Thursday, February 24, 2011
Remnants 21 - Things I Wrote for Class but Never Put up Here until Now (Thing 2: Notecard Freewrite?)
At some point we were handed note cards, and on one side, it looks like we were supposed to just write whatever we wanted. Either that or it just seems that way because I always just write whatever I want. Random side note: when I was writing my short story, I had no idea that I had used the name Martin in this. By the way, these things aren't going up here in any particular order.
Remnants 20 - Things I Wrote for Class but Never Put up Here until Now (Thing 1: Looking for Something Lost)
Back to square one. This is the piece I was talking about in Remnants 1. As this series' title says, I wrote these things for class and I'm putting them up now, but I'm leaving them unrevised.
Saturday, February 5, 2011
Splatter 1 - Daisy and the Green Queen of Bling (choice dreamer colet)
(for the parent story of this one, see Mix 7)
It was a dark and stormy night.
Wednesday, February 2, 2011
Remnants 19 - epic music is epic
I was literally grinning beyond voluntary control as I was listened to this song for the first time (which, for the record, was around 11:19 on January 31, 2011)
in the land of twilight, under the moon
written and composed by Kajiura Yuki
vocals by FictionJunction members Yuriko Kaida, Kaori, Keiko, and Wakana
Seriously, after every time I listen to this song, it stays in my head for at least a few hours. Or maybe it just seems that way because I like it so much that I listen to it more than once in a few hours. And while I'm listening to it I suddenly feel like I have super powers. But my mind is made clear enough to know that I actually don't (if it didn't clear my mind, I'd have been in limbo the first time I listened to it, by rule of 11:00 fail). So it's not like a drug or an alternate dimension or anything, unlike Life Balance (again, more on that later). It's just epic. And I just started 5 sentences with conjunctions, probably because I'm too spellbound by this song to even care.
in the land of twilight, under the moon
written and composed by Kajiura Yuki
vocals by FictionJunction members Yuriko Kaida, Kaori, Keiko, and Wakana
Seriously, after every time I listen to this song, it stays in my head for at least a few hours. Or maybe it just seems that way because I like it so much that I listen to it more than once in a few hours. And while I'm listening to it I suddenly feel like I have super powers. But my mind is made clear enough to know that I actually don't (if it didn't clear my mind, I'd have been in limbo the first time I listened to it, by rule of 11:00 fail). So it's not like a drug or an alternate dimension or anything, unlike Life Balance (again, more on that later). It's just epic. And I just started 5 sentences with conjunctions, probably because I'm too spellbound by this song to even care.
Monday, January 31, 2011
Remnants 18 - Late-night Limbo: Part 5 (Invasion of Limbo)
I've been suspecting this rare, specialized version of limbo for quite some time now, and I finally encountered it again, confirming its existence.
Wednesday, January 26, 2011
Short Story (v2) - The Hunger
It was one of those sweltering summer days where the early evening sky was that kind of fiery palette that was never the same red in any two spots, that kind of fiery palette made up of all the colors of a burning flame bundled into a single, fiery palette. Jonathan was facing the sun, where the light of day was slowly but surely disappearing from his sight. That is to say, his body was facing the sun - his face was pointed toward the ground, his unusually frightened eyes fixed pathetically at the tips of the glamorous red stilettos covering Carol's flawless feet.
Jonathan was on his knees in the deep red shadow of The Enchantress, The Witch, the woman whose absolute beauty could ensnare any and all men ignorant enough to disregard the devastatingly cruel nature of her black soul. Around the two of them, the people who were bustling around the square just moments ago had all stopped dead in their tracks, fascinated by the scene playing out in their midst. Jonathan, The Troll, The Beefy Jerk, the man whose absolute strength should have been able to easily dominated any and all women worthy of his princely looks, had just lost. There had never been a time when Jonathan had stooped this low for anyone, but even since his high school days he had tried everything to get Carol to like him. There had never been a time when Jonathan had stooped this low for anyone, but even begging didn't work. There had never been a time when Jonathan had stooped this low for anyone, but he had to do it. There had never been a time when Jonathan had stooped this low for anyone, but he had at last resorted to using his absolute strength to dominate the only woman worthy of his princely looks: Carol.
The onlookers started whispering excitedly amongst themselves. Hey look, it's The Beefy Jerk. Wait, that's Jonathan? Yeah, I couldn't tell; he looks so much smaller on the ground like that. How did he even end up like that? What did he do? What did she do? Wonder if anyone's gonna do something about it. Psh, as if; he deserves it, anyway. Heh, yeah, you're right. Besides, who knows what she'd do if you tried, after that...
Jonathan, upon hearing the townspeople's gossip, managed to tear his eyes from those glamorous red stilettos to look around him. Against the scarlet light of the sunset he saw towering black figures leaning into each other's ears, dark reflections of a people now turned against him. With each passing second he could feel their murky crimson shadows creeping to engulf him.
His eyes turned again to look for the spotless white stilettos Carol had been wearing that day, but all he saw was the fading light of the sun. Jonathan toppled over sideways, defeated and dazed. Eyes now level with the ground, he noticed that his own shadow, a kind of blood red like the color those stilettos had turned at sunset, was deserting him, rushing out from his body to meld with the black shadows of the townspeople.
Jonathan didn't move from that spot, even after the sun disappeared. He kept staring at his shadow, now black under the bluish glow of the fluorescent street lights. He was defeated; there was nothing he could do but rot away, unsuccessful in every way. He took one last look at the cruel world around him, now a light gray, colorless version of the world he once knew, and then closed his eyes.
It must have been a dream, and a fairly terrible one at that. Jonathan opened his eyes, then bolted upright with an absolute strength that shattered the roof of the wooden box where he had been sleeping for the past few months. Around him were the boxes housing his grandparents and their parents, in which they were all still resting peacefully. He gave a nondescript grunt, then made his way to the front door; he was hungry.
It was one of those dreary, wintry days where the morning sky was that kind of light gray that evenly spread the buttery sunshine over everything, that kind of light gray that made everything that kind of light gray. Jonathan trudged through the snow that had built up on the sidewalk overnight, dragging one foot after the other, as he did every day. He left behind him two evenly-spaced channels as if he were laying down a new branch for the railroad that ran through the town, one that would take people straight to the town store.
Along the way, Jonathan passed by a line of light gray, veteran automobiles, ones that knew how to tough out the harsh winters, ones that knew from one too many experiences the kinds of things that could happen out there if one got careless. In the light gray chrome lining on the cars shone distorted reflections of Jonathan’s already distorted figure. He was slightly hunched, so his head stuck out forward from his shoulders. He wore a pair of glasses whose lenses were always diffusely reflecting the light gray sunlight because they were always fogged over as a byproduct of the miasma streaming from his mouth, which was always open at least wide enough for his light gray teeth to be constantly bared. Over the light gray skin of his shoulders was a thin, light gray shirt draped a little too loosely for the season. This shirt was covered by a worn, light gray trench coat that would almost have been just right for a homeless man withering away in the dark gray shadows of the streets. Jonathan had been out of work for a while; he depended on Carol for a comfortable house and a home-cooked meal each night when he came back from his walks.
