about her sent ripples of anticipation through him – or was that fear? She was in a class of her own. Bordering on insane, she was brilliant, beautiful and had a magnetic personality to boot. Never in his life had he met such a strange character. Fallon came in a close second, with his Sun Tzu obsession and warped sense of logic.
James somehow struck him as the most normal of the lot, although now that he knew James had been keeping his life so secret, it was an almost sure thing that Jake did not know everything he needed about his kid brother. He heard Fallon say once, “A general who never reveals his battle plan and keeps his enemies and soldiers guessing will be victorious.” James was, after all, the “general” of the team and Jake knew that James would keep everyone guessing – right to the very end.
The sun was setting, and Jake knew everyone was anxious and ready to go for Jaimie’s birthday party. He could not believe Fallon had a gift for Jaimie. Even James - pan-faced as ever, had a gift. Jo tried to look as normal as she possibly could, he noted that much. She had on what she called “regular-people-jeans” and a thin sweater, with a benign pair of Chuck Taylor’s. Although, she could never possibly look like a normal person, what with the untameable hair, her shocking height and a body that could cause spontaneous nose-bleeds in the male species.
“Ready to go? I can’t wait. I haven’t had birthday cake since I was like, two inches shorter!” Jo squealed.
“She’s trying to tell you that she was born a monster,” James said quickly.
“Uh, yeah. Where’s your gift, Jo? What happened to Bradley?” Jake said, eyes searching for a cross-eyed mutant guinea pig.
“You’ll see. Brad’s waiting in the car,” Jo said. “Get out of the house and into the car, ya’ll! We’re going for cake! Jaimie turns five just once! Fallon, try to smile. You want to consider shaving that awful moustache off before we go? You look like a convict with an IQ of seventy.”
“Shut up. Chicks love the ‘stache. And Jaimie’ll love my gift! I got her a calculator!” Fallon said excitedly.
“Seriously? You got a calculator for a five year-old girl?” James said. “I got her an Etch-a-Sketch. Now that’s a cool, smart gift. What’d you get her, Jake?”
“I, uh... I got her a soft toy. It’s a llama,” Jake replied, embarrassed.
“A llama? Seriously? More like a L-L-L-Lame-ah!” Fallon snickered, earning himself a swat on the butt from Jo.
When they got in the car and shut the doors, the pungent odour of Bradley, Jo’s gift to Jaimie, wafted to the front. Muttering curses and pinching their noses, the four of them set off, The Builder, The Melon Felon and the two geniuses – for a birthday party.
When they arrived at Jordi’s house, they rushed to wish Jaimie for her birthday and give her their gifts. All except Jo – she was waiting for the right moment to give Jaimie her gift, and by the looks of it, Jo’s “propulsion system” was heavy. Jo had placed Bradley in a small cage in the kitchen, while she left the ‘real’ cage in the Hummer.
The party was truly an experience for Fallon, Jake figured. While chatting with Chris over the barbeque stand, Jake watched Fallon try to chat up almost every female in sight – young and old alike. He played with the kids and showed them cool tricks with his cool phone-cum-sat nav system, he helped old ladies to their seats and winked flirtatiously at Jordi’s single friends. Fallon was quite the ladies’ man. James holed himself at the corner of the yard, nursing a warm beer and not interacting much with the party-goers.
Jo was in the house, helping Jordi with the food and drinks. Jake wanted to see her, but thought it would be too much if he went into the house to find her. The party was in full swing and kids were laughing, screaming and running around, balloons were popping, men were nodding at each other in conversation, girls were giggling over Fallon’s moustache and then all of a sudden – a blow horn sounded, the kind one would get at a football game.
The crowd was stunned into silence, kids stopped playing, a baby or two burst out into laughter at the sound, and Jordi emerged from the house with a huge cake in her hands. People started to cheer and clap, kids became more excited than they were before – if that was even possible. Jo followed close behind Jordi, in case she dropped the cake, or the candles went out before they made it to the food table in the yard.
