YOU CAN SORT THESE STORIES BY ALL CAR 29 STORIES or
SORT BY JUST TELLING STORIES or YOU CAN SORT BY ALL
SORT BY JUST TELLING STORIES or YOU CAN SORT BY ALL
Hello, My Name Is Jealous E.
...and I am, a monster.
DRAFT 0.2 • This Story scheduled for demolition and rebuild
Is it all just an ACT ONE?
...and then all at once, as if out of the gray-blue, he begins to creep up on you. You don't hear him at first, instinctively sense the sound he makes... then, an almost mighty thud, no more like a snap perhaps OR is it a snapple-ing crackle... no, it's more a thud. A reverberating unevenly echoing thud, with a touch of crack, a hint of snap. Almost electric, a synthetic sound that shoots outward from within you. Similar to the sound that might shoot from one's foot falls when walking across thin ice... each gingerly taken steps on an early in December's morning, the day you take those first furtive steps out onto the lake you know quite matter of factly will remain stone-cold-frozen, solid for the next few months, if not longer. Walking out onto the newly frozen lake, not certain it will even hold you, if it's safe; it's crackling reminder of the risk, a plunge into icy waters... out onto this frozen lake you walk... all the same.
It's as if the world has stopped spinning, as if gravity itself had abruptly ended, floating, sliding? Misdirected, no, more a meandering atop the surface of a flat and frozen, now baron stone cold frozen, slippery emptiness... The sky above you, a kind of gray, at first bright n' gloriously overcasted clouds, suddenly, growing dull with ...a familiarly comforting uncontrollable fear, that usual uncertainty ...those rambling and baffling thoughts, really? already? ...indeed, as if gravity itself, had stopped pulling on you, at least not downward... the strength and thickness of today's ice? You'll be fine, eventually... you hope. As If hope has ever really helped you.
Glancing around, eye's darting... over your shoulder, behind you, as one does when startled. Overcome by a gnawing fearful sense of imminent danger. Another thud, crack n' snapple. The next one, different but recognizably similar to all those the thuds you'd heard before, before and after this, and the next one, another step, forwards or backwards, the oh so dreadfully familiar sounding... thud... as those gray but bright n' once gloriously overcasted clouds... grow heavier. No longer floating, just draped drearily over... like soiled, poorly cleaned damp gray bedsheets sagging over the loosely hung clothes line in your sloppy hillbilly of a neighbor's unkempt junkyard of a backyard. Airless... a now laboured absence of useful gravity, thud, cracking ice below you, an indistinguishable sky, simply a dirty drooping soggy gray mess of dirty bedsheets... and then...
None to unexpectedly from just over a now far too close horizon; the faintest of a line between the ice and your dirty laundry; so close you could touch it, run your fingers across it, from just beyond it... A roar... painfully uneven, expected but startlingly evil uncontrollable roaring of the agony within you... You spot him, finally coming... Jealous E. the creature. Thundering footsteps, towards you, right at you; approaching at nearly full gallop; he meets... half way. At the exact center of the lake, barely frozen enough to hold both you... one last electric thud crackling as he stops, directly in front of your face. Toe to toe, eye to eye... another of those moments you'll remember forever that lasts a mere instant.
"hello there old chum... It's been a while" says the creature, not smiling. "How would you like it this time?"... Same as always, same as always. perhaps "...less brutal, a little more gentle? thrust upwards or downward? "...maybe, quicker, deeper than before perhaps neither, but swiftly, directly to at the heart of the matter?"... then, punctured.
...funny how one's age maybe, experience and now all at once, these full-blown reminders; a dash of better sensed, even old sage like more wise understanding can steel n' steady it's victims against the pain you know is coming, even one that's so familiar and wretched. You feel it no less, simply different... never the same feeling as you had felt it before. A sad thankfulness that over all these years, these repeated again and again forever moments, one can convince himself he knows just what is coming. not shy away from full knowledge of how the dagger like plunge must, will and always be taken. The first puncturing thrust, endured, the pain felt fully and right on through the whole process, feeling each inch of it's sliding, if ever to reach past it... beyond it this pain. How long this time, to wait for the precious first moment when finally past this wretched familiar agonizing none at all unexpected... punch punctured pain... but now, the first thrustings.