Jonathan was not affected by the severity of those winters. For one, his gargantuan figure was sturdy enough to tough through them. Still, though, like those cars he had had more than his fair share of violent beatings and deathly frosty bites. However, in his current state, he really could not care less what the weather was like. What he did care about (with good reason, too) was food, so every day, Jonathan walked to the town store. They always put the beef jerky packs right at the door for him. Jonathan liked beef jerky. Even though it was cooked to oblivion, he loved that sort of wrestling he has to do to get it chewed enough to swallow - it kept him occupied. Besides, even after having been reduced to this state, he still had at least enough class to generally avoid raw flesh.
Jonathan started the usual routine and walked in, tore open the sealed plastic wrapping, and started vigorously gnawing on a piece. As he turned to leave, he saw Martin the shopkeeper, who nodded to Jonathan, giving him the okay to take the package with him. Jonathan and Martin had this mutual understanding that even the closest of friendships could hardly compare with.
After getting his daily dose of jerky, Jonathan would walk about the town aimlessly. Ordinarily, people probably would have seen his grotesque figure as a highly unusual, if not disturbing one, but he had slumped around enough so that everyone in town had gotten used to his appearance. Even the shriveled, old blind couple knew who it was when they heard the smack-squish-smacking of his chewing on beef jerky with his mouth still open. Even in the summer, when people came to visit from out of town, Jonathan’s stalking generally became a normal sight for travelers within a few days.
Because winters in town were so extreme, daylight hours were fleeting, and thus Jonathan was usually only able to see about half of the town each trip. However, Jonathan always found himself walking past the park, and this time was no different from the rest. That park, for many people, held precious memories. For Jonathan, it held memories of an opportunity long gone; its snow-dusted emptiness reflected the bleak, light gray world he now found himself wandering through. He probably could have been in heaven now, if only he had pushed a little more, if only he had mustered up the courage to follow through.
It was a warm, colorful summer day. The sun was shining clear beams of brilliance that filled the soft blue sky and bounced happily about the greens, reds, whites, and yellows of the park. It was on that day that Jonathan found a little girl sleeping in the soft grass of the park lawn. Jonathan liked little girls. They had such adorable voices, and since they were always frolicking about, they were so lean. As Jonathan grew nearer to the slumbering child, a quiet breeze blew in his direction, carrying with it the sweet scent of the watermelon shampoo that lingered in her ribbon-tied auburn hair. It came to Jonathan like a whiff of heaven's grace, and sent a wave of incredible allure that caused him to shiver in uncontrollable anticipation. After the wind had passed, Jonathan knew that she was going to be the one. Jonathan reached out – he absolutely had to have this girl – and closed his grasp upon her soft skin.
That moment, ephemeral as it was, brought Jonathan more satisfaction than the beef jerky could even dream of giving. Throughout his body surged a passion like he had not felt in years – it even seemed like his skin was regaining some color. Jonathan felt truly alive again, felt that burning desire propelling him into a heightened state of vitality. When Jonathan was finally able to touch that tender arm he had been yearning for during the past five minutes he had spent walking toward the girl, she slowly awoke, confused and in a dreamlike wonder as to who was holding her. Head still lowered in the direction of the hand wrapped ever so gently around her arm, she moved her gaze upward with just the cutest look of worry in those droopy, puppy-dog eyes and saw Jonathan, mouth agape as usual. Shocked to see a stranger's face, she let out a tiny squeal of fright and anguish.
The girl stood up, wresting herself from Jonathan’s clammy grip. The two remained there awhile, mouths both open, eyes fixated on one another. Jonathan took a step forward to touch the mesmerized girl once again when a frantic voice cried, "Amber?" She turned, suddenly alert like those little meerkats on the Discovery channel, then the girl bounded off in the direction of her mother's comforting embrace.
Jonathan stood there for a while longer, gingerly opening and closing his hand as if to recall the tenderness of that little girl in the park, or maybe imagining what might have happened if he had continued. If he had continued, if he had actually taken that chance to feel, to taste, to enjoy, to savor the tempting, the tantalizing, the heavenly flesh of that little girl, he would actually have probably been beaten to death and cursed to hell by the mother. Was it really such a sin, though? Could it possibly be bad to follow what God himself ordered: to multiply? Jonathan could not wrap his mind around the concept. All he knew was that standing in the park now left him with a pit of emptiness in his stomach.
Another breeze rose up to Jonathan's nose, sweeping away the lingering scent of her sweet shampoo. This time the air bore the smell of the beef jerky bag he still held in his other hand. When he reached in, he found a single piece remaining inside. He stood up straight, remembering he had to get back home to Carol and the kids, and then started off on his long daily commute after jamming the last piece of jerky into his gaping hole of a mouth.
Again the beef jerky’s scent brought Jonathan back from his sweet reverie of holding that little girl. That kind of opportunity would likely be considered once in a lifetime, but Jonathan would still probably never encounter it again. In the years since that precious scene, Jonathan’s hunger had been reduced to one that could be sated by the pieces of jerky with which he filled his mouth now. He left the park slightly downtrodden, just as he had all those years ago, and continued his daily walk.
Of course, after a couple more hours of stalking aimlessly through town, Jonathan found that he no longer found any beef jerky in his bag of beef jerky, so he had to shift his focus. When the light gray light melted into yellows and pinks at the edge of daylight, Jonathan turned toward home, where Carol and the kids were anxiously awaiting his return. Guided by the lure of Carol’s emanating warmth and vitality, Jonathan started off on the route that would take him back as quickly as possible; he was hungry.
It was completely dark by the time Jonathan finally made it home, but the lights from inside the house were glowing brightly and the gate of the waist-high, white picket fence was open as if to welcome him. After pounding on the door to signal Max to let him in, Jonathan stood for a moment in the frozen air, sheltered by the roof covering the porch, steep to prevent too much snow from piling up on top of it. As he waited, Jonathan turned once again to the blank white door, where his eyes painted a picture Carol, who was probably waiting eagerly inside for his arrival. He could see those prominent, rosy cheeks on her smiling face and her well-endowed figure. The image faded when Max’s scowl appeared in the doorway. Jonathan returned the disgusted-face greeting with a disgusting grunt-belch (they, too, understood each other well), then shuffled inside.
Whatever fragments remained of Jonathan’s vision of Carol disintegrated when he saw and smelled what lay on the kitchen table. It had been an entire day since Jonathan had last been given the chance to polish off a whole turkey carcass. Visibly delighted, he sat down and dug in. As expected of Carol’s famous cooking, the delectable aroma of that turkey was only the portal leading to the immense world of the turkey’s scrumptious flavor. Jonathan could feel the warmth of every single minute that the turkey had been roasting; could taste the saltiness, savor, and spiciness of all the seasonings that went into it, just by sucking on the bones. Indeed, Carol must have been the best cook in town.