Everyone readied themselves and they sang to Jaimie, who was now shaking with excitement in anticipation of blowing out all the candles on the cake. After the candles were blown out and the cake cut and distributed to the small people who had to keep themselves from sticking their fingers into the cake, Jordi announced that it was gift time.
Everyone settled down to watch Jaimie open her gifts, one by one. Adults found the whole event incredibly tiresome, but they stood and watched, mostly because their wives forced them to do so. Fallon’s gift was the first to be opened; the look of confusion on Jaimie’s face was truly priceless. James’ gift was exciting, and other kids could not wait to sketch out hideous pictures of what they thought were horses. Jaimie hugged Jake’s llama with so much love that it looked like it might burst, and Jake knew it was worth all the ribbing he had received.
The rest of the gifts were opened, welcomed by gasps of awe from kids, and bored “Ooohs” and “Ahhhs” from parents. When the last of the gifts were opened, Jo emerged from the back with a small wooden box, which really looked like a jewellery box. Placing it on the ground and telling everyone to move aside, she pulled out a remote and pressed a button.
To everyone’s surprise, the small wooden box opened upwards and outwards, like a scene from a sci-fi movie, to a massive four feet wide and three feet high cage, with a cushy-looking mini bed and shelter, feeding and water bottle slots, a play area for with wood shavings, a big, round exercise wheel, an odd-looking contraption in the corner and a huge, plump cushion in the opposing corner. Amidst shocked mutterings from the adults, kids went wild, almost as though they knew what they were looking at.
It was the contraption in the corner that was the winner, Jake knew. It had to be the elusive “propulsion system”. Jo then produced the foul-smelling guinea pig royalty from under her shirt, bent down and planted a big wet kiss on Jaimie’s cheek, wishing her happy birthday and telling her never to grow up. She introduced Bradley Fluffybottom the Third to everyone, and then placed him in his fancy suite.
“Watch this, Jaimie! Kids! Get over here, you have to see this!” Jo said excitedly. Everyone gathered around to watch Bradley, a brown and white, bug-eyed and grossly over-weight guinea pig search around his new home, nose-twitching. Bradley was heading towards the odd contraption, which appeared to be a cushioned launch pad. As he slowly idled towards it, Jake worried that the whole thing might turn into a gruesome horror movie, with the “propulsion system” morphing into a torture device.
Once the fat-bottomed guinea pig clambered onto the launch pad, Jo shushed everyone. She moved towards the corner where the launch pad was located and pulled out a wooden lever from the wall of the cage.
“Ready? It’s a very primitive mechanism, so Chris’ll have no problem keeping it well oiled and functional,” Jo stated. Kids cheered and shouted, some were scared and peeked through their fingers. She wound the lever and clicked the launching button. The crowd went silent and Bradley was sent soaring, little paws moving like he was swimming, eyes bugged even more than ever. He rose till about two feet in the air, not even close enough to the roof of the cage and landed with a soft “plop” on the cushion. Completely unfazed by his recent flight, Bradley climbed off the cushion and swiftly went to his food bowl. The crowd broke silence and began to cheer.
“When-I-say-jump-you-say-how-high!” Jo sang, off key. “Get it?! G-Force? Like-a-bird-like-a-plane!”
It was at that exact moment Jake knew he was falling, hopelessly, for the psychotic doctor.
You like? Tell your friends! Also, I have sketches and ideas for how all these weird things I think of should look. Anyone care to be my illustrator? You'll have complete ownership of all the illustrations and I'm sure we can cut a deal if we make any money from The Builder. Anyone? Please leave a comment, I'm writing blind here - I don't know if anyone is actually even enjoying it thus far. Much love to all!
With so little time left to the “big test” in Nevada, Jake wondered how a birthday party got thrown into the mix – that and for the life of him, he could not figure out what a “propulsion system” for guinea pigs was. His mind conjured images of the poor animal being flung into the air and he hoped he was not right.
