REBEL

This is the first novel actually started by me almost 13 years ago. I mean to finish it but need inspiration from others. I need feedback on this of a positive nature. I guess really just some credit, like, hey Sole ...rock on dude! FInish this or I will kill you because I gotta know what happens next. I write as well as I draw and make music, and I thank God for these talents. I have chosen to pursue music instead of art or writing because it is quicker and because God gave me perfect pitch. I have never ever gotten feedback except on 'End Times', which is a short story that is 100 percent completed and uploaded already here on maketunes. This story is going to be much longer though. However, I depend on you(thou faithful reader) to urge me on with this. My request for inspirational feedback goes out to everyone who reads this and I know for a fact that it will grab your attention. Unlike END TIMES, which was a Christian end-of-the-world short story, Rebel is about sex, drugs, violence, and life on the streets. I am posting it only on maketunes exclusively. Should this story posting bare fruit, then I have something about vampires that will challenge the splatterpunk world to recognize SOLE. 180 pages of Vamp. Hopefully coming soon to maketunes. Do you like the style and grace of Quentin Tarantino? Then you are gonna love this shite right here. Can ya feel me?
P.S. There are mistakes through this excerpt, I will not lie. In fact I have kept all brainstorm comments included for feedback ideas on my brainstorm ideas. It is far from complete, yet this is a great start to something important I feel. I am Jeremiah Molloy AKA SOLE.

A Novel by
Jeremiah Molloy
notes from the soul-
Sometimes I look back into the past, in my life, and picture the future. But that's all I can do. I regret the mistakes that I've made and wish that they could be taken back. Mistakes that caused heartache and pain to my loved ones. Yes, I regret. I have to try and make sure that the mistakes are less with a goal of hopefully none. But I am not capable of fixing the outcome of events, of the future. It just has to happen. I look back to the past again, and sorrow swells up in tears that overwhelm me at times. They say that it helps to cry, to let it out. But the pain really doesn't go away, it just continues in it's deepening, burrowing way. Time goes on and the only gradual release to the pain. Then things happen where there is new pain. New pain that helps to release the old. My soul gets shattered until I feel like screaming. Screaming for things to be different, to have been different. But no! My silent cries go unheard, and time goes on. I search for things to occupy my time, to help me forget. But my sadness comes back and haunts me. Haunts me at the times when there is no one to hear, and my soul shrivels up like a bad prune. If only there was some release button to push. A button that, when you push it, cleans out all the heart poison. I've learned that the cousin of sadness is bitterness. And often, they left me in a daze that was both frightening, and depressing. Again, time passes on,and I am not astonished by anything or by anyone. It saddens me that I am not thrilled with the way things are. If only I could go back in time and do everything right. But no, fantasy has no place in this world filled with despair. I can only move on, push forward, and let my life complete itself. And then time goes on, and everything is forgotten....