When Jonathan finished his meal, he went and sat down in his usual spot on the tattered, light gray couch in the family room. There, Max was playing Guitarist Band Heroes: Ultimate 80’s – Rock the World VII: World Tour Edition featuring Tetrapot Melon Tea (with the limited edition guitar that his sister had bought him on his last birthday). Well he was, but then as soon as Jonathan took his seat, Max stormed off to his room and shut the door behind him. They understood each other well. When Max was younger, the two actually got along well, because back then, Max was still interested in Jonathan, and was still unknowing of the kind of person he really was. However, as boys do, Max outgrew his interest in Jonathan after he began to understand more about his character, and then started avoiding him as much as he could; he had no need for such a man in his life.
Max’s sister Meg, on the other hand, was different. She had always liked Jonathan somewhat, either out of sympathy or something else. Maybe she felt some sort of obligation toward him each time she saw that once-proud figure in such a state. Maybe it was just some reversed form of maternal emotions. Maybe she had some kind of weird complex. Whatever the reason was, she liked Jonathan enough to try to help him out as much as she could, even after she had to start instinctually avoiding him following the Amber incident. She lent her mother a hand for the housework, kept Max from attacking him too much, and got herself into the best local college – that way she could continue to support him through the years. She even offered to help with some of the finer tasks, like helping him bathe, but of course Carol would never allow that, for multiple reasons.
Actually Meg had liked Jonathan ever since she knew of his existence. Once Carol was just having a terrible day, and in front of Meg she cursed a man named Jonathan for all her bad luck. Meg was immediately intrigued with this new facet of her mother’s life, and asked who this Jonathan was. Carol simply told her that it didn’t matter; he was gone from their lives before Meg was even born.
Of course, Meg wouldn’t just accept that explanation, being one of the gossip queens at school. She did her research, asked around, and found that this Jonathan was still alive and actually in town even. It seemed that he had somewhat of a bad reputation, but Meg knew better than to judge people before meeting them in person. So Meg set out to find Jonathan. Every day for about two and a half weeks she stalked through the town, not once crossing paths with the man they now called The Wayward Giant.
On the last day of her search, though, right as she was about to give up on Jonathan like the rest of society had, Meg saw him, and she knew it just had to be him. A wave of emotion came over her not unlike the kind that long-lost siblings must have felt once they were reunited at last. She knew it just had to be him. So without asking him, she grabbed his sleeve and tugged him all the way home to Carol.
Carol opened up the door to let Meg back in, but seeing Jonathan with her, she gasped. She gasped as spirits of evil began to chew away at her soul once again as her own daughter forced Carol to recall the dark ages of her life. Carol opened up the door to let her blackness back out. She swung it off its hinges with superhuman might and charged at Jonathan. She jammed her elbow square in his chest, breaking his now dry, fragile, and hollow heart a second way. Meg screamed for Jonathan, and started throwing a tantrum. She said she hated her and her misunderstanding everything, asked what the hell was wrong with her, called her a Witch.
Carol could deal with being hated by her daughter – kids will be kids and kids will get over it. Having let out all her evil now, though, Carol had no defense against the Witch burn. Having let out all her evil now, Carol couldn’t even smack her daughter, much less hate her and her misunderstanding everything. Carol heard the word "Witch" and broke down. She staggered back into the house, letting Meg waltz back in, tugging Jonathan along like a new puppy.
Carol (clearly) did not exactly love Jonathan, but after he had come back, she felt that keeping him around was probably best for the both of them, and the kids. Considering Carol’s highly desirable face, figure, and finesse in cooking, having a man like Jonathan nearby was quite beneficial. Almost no other men went after her – they would have Jonathan to deal with if they did, and no one really wanted to get anywhere near that creepy, messed up man. The exception was Martin the shopkeeper.
Carol generally did not mind the fact that Martin came over every day (although she probably did not mind anything much, with a man like Jonathan in her house). Jonathan always seemed to be okay with it, too – he was satisfied enough with his monopoly over Carol’s cooking that Martin’s visits were nothing major. After closing the store late each night, Martin would go to the house and eat whatever remained of Carol’s delicious dinners. This time, Jonathan’s ravenous appetite left hardly anything of substance for Martin, but Carol, always resourceful, quickly started to change that by using the turkey’s bones to make a watery, yet hearty soup that was more than enough for Martin given the fact that this broth was still Jonathan’s charity for him.
As Carol brought the broth to a boil, Jonathan smelled the savory scent of the spices in the soup, and he turned his head a complete 217 degrees to peer through his foggy glasses at the kitchen. His gaze was met by another bag of beef jerky from Martin’s store. However, instead of catching the bag of beef jerky that had just struck his face, Jonathan caught a glimpse of something he was never supposed to see. He saw Martin embracing Carol, their lips locked; he saw Martin eating Carol with a passion not unlike his own as he ravaged the turkey only hours earlier. He saw Carol’s eyes flick over to his, then back to Martin’s in a desperate panic. She pushed herself away from Martin and glared at him with a look that said, "Crap."
Martin was a meek, mild-mannered man. He was handsome, but skinny, with a meager amount of muscle mass that would never have stood a chance against the hulking, deformed giant that was Jonathan if the day ever came when the two would have to finally fight over Carol, her beautiful face, and her excellent cooking. Carol had always said to Martin, "We can’t keep living like this – someday he’s going to find out, he’s going to snap," and today was when that fate would play out.
Jonathan stood up on his piece of furniture, still facing Martin. Because he had uneven footing on the decaying cushions, he flipped over the back of the couch and landed on all fours, crushing the bag of beef jerky Martin had brought him. He stuck his head out further than he normally did and screamed a strangled, feral scream, letting out a rush of stale air. He scampered over to Martin, teeth bared all the way up to his light gray gums. No one, no one, was allowed eat Carol but him.
Jonathan lunged at Martin, but what Martin lacked in strength, he made up for in speed. He hoisted Carol’s Crockpot of boiling broth and adamantly threw the savory soup immediately in the trajectory of Jonathan’s jump. The burning liquid melted Jonathan’s light gray skin, made it peel away like the plastic wrapping that those pieces of beef jerky came in, and exposed the dusty, stringy bundles of light gray meat that lay beneath that thin, translucent wrapper.
Jonathan fell short of Martin and started writhing on the ground like an ant caught in the focal point of a high-power magnifying glass under the fiery sky on one of those sweltering summer days. Carol gasped and took a few steps back. She looked around to see if there was something she could do to help Martin – Jonathan would recover and eat him if she simply stood around and watched the fight play out. Then she turned to her right and saw something that would probably be useful: a meat cleaver.