He spent the afternoon going over the pay-load carrier and mount, proud of himself. In such a short time, he had gone from Mr. Jake Foster to The Builder. In forty short days, he had given up the shop, spied on a crazy lady, learned multiple new skills, built a nuclear weapons delivery system, enlightened himself to the conspiracies of the supposed great Americans, became part of a team and he could not be happier.
Based on what he knew so far, he was sure things were only going to get more exciting – more dangerous and mysterious, the trip to Nevada would be anything but dull. And then there was Jo. Something about her sent ripples of anticipation through him – or was that fear? She was in a class of her own. Bordering on insane, she was brilliant, beautiful and had a magnetic personality to boot. Never in his life had he met such a strange character. Fallon came in a close second, with his Sun Tzu obsession and warped sense of logic.
James somehow struck him as the most normal of the lot, although now that he knew James had been keeping his life so secret, it was an almost sure thing that Jake did not know everything he needed about his kid brother. He heard Fallon say once, “A general who never reveals his battle plan and keeps his enemies and soldiers guessing will be victorious.” James was, after all, the “general” of the team and Jake knew that James would keep everyone guessing – right to the very end.
The sun was setting, and Jake knew everyone was anxious and ready to go for Jaimie’s birthday party. He could not believe Fallon had a gift for Jaimie. Even James - pan-faced as ever, had a gift. Jo tried to look as normal as she possibly could, he noted that much. She had on what she called “regular-people-jeans” and a thin sweater, with a benign pair of Chuck Taylor’s. Although, she could never possibly look like a normal person, what with the untameable hair, her shocking height and a body that could cause spontaneous nose-bleeds in the male species.
“Ready to go? I can’t wait. I haven’t had birthday cake since I was like, two inches shorter!” Jo squealed.
“She’s trying to tell you that she was born a monster,” James said quickly.
“Uh, yeah. Where’s your gift, Jo? What happened to Bradley?” Jake said, eyes searching for a cross-eyed mutant guinea pig.
“You’ll see. Brad’s waiting in the car,” Jo said. “Get out of the house and into the car, ya’ll! We’re going for cake! Jaimie turns five just once! Fallon, try to smile. You want to consider shaving that awful moustache off before we go? You look like a convict with an IQ of seventy.”
“Shut up. Chicks love the ‘stache. And Jaimie’ll love my gift! I got her a calculator!” Fallon said excitedly.
“Seriously? You got a calculator for a five year-old girl?” James said. “I got her an Etch-a-Sketch. Now that’s a cool, smart gift. What’d you get her, Jake?”
“I, uh... I got her a soft toy. It’s a llama,” Jake replied, embarrassed.
“A llama? Seriously? More like a L-L-L-Lame-ah!” Fallon snickered, earning himself a swat on the butt from Jo.
When they got in the car and shut the doors, the pungent odour of Bradley, Jo’s gift to Jaimie, wafted to the front. Muttering curses and pinching their noses, the four of them set off, The Builder, The Melon Felon and the two geniuses – for a birthday party.
When they arrived at Jordi’s house, they rushed to wish Jaimie for her birthday and give her their gifts. All except Jo – she was waiting for the right moment to give Jaimie her gift, and by the looks of it, Jo’s “propulsion system” was heavy. Jo had placed Bradley in a small cage in the kitchen, while she left the ‘real’ cage in the Hummer.
The party was truly an experience for Fallon, Jake figured. While chatting with Chris over the barbeque stand, Jake watched Fallon try to chat up almost every female in sight – young and old alike. He played with the kids and showed them cool tricks with his cool phone-cum-sat nav system, he helped old ladies to their seats and winked flirtatiously at Jordi’s single friends. Fallon was quite the ladies’ man. James holed himself at the corner of the yard, nursing a warm beer and not interacting much with the party-goers.