'a wandered spirit can remain wandering for an eternity'-deep rooted emotions that endured during '94-'95
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Under the circumstances, I wasn't too weary of life in general, I just didn't like the scenario. I didn't feel loved by family, and the only ones that I cared about were the friends of mine that I wasn't permitted to keep. Still, shallow could be the best word to describe my relationship with anyone back then, superficial. I wasn't allowed to go to school dances, I wasn't allowed to have girlfriends, and I was expected to keep my virginity until I got married- which was a real problem seeing how I didn't want to ever get married. Father was a real strict son-of-a-bitch. I was a real rebellious son-of-a-bitch. My father would beat it out of me, or try to. He had a simple discipline system. You fuck up once, bam! You got popped in the head. You do the same thing wrong again then bam bam! Your head would be his piniota. You fuck up with the same thing again, then he'd strike you until you were knocked out. Literally he would hit you until you fell and didn't get up. A very simple discipline system that worked - the asshole. Sometimes the beatings would be edible, a little rigatoni here, a little spaghetti in the face there. For example, one day ol' pops told me to go make spaghetti for everyone. That was fine an all, a task simple as long as a followed all the rules. Rule #1. Always feed pops first. There was no table to sit around because he hadn't made it out of two-by-fours or flakeboard yet. So it was our traditional system to eat apart from one another, with everyone pretty much in different rooms and all rooms taken except for the bathroom, and sometimes even the bathroom there would reside one of 'The Family'. Shitting on the gabroni-eating macaroni. Imput for output. In those cases it was input right along with output. Input for output was an evil system Father created where the equation was; feed the little brats a 29 cent box of macaroni and cheese, then make that little shithead go outside and build an addition onto the house. And if he fucks up, BAM! Right on his ass. Or feed the little cocksuckers by telling them to get the can opener and open up a can of fruit if they were that hungry, or their choice of their favorite vegetable. Then go outside and move the goddam outhouse. Or go up in the loft (our house had a two foot high loft across the entire span of that terrible built shack) and put forty rolls of insulation up in it. Most people had attics, where you could walk around. We had the loft, a place very hard to breath, in which the only option for transportation was crawling on your belly, like a damn soldier at war.GGOGOGOGOOD
One day I had gone out with my friends and we smoked some marijuana. It was my first time. I got stoned out of my mind, and with it came paranoia, paranoia of my dad finding out. It turned out that I had a right to be a little paranoid, because it wasn't thirty minutes after we smoked that dad sent one of my brothers to get me and drag my ass back to the house. Apparently I didn't finish thoroughly enough one of my many chores that were my responsibility. And I knew that if I went home right then with my brother that dad would beat the hell out of me. Slothfulness is punishable in my dad's eyes. So if I stayed away I would get one asskickin', for not doing my job. But if I obeyed I would get two asskickin's, one for not doing the job, two for smoking weed. The second asskickin' would prove to be more severe then the first; doing drugs would mean capital punishment in my dad's book. Of course if I didn't go back with my brother then, when I finally did go back home I probably would get two asskickin's anyway. One for not coming home like I was told to do, and two for not doing the job right the first time. However, in my book two asskickin's were not as bad as two asskickin's, one being a capital punishment asskickin'.
I told Zac (my oldest brother and thus the messenger boy), to go fuck himself and that I would go back home when I was good and ready too. He told me that I was coming back with him whether I wanted to or not, and that he should kick my ass for talking to him like that. I told him to lick my asshole, and we tangled. I think that I pretty much kicked his ass, of course in the process him kicking mine. However, I still wasn't going to go back with him, and told him so through split lips. Then when it looked as if he was starting to get the better of me, I withdrew and took off. My friends, having been completely amused, making like a good audience, followed pursuit, as did my bro.
Now there's one thing that alot of bullies out there don't realize. You never trap or corner your intended victim. When anything gets cornered, that thing finds renewed resources of strength and aggression that are both startling and a bit scary. Those things can become so bold as to overcome the adversity, thus changing the intended role of the victim. Hence, cat and mouse- becoming dog and cat. Needless to say- I felt cornered, and went from a mouse to a dog. I turned around and grabbed a rubber hose and beat the hell out of Zac. When he went down, I beat him in the head with it until bro got knocked out.