She slowly walked over to where Jonathan was sprawled on the kitchen floor, feeling the cleaver in her hands. She ran her fingers down its thick, wide blade, visibly lost in delusions of a world where there was only Martin, a world where they would never have to keep everything hidden away from Jonathan. She felt he heaviness of the knife in her hand, felt how it would come down on Jonathan like heaven’s thunder, the thunder he had coming for him for years, the thunder that should have came after the Amber incident. When she got to him, she looked down on the fallen giant for the first time, and a grin appeared on her face, a grin that had never appeared before, a grin that was vastly different from the pretty smile she normally wore. Martin, noticing the sudden darkness about Carol, quickly dodged out of her way and left the kitchen to find a more permanent solution.
She started with his fingers, that way he would never be able to grab anyone ever again – not her, not Amber, not Meg, not anybody. Jonathan was still squirming, still screaming, still too active to notice Carol’s gentle yet firm grip on his arm. She took her time, chopping off bit by bit as if his fingers were carrots, but kept her speed at one fitting of a skilled chef such as herself. She laughed softly, telling Jonathan that since the broth was gone, she had no ingredients to cook Martin a proper dinner, but that she really appreciated Jonathan’s contribution. She cackled a little more openly, then threw her head back and let out a jubilant squeal spiced with the maniacal joy of knowing that she would finally be free from Jonathan’s looming presence in her and Martin’s life.
Of course, by that point Jonathan had realized that Carol was holding him ever so tightly, and he (being the kind of person he was) decided to return her thoughts. With his other hand he reached out for her arm, much like he did for Amber’s, but Carol, seeing his sudden motion, snapped back to reality and instead grabbed his arm. Jonathan was strong, however, and he pulled his arm back, stretching Carol’s across his face and gaping mouth. That malicious grin quickly disappeared from Carol’s face, which now wore the cutest look of worry, just like the one on Amber’s face all those years ago. Jonathan opened his mouth wider, and started dessert.
This time, Jonathan did push a little more. Jonathan did muster up the courage to follow through. This time, Jonathan would get to heaven. He pulled Carol even closer to him, using his fingerless hand to press her body to his. She struggled for a little while, but gave in, knowing resistance was futile. Jonathan brought his face close to her neck, and she could feel the cold, musty air flowing from his mouth. Then he closed his teeth on her throat. He had chosen a great spot. There he could smell the light coconut scent of her hair, could hear the little gasps from her mouth as she entered a state of shock. There she would be dead within a couple minutes at most. As he was about to take another bite of the delicious coconut dessert had given him, Martin came back. He had a gun.
Jonathan let out a shriek of fury laced with satisfaction as chunks of Carol flew out of his open mouth. Martin was supposed to be weaker than him (that was why they were able to live in relative equilibrium), but he now clearly held the advantage. Martin must have finally gotten the nerve to ask the neighbors for the rifle they used for hunting, but the reasons for doing that were obvious now. He leveled the gun at Jonathan’s head and bit his lip before flinging out a curse muffled by the sound of the gunshot.
"Die already, you *BANG*-ing freak!"
Jonathan’s head was blown to dust with the force of the impact. His mouth finally stopped chewing; his stomach finally stopped yearning; his lungs finally stopped expelling noxious fumes as he finally stopped breathing. His life was finally over, this time for real, and his spirit was finally freed from its unholy prison. His body fell limp, as did Carol’s. Martin ran over to his wife, tears streaming from his eyes. He dropped to his knees in front of Carol, who was still struggling to see her husband’s face one last time. He wailed with regret that he had never been strong enough to protect her, never been strong enough to take over Jonathan’s role of keeping all the other men away from his beautiful, beautiful wife. Carol told him that it would be okay, that he could now live without the fear of having such a creature living in his house. She smiled that soft, precious smile of hers, only bringing Martin even more grief in knowing that this would be the last time he would see that smile. She asked him to kill her, and he knew he had to do it. He would not let her die like this.
He picked up the gun once again, this time leveling it at his wife’s face. He closed his eyes, letting tears of regret stain his cheeks, and pulled the trigger. Carol was gone.
Martin got up slowly, gun shaking in his unsteady hands. He stared with huge, watery eyes at the bloody mess splayed across the kitchen floor, the mess that was once the gorgeous face that every man in town would die for, just as Jonathan once, now twice, did.
There was no denying that Jonathan used to love Carol, even more than Martin did now. He even had a lot going for him: he was big and strong, fabulously fashionable, and actually quite charming (he was for Carol, at least). Carol, however, had no interest in him; she turned down his every attempt to get her to like him. Yet Jonathan never gave up. He pursued her, followed her everywhere until one day, Jonathan just broke. He had avoided being The Beefy Jerk in front of her, but he had exhausted all other options. So he attacked her. In his eyes, Carol was a goddess. There would have been no way for him to imagine the amount of evil she had built up in her heart because of him. Even after Carol unleashed the entirety of the blackness in her soul and kicked him to death (tarnishing her favorite glamorous white stilettos in the process) he could not understand what had hit him. None of the other men around her at the time of the beating bothered to help Jonathan. Not only was he a total jerk to everyone but Carol, they had no intention of letting her opinions of them go down the drain for a man who was really just more competition. None of that mattered, though. Not the beating, not the stained stilettos, not the other men, nothing. Jonathan had vowed to keep loving Carol until she loved him back, and he kept that vow no matter what happened to him.
Carol’s heart began plunging into darkness again once Meg somehow persuaded the family to let Jonathan live in the house. Carol had that family now, though, so she was able to keep the evil influence to a minimum. However, when Jonathan finally snapped like she said he would, so did Carol. This time she had sacrificed her whole body to kill him. This time something like stilettos could never have been enough. She wanted him dead, not just dead, and she destroyed herself to achieve that.
Martin now had permanently freed Carol from Jonathan’s mutually malicious love, and Martin now had no reason to keep living. Carol was gone. Martin turned his gaze to stare intently at the gun, still rattling and shaking in his hands. He had brought it up to his mouth and had opened up to take a bite when Max, who had been sleeping in his room, stumbled out into the hall after hearing the commotion. His vision was still blurry, so he started slumping over to the kitchen to get a better look at the mess spreading quickly in the grooves of the tile floor.
Martin slowly swiveled his eyes toward his son’s room and saw Max creeping closer with his worn, light gray pajamas were draped loosely over his body. His back was hunched, his arms limply hanging. Max stuck his head out and looked with half-closed eyes at his dad, and opened his mouth to ask what had gone on. Martin’s eyes widened and he took the gun out of his mouth, instead aiming it at Max’s.
"He got you too?!"
"Whaaaa..."
"Oh God, NO! That da–*BLAM* Jonathan!"
In a fit of rage and anguish, he pulled the trigger. Max was gone.
Martin could not take any more torment, could not take any more punishment for being too weak to free his family from Jonathan. He shoved the gun’s barrel into his mouth like a foot-long hotdog and squeezed the trigger. Martin was gone.
"Hey, Amber?"
"Yeah, what’s up, Meg? Oh wait, I heard what happened to your family..."
