A/n: Happy Mother's day!!
--oo--
Number 115 was a boxy sad affair of a trailer house, with avocado paint, of a shade not seen for at least two decades, peeling off the sagging siding.
Marge let herself in, and strode into the small kitchen, sucking on the inside of her cheek. She glanced at the stacks glossy magazines on the round kitchen table, and placed her case binder and car keys next to her cup of tea on a relatively clear spot at the very edge. She let of a breath as she took up a few pamphlets in her hands, and settled down into a creaky wooden chair.
Her mind was not on the cheerful articles that declared miracle cures, or amazing ways to melt off the extra pounds gathering about her thick middle. No. Her thoughts swirled about the radio program she had listened to intently on her drive over.
Studies say the average life span of marriage is 42 years. This is theorized as men wishing an 18 year old woman in their latter years, rather than the usual complaining shrew most women turn into by age 40.
She looks at the old couple sitting together before the television, glassy eyes staring at the vibrant images flickering across the screen. The volume was up quite high, and nearly made Marge's teeth rattle.
"Hello Mr. and Mrs Smith." She greeted, speaking loud with a tight professional smile stretching her lips. She hoped her voice was louder that the T.V. this time, but it was hard to tell.
She watched the silver head of Mrs.
Smith bounce back, and jerk to life. A turn of the ancient wrinkled neck, and she met the wide vacant eyes sliding her way.
"Oh.. There you are. How are you dear..?" Mrs. Smith greeted, and Marge strained her ears to catch her soft words as the woman spoke in something a normal volume.
"Fine. Can't complain." Marge replied.
"What was that dear..?" Mrs. Smith asked. "You youngun's always mumble.." She muttered as her bushy white brows met at her lined forehead.
"I said, I can't complain!" Marge said, feeling something scrape painfully inside her throat. Her voice had to have been a much louder volume though, for Mrs. Smith smiled a wide pleased smile and a nodded.
Marge leaned over to better see Mr. Smith, and shook her head in disbelief at the silvered head dipped back into the cushions. She eyed his jaw slack and marveled at the thin line of drool dribbling down the stubble sprouting on his chin.
"That man can't hear a thing, can he..?" She said aloud, her own voice a mumble with the terrific cacophony filling her ears.
"What..?" Mrs. Smith replied. "What was that?"
"Nothing!" Marge replied brightly, and darted her gaze back to the open magazine in her hands.
Scientist don't know a thing. Marge thought, and chuckled to herself. I suppose the secret to a long marriage is to live long enough to not be able to hear any complaints.
Sent via Blackhole
Showing posts with label redneck. Show all posts
Showing posts with label redneck. Show all posts
Sunday, May 8, 2011
Monday, April 25, 2011
quick...! zombies..!
A/n: In honor of a few things that recently happened-- "zombie jesus day" the fertilizer my friend uncovered in the garage, and my own personal pride of an accomplishment-- all poured into my tired brain and mixed thoroughly.
--oo--
At any other time Mark would have left the old mess alone, but he figured this was an emergency. Mark had no intention of becoming the revived Smith family's next meal.
The old 250 motorcycle sat dully by the rusty container, and Mark quickly found the back tire balding but servicable. The tubes for the gas and brakes fluid were in reasonable condition, and inspite of the clinging clusters of spider nest throughout the chassy, the various vacuum tubes sported no visible cracks.
He turned the cap of the gas tank, and judged the fuel as this side of good. The only problem remained was the pathetic, empty skeleton of the front forks.
Old man Smith was lazy, Mark thought as he gazed at the block box. Maybe he put inside?
The metal door creaked dangerously loud in protest, but it couldn't be helped. Mark frowned and swept his eyes over the various piles, vaguely recalling where the old man had last placed the spare tire he desperately needed.
Palm tree fertilizer. Zombie plague. There has to be. A connection. Mark thought darkly as he regarded the great pile of brightly colored plastic bags. They were stacked neatly in the very back and reached the ceiling, easily towering over the white porcelin dog lamp missing the shade and the pile of discarded encylopedas from 1932.
He quickly found a pile that looked to be mostly "mechanic" things, blocked in by blocky metal tins filled with some mysterious pungent liquid. Mark reached his arms into the back of the pile of rotting newpaper, and felt something round in shape back against the uneven wall. His gloves brushed against a rough surface which reminded him of alligator skin. He wiggled his fingers beneath the promising smoothness of spokes, and yanked the spare free.
To his dismay.. It was not only bald high on the left side, but completely flat. He heard a creak of the metal door behind him, folloed by the shambling sort of footstep the no longer living made.
"Fukk." He breathed, and looked over his shoulder. He gripped the tire firmly and rose to his feet. "I'm fukked..."
Sent via Blackhole
--oo--
At any other time Mark would have left the old mess alone, but he figured this was an emergency. Mark had no intention of becoming the revived Smith family's next meal.
The old 250 motorcycle sat dully by the rusty container, and Mark quickly found the back tire balding but servicable. The tubes for the gas and brakes fluid were in reasonable condition, and inspite of the clinging clusters of spider nest throughout the chassy, the various vacuum tubes sported no visible cracks.
He turned the cap of the gas tank, and judged the fuel as this side of good. The only problem remained was the pathetic, empty skeleton of the front forks.
Old man Smith was lazy, Mark thought as he gazed at the block box. Maybe he put inside?
The metal door creaked dangerously loud in protest, but it couldn't be helped. Mark frowned and swept his eyes over the various piles, vaguely recalling where the old man had last placed the spare tire he desperately needed.
Palm tree fertilizer. Zombie plague. There has to be. A connection. Mark thought darkly as he regarded the great pile of brightly colored plastic bags. They were stacked neatly in the very back and reached the ceiling, easily towering over the white porcelin dog lamp missing the shade and the pile of discarded encylopedas from 1932.
He quickly found a pile that looked to be mostly "mechanic" things, blocked in by blocky metal tins filled with some mysterious pungent liquid. Mark reached his arms into the back of the pile of rotting newpaper, and felt something round in shape back against the uneven wall. His gloves brushed against a rough surface which reminded him of alligator skin. He wiggled his fingers beneath the promising smoothness of spokes, and yanked the spare free.
To his dismay.. It was not only bald high on the left side, but completely flat. He heard a creak of the metal door behind him, folloed by the shambling sort of footstep the no longer living made.
"Fukk." He breathed, and looked over his shoulder. He gripped the tire firmly and rose to his feet. "I'm fukked..."
Sent via Blackhole
Wednesday, March 9, 2011
nuclear platypus..cont...
A/N: gah! Ran out of time.. This didn't quite develop into a proper tale just yet, but it's getting there.