There was a long period of growing up where I studied many different martial arts. Not classes like you would think but books. Trust me. You can learn alot from books. I would study in depth, then try out different moves on my guini- I mean kid brother. Years went on, and my knowledge expanded from use of weapons to pressure points, to moves that can kill. Of course I didn't try those kind of moves on my brother. Though sometimes the thought crossed my mind when he started to get on my nerves. The only parts that I didn't look at were the religions or black arts that some fighting styles come with. I did set my mind to learing though, and learning is exactly what I did. I was preparing for something, I just didn't know what. I had all kinds of weapons. In my inventory were nunchakus, or numchucks, brass nuckles, only mine were steel, a blowgun, sword, shurikens, or chinese stars, kammas, and sais, both horribly wicked weapons. God bless your everyday fleamarket. There were a few other secrets as well. It was always good to keep a few other tricks up my sleeve; at all times. I bought this ninjitsu/ninjutsu oufit(ninja) at this Chinese store called Quacked Plucked Duck for $50.00. I found the tabbies(ninja boots with the split toe- behold all ninjas appear to have turtles feet, MR. Two Toes) at this thrift store for five dollars. It didn't matter that they were turquoise in color, I could paint the fuckers. I didn't give a shit. I had been wanting some tabbies and I didn't think that I would've found them so easily and so cheaply. Quacked Plucked Duck didn't have them, and since they didn't have them, I could've wrapped it up. The only way that I knew how to get a hold of one of the precious pair of tabbies was to kill a ninja, which had, in fact, interested me greatly I'm afraid, because I was sooo into those damn books. Like a bookworm I was. Everything I could get, from every art, I would study, encourageably so. And then some more. I had firsted started my skills studies when I was seven years old. Some people said that it was just a hobby, one that would turn into something else as time went on. I think that even then, that I sensed something, an urgency. To get ready- the shit's gonna hit the fan. Be prepared.

I was a runaway when I was sixteen years old. Except that when I ran, unlike other boys my age, I didn't come back two or three days later just sobbing away to my parents, trying to get out of an ass-whoopin'. I had grown up with five brothers and no sisters, and two blackeyes, most of the time. Our father was a real hardhead who believed in slavery of children, his own. There were many times when life was getting up at six in the morning, and digging dirt with matixes and picks, to the far reaches of night. Of course, I make this sound easier then it actually was, because after the actual "digging" of the Pennsylvania slaterock formations, you had to separate the rocks from the soil with your bare hands, then use a shovel to get out the excess dirt.
I had a real taste for adventure, seeking it in lengthy excursions***. So when I ran away, I didn't have to look back. No homesickness. I was full of homesickness- sick of home. I wanted out, my freedom, to fly like a bird, then after a joint or so, to fly like an eagle.
It was mostly dad whom I was sick of. I was at that certain age where I'd stare up at the sky through 100 foot pine trees, and melancholy was present. It would follow me home too. But my folks did not care. When I left, they didn't care.
I stole a gun from this friend of mine, who no doubt, thought less of me, as in zilch, after it happened.
It was then, that I walked three miles in the dark, and I walked along the traintracks. My friend couldn't call in that the gun was stolen, because he had stolen the gun from one of his friends. Nevertheless, I was sure he was out at some of the hangouts, asking if anyone had seen Jacque, and if they saw Jacque, to call Zilch, and Zilch would give the lucky person a free 1/4 ounce bag of weed. So supposed friends were cruisin' all the roads looking for my happy ass. Which I was, a happy ass. In my own words 'I woulda told ya! Now I got my motherfuckin' glock. I'm gonna kick some ass.'
But I didn't need the gun to kick some ass. I was a tough guy. I was 5' 9", a hundred and sixty pounds of iron, with shoulders that looked like football pads, and at that current time I was even developing some sort of chest.- I had to work on that. 'That will be one hundred and fifty push-ups every other day. Until I can handle it, and then it will be everyday.'
The day that I left, I didn't look back. Look back to what? There was nothing for me. Nobody for me. But I didn't care, I had my glock.

2

There are times in everyone's life that a person wishes they could turn back the clock, and do something different. But life's cruel lesson is it can't be done. So we write books and make movies about time travel, to achieve that experience that one can never achieve. But life isn't a book and it isn't a movie. Except to me, my life was a book, and every time that life swung something at me, it meant that I was on chapter two or three. If life was particularly rough on me, then that meant that I was at a bad chapter in my life. And man, right after I ran away I was in one of the worst chapters of my life.