“*sigh* Yeah, I’m fine, but I’m just so confused… Jonathan, he--"
"IS HE DEAD? FOR REAL?"
"Mhm, he’s gone. For real this time. But like, I just... why would he do that?"
Meg’s eyes welled up as she brought her hand up in front of her face and closed it halfway like she was holding on to something that was no longer there.
"HA, I don’t care, as long as he’s gone. That creeping, godforsaken, mindless..."
"DON’T CALL HIM THAT! He was more than that... He was a person, too... He was just... just misunderstood..." Meg struggled to find the right words.
"Alright, you’re the one misunderstanding him. Do you have like, any idea of what it was like when he--"
"Well, I know, but--"
"No, you don’t know! I was like, scared for my life, okay? If I was standing there any longer, I would have been eaten alive. And you know what? Sometimes I wonder whether it would have been better if he did! No one really cared as long as he didn’t touch anyone, but my mom would have totally killed him if he even licked me!"
"But he never--"
"Don’t you get it? Nobody wanted that freaking zo-- that thing around, except you. And now, because of how messed up you are, your mom, dad, and brother are all dead. They aren’t like him, you know. They aren’t gonna just pop out of the ground one day and come back, okay? They’re gone."
"..."
"You know what? Whatever. If you don’t care, I’m not gonna keep trying to explain it to you. I hope you feel better soon."
Meg heard a dull click through the receiver. Amber was gone.
Jonathan was on his knees in the deep red shadow of The Enchantress, The Witch, the woman whose absolute beauty could ensnare any and all men ignorant enough to disregard the devastatingly cruel nature of her black soul. Around the two of them, the people who were bustling around the square just moments ago had all stopped dead in their tracks, fascinated by the scene playing out in their midst. Jonathan, The Troll, The Beefy Jerk, the man whose absolute strength should have been able to easily dominated any and all women worthy of his princely looks, had just lost. There had never been a time when Jonathan had stooped this low for anyone, but even since his high school days he had tried everything to get Carol to like him. There had never been a time when Jonathan had stooped this low for anyone, but even begging didn't work. There had never been a time when Jonathan had stooped this low for anyone, but he had to do it. There had never been a time when Jonathan had stooped this low for anyone, but he had at last resorted to using his absolute strength to dominate the only woman worthy of his princely looks: Carol.
The onlookers started whispering excitedly amongst themselves. Hey look, it's The Beefy Jerk. Wait, that's Jonathan? Yeah, I couldn't tell; he looks so much smaller on the ground like that. How did he even end up like that? What did he do? What did she do? Wonder if anyone's gonna do something about it. Psh, as if; he deserves it, anyway. Heh, yeah, you're right. Besides, who knows what she'd do if you tried, after that...
Jonathan, upon hearing the townspeople's gossip, managed to tear his eyes from those glamorous red stilettos to look around him. Against the scarlet light of the sunset he saw towering black figures leaning into each other's ears, dark reflections of a people now turned against him. With each passing second he could feel their murky crimson shadows creeping to engulf him.
His eyes turned again to look for the spotless white stilettos Carol had been wearing that day, but all he saw was the fading light of the sun. Jonathan toppled over sideways, defeated and dazed. Eyes now level with the ground, he noticed that his own shadow, a kind of blood red like the color those stilettos had turned at sunset, was deserting him, rushing out from his body to meld with the black shadows of the townspeople.
Jonathan didn't move from that spot, even after the sun disappeared. He kept staring at his shadow, now black under the bluish glow of the fluorescent street lights. He was defeated; there was nothing he could do but rot away, unsuccessful in every way. He took one last look at the cruel world around him, now a light gray, colorless version of the world he once knew, and then closed his eyes.
. . .
It must have been a dream, and a fairly terrible one at that. Jonathan opened his eyes, then bolted upright with an absolute strength that shattered the roof of the wooden box where he had been sleeping for the past few months. Around him were the boxes housing his grandparents and their parents, in which they were all still resting peacefully. He gave a nondescript grunt, then made his way to the front door; he was hungry.
. . . . . . . . .
It was one of those dreary, wintry days where the morning sky was that kind of light gray that evenly spread the buttery sunshine over everything, that kind of light gray that made everything that kind of light gray. Jonathan trudged through the snow that had built up on the sidewalk overnight, dragging one foot after the other, as he did every day. He left behind him two evenly-spaced channels as if he were laying down a new branch for the railroad that ran through the town, one that would take people straight to the town store.
Along the way, Jonathan passed by a line of light gray, veteran automobiles, ones that knew how to tough out the harsh winters, ones that knew from one too many experiences the kinds of things that could happen out there if one got careless. In the light gray chrome lining on the cars shone distorted reflections of Jonathan’s already distorted figure. He was slightly hunched, so his head stuck out forward from his shoulders. He wore a pair of glasses whose lenses were always diffusely reflecting the light gray sunlight because they were always fogged over as a byproduct of the miasma streaming from his mouth, which was always open at least wide enough for his light gray teeth to be constantly bared. Over the light gray skin of his shoulders was a thin, light gray shirt draped a little too loosely for the season. This shirt was covered by a worn, light gray trench coat that would almost have been just right for a homeless man withering away in the dark gray shadows of the streets. Jonathan had been out of work for a while; he depended on Carol for a comfortable house and a home-cooked meal each night when he came back from his walks.
Jonathan was not affected by the severity of those winters. For one, his gargantuan figure was sturdy enough to tough through them. Still, though, like those cars he had had more than his fair share of violent beatings and deathly frosty bites. However, in his current state, he really could not care less what the weather was like. What he did care about (with good reason, too) was food, so every day, Jonathan walked to the town store. They always put the beef jerky packs right at the door for him. Jonathan liked beef jerky. Even though it was cooked to oblivion, he loved that sort of wrestling he has to do to get it chewed enough to swallow - it kept him occupied. Besides, even after having been reduced to this state, he still had at least enough class to generally avoid raw flesh.
Jonathan started the usual routine and walked in, tore open the sealed plastic wrapping, and started vigorously gnawing on a piece. As he turned to leave, he saw Martin the shopkeeper, who nodded to Jonathan, giving him the okay to take the package with him. Jonathan and Martin had this mutual understanding that even the closest of friendships could hardly compare with.
After getting his daily dose of jerky, Jonathan would walk about the town aimlessly. Ordinarily, people probably would have seen his grotesque figure as a highly unusual, if not disturbing one, but he had slumped around enough so that everyone in town had gotten used to his appearance. Even the shriveled, old blind couple knew who it was when they heard the smack-squish-smacking of his chewing on beef jerky with his mouth still open. Even in the summer, when people came to visit from out of town, Jonathan’s stalking generally became a normal sight for travelers within a few days.
