freethink
Autumn leaves were never as irritating as they were laying against that stone. The man pushed them away, but more would fester across the etched markings. The man continued to brush ferociously.
Urgency swept across his face. Dismay followed in rivers from his eyes. And fright choked his throat.
"What have I done..." he sobbed "i taught you manners, ethics, courage, independence, wisdom, what haven't I done, dammit!"
As the leafs continued rub his back in solemn encouragement he realized a very important word he did not mention.
"Love..." the man cried
The body beneath his knees would never know what a father's love felt like.
His suit had a hole, and he remembered the motto they told him for when a suit had a puncture:
"When there's a hole, find yourself a bowl... or anything to clog up the damn death toll!"
Ramon would not forget that space cadet motto. He also would not forget the ship he served on, or the crew he was with, or the beautiful wife he left back at home. What he wished he could forget was their excavation, all the rich minerals they found on mars, and the bastard Rezno, who was cutting at his breathing tube for his crate of valuables.
Smoke fumed from hades portal, which burned at the tip of a cigar. Two men sat there, inhaling all the congested smog with indifference. The two men sat opposite of each other at a desk. There on the desk was a name plate that read:
Cameron White
P. of Megatrends
"That’s our total losses…?” asked Cameron. He rubbed a scar on his right cheek. His hands were shaking.
The other man sucked on his cigar. Three empty boxes sat next to his chair. They were all Cubans.
“Yes. That’s all of them,” he started “all the shares are below half price, our ownership has sold out, and now we’ve managed to bring the rest of the market crashing like the titanic.”
Cameron looked at a picture on his desk. There was a dreamy haze in his eyes, and he couldn’t tell if it was smoke or tears. God remembers the last time he cried.
“Well, sir, what’re we going to do now?”
Cameron continued looking at the picture, ignoring what his comrade asked. There was a lovely woman in that frame and glass. By her was another, much younger, woman. They both smile happily next to a blank empty space; separated by an uneven tear. Cameron saw himself where the white of the canvas was. He remembered being in that picture. He remembered all too well. A scar will do that kind of thing.
“Sir, should we sell? Trade stock? Hide out? What should we do, sir?”
Cameron felt a knife slash against his check. Felt blood, his blood, run very slowly down his neck, hugging his chest as it cascaded. He heard the woman yelling, the younger one was screaming. It was all so real. So was the loss of everything he owned.
“Sir!”
Cameron heard his wife speak. She was whispering shoftly, and all he could hear was, “Be a man…”
“Dammit, Cameron, what should we do?”
Cameron stood up. As did the other man, preparing for some sort of speech that would alter all the events, turn by time, save their money.
Instead, Cameron jumped toward the window behind him. Glass shard tore new scars across Cameron’s face, but he did not mind, they weren’t the bad kind. At first he made out angry shouts, car alarms, and gun shots from the street below as he fell. But then, all he heard was his wife again.
She said, “…you don’t know how.”
"Make a statement? Take a stance? Why would I do that, when I'm chill with everyone?"
Debate class was not something Nicolas was going to enjoy, and he was making that clear to his professor. He would much rather take an objectively hypothetical approach to everything, and then relax the rest of the time.
“I can’t see how anyone would do this.” Nicolas continued.
“Do what?” the professor said, they both were meeting in private outside the classroom, a few days before college courses would begin.
“I can’t put my mind in a sort of intolerant state. It’s just not happenin’.”
His professor laughed, but before Nicolas took offense to it, he said:
“You’re already on the perfect track, boy.”
In the corner of the cafeteria stood a man, who was chewing gum, and had a brief case. His eyes hawked across all the nibbling mice. He saw them eat. He saw them save seats. He saw them text, rest, and laugh. The gum was degraded to a flat carpet in his mouth as he watched.
The man thought, “Why would anyone come to such a place? They all purchase things they don’t need. With money they don’t have. To impress people they don’t like. They’re broken.”
“I will fix them.”
He placed his brief case on the ground, releasing both tabs from their own bars, giving the brief case a moment to breath. He pulled out another piece of gum, replacing the one in his mouth.
And then he pulled out a gun.
He could not hear the shots and cries over the sound of his own chewing.
The man placed his box of broken fuses upon the self, next to a box of broken hearts. There were letters and love notes in there. Words of love once held, love once cherished, love once brooded over. And now they collected dust next to car parts.
The man turned without a thought or a care, slamming the hood of his car shut. He gave a woman a kiss as he hopped into the driver seat.
"Where will we go?" she smiled as her lips slowly pulled away.
"I don't know, somewhere beautiful." he replied, and the car roared to life and blasted backwards out the drive.
The man knew exactly where he was going. To the same motel were every lovely girl was destined to go.
And destined to find themselves crying at in the mourning.
Kyle scooped three fingers full worth of icing from the large decorated cake. He slipped his hand into his mouth and gleefully gulped down the icing. He could not remember the last time he had something so sweet. When he was thirteen? No, not thirteen, probably ten. No, certainly eight. Either way, Kyle thought, it had been sometime.
Oh how he enjoyed that wedding cake. Though he wasn't sure whose wedding it was. And,he did not know why everyone had to be so sharply dressed. He did not understand the chatter of stocks, bounds, and the share splitting of companies. He did not comprehend what a yacht was, or why it made so many people jealous. He just had rags... and all the riches of icing.
Sergeant's instructions were simple. Go into the village. Then, fire our guns at anyone we could see. Then, set the entire place ablaze. Dinner after the fire.
Simple instructions. Sickening instructions. And yet, my entire unit ate them up.
The suspects were motioned to line up in front of the officers, from tallest to shortest. The tallest suspect stood at 4 feet. The shortest stood at 3 feet and 10 inches.
"God..." said Officer Greg to Lieutenant Jared, "there's no way these kids murdered that woman..."
"Lets pray not." and that's all Jared said.
Dogs barked as their breath glowed in the luminescent light of the moon. Men shouted words unknown, in a language not heard of. Guns fired constantly, far enough to be mere echos, and yet close enough to chill bones.
Sasha was afraid. She was deemed unclean like the rest of her friends and family. The dogs' barking was closer and the patrols were heard just outside her shack. She knew she'd die. And her friend Micheal put his hands around her. She was afraid. But death felt warm.
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