After I had been walking about two hours along the train tracks, luck had struck me a happy blow, or so I thought. A train came by. But good ol' luck threw in a cute little twist. This train was going about fifty miles an hour. I tried to grab the ladder on one of the train cars. You know, the kind that go all the way to the top. The spacing between these particular ladder rungs, were about six inches. Anyway, as I reached up to grab ahold of one of the rungs, the train didn't stop, and I didn't have a good enough grip on it. My hand did a pinball effect, and slammed the upper rung and then the lower rung. I pulled it back as my eyes watered up some. I wasn't crying. I'm strong. It was just involuntary personal watering. O.k., so I was crying- but hell, it hurt. I think I was lucky that my hand didn't get ripped off. So that was my mistake. I tryed to grad hold of the ladder with one hand, and then it happened again. My one good hand. So luck's twist just kicked me right in the head, so what. "Ya gotta take it like a man", my grandfather would always tell me. Gramps was the only one that I cared for, out of the bunch better known as my family. The truth is, is that Gramps is right. If you hit your finger with a hammer, you can swear up and down. Or you can just take it like a man, accept the pain for what it is, and move on.
So when my hand did the yo-yo effect on the trian ladder, I just gritted my teeth, told myself to take it like a man, then thought about how I was going to still get on board the train. The cars kept on passing, and I know it was probably me, but has the train started to go by faster since I hurt my hand? It looked like it was now going about sixty miles an hour, much too fast to safely clamber aboard. So I let the train go by. Who cared? I din't mind walking. Besides, I was sure that if I stayed on those tracks that the tracks would eventually have to lead somewhere. But it was dark out, and all around me were woods, woods, and more woods. With the woods came noises, noises that ranged pretty much from creepy to downright disturbing. Well, I had been walking for about an hour, since the train had come barreling through, when this earsplitting scream shattered the very disturbing wood noises. Oh great, I thought- from more disturbing noises to the most disturbing noises. I could see what looked to be a flashlight darting and cutting through the darkness, like Darth Vader's light saber. The light was heading toward me. Afraid that the person or persons behind the flashlight were weed bounty hunters out doing a little Jacque fishing, I went and hid behind this huge pinetree that was ten feet away from the tracks. As I waited I heard the same ear splitting scream, only louder and closer, and I heard two other voices as well. These voices couldn't be heard clearly at first. But the closer they came...
"No! Leave me alone. Please!", came a woman's voice, but not Jamie Lee Curtis's like I had expected.
"Get her Johnny", one gruff voice spat out in between running breaths. I can take him, I thought. Gotta be a smoker.
"Where you runnin' girl?"
"No- GET AWAY!"
There were three of them. One girl being pursued by two guys. Clearly she didn't like the way her date was going. They kept running down the tracks, and soon they ran right past the tree that I was hiding behind. Curiosity killed the cat. 'Yes, but I'm not a motherfucking cat.'
So I followed them, sticking to the trees for cover just to be on the safe side. It wasn't hard to keep up with them though, thank God for the cigarette smokers. One of the men chasing the girl was tall, with long blonde hair that flapped his back, like a short little superman cape. The other one was short, and alot more stockier. He had a real hard time trying to keep up with the taller man, who had a hard time keeping up with the girl's pace. She looked kind of frail and skinny, kind of like a gazelle, and she managed to match a gazelle's pace, and thus pulling further and further away from Abbott and Costello. Just when I thought she had no chance whatsoever of getting caught up with, she tripped on one of the railroad ties, and fell face first.
They caught up with her, and the tallest one, who reached her first, yanked her up by her hair. She was screaming and kicking, clearly not enjoying the S&M experience. I stayed close, hiding behind one of the many trees that were strewn near the railroad tracks.
"Ya like that don't you sweet thing."
"We're going to teach you not to play hard to get. Ain't we Paul?"
"Yea, we're gonna have us a real good time."
"No, please. Just let me go. I won't tell anyone."
"You hear that Louie? The lady says she ain't gonna tell no one.", The tall one, apparently Paul, said to Louie, with a grin that went ear to ear.
"No, I didn't hear nothin' but some wind blowing."
"Louie come here and help me.''