---ooo---
"And we're moving... this way, please, ladies and gentlemen.." Said a neatly dressed young lady with a tidy updo and a professionally tight smile.
George heard the echoing click of many heels against polished wood floors, and folded his arms. He allowed a few of the other to pass him by as he frowned thoughtfully before a sign. He used his peripheral vision to spot his true objective, while he pretended to read. Like all the others around the diamond, it portrayed the dread end of a previous owner.
'So tempting' thought George as he gazed hungrily at rare bauble lounging beneath the glass box. Easily the size of a large grapefruit, the diamond had been carved into a unique oval shape. His current client revealed that much at least, and that was only because George had taken the time to find his weakness: a certain beloved, and highly addictive fancy coffee.
He made some quick calculations, and glanced again to his precalculated point. The heist would be a simple thing to accomplish, by his estimation.
"Almost as though they want it gone.." He mumbled to himself a few hours later, now standing upon the barren roof of the museum. He shrugged his shoulders at the stray thought, and tightened the nylon ropes through the pulley of his vest.
Sent via a stray supercharged nano particle of unobtainium....
---ooo---
"And we're moving... this way, please, ladies and gentlemen.." Said a neatly dressed young lady with a tidy updo and a professionally tight smile.
George heard the echoing click of many heels against polished wood floors, and folded his arms. He allowed a few of the other to pass him by as he frowned thoughtfully before a sign. He used his peripheral vision to spot his true objective, while he pretended to read. Like all the others around the diamond, it portrayed the dread end of a previous owner.
'So tempting' thought George as he gazed hungrily at rare bauble lounging beneath the glass box. Easily the size of a large grapefruit, the diamond had been carved into a unique oval shape. His current client revealed that much at least, and that was only because George had taken the time to find his weakness: a certain beloved, and highly addictive fancy coffee.
He made some quick calculations, and glanced again to his precalculated point. The heist would be a simple thing to accomplish, by his estimation.
"Almost as though they want it gone.." He mumbled to himself a few hours later, now standing upon the barren roof of the museum. He shrugged his shoulders at the stray thought, and tightened the nylon ropes through the pulley of his vest.
Sent via a stray supercharged nano particle of unobtainium....
Monday, March 7, 2011
Overgrown and forgotten...
This story hasn't vanishied! It's now availble for purchase at Amazon.com at the Kindle store (4/08/11) in the book: Llothcat's Fictional Portal, by Debra Colvin. You don't even need a Kindle device to download the book, as you can download the free program to any pc. I happen to have the free application on my blackberry phone. Any questions, comments,etc.can be e-mailed to directly at: llothcat@sbcglobal.net
Sunday, March 6, 2011
Nuclear Platypus
Prompt
Rewrite. Cleanup. Fixing awful bad phrasing and awkward ideas. Hope it reads better than the first verson, which will be destroyed in five..four.. Three...
---ooo---
Ginny Smith figured she could be forgiven for her base rudeness. She scowled as she shoved a grey flannel suited man aside and out of her immediate path, and glared when a similarly suited man blithely stepped in his place.
She deployed her elbows and shouldered her way through, receiving glares, harsh words, and returning painful jabs.
People, normal people that is, would certainly be understanding, and even sympathetic, towards her if they knew her reasons. Granted, most of those reasons revolved about a certain unforgiving boss, who was, at the moment, entertaining a prospective client. This particular prospective client had a certain well-known addiction to a dark percolating liquid called coffee, the best of which was served at the far end of this crowded square.
"He sends me to get coffee." She groused in her mind, "What am I, a damn secretary?"
She ducked and weaved around another suited man in the crowd. She felt an unwelcome grope from the man's hands. He even went so far as to squeeze the firm flesh.
"EXCUSE ME!!" She snarled, reaching up behind her with one hand.
A feral grin on her face, she grasped the man's fragile ear lobe in a firm hold and yanked. Using the momentum of his yelping fall, she barreled the man cleanly over her shoulder. His sudden weight neatly knocked over the three suits ahead of her.
Many turned and gaped at the sprawling pile. The man she had thrown flailed on top, and eyed her owlishly, face painted with disbelief.
"When you are with a lady, sir. Be a gentleman." She said with venom.
Head held high, she hurried along, knowing well that she didn't have much time left to complete her errand. With some satisfaction, she saw a few of the suited people part before her.
Moments later, she heard the shrill whistles of approaching policemen echoing off the concrete. She ducked her head and glanced around. The sound distorted just enough that her ears failed to find the source. Her eyes scanned the crowd for anything blue. Anything flashy amonst the grey clad bodies.
Up at the pedestrian bridge, three men in blue struggled with man in gray. She watched as one policeman swung a short black stick over his head.
She winced as a sickening thunk cut through the general din.
The gray suited man limply slumped over, and she thought she recognised him as the man she had thrown to the ground.
The three in blue then grappled the man's elbows into a painful looking pose behind his back, and shoved him along. She had seen such poses many times.
No men in blue approached her, and she heard no more shrill whistles. She supposed that by now, she was an anonomous face in the crowd.
She turned away and forced her shoulders to relax as she walked, reasoning that she was five bodies in, and well past the violence she had so smoothly performed.
At the curb, a surge of bodies at her back jarred her towards the trains lumbering through. She held her ground, relentlessly digging her nails into some poor soul's fabric covered arms.
The last sluggish metal box trudged by, and in the hush of its passing, she saw the building she was seeking.
Just across the way, a shabby looking little hut was nestled between two massively imposing steel and glass office buildings. It had brightly painted wooden shingles covering its quaint narrow pitched roof, and a simple round wooden sign hung upon chains from a post at the apex. The strange image carved upon it looked to be a sort of stylized duck-beaver hybrid, and the words along the edge declared:
"The Nuclear Platypus Coffee House."
She gazed at the line of people that began at the painted wood of the front door and stretched to vanish behind pristine glass walls around the corner a block futher down.
She sighed.
As she had expected for this time of day, the line was long. Very long. She made her way over to the end, folded her arms. Impatiently, she waited for brown ambrosa.
---ooo---
Sent via a stray supercharged nano particle of unobtainium....
Rewrite. Cleanup. Fixing awful bad phrasing and awkward ideas. Hope it reads better than the first verson, which will be destroyed in five..four.. Three...
---ooo---
Ginny Smith figured she could be forgiven for her base rudeness. She scowled as she shoved a grey flannel suited man aside and out of her immediate path, and glared when a similarly suited man blithely stepped in his place.
She deployed her elbows and shouldered her way through, receiving glares, harsh words, and returning painful jabs.
