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A Forsaken God. BLOODY TALE

Novel By: Factxzrx
Horror


A story from in the book BLOODY TALES. A movment as its left in despair. View table of contents...


Chapters:

1 2 3

Submitted:Nov 26, 2007    Reads: 117    Comments: 0    Likes: 0   


Therefore, this is how it was; No one to play ball with, no kids running around, or any city cars going back and forth. It was all to clear. It happens and oh did it happen. If there's no turning back then there's got to be something ahead and if not well it's not stopping Him.
He thinks to himself that there was no way he was going to be falling back. Like it was his problem or as if he was going to join in on the charade. With his uncles dessert eagle fully loaded and a box of shells in his pocket along with his child hood hunting knife strapped to his hip. He woke up this morning ready and willing.
Seeing his mom laying out on the living room floor and her neck sliced open and the tubes string out of her neck. His dad sitting in the living rooms lazy chair; his wrists slit with blood, chunks of dry crusty blood, his right hand sitting in a pool of blood dangling from the tubes hanging out from his wrists.
A bloody massacres something he would have never imagined. Not from books, comics or the late night horror hour.
Everything is dead silent. The feeling of the good old fashion Saturday morning was done. A stand still and a look around expecting to feel that energy, that solar strike of flashing lights; the flashing ticker from the time display on the radio, the microwave humming , the scenery that the trees displayed flashing there branches in thru the glare of the curtains in thru the window's adding shade to the living room walls.
The answer is smashing out the windows, ripping apart mom's plants to shreds, grabbing dad's cruor bar and leading a smashing rampage in to the walls and tearing at the floor after pounding into the stairwell.
No one in the world could take that dog away from him. He loved him. His only excuse for waking up in the morning was for taking him out, letting him run around, chasing squirrels, giving the girls down the street his dirty looks and letting the guys around town know who the baddest dog on the block was. Walking him was like owning the world. Every tree from here to park side belonged to them and there was nothing anyone could have done about it.
He stands over the emulated corps, gouges of flesh, spots of blood splattered all around his face and snout, his paws crushed to a mush and his rib bones sticking out from his chest. A sour teardrop falls thru the air and hits the dog on its head as he looks down forgetting he ever had a dog. The friend he would never have to worry about or share any concerns with. It's an end to a free ride. Looking around it's the end to a life, a life that once possessed morals and gratitude.
Blood trails along the side walk and in to the garbage. The Chevy looks just as unintelligent as the bugs flying around the trashcans. His last ride; One ride that takes him to nowhere, nothing, a rolling flame of burning diesel and nothing else has any other meaning. Blood, guts and pulse filling vessels has him kicking dirt and grinding its rocks with his foot.
He checks the rear view mirror wile backing out. Looking in to it and glaring to his left, he reaches out and rip's it off. He throw's it out the window then hits the gas with a squint of an eye. His stare becomes one with his hear and the Chevy's engine is his.
The expectations of signaling for a stop or looking both ways for any on coming traffic wasn't there. It far filled with a scene of giving every one the finger and telling them all to F-off. The little kids running around are no longer soaking the suns lively hood. The sewers their the only thing that seem to give sense. The lifeless antenna wisps in the wind. A dead head being out to death. His only means for a force is a Gangster punk tune he pumps in to the speakers. (BEWARE) blows out the back as the dust joins the exhaust fumes and he is off.
It's not a typical surround. With no care and there wasn't ever going to be a care. A breath of life is not going to cut it. The desert eagle in his pocket isn't even holding a sense. Nothing is going to surprise nothing. It's all in and it's all out for a trial. It's the trial of nothing. No sense and nothing to be rewarded.
He's in now and its not him being in that burns his existence its his being; Being in a stir, going along with what's left and what he's left with. Left a dead life that was now his only existence; the greed and discuss of invasion with despite. The Chevy gets one last stare and gives him the satisfaction he's been left without. He seen his reflection, its treads and life fills his soul in the heat that rises up off the hood.
"Welcome ha ha ha ha," The shocking impulse trembles up his arm as his desert eagle drops from out of his hand on to the ground. His arm pit clenched against his host's shoulder. He's left flexing his hand extending his fingers out, being left in time, hugged against a touch of death and its destruction.
"Wonder a Wonder" The man dressed in a black said as he lifts him on to the hood of the Chevy, leaving him to catch his breath from the puncture that landed him there.
He's seen them on television and in all of the city papers; thinking they're were a big scheme, Something out of the Scientology bible, the greedy rich government officials that were in it for surviving the end of the world.
He remembers the controversy that was going on over the Wicca's and the relation of dark practices.
The seat belt buckle dug into his ribs and the glare of the sun shining on to him leaving him with a disturbing wake call as he stares on to the hood and reading the wrinkles that read him his encounter; the encounter that read him his life and now alive and lifeless. Looking down the street gripping the wheel and watching the clouds turn in to a mist of grey.