"Same as alway, then it shall be... same as always..." says Jealous E., that nasty fucking but intermittently familiar even often good friend and companion, your monster.
Your coat ripped opened, a shirt, sweater rolled up, around your shoulders, nothing spared, no relief, not covering your head. A target painted with the drizzle of leftover tears; circling the best spot to avoid hard bits and pieces of cartilage and bone. The same old monster, this agonizingly precise creature, performing yet another of his aged old ritualistic plungings of the dagger, directly into a now erratic and slowly beating with sadness deadened heart. The cool serrated blade, at once freezing all the raggedly torn fleshy edges around it; then the twisting... The wretchedly swaggering and sawing, gouging and swirling, sending what's left of your mind reeling and spinning, an uncontrollable garble of speculation and visions of the most grotesque, hallucinations you could possibly imagine? Sadness projected with... a sigh, your self written and directed horror movie filmed mostly in darkness; these almost ghostly like images come relentless and more quickly, as the last bit of light drains from edge of the too close horizon. Frozen like ice right below you, it all blackens... the faint lines of any detail now simply fading... the blade's sawing, twisting and final plunging ends slowly... the only feelings you're left, utter confusion... same as always... as always again.... oddly enough, you much later response, simply "fuck that hurt".
It's as if the world has stopped spinning, as if gravity itself had abruptly ended, floating, sliding? Misdirected, no, more a meandering atop the surface of a flat and frozen, now baron stone cold frozen, slippery emptiness... The sky above you, a kind of gray, at first bright n' gloriously overcasted clouds, suddenly, growing dull with ...a familiarly comforting uncontrollable fear, that usual uncertainty ...those rambling and baffling thoughts, really? already? ...indeed, as if gravity itself, had stopped pulling on you, at least not downward... the strength and thickness of today's ice? You'll be fine, eventually... you hope. As If hope has ever really helped you.
Glancing around, eye's darting... over your shoulder, behind you, as one does when startled. Overcome by a gnawing fearful sense of imminent danger. Another thud, crack n' snapple. The next one, different but recognizably similar to all those the thuds you'd heard before, before and after this, and the next one, another step, forwards or backwards, the oh so dreadfully familiar sounding... thud... as those gray but bright n' once gloriously overcasted clouds... grow heavier. No longer floating, just draped drearily over... like soiled, poorly cleaned damp gray bedsheets sagging over the loosely hung clothes line in your sloppy hillbilly of a neighbor's unkempt junkyard of a backyard. Airless... a now laboured absence of useful gravity, thud, cracking ice below you, an indistinguishable sky, simply a dirty drooping soggy gray mess of dirty bedsheets... and then...
None to unexpectedly from just over a now far too close horizon; the faintest of a line between the ice and your dirty laundry; so close you could touch it, run your fingers across it, from just beyond it... A roar... painfully uneven, expected but startlingly evil uncontrollable roaring of the agony within you... You spot him, finally coming... Jealous E. the creature. Thundering footsteps, towards you, right at you; approaching at nearly full gallop; he meets... half way. At the exact center of the lake, barely frozen enough to hold both you... one last electric thud crackling as he stops, directly in front of your face. Toe to toe, eye to eye... another of those moments you'll remember forever that lasts a mere instant.
"hello there old chum... It's been a while" says the creature, not smiling. "How would you like it this time?"... Same as always, same as always. perhaps "...less brutal, a little more gentle? thrust upwards or downward? "...maybe, quicker, deeper than before perhaps neither, but swiftly, directly to at the heart of the matter?"... then, punctured.