People, normal people that is, would certainly be understanding, and even sympathetic, towards her if they knew her reasons. Granted, most of those reasons revolved about a certain unforgiving boss, who was, at the moment, entertaining a prospective client. This particular prospective client had a certain well-known addiction to a dark percolating liquid called coffee, the best of which was served at the far end of this crowded square.
"He sends me to get coffee." She groused in her mind, "What am I, a damn secretary?"
She ducked and weaved around another suited man in the crowd. She felt an unwelcome grope from the man's hands. He even went so far as to squeeze the firm flesh.
"EXCUSE ME!!" She snarled, reaching up behind her with one hand.
A feral grin on her face, she grasped the man's fragile ear lobe in a firm hold and yanked. Using the momentum of his yelping fall, she barreled the man cleanly over her shoulder. His sudden weight neatly knocked over the three suits ahead of her.
Many turned and gaped at the sprawling pile. The man she had thrown flailed on top, and eyed her owlishly, face painted with disbelief.
"When you are with a lady, sir. Be a gentleman." She said with venom.
Head held high, she hurried along, knowing well that she didn't have much time left to complete her errand. With some satisfaction, she saw a few of the suited people part before her.
Moments later, she heard the shrill whistles of approaching policemen echoing off the concrete. She ducked her head and glanced around. The sound distorted just enough that her ears failed to find the source. Her eyes scanned the crowd for anything blue. Anything flashy amonst the grey clad bodies.
Up at the pedestrian bridge, three men in blue struggled with man in gray. She watched as one policeman swung a short black stick over his head.
She winced as a sickening thunk cut through the general din.
The gray suited man limply slumped over, and she thought she recognised him as the man she had thrown to the ground.
The three in blue then grappled the man's elbows into a painful looking pose behind his back, and shoved him along. She had seen such poses many times.
No men in blue approached her, and she heard no more shrill whistles. She supposed that by now, she was an anonomous face in the crowd.
She turned away and forced her shoulders to relax as she walked, reasoning that she was five bodies in, and well past the violence she had so smoothly performed.
At the curb, a surge of bodies at her back jarred her towards the trains lumbering through. She held her ground, relentlessly digging her nails into some poor soul's fabric covered arms.
The last sluggish metal box trudged by, and in the hush of its passing, she saw the building she was seeking.
Just across the way, a shabby looking little hut was nestled between two massively imposing steel and glass office buildings. It had brightly painted wooden shingles covering its quaint narrow pitched roof, and a simple round wooden sign hung upon chains from a post at the apex. The strange image carved upon it looked to be a sort of stylized duck-beaver hybrid, and the words along the edge declared:
"The Nuclear Platypus Coffee House."
She gazed at the line of people that began at the painted wood of the front door and stretched to vanish behind pristine glass walls around the corner a block futher down.
She sighed.
As she had expected for this time of day, the line was long. Very long. She made her way over to the end, folded her arms. Impatiently, she waited for brown ambrosa.
---ooo---
Sent via a stray supercharged nano particle of unobtainium....
Thursday, March 3, 2011
Beast collector..
This story hasn't vanishied! It's now availble for purchase at Amazon.com at the Kindle store (4/08/11) in the book: Llothcat's Fictional Portal, by Debra Colvin. You don't even need a Kindle device to download the book, as you can download the free program to any pc. I happen to have the free application on my blackberry phone. Any questions, comments,etc.can be e-mailed to directly at: llothcat@sbcglobal.net
....
....
Wednesday, February 16, 2011
Techical difficulties..
This story hasn't vanishied! It's now availble for purchase at Amazon.com at the Kindle store (4/08/11) in the book: Llothcat's Fictional Portal, by Debra Colvin. You don't even need a Kindle device to download the book, as you can download the free program to any pc. I happen to have the free application on my blackberry phone. Any questions, comments,etc.can be e-mailed to directly at: llothcat@sbcglobal.net
Tuesday, February 15, 2011
Neglectful silence
Decided to build upon my own redneck universe which I sort of started with that "murdering horde" piece.
Enjoy!
--oh, and Happy Valentine's Day!
--ooo--
Spade Criminy furrowed his brow, and looked again to Mrs. Smith's reference sheet.
Alone amongst clumps of overgrown greenery, just past the dirt road, 333 sagged at the top of the hill.
Spade glanced at the wide windows as he approached, but decided that they were far too dirty to see what was contained within the place. He clomped up the decaying wooden steps to the porch cluttered with broken crates, dozens of paper plates, chipped mud encrusted dishes, stale cat food, and in the corner, an old metal school desk designed for a small child. He eased open the lone rotting door with the toe of his boot.
He grimmaced as it creaked eerily on its way, the sound was just enough to make the goosebumps rise on his arms. He tilted his head and looked through the crack into the darkened interior.
Dust danced in weak sunbeams and covered the floors and counter tops. Cobwebs draped thickly down from the soot scorched ceiling, and all the walls were dingy with clinging dirt.
"Hello, anyone here?"
Neglectful silence replied.
His sharp eyes darted up at the rafters above him, to the thick webs reaching for the earth. To the buzzing insects and mostly hidden bird nests.
And he smiled widely.
His decision not to hire the prospective housekeeper for himself was an easy one to make. The next step, however, would be a tricky one to accomplish in the time that he had before the court proceeding began.
He would indeed recommend Mrs. Smith's superb housekeeping services to his ex-wife.
Sent via a stray supercharged nano particle of unobtainium....
Enjoy!
--oh, and Happy Valentine's Day!
--ooo--
Spade Criminy furrowed his brow, and looked again to Mrs. Smith's reference sheet.
Alone amongst clumps of overgrown greenery, just past the dirt road, 333 sagged at the top of the hill.
Spade glanced at the wide windows as he approached, but decided that they were far too dirty to see what was contained within the place. He clomped up the decaying wooden steps to the porch cluttered with broken crates, dozens of paper plates, chipped mud encrusted dishes, stale cat food, and in the corner, an old metal school desk designed for a small child. He eased open the lone rotting door with the toe of his boot.
He grimmaced as it creaked eerily on its way, the sound was just enough to make the goosebumps rise on his arms. He tilted his head and looked through the crack into the darkened interior.
Dust danced in weak sunbeams and covered the floors and counter tops. Cobwebs draped thickly down from the soot scorched ceiling, and all the walls were dingy with clinging dirt.
"Hello, anyone here?"
Neglectful silence replied.
His sharp eyes darted up at the rafters above him, to the thick webs reaching for the earth. To the buzzing insects and mostly hidden bird nests.
And he smiled widely.
His decision not to hire the prospective housekeeper for himself was an easy one to make. The next step, however, would be a tricky one to accomplish in the time that he had before the court proceeding began.