Jo was in the house, helping Jordi with the food and drinks. Jake wanted to see her, but thought it would be too much if he went into the house to find her. The party was in full swing and kids were laughing, screaming and running around, balloons were popping, men were nodding at each other in conversation, girls were giggling over Fallon’s moustache and then all of a sudden – a blow horn sounded, the kind one would get at a football game.
The crowd was stunned into silence, kids stopped playing, a baby or two burst out into laughter at the sound, and Jordi emerged from the house with a huge cake in her hands. People started to cheer and clap, kids became more excited than they were before – if that was even possible. Jo followed close behind Jordi, in case she dropped the cake, or the candles went out before they made it to the food table in the yard.
Everyone readied themselves and they sang to Jaimie, who was now shaking with excitement in anticipation of blowing out all the candles on the cake. After the candles were blown out and the cake cut and distributed to the small people who had to keep themselves from sticking their fingers into the cake, Jordi announced that it was gift time.
Everyone settled down to watch Jaimie open her gifts, one by one. Adults found the whole event incredibly tiresome, but they stood and watched, mostly because their wives forced them to do so. Fallon’s gift was the first to be opened; the look of confusion on Jaimie’s face was truly priceless. James’ gift was exciting, and other kids could not wait to sketch out hideous pictures of what they thought were horses. Jaimie hugged Jake’s llama with so much love that it looked like it might burst, and Jake knew it was worth all the ribbing he had received.
The rest of the gifts were opened, welcomed by gasps of awe from kids, and bored “Ooohs” and “Ahhhs” from parents. When the last of the gifts were opened, Jo emerged from the back with a small wooden box, which really looked like a jewellery box. Placing it on the ground and telling everyone to move aside, she pulled out a remote and pressed a button.
To everyone’s surprise, the small wooden box opened upwards and outwards, like a scene from a sci-fi movie, to a massive four feet wide and three feet high cage, with a cushy-looking mini bed and shelter, feeding and water bottle slots, a play area for with wood shavings, a big, round exercise wheel, an odd-looking contraption in the corner and a huge, plump cushion in the opposing corner. Amidst shocked mutterings from the adults, kids went wild, almost as though they knew what they were looking at.
It was the contraption in the corner that was the winner, Jake knew. It had to be the elusive “propulsion system”. Jo then produced the foul-smelling guinea pig royalty from under her shirt, bent down and planted a big wet kiss on Jaimie’s cheek, wishing her happy birthday and telling her never to grow up. She introduced Bradley Fluffybottom the Third to everyone, and then placed him in his fancy suite.
“Watch this, Jaimie! Kids! Get over here, you have to see this!” Jo said excitedly. Everyone gathered around to watch Bradley, a brown and white, bug-eyed and grossly over-weight guinea pig search around his new home, nose-twitching. Bradley was heading towards the odd contraption, which appeared to be a cushioned launch pad. As he slowly idled towards it, Jake worried that the whole thing might turn into a gruesome horror movie, with the “propulsion system” morphing into a torture device.
Once the fat-bottomed guinea pig clambered onto the launch pad, Jo shushed everyone. She moved towards the corner where the launch pad was located and pulled out a wooden lever from the wall of the cage.
“Ready? It’s a very primitive mechanism, so Chris’ll have no problem keeping it well oiled and functional,” Jo stated. Kids cheered and shouted, some were scared and peeked through their fingers. She wound the lever and clicked the launching button. The crowd went silent and Bradley was sent soaring, little paws moving like he was swimming, eyes bugged even more than ever. He rose till about two feet in the air, not even close enough to the roof of the cage and landed with a soft “plop” on the cushion. Completely unfazed by his recent flight, Bradley climbed off the cushion and swiftly went to his food bowl. The crowd broke silence and began to cheer.
“When-I-say-jump-you-say-how-high!” Jo sang, off key. “Get it?! G-Force? Like-a-bird-like-a-plane!”
It was at that exact moment Jake knew he was falling, hopelessly, for the psychotic doctor.