Up into the air like a crazed monkey and landing on the hood of his car, two more hit the roof and she walks up to him at the door. Sitting there thinking he has nothing to lose and fed up with all this dead end charade; he glares at her keeping a wide eye out for the one on the hood and tweaking in on the tweaks from on the roof.
She stands over him, looking down at his rough looking face and having it pointing in to her gut inches away from her waist. A swirl from her hand waves out in front of his face checking for any unusual reactions. Having a girl's midsection in his face he lets her twirl her hand around. He's more interested in grabbing the ones on his car and feeding them his fist. He steps out as she stepped back. Eye to eye, breaths are the only sense of communication.
The wild derange monkey commotion spins into the air and lands it self behind her. She takes one step closer in to him.
"Where's the others" She asks, giving him a moment to go over what exactly was going on and for him to get a feel for what exactly has been going on. "Where's the others" "What are you kidding , do you think this is a joke. What others?" he said as Stomps of dust hit the ground with a howling scream. "Ha ha ha I know you. You're that punk from park side." Glaring over the four; looking at them like they just come out of a Halloween party, something he watches on the sci-fi channels, resembling those idiots he seen on the streets and sleeping in the alleys. He looks them up and down nodding his head not knowing if they were for real or if they were some kind of bottom feeders left out from the rest of the feed that hit his life like a slithering leach. Two of the guys dressed in what he would call rags step to each side of the girl and look at him holding a growl on their faces. One-steps in front of the girl saying, "You should come with us." The stringy little monkey guy jumps up in a wild twist, lands next to the car and squeals chants about going for a ride.
Three dirty mystic looking characters sitting in the back. He hums along trying to get a feel for the nature that was surrounding him and for the girl sitting next to him. All he knows is what she told him; to drive down the coast and they would let him now where to stop.
Looking over his fingers clenched on to the wheel with the breeze creeping thru his window making him swallow his every thought of the non-existence. Everything is gone and man he knows it. Having what he would call street rats and a candy girl prostitute looking woman sitting next to his side and sights of the desert Eagle as it passes his mind.
The feelings of security fill the car as they race against time; a race that leads them under the rising moon light glowing over its ocean, displaying its pride bright and loud, creeping in as she tells him to turn in to the docks. Now he gets his taste of comfort he had left behind; the feeling that mixed in with the Chevy's motor and blew out the windpipes in clouds of smoke that he displayed burning thru Park side.
Surrounded with tides splashing up against the dock and the waves washing in its shore, their means of surviving in a retreat is the old yacht. The lamps light up the deck and above them shines the moon like it never shined before. It's an evil feeling that creeps along the waves, splashing and washing up the tides on to its sandy shore.
He follows in behind the girl watching the crazy little monkey looking kid climb the yachts ropes along its poles. The other three stay on deck and burn there cigarettes. Sitting down in the wooden chair lined with a silk cover and keeping a close eye on her as she gets out two glasses and a bottle of whisky then sits down at the table in front of him. She pours the drinks and asks him if he smoked. He grabs the glass and fills his mouth with its whisky, swirls it in his mouth and takes it back slamming the glass back on to the table saying, "So you got a deal" He looks at her thinking if she was living this movement and going along with it all this time. "What deal? What are you sick in the head or something? What is a deal. Hey pal this is it, your in it. This, us and its all we got. Unless you want to take your chance. From what we seen, you were left behind to rot or get picked up when they come out to collect the rest of the bodies" "They" He said as his legs tensed and went stiff in to the floor. She pours him another glass. Holding in her sorrow, trying not to shed a tear or give him any sings of the compassion she has locked in her.
She see's everything in him that she had suspected; a good old boy, one of those guys who were waiting to hitch with that women in white and leave his parents basement to get hitched and have a family of his own. The darkness fills. She has a sudden relapse of that civilized step. Her thoughts of being what she's been, a outlaw, her disregard to what she seen in him. Being put out on the streets as a teen and taking care of her self as she learned how to step in and around that good old fashion civilized path.