He would indeed recommend Mrs. Smith's superb housekeeping services to his ex-wife.
Sent via a stray supercharged nano particle of unobtainium....
Monday, February 14, 2011
Andrea's alien
Not every day is going to be fruitful.
This was a day in which I just had to really scrape within myself to get something down on paper. Since I had a case of the "blahs", I decided to focus on descriptions rather than much of a plot. It's a shame too. Plot-roach provided a really great open ended prompt.
Prompt:
Andrea's alien.
---ooo---
The suited man stumbled to a stop on the crowded sidewalk, narrowly missing stepping on the heels to those before him. He didn't expect an answer from anyone around him, as the street was certainly too noisy, but by long habit he could not help but swear aloud.
"What the hell..?"
He glimpsed a young man dressed in a thin green t-shirt with the word "Andrea" in scrawled white across narrow shoulders, who had stopped and, for some reason, squinted upwards. The bald head sported an incredble amount of metal bits from the ears on up, all of which were rather pointy sharp and made the suited man inwardly cringe at the pain they must have caused.
A fat lady stood next to the youth. She was smartly dressed in a pink monstrosity of a pant suit, and her neat coif did not move at all as she tentively gaped at the sky as well. The suited man was about to do the same, (partly to see just what the duo found interesting enough to stop walking, and partly to judge if it would be a something best to be avoided), when he heard the faint voice of the woman say,
"Sorry Axrat. I don't see it."
The suited man took a deep breath and scrambled around them, intent on his own business of the day.
He then saw the youth's face crumble, weighted down with disappointment.
A block down, he gave them no more thought.
Sent via a stray supercharged nano particle of unobtainium....
This was a day in which I just had to really scrape within myself to get something down on paper. Since I had a case of the "blahs", I decided to focus on descriptions rather than much of a plot. It's a shame too. Plot-roach provided a really great open ended prompt.
Prompt:
Andrea's alien.
---ooo---
The suited man stumbled to a stop on the crowded sidewalk, narrowly missing stepping on the heels to those before him. He didn't expect an answer from anyone around him, as the street was certainly too noisy, but by long habit he could not help but swear aloud.
"What the hell..?"
He glimpsed a young man dressed in a thin green t-shirt with the word "Andrea" in scrawled white across narrow shoulders, who had stopped and, for some reason, squinted upwards. The bald head sported an incredble amount of metal bits from the ears on up, all of which were rather pointy sharp and made the suited man inwardly cringe at the pain they must have caused.
A fat lady stood next to the youth. She was smartly dressed in a pink monstrosity of a pant suit, and her neat coif did not move at all as she tentively gaped at the sky as well. The suited man was about to do the same, (partly to see just what the duo found interesting enough to stop walking, and partly to judge if it would be a something best to be avoided), when he heard the faint voice of the woman say,
"Sorry Axrat. I don't see it."
The suited man took a deep breath and scrambled around them, intent on his own business of the day.
He then saw the youth's face crumble, weighted down with disappointment.
A block down, he gave them no more thought.
Sent via a stray supercharged nano particle of unobtainium....
Sunday, February 13, 2011
Plastic pink flamingos
This story hasn't vanishied! It's now availble for purchase at Amazon.com at the Kindle store (4/08/11) in the book: Llothcat's Fictional Portal, by Debra Colvin. You don't even need a Kindle device to download the book, as you can download the free program to any pc. I happen to have the free application on my blackberry phone. Any questions, comments,etc.can be e-mailed to directly at: llothcat@sbcglobal.net
Friday, February 11, 2011
yandex, the wall which barely helped
Yandex, the wall which barely helped
---OOO---
The snow was thick and muffled his footsteps as he ran through the woods. It wasn't enough to hide his presence. By the staccato of many somethings striking solidly against the trees, some just by his head, he had in no way lost his pursuers.
He dove to the side and rolled, keeping a careful hold of the package strapped to his front and beneath his parka.
They were a certainly a persistent bunch.
On paper, it was simple enough. Break in, grab the package, then leave before anyone was the wiser. He managed trudging through the snow silently just fine; it was his specialty after all.
The package itself was had been placed in a quiet, isolated house deep in the mountains. From a distance, it looked easy to break into, and it was.
It was the leaving that was the real problem.
He dove and weaved again, taking advantage a puff of snow to reverse his direction. Then purposely slipped and ducked low. If he held still and allowed the white of the furred parka blend in with the surrounding snow, maybe he could give them the slip. He panted as softly as he could, and reached his gloved fingers up the few inches to his front. He glanced down, using the spare moments his ploy allowed him to check the package's welfare.
He saw cheeks in a rosy hue, and felt the warm breath. The little round nose wrinkled in some irritation, but the lids covering the eyes of the babe were as tightly closed as its tiny fists. The package was fine and still sound asleep.
A twig broke and echoed throughout the frigid air. Such sounds were most difficult for anyone to judge the origins of. He flicked his eyes about without moving, and held his breath.
Just. How close were they?
On instinct, he jerked aside: the unseen arrow just nicked his cheek before it thunked solidly into the last trunk of the corpse.
The drifts were deeper from this point on. He was caught in a breathless race to the checkpoint, and there was no more cover for him to hide in.
Arrows vanished into the snow about him, vanishing in the ever deeper drifts. The snow was irresistibly slowing his forward momentum, and his only comfort was that it was doing the same to his pursuers. He was out of breath when he tripped over some hidden rock..
Then to his dismay discovered it wasn't quite a rock at all.
He fell into a deep deep drift. It was well over his head in depth.
He did manage to land very hard on his back. He supposed it was the sudden jolt from the landing that caused the baby to cry out-- very loud and shrillily.
There was a good reason why his pursuers were choosing use the old hunting arrows to try to end his life, even though guns certainly would be far more efficient. In these mountains, at this time of year, loud noise of any sort was not a good idea. Not with such a thick snow pack looming high above them.
The sound of a screaming baby was followed quickly by a bone rattling rumble that overwhelmed him. A stomach dropping heartbeat later, all light was blotted out.
He couldn't tell if his eyes were open or closed. He wasn't certain how long he stared at the balckness until he realized the sound he was hearing was his own panicked breaths. The incessant static from the ear piece, which remained deep in his ear, ended abruptly with a loud click.
"Is the package secure, over?" A tinny voice demanded.
Somehow. Somehow, he still breathed. If he was right, he had been caught in an avalanche and he still breathed. He felt a wall to one side, and half-scooted, half packed the snow around himself. Soon, he had just enough room to struggle with sitting up.