You like? Tell your friends! Also, I have sketches and ideas for how all these weird things I think of should look. Anyone care to be my illustrator? You'll have complete ownership of all the illustrations and I'm sure we can cut a deal if we make any money from The Builder. Anyone? Please leave a comment, I'm writing blind here - I don't know if anyone is actually even enjoying it thus far. Much love to all!
Thursday 5 August 2010
The Carrot
Sorry for the delay folks! Chapter 13 served up with truffle oil, I tells yas! I had to quit my job, meet uni application deadlines and write statements of intent!
Missed a chapter or two? Read them here! Chapter 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12. To the folks at the hospital (you know who you are *wink wink) thanks for the support and much love!
“But, but, but what? Dynaco is all-American. It’s really is owned by the ‘Spooks’. Which is why they’ll be the ones to test it! And then Dynaco will commission it. Easy-peasy, no problemmo, right?” Fallon asked, sincerely trying to get Jake to understand the whole issue. “You still look confused. What’s the problem now?
“What I don’t understand is, why nuke land and then claim it? Human beings can’t survive on that kind of land, let alone animals and plants and stuff!” Jake groused.
“That’s what you think, Builder. All land becomes viable, with time. It’s been decades since Chernobyl, not centuries. Dynaco plans on surviving for centuries. You think Pripyat is no-man’s land? Bullshit. The meltdown happened in 1986, you think that land belongs to the Ukrainians? You think it won’t be worth something a hundred years from now? Bullshit. It’s no longer theirs. I’ll buy you a ticket. Subtle signs will tell you that the big town belongs to Dynaco. Don’t ever assume human beings know jack about nuclear physics. We don’t know any of the effects.”
“Exactly! If we don’t know what the long-term effects are, why the hell would we want land that’s totally dead?” Jake pressed, he was irritated.
“You don’t understand what’s important to the continuation of the species, Jake. Really. So what if we have to wait a couple of centuries? In fifty years or so, there’ll be ways of nuclear fall-out management, land neutralization and complete naturalization. Sure, life will feel a little ‘plastic’ but it’s L-A-N-D! Now, let me tell you something, Sun Tzu said ‘a good fighter will be terrible in his onset, and prompt with his decision’. Do you get it? God, you’re stupid.”
“Stop insulting me and explain yourself. I’m no Confucius. Not deep enough to understand your crap,” Jake roared.
“This is the beginning of the battle for Dynaco. Like in the movies, the little boy who’s being beaten by bullies will fall to the ground. Dynaco has fallen to the ground. The little boy is terrible in his onset, Dynaco is terrible in its onset. All of a sudden, the little boy gets up and beats the crap out of the bullies, with swift, sharp blows – knocking them out. An inspirational story for all, mothers and their children leave the cinema feeling good. Dynaco will wait for the right moment to deliver a swift, sharp blow – and it’ll become the winner,” the Melon Felon said. “And, as far as Confucius is concerned, he said ‘if I fight, I conquer’,” Fallon said, fists raised playfully.
Raising an eyebrow at that last statement, Jake laughed to himself. Fallon really had a warped sense of logic, but he was brilliant and understood far more about the world than anyone else. He was touched that Fallon actually took the time to explain everything to him. Filled with trepidation for the upcoming DOD test in Nevada, Jake resigned himself to the basement for the rest of the night but not before hitting Fallon with a parting shot of his own.
“Thanks Fallon. I really appreciate you explaining everything to me. Tomorrow we’ll talk about who’s going to be blamed for all this.”
“Hah. That’s something you’ll have to figure out on your own, Builder. No one knows who Dynaco is going to frame. You have to admit though; the guys in Dynaco are brilliant. Who would think their headquarters weren’t on American soil? These evil scientists are in Prague! Walking across the Charles Bridge all the time, anytime. No one knows a damn thing about people like us. Don’t bother thanking me, country boy,” Fallon said, before turning back to his desk and picking up the nuts and wires that he had dropped.