...funny how one's age maybe, experience and now all at once, these full-blown reminders; a dash of better sensed, even old sage like more wise understanding can steel n' steady it's victims against the pain you know is coming, even one that's so familiar and wretched. You feel it no less, simply different... never the same feeling as you had felt it before. A sad thankfulness that over all these years, these repeated again and again forever moments, one can convince himself he knows just what is coming. not shy away from full knowledge of how the dagger like plunge must, will and always be taken. The first puncturing thrust, endured, the pain felt fully and right on through the whole process, feeling each inch of it's sliding, if ever to reach past it... beyond it this pain. How long this time, to wait for the precious first moment when finally past this wretched familiar agonizing none at all unexpected... punch punctured pain... but now, the first thrustings.
"Same as alway, then it shall be... same as always..." says Jealous E., that nasty fucking but intermittently familiar even often good friend and companion, your monster.
Your coat ripped opened, a shirt, sweater rolled up, around your shoulders, nothing spared, no relief, not covering your head. A target painted with the drizzle of leftover tears; circling the best spot to avoid hard bits and pieces of cartilage and bone. The same old monster, this agonizingly precise creature, performing yet another of his aged old ritualistic plungings of the dagger, directly into a now erratic and slowly beating with sadness deadened heart. The cool serrated blade, at once freezing all the raggedly torn fleshy edges around it; then the twisting... The wretchedly swaggering and sawing, gouging and swirling, sending what's left of your mind reeling and spinning, an uncontrollable garble of speculation and visions of the most grotesque, hallucinations you could possibly imagine? Sadness projected with... a sigh, your self written and directed horror movie filmed mostly in darkness; these almost ghostly like images come relentless and more quickly, as the last bit of light drains from edge of the too close horizon. Frozen like ice right below you, it all blackens... the faint lines of any detail now simply fading... the blade's sawing, twisting and final plunging ends slowly... the only feelings you're left, utter confusion... same as always... as always again.... oddly enough, you much later response, simply "fuck that hurt".
ACT ONE and HALF? What? You mean to tell me, this continues?
Of course... you'll awaken. As always and much like the time just before, to a less bitter but still blackened painful far too clear recollection of the twisting and shredding; the gnarled grimness and pain. Pain that was so harshly and unevenly painted upon yesterday's canvas; the canvas still set upon today's well placed easel ...
Thankfully having simple task to perform, jobs to be done countless moments of sheer relief as the mind is focussed on all things, many you've just now invented that need to be done. Though, it's the most massively annoying inconvenience, a pain in the ass just to pull one's fresh shirt and thick sweater over the dagger's handle now jutting out from just below those missed hard bit, directly in the center of the target that bastard of a creature drew with your tears, right there on your breastbone. But as your good luck will have it, that surprising friendly ol' Jealous E. monster, still with you is sticking around to help out at least in between regularly scheduled fresh twistings. His assistance with dressing, appreciated... a little wincing pain as raggedy edges, fleshy bits slide under your shirt and sweater... Finally dressed in the morning and onto the day's business, tasteless meals prepared, ate in silence... task, jobs even all those invented duties and the dreadful next day gets itself done... somehow
As time passes, you may even find yourself filling pleasantly, those quiet dull moments with meaningless chit chat with your unwelcome weekends companion, "So, how's the family?" you might asks the monster... "...so how's little spiteful? ...that pretty green-eyed cutie must be off to college by now?" His replies if offered half listened to if only for politeness.
Daylight tempers the monster's annoying roar. But evening's darkness, it's dullness and darkness, prompted by exhaustion and the required repositioning twisting of the cold frozen blade. Your questions, the conversation swings back to confusion... as what little light you find drains from each day, the clouded skies darken again, any mental control you may have gained while completing yours task... simply an oblivion... the return of even more frightening speculations. Assured of your madness you may even begin to try bargaining the pain away with insane promises, platitudes and pleadings... "it's all my fault again, I'll do better..." only resulting in... more twisting, hacking, sawing, gnawing... and roaring...
This pageant begins to play itself out... as the stage light dim... Jealous E., monster continues his performance. Throughout the whole weekend on into next week. Not so with much glee, but rather, an understanding his role in all this is important. The stage lights now dim, to one little spot light, narrowed right down to focus on just you and your monster... waiting for nothing else, but your call back...