When he had the back of his head leaning against the wall, the baby let him know of it's displeasure rather loudly. He scowled and pressed his half-frozen finger to the ear piece.
"Package is fine. And so am I. Thanks for asking."
"What's your twenty?"
"No idea." He said, and gently patted his front, hoping to comfort the screaming baby. He the reached to his belt and drew out a flashlight.
His flicked it on and was nearly blinded by the sudden brightness. He squinted, and directed it to the wall, looking for anything really.
On one piece of broken concrete was some street scrawl. He pressed the button on his ear piece reluctantly.
".. Graffiti says 'Yandex'."
"That's.. not a lot to go on."
"Thanks for the concern."
"Sit tight.."
"Like I have a choice."
He sipped his tea by a warm fire, and glanced at the woman cradling the child before him.
"The wall scrawl helped a little, but in the end, they found me by my cell signal." He said, finishing his tale.
"Thank you." She said. "When he's old enough.."
"If it's all the same to you, I highly doubt that he'll ever be old enough to know."
"No.. He'll deserve to know of who returned him to his mommy." She said, and kissed the babe's forehead warmly.
He smiled thinnly, and endevoured to cash her rather hefty check before the sun set. He had a team to pay.
Sent via a stray supercharged nano particle of unobtainium....
---OOO---
The snow was thick and muffled his footsteps as he ran through the woods. It wasn't enough to hide his presence. By the staccato of many somethings striking solidly against the trees, some just by his head, he had in no way lost his pursuers.
He dove to the side and rolled, keeping a careful hold of the package strapped to his front and beneath his parka.
They were a certainly a persistent bunch.
On paper, it was simple enough. Break in, grab the package, then leave before anyone was the wiser. He managed trudging through the snow silently just fine; it was his specialty after all.
The package itself was had been placed in a quiet, isolated house deep in the mountains. From a distance, it looked easy to break into, and it was.
It was the leaving that was the real problem.
He dove and weaved again, taking advantage a puff of snow to reverse his direction. Then purposely slipped and ducked low. If he held still and allowed the white of the furred parka blend in with the surrounding snow, maybe he could give them the slip. He panted as softly as he could, and reached his gloved fingers up the few inches to his front. He glanced down, using the spare moments his ploy allowed him to check the package's welfare.
He saw cheeks in a rosy hue, and felt the warm breath. The little round nose wrinkled in some irritation, but the lids covering the eyes of the babe were as tightly closed as its tiny fists. The package was fine and still sound asleep.
A twig broke and echoed throughout the frigid air. Such sounds were most difficult for anyone to judge the origins of. He flicked his eyes about without moving, and held his breath.
Just. How close were they?
On instinct, he jerked aside: the unseen arrow just nicked his cheek before it thunked solidly into the last trunk of the corpse.
The drifts were deeper from this point on. He was caught in a breathless race to the checkpoint, and there was no more cover for him to hide in.
Arrows vanished into the snow about him, vanishing in the ever deeper drifts. The snow was irresistibly slowing his forward momentum, and his only comfort was that it was doing the same to his pursuers. He was out of breath when he tripped over some hidden rock..
Then to his dismay discovered it wasn't quite a rock at all.
He fell into a deep deep drift. It was well over his head in depth.
He did manage to land very hard on his back. He supposed it was the sudden jolt from the landing that caused the baby to cry out-- very loud and shrillily.
There was a good reason why his pursuers were choosing use the old hunting arrows to try to end his life, even though guns certainly would be far more efficient. In these mountains, at this time of year, loud noise of any sort was not a good idea. Not with such a thick snow pack looming high above them.
The sound of a screaming baby was followed quickly by a bone rattling rumble that overwhelmed him. A stomach dropping heartbeat later, all light was blotted out.
He couldn't tell if his eyes were open or closed. He wasn't certain how long he stared at the balckness until he realized the sound he was hearing was his own panicked breaths. The incessant static from the ear piece, which remained deep in his ear, ended abruptly with a loud click.
"Is the package secure, over?" A tinny voice demanded.
Somehow. Somehow, he still breathed. If he was right, he had been caught in an avalanche and he still breathed. He felt a wall to one side, and half-scooted, half packed the snow around himself. Soon, he had just enough room to struggle with sitting up.
When he had the back of his head leaning against the wall, the baby let him know of it's displeasure rather loudly. He scowled and pressed his half-frozen finger to the ear piece.
"Package is fine. And so am I. Thanks for asking."
"What's your twenty?"
"No idea." He said, and gently patted his front, hoping to comfort the screaming baby. He the reached to his belt and drew out a flashlight.
His flicked it on and was nearly blinded by the sudden brightness. He squinted, and directed it to the wall, looking for anything really.
On one piece of broken concrete was some street scrawl. He pressed the button on his ear piece reluctantly.
".. Graffiti says 'Yandex'."
"That's.. not a lot to go on."
"Thanks for the concern."
"Sit tight.."
"Like I have a choice."
He sipped his tea by a warm fire, and glanced at the woman cradling the child before him.
"The wall scrawl helped a little, but in the end, they found me by my cell signal." He said, finishing his tale.
"Thank you." She said. "When he's old enough.."
"If it's all the same to you, I highly doubt that he'll ever be old enough to know."
"No.. He'll deserve to know of who returned him to his mommy." She said, and kissed the babe's forehead warmly.
He smiled thinnly, and endevoured to cash her rather hefty check before the sun set. He had a team to pay.
Sent via a stray supercharged nano particle of unobtainium....
Thursday, February 10, 2011
devil bunny needs a ham
Prompt:
Devil-bunny needs a ham
---oooo----
Down crashed the books with a terrible noise, and Cindy was only too happy to let go of the straps of the bags that contained them.
She flopped into the chair before the monochrome monitor, and let out a breath. It was late in the dorms and to her complete disappointment, only the blinking cursor on the dark screen would be keeping her company tonight. She leaned her cheek onto her hand and idly hit the return key on the keyboard.
As it was supposed to, the cursor blinked in response. Then, a sudden sharp beep filled the room, and the cursor moved quickly over the screen. It smoothly bled a message in light that read:
Devil-bunny needs a ham.
Cindy scrunched her face in confusion, mind completely blank at the nonsense phrase. It occurred to her that maybe it was a joke of some sort. Perhaps her roommate had left a game running?
"Poor white trash needs a life.." She grumbled to herself, but her mind said,
A code perhaps?
Her roommate did have a habit of writing things in code about her various boyfriends, but it usually looked like the vowels were missing, in a kind of shorthand. Nothing like this.
Or a least she didn't remember anything like this.
Her fingers twitched as she narrowed her eyes at the screen. What would it hurt to reply? The opposite of a devil was only too obvious.