Because winters in town were so extreme, daylight hours were fleeting, and thus Jonathan was usually only able to see about half of the town each trip. However, Jonathan always found himself walking past the park, and this time was no different from the rest. That park, for many people, held precious memories. For Jonathan, it held memories of an opportunity long gone; its snow-dusted emptiness reflected the bleak, light gray world he now found himself wandering through. He probably could have been in heaven now, if only he had pushed a little more, if only he had mustered up the courage to follow through.
. . .
It was a warm, colorful summer day. The sun was shining clear beams of brilliance that filled the soft blue sky and bounced happily about the greens, reds, whites, and yellows of the park. It was on that day that Jonathan found a little girl sleeping in the soft grass of the park lawn. Jonathan liked little girls. They had such adorable voices, and since they were always frolicking about, they were so lean. As Jonathan grew nearer to the slumbering child, a quiet breeze blew in his direction, carrying with it the sweet scent of the watermelon shampoo that lingered in her ribbon-tied auburn hair. It came to Jonathan like a whiff of heaven's grace, and sent a wave of incredible allure that caused him to shiver in uncontrollable anticipation. After the wind had passed, Jonathan knew that she was going to be the one. Jonathan reached out – he absolutely had to have this girl – and closed his grasp upon her soft skin.
That moment, ephemeral as it was, brought Jonathan more satisfaction than the beef jerky could even dream of giving. Throughout his body surged a passion like he had not felt in years – it even seemed like his skin was regaining some color. Jonathan felt truly alive again, felt that burning desire propelling him into a heightened state of vitality. When Jonathan was finally able to touch that tender arm he had been yearning for during the past five minutes he had spent walking toward the girl, she slowly awoke, confused and in a dreamlike wonder as to who was holding her. Head still lowered in the direction of the hand wrapped ever so gently around her arm, she moved her gaze upward with just the cutest look of worry in those droopy, puppy-dog eyes and saw Jonathan, mouth agape as usual. Shocked to see a stranger's face, she let out a tiny squeal of fright and anguish.
The girl stood up, wresting herself from Jonathan’s clammy grip. The two remained there awhile, mouths both open, eyes fixated on one another. Jonathan took a step forward to touch the mesmerized girl once again when a frantic voice cried, "Amber?" She turned, suddenly alert like those little meerkats on the Discovery channel, then the girl bounded off in the direction of her mother's comforting embrace.
Jonathan stood there for a while longer, gingerly opening and closing his hand as if to recall the tenderness of that little girl in the park, or maybe imagining what might have happened if he had continued. If he had continued, if he had actually taken that chance to feel, to taste, to enjoy, to savor the tempting, the tantalizing, the heavenly flesh of that little girl, he would actually have probably been beaten to death and cursed to hell by the mother. Was it really such a sin, though? Could it possibly be bad to follow what God himself ordered: to multiply? Jonathan could not wrap his mind around the concept. All he knew was that standing in the park now left him with a pit of emptiness in his stomach.
Another breeze rose up to Jonathan's nose, sweeping away the lingering scent of her sweet shampoo. This time the air bore the smell of the beef jerky bag he still held in his other hand. When he reached in, he found a single piece remaining inside. He stood up straight, remembering he had to get back home to Carol and the kids, and then started off on his long daily commute after jamming the last piece of jerky into his gaping hole of a mouth.
. . .
Again the beef jerky’s scent brought Jonathan back from his sweet reverie of holding that little girl. That kind of opportunity would likely be considered once in a lifetime, but Jonathan would still probably never encounter it again. In the years since that precious scene, Jonathan’s hunger had been reduced to one that could be sated by the pieces of jerky with which he filled his mouth now. He left the park slightly downtrodden, just as he had all those years ago, and continued his daily walk.
Of course, after a couple more hours of stalking aimlessly through town, Jonathan found that he no longer found any beef jerky in his bag of beef jerky, so he had to shift his focus. When the light gray light melted into yellows and pinks at the edge of daylight, Jonathan turned toward home, where Carol and the kids were anxiously awaiting his return. Guided by the lure of Carol’s emanating warmth and vitality, Jonathan started off on the route that would take him back as quickly as possible; he was hungry.
It was completely dark by the time Jonathan finally made it home, but the lights from inside the house were glowing brightly and the gate of the waist-high, white picket fence was open as if to welcome him. After pounding on the door to signal Max to let him in, Jonathan stood for a moment in the frozen air, sheltered by the roof covering the porch, steep to prevent too much snow from piling up on top of it. As he waited, Jonathan turned once again to the blank white door, where his eyes painted a picture Carol, who was probably waiting eagerly inside for his arrival. He could see those prominent, rosy cheeks on her smiling face and her well-endowed figure. The image faded when Max’s scowl appeared in the doorway. Jonathan returned the disgusted-face greeting with a disgusting grunt-belch (they, too, understood each other well), then shuffled inside.
Whatever fragments remained of Jonathan’s vision of Carol disintegrated when he saw and smelled what lay on the kitchen table. It had been an entire day since Jonathan had last been given the chance to polish off a whole turkey carcass. Visibly delighted, he sat down and dug in. As expected of Carol’s famous cooking, the delectable aroma of that turkey was only the portal leading to the immense world of the turkey’s scrumptious flavor. Jonathan could feel the warmth of every single minute that the turkey had been roasting; could taste the saltiness, savor, and spiciness of all the seasonings that went into it, just by sucking on the bones. Indeed, Carol must have been the best cook in town.
When Jonathan finished his meal, he went and sat down in his usual spot on the tattered, light gray couch in the family room. There, Max was playing Guitarist Band Heroes: Ultimate 80’s – Rock the World VII: World Tour Edition featuring Tetrapot Melon Tea (with the limited edition guitar that his sister had bought him on his last birthday). Well he was, but then as soon as Jonathan took his seat, Max stormed off to his room and shut the door behind him. They understood each other well. When Max was younger, the two actually got along well, because back then, Max was still interested in Jonathan, and was still unknowing of the kind of person he really was. However, as boys do, Max outgrew his interest in Jonathan after he began to understand more about his character, and then started avoiding him as much as he could; he had no need for such a man in his life.
Max’s sister Meg, on the other hand, was different. She had always liked Jonathan somewhat, either out of sympathy or something else. Maybe she felt some sort of obligation toward him each time she saw that once-proud figure in such a state. Maybe it was just some reversed form of maternal emotions. Maybe she had some kind of weird complex. Whatever the reason was, she liked Jonathan enough to try to help him out as much as she could, even after she had to start instinctually avoiding him following the Amber incident. She lent her mother a hand for the housework, kept Max from attacking him too much, and got herself into the best local college – that way she could continue to support him through the years. She even offered to help with some of the finer tasks, like helping him bathe, but of course Carol would never allow that, for multiple reasons.
Actually Meg had liked Jonathan ever since she knew of his existence. Once Carol was just having a terrible day, and in front of Meg she cursed a man named Jonathan for all her bad luck. Meg was immediately intrigued with this new facet of her mother’s life, and asked who this Jonathan was. Carol simply told her that it didn’t matter; he was gone from their lives before Meg was even born.