***
He must have fallen asleep in the basement. Pins and needles in his left leg and a complete lack of sensation in his left arm were telling signs. Stretching and trying to regain functionality, he looked at the clock. It was almost nine in the morning. On a normal day, he would be opening the shop, preparing the cash register and dusting the floor mats. Instead, he was sleeping on a stool, in a hot, muggy workshop. He went upstairs to find the three geniuses having breakfast, if pizza could be considered breakfast.
“Hey Jakie-poo! You look sleepy! And tasty! Mmmm...” Jo said as she bit into a steaming slice of what looked like a pepperoni with extra cheese. It was at that exact moment that he looked at her, and then had to do a double-take. She was wearing a carrot-suit. A bright orange, well, carrot suit. Where her hair was supposed to be, was a mass of green ‘sprouts’ and she wore white leggings to go with it. Her arms and head were bare, and she had painted her nails bright orange and completed the absurd outfit with her staple orange heels. He had to be hallucinating. He figured sleeping in the wrong position could cause brain damage too.
“Jo, you’re a pervert. Why don’t you find yourself a boyfriend so you can put us all out of our misery? You’re a menace!” James said, flinging a slice of pizza onto her plate. “Hey Jake, grab a seat, there are two more boxes. If you don’t eat some of it, Hootch will.”
Jake moved silently to the table and then realised he needed coffee if he were expected to suffer the company of the “Three Wise Men”.... or “Two Wise Guys and one Wise Woman” or whatever. He was still groggy. “Guys... uh, is it just me or is Jo wearing a carrot-suit? Am I dreaming?”
“Oh, I knew you’d dream of me, Jakie-poo. I’m so flattered!” Jo exclaimed excitedly, earning herself dirty glares from everyone at the table. “Fine, fine, fine. Stop being such a tight-arse Jake, I’m volunteering at the veggie-market. Figured it would be good to look the part, you know?”
“No – I don’t. Honestly, I don’t,” Jake said, still eyeing her suspiciously, as though he was not convinced that it really was not a dream.
“Neither do we,” Fallon said, ignoring Jo. “Okay guys, three days to the test. The DOD is bringing its own bomb, so we’re good to go, right Jake? I checked out the payload casing and the mount, it’s almost per-fucking-fect. All we need now is for James here to finish up with the launching and homing software.”
“Oh my god! Road trip! I can’t wait! Jakie-poo, you, me and Hootch will take Magdalene. You get to ride up front with me! Are you excited?” Jo said, waggling her eyebrows at him.
Running his hands through his hair, “Uh. And how are we going to transport the payload carrier?”
“The U-Haul truck parked out there? Did you forget that’s what I came here with? Dipshit,” Fallon said, as he continued to wolf down pizza slices like a trashcan.
“Does that mean I have to ride with The Melon? Fuck that! I’m coming with you guys! The dog can go with Fallon, their breaths smell the same,” James said, feeling put out.
“Jamesie, Jakie-poo and I need our quiet time. Now, no more arguments. I have to go to work. And boys, it’s Jaimie’s birthday today. Jordi invited us – though only conditionally! Behave yourselves and we might just get an invitation to her tea-party. I bought her a guinea pig for her birthday. His name is Bradley,” Jo cut in.
“Bradley?” Jake said, incredulously.
“Yes, Bradley Fluffybottom the Third. He’s royalty. And wait till you see the awesome propulsion system I designed for his cage,” Jo piped excitedly. Jake knew that Jo sincerely liked Jaimie. He suspected that Jaimie may be a little too mature for Jo, though.
“Guys, we’re going to a party! I haven’t been to a party in, like, forever! How old is she and can I bring a gift?” Fallon asked. Now that was a surprise for Jake. Fallon was interested, and Jake figured Fallon was not invited to very many parties anyway.
They ate the rest of their breakfast in silence, the occasional rude word spilling from either Fallon’s mouth or Jo’s. Jake was actually beginning to feel like part of a team, like he belonged with them. Never in his life had he expected to end up with a group of rude social misfits and enjoy their company. He particularly liked one of the social misfits. The one dressed like a carrot.