"But the rabbit...hmmm.."
Bacon needs a can of angel turtle.
She typed awkwardly, thinking herself very clever for making use of the old fable, the tortoise and the hare. Fingers poised over the keys, she held her breath, and waited.
Perhaps there would only be an automated-- and therefore very boring-- response.
9's. Be there in 15
She widened her eyes at the flashing light. She well knew The Nine's was a hot night club in downtown, several miles away. It was the sort of high class place that college kids like herself couldn't afford to look at, much less enter. And to be there in 15 minutes?
Who are you? She typed uselessly: the screen winked out before she could hit enter to send it on its way. She growled at it in frustration, and gave the stupid thing a good whack.
Then shrugged.
It must have been just a game, she told herself, and pulled out the first book to begin her assignment. She tried very hard not to think about what the fancy-smancy nightclub was like.
It didn't work. If anything, she felt even more antsy. She looked at the clock. Ten minutes. Could she even make it?
A voice in her head said, There's only one way to find out.
She looked in her closet searchingly, finding nothing but the usual drab, blah clothing she wore everyday. Not a single one would do. She had heard that even if one had money, if one didn't dress right, then the club would let them in. The worn out jeans that filled her closet were not going to do.
It was wrong, but she glanced longingly to her roommate's, who always seems such the snazzy dresser. She had nightclub-like dresses, and she always managed to look fabulous, whereas Cindy looked, well, like she had just rolled out of bed most days.
The door was shut, of course, and Cindy had always respected the concept of privacy. Besides, she doubted they even wore the same size.
This, however, was a special occasion.
She made it in about sixteen minutes, squeezed into tiny black dress that barely covered the parts that should be. As it was, she had chickened-out and slipped her jeans on the lower parts.
The upper parts ..well, they were another matter.
While she was indeed surprised to find that she was the same size as her roommate, with some pride she smiled that she was the one who had possessed the more ample cleavage. If she were really going to go through with this, she had to remember to only breathe a certain way: with some embarrassment, she had had to put them back in while standing before the bathroom mirror just after she breathed in a particularly deep breath.
She was about to step into line, which wrapped about the building, when she stopped.
Hesitated.
She watched owlishly as a pair of bubble headed girls, empty voices speaking of nothing of great importance, their too-young faces painted up like living dolls, draped themselves on either side of a man in a dark tailored suit. They leaned on his as if their entire existence depended on it.
She realized that this was not the kind of woman she ever wanted to be.
Cindy awoke the next morning to a too bright sun. Worryingly, her roommate was still not back. Unable to do anything about it, she went about her routine as usual. Piled the books she needed for the day in the bag and went on with her nice, quiet, ordinary day.
Her eyes shining, filled with renewed determination to build her life into something she could truly admire.
Sent via a stray supercharged nano particle of unobtainium....
Devil-bunny needs a ham
---oooo----
Down crashed the books with a terrible noise, and Cindy was only too happy to let go of the straps of the bags that contained them.
She flopped into the chair before the monochrome monitor, and let out a breath. It was late in the dorms and to her complete disappointment, only the blinking cursor on the dark screen would be keeping her company tonight. She leaned her cheek onto her hand and idly hit the return key on the keyboard.
As it was supposed to, the cursor blinked in response. Then, a sudden sharp beep filled the room, and the cursor moved quickly over the screen. It smoothly bled a message in light that read:
Devil-bunny needs a ham.
Cindy scrunched her face in confusion, mind completely blank at the nonsense phrase. It occurred to her that maybe it was a joke of some sort. Perhaps her roommate had left a game running?
"Poor white trash needs a life.." She grumbled to herself, but her mind said,
A code perhaps?
Her roommate did have a habit of writing things in code about her various boyfriends, but it usually looked like the vowels were missing, in a kind of shorthand. Nothing like this.
Or a least she didn't remember anything like this.
Her fingers twitched as she narrowed her eyes at the screen. What would it hurt to reply? The opposite of a devil was only too obvious.
"But the rabbit...hmmm.."
Bacon needs a can of angel turtle.
She typed awkwardly, thinking herself very clever for making use of the old fable, the tortoise and the hare. Fingers poised over the keys, she held her breath, and waited.
Perhaps there would only be an automated-- and therefore very boring-- response.
9's. Be there in 15
She widened her eyes at the flashing light. She well knew The Nine's was a hot night club in downtown, several miles away. It was the sort of high class place that college kids like herself couldn't afford to look at, much less enter. And to be there in 15 minutes?
Who are you? She typed uselessly: the screen winked out before she could hit enter to send it on its way. She growled at it in frustration, and gave the stupid thing a good whack.
Then shrugged.
It must have been just a game, she told herself, and pulled out the first book to begin her assignment. She tried very hard not to think about what the fancy-smancy nightclub was like.
It didn't work. If anything, she felt even more antsy. She looked at the clock. Ten minutes. Could she even make it?
A voice in her head said, There's only one way to find out.
She looked in her closet searchingly, finding nothing but the usual drab, blah clothing she wore everyday. Not a single one would do. She had heard that even if one had money, if one didn't dress right, then the club would let them in. The worn out jeans that filled her closet were not going to do.
It was wrong, but she glanced longingly to her roommate's, who always seems such the snazzy dresser. She had nightclub-like dresses, and she always managed to look fabulous, whereas Cindy looked, well, like she had just rolled out of bed most days.
The door was shut, of course, and Cindy had always respected the concept of privacy. Besides, she doubted they even wore the same size.
This, however, was a special occasion.
She made it in about sixteen minutes, squeezed into tiny black dress that barely covered the parts that should be. As it was, she had chickened-out and slipped her jeans on the lower parts.
The upper parts ..well, they were another matter.
While she was indeed surprised to find that she was the same size as her roommate, with some pride she smiled that she was the one who had possessed the more ample cleavage. If she were really going to go through with this, she had to remember to only breathe a certain way: with some embarrassment, she had had to put them back in while standing before the bathroom mirror just after she breathed in a particularly deep breath.
She was about to step into line, which wrapped about the building, when she stopped.
Hesitated.
She watched owlishly as a pair of bubble headed girls, empty voices speaking of nothing of great importance, their too-young faces painted up like living dolls, draped themselves on either side of a man in a dark tailored suit. They leaned on his as if their entire existence depended on it.
She realized that this was not the kind of woman she ever wanted to be.
Cindy awoke the next morning to a too bright sun. Worryingly, her roommate was still not back. Unable to do anything about it, she went about her routine as usual. Piled the books she needed for the day in the bag and went on with her nice, quiet, ordinary day.
Her eyes shining, filled with renewed determination to build her life into something she could truly admire.