The yacht fills with a remorseing call for a life as she has her eye on him, not knowing if he was worth taking in or if he was going to get historical. The only thing she's concerned about is keeping herself and her friends off the string of the blood that's been shed. He stands up and walks out on to the deck. The little crazy monkey boy was in the light house looking over the shore and beyond the hills. The other three were sitting around a lamp smoking and rubbing down there pin sharp steaks. Double beats run thru his chest as he watches them rubbing down the steaks with silver plated guns on their table lined with a row of silver bullets. The big muscled guy holds his gun up running his eye along its barrel, looking over as he walks on. He looks down at the other guy who reminded him of those grungy punk rockers that he see's on the news beating up the police. He stares over the steak he has next to his leg. A bullet flies up in his direction, going towards his head and he grabs it, looking at it and looking over the skinny scrawny guy warning a suit dressed like he was a businessman of some sort. "You like that. Nock the eyes out the back of your head," He said to him as he gets the bullet tossed back at him. "This is what where up against." He says as the big muscle bound guy stood up and reaches out his hand. He looks at the big guy then gave him a firm grip and holds it looking at him waiting to be introduced. "I'm Dial tone. That ugly fucker is Matrix and the suit well he's Max." Leroy shakes his hand off then sits next to Matrix, looks around, takes a glimpse up at the lighthouse then stares in to the hall, and looks around at his new friends. "I'm Leroy. My guess is these tools aren't for hunting Wales." Dial tone throws him another bullet and says, "Where going to wipe them all out." Matrix slide Leroy a glass and fills it up with whisky for him as he tells him "Where the only ones left. They got them all. When they came to shore we spiked the dirt with silver and they buzzed off." Max slides his cup over to Matrix and said "Were sitting ducks man" Leroy looks at Max. Checks him out one more time trying to figure out why he was wearing a suit.
Max looks Leroy right back and says "What? Is it the suit? Ya well your not the only pretty boy here tough guy. I could be at home right now laying it to my beautiful fiancé if it wasn't for this frenzy feed. Fuckers took my girl, fuck they took out the whole city. I was sitting at my desk ready to cash in my time sheet. When I hear the President on the television telling us to follow their orders and that we would all be compensated. That's when I looked out my office window; watching bodies flying out of condos and high rises. Cars were all jammed up on the streets wile their trucks were loading bodies in to the back of them. Heads were being ripped off. People getting slaughtered right there on the side walk, their blood sucked out of them and in to the tanks being pulled down the street on the back of tow trucks. They took them all."
The silence commanded it self around the table and its order was followed. The breaths were worthless. The sounds of the waves running in to the Yacht were lost and washed out of the sense of the silence that creeped thru their table. With out a look or stare the only thing worth living for or worth the life was the glass in a reek of the whisky.
"Leroy are you alright man." Ya Max man I'm alright. I guess where all sitting ducks here" Dial tone slams his glass down on to the table and gives Max a mean look then says "We aren't sitting ducks man they have some alive in there and were going to get them out. Where going to make those evil cock suckers whish they never fucked with us." "What about her?" Leroy asked, "She's our angel. She had us out of their way. She knew this was going to happen ahead of time. Her parents were killed like this a long time ago. Her name is Sonya and that little creepy bastard up there is Kincaid that poor little fucker lost his tong on the streets. He's a little scrapper he is. We all have been here for a wile living off this boat. Matrix's old man passed it on to him. Now it's the only means of defense we have."
Looking in to his glass, the three of them look over to Leroy and think about what he must have been thru. They get a glimpse of what Max explained and looked at each other thinking about their new guest. They have a breath for them selves before they follow the memory back to the call they had; encountering the invasion that was in attempted to be on them. Being prepared with there silver stakes and bullets. The Sounds of them whisking in the air and punching in to the sand. Black robes and jump suits backing and standing off as the cries of Kincaid's laughter filled the shore lines. The men in black robes being dragged away, picking up dead corps with silver steaks pierced thru them. The gun shots filling the air, firing before there eyes as they watch the black robes go down spitting up the dirt, being dragged away and filled with bullets as they're dumped in to the back of the trucks. Dial tone grabbing a hold of them wile they try to climb on deck, the sounds of them splashing in the water as they choke and splash for their lives. Shooting them all and watching them all jumping into their trucks and taking off in a show of the dirt being kicked up from beneath them.
Dial tone raises his glass and tells them all to join in. They cheer on to life a cheer for life.
Leroy sips his drink thinking if he was in on it or if the guilt he's feeling is going to get him into hesitation some where along the way. Thinking over his home going over what he felt when he was backing out of his garbage.
His emptiness stirs and starts to mix in with his new surrounding. He was out and he never thought back about being in or taking a place anywhere else. She lights up in his sense of sight (Sonya.) and she was not alone so now he isn't either.
Blood, guts, this order and now it's a new turn in life. The city's wiped out for all they know they are the only ones kicking the dirt and watching the moon glow its way over their city. Feeling the pulses impacted thru veins, looking at the world like it was a field of juicy red tomatoes. There was no more life. The morals that once where are now in the past, some where next to a name along side of a sin number and the 911 call that every one would rely on its now a thing of its past. It is all starting to look like a fresh batch of pasta sauce, with the dark skies above them and the useless waters running along the shoreline. Every thing was ticking towards an end. Calmly and echoing with out warning was the life the life that singled in its death.




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