I recently realised that I can never post up new chapters when I promise to do so. So I won't announce when they'll be posted, you'll just have to constantly check, heh.
Missed a chapter or two? Read them here! Chapter 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12. To the folks at the hospital (you know who you are *wink wink) thanks for the support and much love!
“But, but, but what? Dynaco is all-American. It’s really is owned by the ‘Spooks’. Which is why they’ll be the ones to test it! And then Dynaco will commission it. Easy-peasy, no problemmo, right?” Fallon asked, sincerely trying to get Jake to understand the whole issue. “You still look confused. What’s the problem now?
“What I don’t understand is, why nuke land and then claim it? Human beings can’t survive on that kind of land, let alone animals and plants and stuff!” Jake groused.
“That’s what you think, Builder. All land becomes viable, with time. It’s been decades since Chernobyl, not centuries. Dynaco plans on surviving for centuries. You think Pripyat is no-man’s land? Bullshit. The meltdown happened in 1986, you think that land belongs to the Ukrainians? You think it won’t be worth something a hundred years from now? Bullshit. It’s no longer theirs. I’ll buy you a ticket. Subtle signs will tell you that the big town belongs to Dynaco. Don’t ever assume human beings know jack about nuclear physics. We don’t know any of the effects.”
“Exactly! If we don’t know what the long-term effects are, why the hell would we want land that’s totally dead?” Jake pressed, he was irritated.
“You don’t understand what’s important to the continuation of the species, Jake. Really. So what if we have to wait a couple of centuries? In fifty years or so, there’ll be ways of nuclear fall-out management, land neutralization and complete naturalization. Sure, life will feel a little ‘plastic’ but it’s L-A-N-D! Now, let me tell you something, Sun Tzu said ‘a good fighter will be terrible in his onset, and prompt with his decision’. Do you get it? God, you’re stupid.”
“Stop insulting me and explain yourself. I’m no Confucius. Not deep enough to understand your crap,” Jake roared.
“This is the beginning of the battle for Dynaco. Like in the movies, the little boy who’s being beaten by bullies will fall to the ground. Dynaco has fallen to the ground. The little boy is terrible in his onset, Dynaco is terrible in its onset. All of a sudden, the little boy gets up and beats the crap out of the bullies, with swift, sharp blows – knocking them out. An inspirational story for all, mothers and their children leave the cinema feeling good. Dynaco will wait for the right moment to deliver a swift, sharp blow – and it’ll become the winner,” the Melon Felon said. “And, as far as Confucius is concerned, he said ‘if I fight, I conquer’,” Fallon said, fists raised playfully.
Raising an eyebrow at that last statement, Jake laughed to himself. Fallon really had a warped sense of logic, but he was brilliant and understood far more about the world than anyone else. He was touched that Fallon actually took the time to explain everything to him. Filled with trepidation for the upcoming DOD test in Nevada, Jake resigned himself to the basement for the rest of the night but not before hitting Fallon with a parting shot of his own.
“Thanks Fallon. I really appreciate you explaining everything to me. Tomorrow we’ll talk about who’s going to be blamed for all this.”
“Hah. That’s something you’ll have to figure out on your own, Builder. No one knows who Dynaco is going to frame. You have to admit though; the guys in Dynaco are brilliant. Who would think their headquarters weren’t on American soil? These evil scientists are in Prague! Walking across the Charles Bridge all the time, anytime. No one knows a damn thing about people like us. Don’t bother thanking me, country boy,” Fallon said, before turning back to his desk and picking up the nuts and wires that he had dropped.
***
He must have fallen asleep in the basement. Pins and needles in his left leg and a complete lack of sensation in his left arm were telling signs. Stretching and trying to regain functionality, he looked at the clock. It was almost nine in the morning. On a normal day, he would be opening the shop, preparing the cash register and dusting the floor mats. Instead, he was sleeping on a stool, in a hot, muggy workshop. He went upstairs to find the three geniuses having breakfast, if pizza could be considered breakfast.