Sent via a stray supercharged nano particle of unobtainium....
Sunday, February 6, 2011
singer-pig
This story hasn't vanishied! It's now availble for purchase at Amazon.com at the Kindle store (4/08/11) in the book: Llothcat's Fictional Portal, by Debra Colvin. You don't even need a Kindle device to download the book, as you can download the free program to any pc. I happen to have the free application on my blackberry phone. Any questions, comments,etc.can be e-mailed to directly at: llothcat@sbcglobal.net
Saturday, February 5, 2011
stinkin' donut
Alrighty.. Dr who crossover blot bunny all nice and squished. Doing de prompt. Making use of my OC from the harry potter fma crossover I did.
Prompt:
Any universe: The theif says, "All I wanted was the stinking donut.."
---ooo--
Jon Furey. Oh. It's you. You wanna statement? Fine. Cameras.. very useful things. They watch and record objectively what they are pointed at. Usually without fail.
Take for instance this one. It's pointed nicely at the street corner just up the way. Great view of all the traffic.
What?
A permit? No I didn't. Don't need a permit. For one it's tiny and installed on private property. Two, it's way up high, where nobody'll notice it.
See, that's how it works. If nobody ever complains about, then I get to keep on installing. I got over five hundred put up out there.
Monitors of course.
Yeah. You should see my work area. There isn't enough wall space for 'em all. I'm installing some on the ceiling next.
I'm not a perv.
Ok, there was that time. So what. I'm a busness man am I not? I don't judge what the clients want so long as they pay me enough.
Ok. Look. About that. I see this guy wearing plain white t-shirt, with the word "theif" printed on the front in bold red letters. He's just standing there on the street holding some bags. Like a lot of people on the corner.
How should I know if he actually stole anything or not?
Anyway, he's watching this other guy with a baseball bat jump about and bust up this sweet porsh that's parked right there. Yes there was another guy.. Can't miss lime green hair man. The other guy had lime green hair.
Sure I have the audio. Closest microphone is by the post office, so don't blame me if all you hear more than you wanted from that crazy cheap-ass lady yelling at the clerk for a refund.
Remember? She mailed a pooch through two-day mail. Poor mutt. She was all upset the dog arrived dead at her nephew's birthday party ..never mind that the cargo hold gets to be fourty below, and obviously ain't fer dogs..
Alright. Here it is..listen. Hear it..?
Ok. The thief says, "All I wanted was the stinking donut.."
Think he's talking to the joker.. That's what I call the guy doing jumping jacks on the car.
Yeah, it really explains the block wide food fight that happened next, now don't it?
Sent via a stray supercharged nano particle of unobtainium....
Prompt:
Any universe: The theif says, "All I wanted was the stinking donut.."
---ooo--
Jon Furey. Oh. It's you. You wanna statement? Fine. Cameras.. very useful things. They watch and record objectively what they are pointed at. Usually without fail.
Take for instance this one. It's pointed nicely at the street corner just up the way. Great view of all the traffic.
What?
A permit? No I didn't. Don't need a permit. For one it's tiny and installed on private property. Two, it's way up high, where nobody'll notice it.
See, that's how it works. If nobody ever complains about, then I get to keep on installing. I got over five hundred put up out there.
Monitors of course.
Yeah. You should see my work area. There isn't enough wall space for 'em all. I'm installing some on the ceiling next.
I'm not a perv.
Ok, there was that time. So what. I'm a busness man am I not? I don't judge what the clients want so long as they pay me enough.
Ok. Look. About that. I see this guy wearing plain white t-shirt, with the word "theif" printed on the front in bold red letters. He's just standing there on the street holding some bags. Like a lot of people on the corner.
How should I know if he actually stole anything or not?
Anyway, he's watching this other guy with a baseball bat jump about and bust up this sweet porsh that's parked right there. Yes there was another guy.. Can't miss lime green hair man. The other guy had lime green hair.
Sure I have the audio. Closest microphone is by the post office, so don't blame me if all you hear more than you wanted from that crazy cheap-ass lady yelling at the clerk for a refund.
Remember? She mailed a pooch through two-day mail. Poor mutt. She was all upset the dog arrived dead at her nephew's birthday party ..never mind that the cargo hold gets to be fourty below, and obviously ain't fer dogs..
Alright. Here it is..listen. Hear it..?
Ok. The thief says, "All I wanted was the stinking donut.."
Think he's talking to the joker.. That's what I call the guy doing jumping jacks on the car.
Yeah, it really explains the block wide food fight that happened next, now don't it?
Sent via a stray supercharged nano particle of unobtainium....
Thursday, January 27, 2011
horde of murderers fight for custody(Mostly) Completed prompt..
Prompt:
"Horde of murders fight for custody of child"
While the dark haired woman in the hospital bed stared dazedly at the ceiling, the young woman stood in the doorway and carefully filled out the required checklist.
Her name tag, clipped prominently to her leather belt, declared her authority: "Brianna Knight, Department as a Child Protection Service Worker Class 3". Long wavy brown hair carefully arranged in a high pony tail, she was determined to prove, without a doubt to her superiors, that she had taken all the appropriate steps before being forced into action in this case.
She glanced across the room. Resting peacefully in the corner, laying beneath special lights in a special container, like a tiny precious bauble, was the reason she was here: a baby, cut from the womb only three days ago.
Noting no ring on either of the prone woman's hands, she checked the martial status as "single", which meant that there was no responsible father to care for the child to be found.
She looked to the glassy eyes and nearly disrobed state of the mother; To the bags filled with fluids that lead to the woman's arms.
The questions: "Have you ever taken drugs", and "Are you currently taking drugs" were obvious-- the woman before her had veins full of the things. Those two facts made the next step simple as could be, and guaranteed that she was completely justified in her decision.
There was no way that woman, with a torn body pumped full of drugs, could be remotely capable of taking care of an infant. She knew that quite well from all her months of training in the Department employee, and she was certainly eager to impress her superiors with excellent performance of duties.
Brianna strode over to the lighted container, scooped up the child, then, simply left the room.
"...Biggest mistake of my life.." She muttered under her breath and sucked in her breath in the panic that she had actually spoken the thought aloud.
She heard a crashing noise in the darkness, and it was close.. far too close. She held her breath, prayed the loud thundering she heard was only her heart, and oh dear oh no what if they could somehow hear it and find me...?
Another crash she jumped back, scraping her back painfully against something unforgiving and rough. Some heavy thump rattled the ground, and the sudden appearance of a rusted heap narrowly missed crushing her toes. She froze, heard rocks falling all about, and somehow found the presence of mind to wonder if the dust cloud around her was immense, impressive -- only she knew it was as lost in the dark as she was.