Thankfully having simple task to perform, jobs to be done countless moments of sheer relief as the mind is focussed on all things, many you've just now invented that need to be done. Though, it's the most massively annoying inconvenience, a pain in the ass just to pull one's fresh shirt and thick sweater over the dagger's handle now jutting out from just below those missed hard bit, directly in the center of the target that bastard of a creature drew with your tears, right there on your breastbone. But as your good luck will have it, that surprising friendly ol' Jealous E. monster, still with you is sticking around to help out at least in between regularly scheduled fresh twistings. His assistance with dressing, appreciated... a little wincing pain as raggedy edges, fleshy bits slide under your shirt and sweater... Finally dressed in the morning and onto the day's business, tasteless meals prepared, ate in silence... task, jobs even all those invented duties and the dreadful next day gets itself done... somehow
As time passes, you may even find yourself filling pleasantly, those quiet dull moments with meaningless chit chat with your unwelcome weekends companion, "So, how's the family?" you might asks the monster... "...so how's little spiteful? ...that pretty green-eyed cutie must be off to college by now?" His replies if offered half listened to if only for politeness.
Daylight tempers the monster's annoying roar. But evening's darkness, it's dullness and darkness, prompted by exhaustion and the required repositioning twisting of the cold frozen blade. Your questions, the conversation swings back to confusion... as what little light you find drains from each day, the clouded skies darken again, any mental control you may have gained while completing yours task... simply an oblivion... the return of even more frightening speculations. Assured of your madness you may even begin to try bargaining the pain away with insane promises, platitudes and pleadings... "it's all my fault again, I'll do better..." only resulting in... more twisting, hacking, sawing, gnawing... and roaring...
This pageant begins to play itself out... as the stage light dim... Jealous E., monster continues his performance. Throughout the whole weekend on into next week. Not so with much glee, but rather, an understanding his role in all this is important. The stage lights now dim, to one little spot light, narrowed right down to focus on just you and your monster... waiting for nothing else, but your call back...
Finally... the end of ACT ONE, or is it?
The lights of the auditorium fade on... The crowd, sighs rather than applaud... Thank bloody goodness that's almost over! -- Intermezzo -- fresh popcorn or peanuts a glass of white wine for the lovely ladies in the audience. Mumbling chit chat, a director's fears; is their far too much drama? No time for worry, nor second guessing as the light flickers off and on. The common signal in silence for the audience to return to their seats. The doors swing shut, a fumbling, awkwardly rustling crowd settles in... the dreaded start of...
ACT TWO... "yoo hoo"... OR "boo hoo" ?
The first of many a monumental memories of those moments now many. Faded as memories do, but by no means degraded nor diminished. Simply set there as if in tableau; a tribute to a sometimes silly often unmistakably seriously well thought out, aged old rarely frantic always fun in the end frolic through the wilderness of a new friendship. No one ever really knowing just who the heck started any of this, or why, or how any of this really work... we seem only to care only when the authority comes calling to distribute the summons to court.
As if to gather up the survivors, you two meet in a now familiar setting... deep in the heart of where ever it was you would formally meet. Familiar yet newly awkward glances, a stifled sentence or two spoken, furtive soft peddling, even some petting as if to remind one another, all is OK... but never again... An almost selfish spilling out of one's self centered and too personal tales of anguish and agony. Those lost "ours" re-enters as a mistaken expressions of what might just become yet another... new beginning... og for Pete's sake... stop hoping.
And of those mighty hopes and misplaced dreams of those mights! "Might" simply reaffirming a primary objective: Never to let these old hopes, mighty dreams and foolish wishes harden into absolutely dreadful unfulfillable expectations...
They gather each their gangs, the co-confeedanté confederated and comrades to the next constitutional conference at the corner of the dutchee of the kingdom of long ago bewilderedly belittled in battle battered old memories... familiar faces from those not so dimmed but certainly faded, sigh some still referred to as good old days... smiles all round as they gather... hellos and handshakes as they enter the room. There's the old Gladys, the old lady who lives on the corner and her cat, Pimples. The Professor, Master Gregory and the rest one and all... Doris acting bored, Barnaby, fidgets barely paying attention while apparently finishing packing of his bags... a diversion... when any old diversion will do.
