No fury

Reads: 62  | Likes: 0  | Shelves: 0  | Comments: 0

More Details
Status: Finished  |  Genre: Young Adult  |  House: Booksie Classic
Well, I'd rather not spoil anything. Remember to comment, like, or/and subscribe!

Submitted: August 04, 2012

A A A | A A A

Submitted: August 04, 2012

A A A

A A A


A dark haired girl blissfully walks down the desolate sidewalk. She ignores the rather invincible stench of car fumes and after-rain to appreciate a night which has allowed her the chance to gaze upon one solitary star. The breeze gently goads a grocery bag across the silent asphalt. She notices the rustling trash and the image automatically brings the idea of classical ghosts. She smiles warmly as the memory evokes flashbacks of Halloween: a world dressed in costume, where everyone is allowed the luxury to parade the streets in absurd garments, all for the never-ending candy quest. She remembers. She dreads as well. She hates moreover. Poor little Pepper. No one ever gave her candy. No one ever gave her a costume. No one ever gave a damn. Who would? Pepper's mom, Samantha? Nope. Too busy snorting cocaine and sucking dick for drug money. Well, what about her dad, Neil? Try again. He's in jail for raping his daughters, most noticeably Peace "Pepper" Foster. Peace's immediate family is repulsive, too. Her oldest brother, Colt Foster: dead from a cocaine overdose. Cardiac arrest followed by heart attack. Her twin sister's dead. Sadly, there is no cliché twist where she comes back or something. Felicity Foster flung herself in front of a speeding Peterbuilt on the Orange Bridge. Suicide's better than being Daddy's little whore. Oh no, he's drunk. You better hope he passes out before he finds you. Peace made it out of the house but you're locked in your room. He'll find you there, Fifi, better pray. Scratch that. He can't follow in the afterlife. Definitely dead. Queen Foster, the oldest, is a prostitute. There's truth behind certain maxims, and Samantha and Queen adhere to a very specific one. Pepper hates to recall her brutal past. All those memories start to flood out of her head, emotional wounds that never healed salted with every relevant thought, trapped in a cycle of agonizing recall.
"Could you spare some change?" Some innocent drifter requests.
This man needed exactly one dollar for bus fare. Peace shot the man. All it took was one round to his stomach. He collapsed with a face contorted in confusion and surprise. Or shock, whatever you want to call the emotion one experiences after being shot out of the blue. The smell of burnt gunpowder filled Peace's nostrils. She retches violently, dry-heaving over the bleeding man. He stares wildly at Peace with quivering, questioning eyes: why? The man maintains the lock, his breathing becoming more shallow as the seconds pass. He reluctantly submits to the blood-loss, effectively dying at her feet. Obviously, such a report will be answered by the OGPD immediately. Peace flees the scene. A black pick-up truck stops in front of her, blocking her path.
The window rolls down, "Pepper! I'm here."
Stanley pushes the passenger door open for Peace. They leave with screeching tires. He sits in silence next to Peace, who fiddles with the matte black pistol. She turns it over a few times as if the object were foreign to her. But it's not. Peace has claimed numerous victims all over Orange Grove: a mailman, a delivery man, one teacher, and a few homeless people. The girl isn't much for dramatic bouts; her victims suffered no more than a few fleeting moments of anguish. Solitary light posts briefly illuminate the cab as Stanley drives under them. The yellow light: her only company on those dark nights when Samantha would evict her from the house. Her hand tentatively reaches for Stanley's. It's shaking. She takes it and squeezes. As they drive under another light, Peace notices Stanley's been crying. Old, crusted trails redrawn by fresh tears. His eyes, bloodshot, desperately stay on the road. He can't face Peace. She needs Stanley to look at her. To remind her that she isn't a monster; to see a scared girl beneath a murderer's shroud of blood. She kisses Stanley's cheek, tasting the salty tears. At this action, Stanley flinches. Peace scoots as far away as possible, choking back a cavalcade of tears. She goes for the door handle, attempting to fall out of the speeding vehicle. Stanley hits the lock button preemptively. Peace begins beating the window and kicks the door repeatedly. Nothing yields to her force, naturally. Stanley finally pulls off the highway and stops in a secluded alleyway. He turns the truck off. Despite the pitch darkness, they find each other's hands and lock lips. Stanley brings Peace to the back seats where he makes love to her. Peace lies… peacefully on Stanley's shoulder.
He brushes her hair methodically.
"What's that poem you wrote for me? The one about the angel," she asks.
Stanley chuckles, "I am here with frozen fear
at my beloved, my angel

Such a sight
Transpired that cold night
One of ghastly proportions

Her skin so pallid, deathly
Her eyes afraid, lonely
Her hair black like a raven

The macabre, youth faced
Mourn, her heartbeat paced
For another had been erased

Inside she held regret
Dreading what she'd beget
Condemned by Hell, a Devil's pet

But what about me?
Would I receive mercy
Or be struck by the ignorance

Yet I cannot leave
I'll stick with you, Peace
Even if it kills me

And I know right now
There's no way out
I will always follow you

I move to meet you, my angel
Yes, you are still so
My sweet angel."

 


© Copyright 2017 CourteousSoul73. All rights reserved.

Add Your Comments:

More Young Adult Short Stories

Booksie 2017-2018 Short Story Contest

Booksie Popular Content

Other Content by CourteousSoul73

Cash for Junk

Book / Action and Adventure

The Idiot

Short Story / Romance

Popular Tags