"Oh yeah, we gonna have some fun now!"
I gripped my gun tightly with my hand, my fingers gently, however, around the trigger. I didn't want to shoot myself in the foot or anything. Paul was holding onto the girl by keeping her hands behind her back. The only way the girl could protect herself was to kick with her feet, and kick she did. Right when Louie was bending over to unzip her zipper. Kicked him straight in the face, and hard too. Between Louie's moving in a downward motion, and the girl's foot, moving in an upward motion, poor old Louie must've thought he'd been kicked by a mule. He fell to the ground, and surprisingly, didn't get up. Knocked out by a girl. Unfortunately Paul was still conscious, and now he was pissed off at the girl for knocking his friend out. He forced her on the ground, and worked at ripping the girl's pants right off her. I was starting to shake, not because of what I would have to do, but because I thought that this only happens in the movies, movies that I wasn't allowed to watch.
Well Paul managed to get the girl's pants off, and after that he ripped her panties off. Then he was unbuckling his belt buckle and unzipping his pants, and I had to move then. I walked out from behind the tree, and as I was walking I pulled my gun out, hoding it like a club, with my hand around the nozzle, then quickly walked up to the guy, who had his back turned to me. He couldn't have heard me if he wanted to; he was kinda busy atop the girl. So I walked up to him, and struck him with the butt of my gun. Just one hard, fluid swing that sent blood splattering all over me and all over the girl's shirt and private and bare legs. Poor girl, nice bush, but poor girl. I had never seen a bush before until now, and the sight of it strangely excited me. Perv! I thought and quickly looked away in distaste. As she raised up to her feet and tried to pull her torn and tattered clothes back on, I reached into Paul's back pants pocket for his wallet. I put that in my backback then went over to Costello who seemed to be gaining consciousness by the second. I punched the fuck in the face so damn hard that I thought I heard his little brain rattle in his skull like a pinball. The dude was not getting up tonight. Then I took his wallet and added it to my collection as well. By the time I was done making some money the girl was pretty much dressed; if you could call it that. She looked more like a refuge who had stayed hidden aboard a boat that had just traveled around the whole world.
"Those assholes! What should we do with them?", she asked me as if I were Moses or something.
"You mean what should you do about them? I've got bigger fish to fry. Besides, I've got people looking for me. You're on your own sweety."
"Why are people looking for you?" she asked.
"Because I've got this", I said pulling out my glock, which I had tucked down in the waist of my pants and covered over with my shirt right after hitting Paul. Apparently she hadn't seen me use it or put it away.
"Why don't you shoot the bastards?"
"Because I don't know you, and I'm not gonna go to prison for murder for a complete stranger. You've got issues."
"That's all? That's all you're going to do!? These motherfuckers tried to rape me! They deserve to die!"
"Alright, here." I said handing her my gun. "You do it. You want the motherfuckers dead- then kill them. They're right there."
She started to cry, and I left her in that state, and just walked away. About a minute later I heard a gun shot, and then another one, and then one after the other. I turned around and saw her looking down at the bodies, a morbid profile. The executioner with her victims. If she had as many bullets in that gun as I heard clicks from the gun, those boys would've been full of holes. It's funny how everything can get turned around. I waited patiently and finally she turned away from what she had just done, and walked up to me. I wouldn't call it a smile, but there was a look on her face of satisfaction, a rather smug satisfaction.
"I can't believe that I did it. At least now they won't be hurting anyone."
"Well you can't stay here now. People will start looking for you. You'll have to come with me.", I said grabbing the gun, before she got the notion that she was the saviour of all women everywhere, to cleanse the world of man.

3

She followed me. We walked along the train tracks for what seemed like hours. Occasionally I would look behind me where she was walking, about ten feet back. It's not that I was more athletic, and there for the better walker. It was just that she had alot on her mind. An enormous amount of thoughts, thoughts about life in general, and her most recent actions, and how her actions can effect her future. Or at least that's what I assumed to be happening in her head. At any rate, she appeared to be quite out-of-it. I would keep looking back, and she'd be walking along, looking down at her feet. And her walk wasn't in a straight line. In fact, if I had been an officer of the law, I could've arrested her for WWI; walking while intoxicated.