...all present and accounted for; excepting of course that raggedy headed morning mistress... Her tussled slumbering smile, nowhere to be seen for days and days... All present and accounted for, even the feared for smiles thought eaten by your old chum Jealous E. the monster (whose even there too). Nothings has changed but everything. "Its all exactly the same, only completely different." recites the Professor from his ever unfinished grade school text book of emotions. Another pleasant evening unfolds...
Subtle differences and that damned but welcome awkwardness. A new face above and beyond just over her shoulder... has this rag n' tagged collection of inventions remained a family of sorts? The problem, the solutions become irrelevant as the conversation unfolds into that easy easing and little laughters that will certainly re-grow themselves into howls... one day. Perhaps after the trial, that familiarity as these two friends come to the realization they've been sentenced to a life imprisoned within a great friendship they not always knowingly built with such care around themselves... ...what's next?
The curtain drops abruptly...
END ACT TWO already? Well, nobody gives a damn about this part?
The crowd grumbles loudly. Some flee for the exits in relief, others line up at the wicket demanding a refund. The director bolts and both the producers call for calm... And as the din dies down and the building empties a soft spotlight hits the stage... focussed on those two...
...and then one day it begins, if quite almost by accident... in an almost unused setting on this stage now fully played out. Set simply to old music, two actors embrace in a room called the living... and start dancing again as they've never danced before...
FIN... (not really)
As if to gather up the survivors, you two meet in a now familiar setting... deep in the heart of where ever it was you would formally meet. Familiar yet newly awkward glances, a stifled sentence or two spoken, furtive soft peddling, even some petting as if to remind one another, all is OK... but never again... An almost selfish spilling out of one's self centered and too personal tales of anguish and agony. Those lost "ours" re-enters as a mistaken expressions of what might just become yet another... new beginning... og for Pete's sake... stop hoping.
And of those mighty hopes and misplaced dreams of those mights! "Might" simply reaffirming a primary objective: Never to let these old hopes, mighty dreams and foolish wishes harden into absolutely dreadful unfulfillable expectations...
They gather each their gangs, the co-confeedanté confederated and comrades to the next constitutional conference at the corner of the dutchee of the kingdom of long ago bewilderedly belittled in battle battered old memories... familiar faces from those not so dimmed but certainly faded, sigh some still referred to as good old days... smiles all round as they gather... hellos and handshakes as they enter the room. There's the old Gladys, the old lady who lives on the corner and her cat, Pimples. The Professor, Master Gregory and the rest one and all... Doris acting bored, Barnaby, fidgets barely paying attention while apparently finishing packing of his bags... a diversion... when any old diversion will do.
...all present and accounted for; excepting of course that raggedy headed morning mistress... Her tussled slumbering smile, nowhere to be seen for days and days... All present and accounted for, even the feared for smiles thought eaten by your old chum Jealous E. the monster (whose even there too). Nothings has changed but everything. "Its all exactly the same, only completely different." recites the Professor from his ever unfinished grade school text book of emotions. Another pleasant evening unfolds...
Subtle differences and that damned but welcome awkwardness. A new face above and beyond just over her shoulder... has this rag n' tagged collection of inventions remained a family of sorts? The problem, the solutions become irrelevant as the conversation unfolds into that easy easing and little laughters that will certainly re-grow themselves into howls... one day. Perhaps after the trial, that familiarity as these two friends come to the realization they've been sentenced to a life imprisoned within a great friendship they not always knowingly built with such care around themselves... ...what's next?
The curtain drops abruptly...
END ACT TWO already? Well, nobody gives a damn about this part?
The crowd grumbles loudly. Some flee for the exits in relief, others line up at the wicket demanding a refund. The director bolts and both the producers call for calm... And as the din dies down and the building empties a soft spotlight hits the stage... focussed on those two...
...and then one day it begins, if quite almost by accident... in an almost unused setting on this stage now fully played out. Set simply to old music, two actors embrace in a room called the living... and start dancing again as they've never danced before...
FIN... (not really)
RSS Feed