Of course, Meg wouldn’t just accept that explanation, being one of the gossip queens at school. She did her research, asked around, and found that this Jonathan was still alive and actually in town even. It seemed that he had somewhat of a bad reputation, but Meg knew better than to judge people before meeting them in person. So Meg set out to find Jonathan. Every day for about two and a half weeks she stalked through the town, not once crossing paths with the man they now called The Wayward Giant.
On the last day of her search, though, right as she was about to give up on Jonathan like the rest of society had, Meg saw him, and she knew it just had to be him. A wave of emotion came over her not unlike the kind that long-lost siblings must have felt once they were reunited at last. She knew it just had to be him. So without asking him, she grabbed his sleeve and tugged him all the way home to Carol.
Carol opened up the door to let Meg back in, but seeing Jonathan with her, she gasped. She gasped as spirits of evil began to chew away at her soul once again as her own daughter forced Carol to recall the dark ages of her life. Carol opened up the door to let her blackness back out. She swung it off its hinges with superhuman might and charged at Jonathan. She jammed her elbow square in his chest, breaking his now dry, fragile, and hollow heart a second way. Meg screamed for Jonathan, and started throwing a tantrum. She said she hated her and her misunderstanding everything, asked what the hell was wrong with her, called her a Witch.
Carol could deal with being hated by her daughter – kids will be kids and kids will get over it. Having let out all her evil now, though, Carol had no defense against the Witch burn. Having let out all her evil now, Carol couldn’t even smack her daughter, much less hate her and her misunderstanding everything. Carol heard the word "Witch" and broke down. She staggered back into the house, letting Meg waltz back in, tugging Jonathan along like a new puppy.
Carol (clearly) did not exactly love Jonathan, but after he had come back, she felt that keeping him around was probably best for the both of them, and the kids. Considering Carol’s highly desirable face, figure, and finesse in cooking, having a man like Jonathan nearby was quite beneficial. Almost no other men went after her – they would have Jonathan to deal with if they did, and no one really wanted to get anywhere near that creepy, messed up man. The exception was Martin the shopkeeper.
Carol generally did not mind the fact that Martin came over every day (although she probably did not mind anything much, with a man like Jonathan in her house). Jonathan always seemed to be okay with it, too – he was satisfied enough with his monopoly over Carol’s cooking that Martin’s visits were nothing major. After closing the store late each night, Martin would go to the house and eat whatever remained of Carol’s delicious dinners. This time, Jonathan’s ravenous appetite left hardly anything of substance for Martin, but Carol, always resourceful, quickly started to change that by using the turkey’s bones to make a watery, yet hearty soup that was more than enough for Martin given the fact that this broth was still Jonathan’s charity for him.
As Carol brought the broth to a boil, Jonathan smelled the savory scent of the spices in the soup, and he turned his head a complete 217 degrees to peer through his foggy glasses at the kitchen. His gaze was met by another bag of beef jerky from Martin’s store. However, instead of catching the bag of beef jerky that had just struck his face, Jonathan caught a glimpse of something he was never supposed to see. He saw Martin embracing Carol, their lips locked; he saw Martin eating Carol with a passion not unlike his own as he ravaged the turkey only hours earlier. He saw Carol’s eyes flick over to his, then back to Martin’s in a desperate panic. She pushed herself away from Martin and glared at him with a look that said, "Crap."
Martin was a meek, mild-mannered man. He was handsome, but skinny, with a meager amount of muscle mass that would never have stood a chance against the hulking, deformed giant that was Jonathan if the day ever came when the two would have to finally fight over Carol, her beautiful face, and her excellent cooking. Carol had always said to Martin, "We can’t keep living like this – someday he’s going to find out, he’s going to snap," and today was when that fate would play out.
Jonathan stood up on his piece of furniture, still facing Martin. Because he had uneven footing on the decaying cushions, he flipped over the back of the couch and landed on all fours, crushing the bag of beef jerky Martin had brought him. He stuck his head out further than he normally did and screamed a strangled, feral scream, letting out a rush of stale air. He scampered over to Martin, teeth bared all the way up to his light gray gums. No one, no one, was allowed eat Carol but him.
Jonathan lunged at Martin, but what Martin lacked in strength, he made up for in speed. He hoisted Carol’s Crockpot of boiling broth and adamantly threw the savory soup immediately in the trajectory of Jonathan’s jump. The burning liquid melted Jonathan’s light gray skin, made it peel away like the plastic wrapping that those pieces of beef jerky came in, and exposed the dusty, stringy bundles of light gray meat that lay beneath that thin, translucent wrapper.
Jonathan fell short of Martin and started writhing on the ground like an ant caught in the focal point of a high-power magnifying glass under the fiery sky on one of those sweltering summer days. Carol gasped and took a few steps back. She looked around to see if there was something she could do to help Martin – Jonathan would recover and eat him if she simply stood around and watched the fight play out. Then she turned to her right and saw something that would probably be useful: a meat cleaver.
She slowly walked over to where Jonathan was sprawled on the kitchen floor, feeling the cleaver in her hands. She ran her fingers down its thick, wide blade, visibly lost in delusions of a world where there was only Martin, a world where they would never have to keep everything hidden away from Jonathan. She felt he heaviness of the knife in her hand, felt how it would come down on Jonathan like heaven’s thunder, the thunder he had coming for him for years, the thunder that should have came after the Amber incident. When she got to him, she looked down on the fallen giant for the first time, and a grin appeared on her face, a grin that had never appeared before, a grin that was vastly different from the pretty smile she normally wore. Martin, noticing the sudden darkness about Carol, quickly dodged out of her way and left the kitchen to find a more permanent solution.
She started with his fingers, that way he would never be able to grab anyone ever again – not her, not Amber, not Meg, not anybody. Jonathan was still squirming, still screaming, still too active to notice Carol’s gentle yet firm grip on his arm. She took her time, chopping off bit by bit as if his fingers were carrots, but kept her speed at one fitting of a skilled chef such as herself. She laughed softly, telling Jonathan that since the broth was gone, she had no ingredients to cook Martin a proper dinner, but that she really appreciated Jonathan’s contribution. She cackled a little more openly, then threw her head back and let out a jubilant squeal spiced with the maniacal joy of knowing that she would finally be free from Jonathan’s looming presence in her and Martin’s life.
Of course, by that point Jonathan had realized that Carol was holding him ever so tightly, and he (being the kind of person he was) decided to return her thoughts. With his other hand he reached out for her arm, much like he did for Amber’s, but Carol, seeing his sudden motion, snapped back to reality and instead grabbed his arm. Jonathan was strong, however, and he pulled his arm back, stretching Carol’s across his face and gaping mouth. That malicious grin quickly disappeared from Carol’s face, which now wore the cutest look of worry, just like the one on Amber’s face all those years ago. Jonathan opened his mouth wider, and started dessert.