A few hours into our walk, I heard that most welcome sound, another train in the distance. And this time luck was on my side, and it was going much slower. She and I waited until an empty car went by. The train was only going about fifteen miles an hour, and we easily jumped into it. We found one corner, and with her curled up next to me, we fell asleep immediately.
I awakened early into the morning, because everything around me was barely visible. There was a hint of morning however, shrouded on everything, for it was a pale visibility. And very foggy. What had awakened me, made the same noise again, and I was prepared in a second. My three lucky chinese stars, my favorite out of one hundred different types. For whatever made the noise, one would do, but to be sure on everything, there was two and three.
"Who's there?! Show yourself!" I made my location known, though it probably was already.
"Man it's cool, bra." With that someone stepped out of the other corner of the car. Some homeless person. I could tell from looking at him. Although he was only about twenty or so, his clothes gave him away. Or rather his rags. Of course, one person could look at him and say he was very hippy, with the dreads and all, and another person could say he was homeless. Like me.
"Man, I saw you guys get on. I was three cars down. I was just going to leave you two alone, but I figured you all might want some wake and bake. It's four twenty to my watch." Cool kid.
"You startled me. Yeah man light it up." I said this with the intensity of some pothead that truly wanted to get high. And high we got. Baked. Tore up from the floor up baked. And we stayed tore up. It seems this dude, who's name was Scott was not called a homeless person, but a squatter, as he so call put it. He had just come back from a drug run. He had a hundred and twenty pounds of it. In assorted back packs in the corner of our car. He was strapped down. Righteous. That's why it took him so long to get to us, I thought.
"Yeah man. So I take a train right? And I like go way out in the country, I mean way out man. Then I bury a whole bunch of seeds, in one spot man. I put them with soil that stays moistened all year long, but not too wet, right? And why? Because man, then I don't have to come way the fuck out here everyday. Man are you stoned?.....
"What man?"
"Are you stoned man?"
"Hell yeah I'm stoned man. What do you think five joints in thirty minutes would do to two people? Funny man."
"Hey Jacque. If you and your lady wanna come squat with me, then that's cool man. Hey! You can make some killer money man. This shit didn't cost me nothin' man. This is God's secret to the world- to be stoned forever. 'Cause that's what's gonna happen man. When we die we will be in heaven and everyone one of us will be so motherfucking stoned. Except it'll be a permanent high. Something way better and stronger then you and I have ever done."
"Yeah that's cool Scott. What you said earlier. We would love that."
"It's all good dawg. What did I say earlier?"
"About the selling weed thing, and the squatting thing. You stoned thing.
Scott was a real looker. The kind of looker that got all the mothafuckin pussy. A mix between Brad Pitt and the author of this book. But he was hippy. Real hippy. From the rags to the bong. And that was cool man, 'cause in the seventies they were the ones involved with peace campaigns and other peaceful demonstrations. Think about it man! Have you ever heard about four boys smoking a joint, then wanting to just kick somebodies asses. Ya bully. But Scott proved real soon then that he was rather suave with women.

Damn this girl could sleep real hard. Real hard for a newborn murderer. She was very pretty. But her appearance made her look younger then she really was. Hell, truth was, she was older then me. By at least a year. I wanted her to be introduced to Mr. Pothead. But she just looked exhausted. As it turned out she was really exhausted because I blew weed smoke right at her face and she didn't even wake up. That smell would always wake me up. But after pushing and pulling on her she finally found reality.