Before her, unseen, a deep, moronic voice growled,
"Mongo hear sumptin'.."
Many many scrapes against bare earth approached.
She panicked and bolted to her feet. By the time she heard the loud bang atop the car corpse, she was fleeing blindly through the dry..and very noisy.. neglected grass. She heard many gleeful whistles, and glanced behind her.
Her shins struck something solid, and she cursed and bit her lip as she fell from the sudden agony. She made it to her elbows when she felt the heavy boot settle on her upper back. She panted, surprised she could still breathe beneath the immense weight as many lurid catcalls, soo-wies! And wh--oops! filled the night.
"Good gravy Mongo..!"
"Thadda boy..!"
"Flushed her out goooood..!"
She kicked and swung her arms mightily, for all the good it did: she knew she was pinned. Whiteness filled her vision, and she screwed her eyes shut against the sudden brightness. This was not the first time they had caught her in this sick game of theirs; She knew it shined from a large flashlight, a great yellow one shaped much like a gun.
She took a breath, and said the first thing that was in her mind.
"You'll never get away with this!! Assaulting a public official..!"
Her voice was drowned out by a roar of laughter.. Many many voices. Just how many are there, she wondered, and cracked her eyes open a tiny fraction.
"Oh, I think assault is the least of what you deserve, missy." An angry face said, "Now tell me.. Where is my child?"
"Somewhere safe..!"
"Tell me where..." The man hissed. "Little thief.. Stole her right away from my WIFE, you did."
Beyond him she saw many wicked..huge.. very sharp blades glinting in the light..
"Thief of children.." The man spat. "You do know what we in this family do to such vile creatures as yourself..?"
"I-i'm not.."
"MAKE JUSTICE." The man said with finality, and gave a nod over his shoulder.
She cried out. She could only watch as a body flopped over into the dust beside her. The bloody mess of a face was unrecognizable, but the name tag pinned to the breast pocket read:
"Ned Hope, Supervisor, Child Protection Service"
She squinched her eyes shut and wished she was somewhere else. The tears began to leak from the corners of her eyes.
"Now...Where..?"
The question was hissed so quietly, she almost didn't hear it. For a few heartbeats, she said nothing...
As the knives descended upon her as well, that did not last long at all.
Sent via a stray supercharged nano particle of unobtainium....
"Horde of murders fight for custody of child"
While the dark haired woman in the hospital bed stared dazedly at the ceiling, the young woman stood in the doorway and carefully filled out the required checklist.
Her name tag, clipped prominently to her leather belt, declared her authority: "Brianna Knight, Department as a Child Protection Service Worker Class 3". Long wavy brown hair carefully arranged in a high pony tail, she was determined to prove, without a doubt to her superiors, that she had taken all the appropriate steps before being forced into action in this case.
She glanced across the room. Resting peacefully in the corner, laying beneath special lights in a special container, like a tiny precious bauble, was the reason she was here: a baby, cut from the womb only three days ago.
Noting no ring on either of the prone woman's hands, she checked the martial status as "single", which meant that there was no responsible father to care for the child to be found.
She looked to the glassy eyes and nearly disrobed state of the mother; To the bags filled with fluids that lead to the woman's arms.
The questions: "Have you ever taken drugs", and "Are you currently taking drugs" were obvious-- the woman before her had veins full of the things. Those two facts made the next step simple as could be, and guaranteed that she was completely justified in her decision.
There was no way that woman, with a torn body pumped full of drugs, could be remotely capable of taking care of an infant. She knew that quite well from all her months of training in the Department employee, and she was certainly eager to impress her superiors with excellent performance of duties.
Brianna strode over to the lighted container, scooped up the child, then, simply left the room.
"...Biggest mistake of my life.." She muttered under her breath and sucked in her breath in the panic that she had actually spoken the thought aloud.
She heard a crashing noise in the darkness, and it was close.. far too close. She held her breath, prayed the loud thundering she heard was only her heart, and oh dear oh no what if they could somehow hear it and find me...?
Another crash she jumped back, scraping her back painfully against something unforgiving and rough. Some heavy thump rattled the ground, and the sudden appearance of a rusted heap narrowly missed crushing her toes. She froze, heard rocks falling all about, and somehow found the presence of mind to wonder if the dust cloud around her was immense, impressive -- only she knew it was as lost in the dark as she was.
Before her, unseen, a deep, moronic voice growled,
"Mongo hear sumptin'.."
Many many scrapes against bare earth approached.
She panicked and bolted to her feet. By the time she heard the loud bang atop the car corpse, she was fleeing blindly through the dry..and very noisy.. neglected grass. She heard many gleeful whistles, and glanced behind her.
Her shins struck something solid, and she cursed and bit her lip as she fell from the sudden agony. She made it to her elbows when she felt the heavy boot settle on her upper back. She panted, surprised she could still breathe beneath the immense weight as many lurid catcalls, soo-wies! And wh--oops! filled the night.
"Good gravy Mongo..!"
"Thadda boy..!"
"Flushed her out goooood..!"
She kicked and swung her arms mightily, for all the good it did: she knew she was pinned. Whiteness filled her vision, and she screwed her eyes shut against the sudden brightness. This was not the first time they had caught her in this sick game of theirs; She knew it shined from a large flashlight, a great yellow one shaped much like a gun.
She took a breath, and said the first thing that was in her mind.
"You'll never get away with this!! Assaulting a public official..!"
Her voice was drowned out by a roar of laughter.. Many many voices. Just how many are there, she wondered, and cracked her eyes open a tiny fraction.
"Oh, I think assault is the least of what you deserve, missy." An angry face said, "Now tell me.. Where is my child?"
"Somewhere safe..!"
"Tell me where..." The man hissed. "Little thief.. Stole her right away from my WIFE, you did."
Beyond him she saw many wicked..huge.. very sharp blades glinting in the light..
"Thief of children.." The man spat. "You do know what we in this family do to such vile creatures as yourself..?"
"I-i'm not.."
"MAKE JUSTICE." The man said with finality, and gave a nod over his shoulder.
She cried out. She could only watch as a body flopped over into the dust beside her. The bloody mess of a face was unrecognizable, but the name tag pinned to the breast pocket read:
"Ned Hope, Supervisor, Child Protection Service"
She squinched her eyes shut and wished she was somewhere else. The tears began to leak from the corners of her eyes.
"Now...Where..?"
The question was hissed so quietly, she almost didn't hear it. For a few heartbeats, she said nothing...
As the knives descended upon her as well, that did not last long at all.
Sent via a stray supercharged nano particle of unobtainium....
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