This time, Jonathan did push a little more. Jonathan did muster up the courage to follow through. This time, Jonathan would get to heaven. He pulled Carol even closer to him, using his fingerless hand to press her body to his. She struggled for a little while, but gave in, knowing resistance was futile. Jonathan brought his face close to her neck, and she could feel the cold, musty air flowing from his mouth. Then he closed his teeth on her throat. He had chosen a great spot. There he could smell the light coconut scent of her hair, could hear the little gasps from her mouth as she entered a state of shock. There she would be dead within a couple minutes at most. As he was about to take another bite of the delicious coconut dessert had given him, Martin came back. He had a gun.
Jonathan let out a shriek of fury laced with satisfaction as chunks of Carol flew out of his open mouth. Martin was supposed to be weaker than him (that was why they were able to live in relative equilibrium), but he now clearly held the advantage. Martin must have finally gotten the nerve to ask the neighbors for the rifle they used for hunting, but the reasons for doing that were obvious now. He leveled the gun at Jonathan’s head and bit his lip before flinging out a curse muffled by the sound of the gunshot.
"Die already, you *BANG*-ing freak!"
Jonathan’s head was blown to dust with the force of the impact. His mouth finally stopped chewing; his stomach finally stopped yearning; his lungs finally stopped expelling noxious fumes as he finally stopped breathing. His life was finally over, this time for real, and his spirit was finally freed from its unholy prison. His body fell limp, as did Carol’s. Martin ran over to his wife, tears streaming from his eyes. He dropped to his knees in front of Carol, who was still struggling to see her husband’s face one last time. He wailed with regret that he had never been strong enough to protect her, never been strong enough to take over Jonathan’s role of keeping all the other men away from his beautiful, beautiful wife. Carol told him that it would be okay, that he could now live without the fear of having such a creature living in his house. She smiled that soft, precious smile of hers, only bringing Martin even more grief in knowing that this would be the last time he would see that smile. She asked him to kill her, and he knew he had to do it. He would not let her die like this.
He picked up the gun once again, this time leveling it at his wife’s face. He closed his eyes, letting tears of regret stain his cheeks, and pulled the trigger. Carol was gone.
Martin got up slowly, gun shaking in his unsteady hands. He stared with huge, watery eyes at the bloody mess splayed across the kitchen floor, the mess that was once the gorgeous face that every man in town would die for, just as Jonathan once, now twice, did.
There was no denying that Jonathan used to love Carol, even more than Martin did now. He even had a lot going for him: he was big and strong, fabulously fashionable, and actually quite charming (he was for Carol, at least). Carol, however, had no interest in him; she turned down his every attempt to get her to like him. Yet Jonathan never gave up. He pursued her, followed her everywhere until one day, Jonathan just broke. He had avoided being The Beefy Jerk in front of her, but he had exhausted all other options. So he attacked her. In his eyes, Carol was a goddess. There would have been no way for him to imagine the amount of evil she had built up in her heart because of him. Even after Carol unleashed the entirety of the blackness in her soul and kicked him to death (tarnishing her favorite glamorous white stilettos in the process) he could not understand what had hit him. None of the other men around her at the time of the beating bothered to help Jonathan. Not only was he a total jerk to everyone but Carol, they had no intention of letting her opinions of them go down the drain for a man who was really just more competition. None of that mattered, though. Not the beating, not the stained stilettos, not the other men, nothing. Jonathan had vowed to keep loving Carol until she loved him back, and he kept that vow no matter what happened to him.
Carol’s heart began plunging into darkness again once Meg somehow persuaded the family to let Jonathan live in the house. Carol had that family now, though, so she was able to keep the evil influence to a minimum. However, when Jonathan finally snapped like she said he would, so did Carol. This time she had sacrificed her whole body to kill him. This time something like stilettos could never have been enough. She wanted him dead, not just dead, and she destroyed herself to achieve that.
Martin now had permanently freed Carol from Jonathan’s mutually malicious love, and Martin now had no reason to keep living. Carol was gone. Martin turned his gaze to stare intently at the gun, still rattling and shaking in his hands. He had brought it up to his mouth and had opened up to take a bite when Max, who had been sleeping in his room, stumbled out into the hall after hearing the commotion. His vision was still blurry, so he started slumping over to the kitchen to get a better look at the mess spreading quickly in the grooves of the tile floor.
Martin slowly swiveled his eyes toward his son’s room and saw Max creeping closer with his worn, light gray pajamas were draped loosely over his body. His back was hunched, his arms limply hanging. Max stuck his head out and looked with half-closed eyes at his dad, and opened his mouth to ask what had gone on. Martin’s eyes widened and he took the gun out of his mouth, instead aiming it at Max’s.
"He got you too?!"
"Whaaaa..."
"Oh God, NO! That da–*BLAM* Jonathan!"
In a fit of rage and anguish, he pulled the trigger. Max was gone.
Martin could not take any more torment, could not take any more punishment for being too weak to free his family from Jonathan. He shoved the gun’s barrel into his mouth like a foot-long hotdog and squeezed the trigger. Martin was gone.
. . .
"Hey, Amber?"
"Yeah, what’s up, Meg? Oh wait, I heard what happened to your family..."
“*sigh* Yeah, I’m fine, but I’m just so confused… Jonathan, he--"
"IS HE DEAD? FOR REAL?"
"Mhm, he’s gone. For real this time. But like, I just... why would he do that?"
Meg’s eyes welled up as she brought her hand up in front of her face and closed it halfway like she was holding on to something that was no longer there.
"HA, I don’t care, as long as he’s gone. That creeping, godforsaken, mindless..."
"DON’T CALL HIM THAT! He was more than that... He was a person, too... He was just... just misunderstood..." Meg struggled to find the right words.
"Alright, you’re the one misunderstanding him. Do you have like, any idea of what it was like when he--"
"Well, I know, but--"
"No, you don’t know! I was like, scared for my life, okay? If I was standing there any longer, I would have been eaten alive. And you know what? Sometimes I wonder whether it would have been better if he did! No one really cared as long as he didn’t touch anyone, but my mom would have totally killed him if he even licked me!"
"But he never--"
"Don’t you get it? Nobody wanted that freaking zo-- that thing around, except you. And now, because of how messed up you are, your mom, dad, and brother are all dead. They aren’t like him, you know. They aren’t gonna just pop out of the ground one day and come back, okay? They’re gone."
"..."
"You know what? Whatever. If you don’t care, I’m not gonna keep trying to explain it to you. I hope you feel better soon."
Meg heard a dull click through the receiver. Amber was gone.
Saturday, January 22, 2011
Remnants 17 - The Writing Life: Thoughts
Uuuuuuh...
So as is probably expected of me given my current views on writing, I found Chapter 1 of Annie Dillard's The Writing Life to be somewhat...tedious.
So as is probably expected of me given my current views on writing, I found Chapter 1 of Annie Dillard's The Writing Life to be somewhat...tedious.
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