She looked up at me as if I was the one responsible for her own actions, the one to crack the real girl out of her shell. Then she turned her gaze around the boxcar, and then her gaze locked on Mr. Pothead, and he just smiled and handed her a new rolled joint. The damn thing about all this weed was that it wasn't dry. We would have to keep lighting the joint back up because it had gone out. They never said one word to eachother until the joint was smoked. But as they both lit up after joint cigarettes, the conversation got to conversing. And we were all high man. And the train kept goin'.

4
He fucked her that morning. That suave motherfucker fucked her. When we had been stoned the night before, he had asked me if she was my girl, and I had told him no. To have at it. Well damn man! How would I know that he would take me so literally. But it was all good. I had more important issues on my mind. Have at it. The train was stopped somewhere in a trainyard, and you could see the city all around us. I knew in my heart that we were getting off there. This was confirmed when Scott and Nutcase, jumped off the train. I say Nutcase because I never did hear her name. I never asked because I wasn't interested.
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When we arrived in Seattle it was a procession. Scott and I first hid the bags of weed. Then Scott and Shellgirl walked ahead of me and I followed. It seemed that the girl had really taken to him. Scott was living it up. The man really had it going on. The pussy. The money. And with that would come the fame. Oh, he would have his friends all right. As long as he had his weed.
We walked up this huge hill that went up to the district known as Capital Hill. Capital Hill was the place to get anything you wanted from glass to speed to heroine. A big party spot. People that wanted to explore every sin known to man, but just your every day Gommorrah. In touch with your feminine side or not in touch with your feminine side you were excepted. Because it was all college too. Young people. Stupid tripping people. Alcoholic people, of all shapes and sizes. People of every different style and culture, or cult. With the curve of the road that we were walking came a huge mass of people walking the sidewalks, or just hanging out under no loitering signs. We didn't walk half a block on Capital Hill before someone yelled Scott's name. The person ran over to greet us. He told us that many people were waiting for Scott's return. Scott told dudeman to stay with us, that we needed help. He started to walk with us, and the procession pushed forward. There were two hippies ahead of us that were playing juggling sticks, and they had a little hat in front of them. It was a sharp looking black velvet hat, the kind that is shaped like a townhat, only stylishly larger. From the look of things in the hat the hippies had found their little entrepenuer knack for all times. There was enough money in that hat to go and get really fucked up.
"Hey Chad, James! Do the ganja switchoff." , Scott yelled, they glanced only slightly in our direction, then turned toward eachother, and traded juggling sticks in the air, to eachother. Once caught simultaneously, they both closed their hands together, and somehow magically, the juggling sticks contained in hands, dissappeared. I was enthralled. "You've got to show me that trick sometime." I said this with the enthusiasm of a pupil truly wanting to learn off of Merlin the Magician.
"Oh, it really is a secret. I'd tell you. But then I'd have to kill you. And since I'm not going to jail for you right this minute, I think that I just won't tell you."
"Oh Jacque, I'd like you to meet Chad. He's the one to come up with this money scene. That's right folks, here at Squatters, Inc. we've got stick jugglers, jugglers, spangers(spare changers - for those dimwitted, the strangers that come up to you, asking if you have any change you can spare. Mostly found in cities along with the pigeons, which have nothing to do with anything), trash divers(don't ask), muggers, prostitutes, and in general, your normal, average day, homeless, drugged out, parasite. Chad's apprentice here is Spin, because girls turn him on their tables and tops. He's almost as suave as myself. You guys, this is Jacque. Oh. Follow me. We need some jugglers help."