“Hey Jakie-poo! You look sleepy! And tasty! Mmmm...” Jo said as she bit into a steaming slice of what looked like a pepperoni with extra cheese. It was at that exact moment that he looked at her, and then had to do a double-take. She was wearing a carrot-suit. A bright orange, well, carrot suit. Where her hair was supposed to be, was a mass of green ‘sprouts’ and she wore white leggings to go with it. Her arms and head were bare, and she had painted her nails bright orange and completed the absurd outfit with her staple orange heels. He had to be hallucinating. He figured sleeping in the wrong position could cause brain damage too.
“Jo, you’re a pervert. Why don’t you find yourself a boyfriend so you can put us all out of our misery? You’re a menace!” James said, flinging a slice of pizza onto her plate. “Hey Jake, grab a seat, there are two more boxes. If you don’t eat some of it, Hootch will.”
Jake moved silently to the table and then realised he needed coffee if he were expected to suffer the company of the “Three Wise Men”.... or “Two Wise Guys and one Wise Woman” or whatever. He was still groggy. “Guys... uh, is it just me or is Jo wearing a carrot-suit? Am I dreaming?”
“Oh, I knew you’d dream of me, Jakie-poo. I’m so flattered!” Jo exclaimed excitedly, earning herself dirty glares from everyone at the table. “Fine, fine, fine. Stop being such a tight-arse Jake, I’m volunteering at the veggie-market. Figured it would be good to look the part, you know?”
“No – I don’t. Honestly, I don’t,” Jake said, still eyeing her suspiciously, as though he was not convinced that it really was not a dream.
“Neither do we,” Fallon said, ignoring Jo. “Okay guys, three days to the test. The DOD is bringing its own bomb, so we’re good to go, right Jake? I checked out the payload casing and the mount, it’s almost per-fucking-fect. All we need now is for James here to finish up with the launching and homing software.”
“Oh my god! Road trip! I can’t wait! Jakie-poo, you, me and Hootch will take Magdalene. You get to ride up front with me! Are you excited?” Jo said, waggling her eyebrows at him.
Running his hands through his hair, “Uh. And how are we going to transport the payload carrier?”
“The U-Haul truck parked out there? Did you forget that’s what I came here with? Dipshit,” Fallon said, as he continued to wolf down pizza slices like a trashcan.
“Does that mean I have to ride with The Melon? Fuck that! I’m coming with you guys! The dog can go with Fallon, their breaths smell the same,” James said, feeling put out.
“Jamesie, Jakie-poo and I need our quiet time. Now, no more arguments. I have to go to work. And boys, it’s Jaimie’s birthday today. Jordi invited us – though only conditionally! Behave yourselves and we might just get an invitation to her tea-party. I bought her a guinea pig for her birthday. His name is Bradley,” Jo cut in.
“Bradley?” Jake said, incredulously.
“Yes, Bradley Fluffybottom the Third. He’s royalty. And wait till you see the awesome propulsion system I designed for his cage,” Jo piped excitedly. Jake knew that Jo sincerely liked Jaimie. He suspected that Jaimie may be a little too mature for Jo, though.
“Guys, we’re going to a party! I haven’t been to a party in, like, forever! How old is she and can I bring a gift?” Fallon asked. Now that was a surprise for Jake. Fallon was interested, and Jake figured Fallon was not invited to very many parties anyway.
They ate the rest of their breakfast in silence, the occasional rude word spilling from either Fallon’s mouth or Jo’s. Jake was actually beginning to feel like part of a team, like he belonged with them. Never in his life had he expected to end up with a group of rude social misfits and enjoy their company. He particularly liked one of the social misfits. The one dressed like a carrot.
I recently realised that I can never post up new chapters when I promise to do so. So I won't announce when they'll be posted, you'll just have to constantly check, heh.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)