"Sure bro. Let me get my hat on." Then Chad and Spin split their money up fifty fifty, and followed the rest of us. Murdergirl came back to talk to me a little. She was all over me. We walked back the way we had come, all the way to the shipyard. And all the way back she would have her arm around my waist. One time, she said that she wanted to whisper something in my ear, and I leaned forward to hear it, and she kissed my neck and then nibbled my ear, and I started to get aroused. By the time we arrived at the train tracks, she had been rubbing her ass into my genetalia, and ol' Mr. Potter had come out to play. I made her walk in front of me, until ol' Mr. Potter went inside and back to sleep. We were trailing the procession because she kept distracting me. Man, I was so broke I couldn't even pay attention. I started to think that maybe this girl just wanted to kill those jerks back there where we met. Maybe the reason why they were wanting to take it was because she had been flaunting it, and I just happened to be her chance to experience the evil of evils, and to shoot a gun, quite possibly a first time for her. How exciting. Or stupid. Or I was just wanting to smoke a joint. But then something was about to happen that was going to make me want to wait on that joint. As we neared the parked train that we would walk through to get to the stashed-gonna be hashed- weed, we could see two cops and a train engineer. They were looking right at the weed bags, and in them, and talking. I motioned Scott and the others to follow me, which they did, and I turned to them.
"Let's knock these three motherfuckers out.", I said pulling my bag of tricks off my back. I reached inside and brought my nunchucks out. Only it didn't look like a pair of nunchucks, but rather a simple steel rod about a foot long. It was designed to where it could be gripped at one end and when it was flung in any direction the rod would come apart and become two half pieces of metal rods connected together with a chain.
"Knock them out? Are you crazy?"
"Well Scott, you just gonna let them keep all your shit?! Stay here a second. Don't move."
With that I pushed forward, ahead of them. I walked a few cars forward and then crossed through two cars to get to the other side of the train. I had the steel rod half in my hand and the other half tucked up my sleave. As I approached the officers and train attendant, I walked in a non-chalant manner, of one completely patient with an unlimited source of time on my hands. One of the officers looked up at me and went back to talking with the other two. As I closed the distance to them, the same officer raised his head once more, but this time with more concentration. It was then or never, as I rushed forward, the officer started to reach for his gun, and I let the rod extend right across the guys jaw. Then I had the chucks flying toward the other cop, only to hit the train attendant square in the head. Meanwhile one of the cops had grabbed his gun out, but in a split second I had the chucks hit the man's killing hand so hard that I could hear a cracking sound, and the officer was screaming. I swung the chucks artfully around a little bit, making the chucks flip and turn and fold to every whim I so desired. Before the chucks came to their temporary journey's end, they cracked the last conscious weed exposer right upside his cranium endeavor.
I tucked the chucks into my pant's waistline on my back, performed a little ninja dance, and called out, ''Come on out all potheads that wish to celebrate in our harmonious herbalation." Whatever the fuck that meant.

5

The walk to the squat was an interesting journey. We had loaded all four army duffel bags of weed onto our strong and young bodies. Everyone in our posse was under twenty years of age. And just like at Capital
Hill, you could see five different cultures, from the five of us. The only one with the lightest load, which amounted into carrying no weed what-so-ever, was Ms. Murder She Wrote. But she was turning into Ms. Tease. I swore to God that if she did that thing she did with her hand to me, one more time, that I would take her behind the nearest dumpster and fuck the shit out of her. Well, she did that thing with her hand again, which I can't even begin to explain, and she and I lost track of the whole posse; along with time in general. We were literally fucking behind a dumpster that smelled like shit, mixed with maggots, baby vomit, and rotting venison hooves. It got worse though. I started to smell her smell, her pussy smell. Through all the other smells. And it was nothing short of a can of sardines. And packed with all the juices. The only good thing was that I had just lost my virginity. It felt damn good though. Fuck ya! We were in an alleyway. We could see that it was getting darker out by the minute, and we unexposed ourselves, and walked out to the sidewalk. There we mixed and mingled just like all the other pedestrians, just one little part of a massive human traffic jam. You could just smell the excitement in the air...

"Do you want to buy some black pyramid?"
"Huh.", I said, the only logical thing to say to something like that. Dude what planet are you on?
"Nevermind.", he said walking away from us.
"Hold on man. If it's drugs, then we do them. In fact, I'll smoke this fattie with you right now.", I said holding up a fatass joint that Scott had given me.
"Black Pyramid.", the man said to me, "is acid. But in gell form. Which means it'll melt on your tongue. But not in your hand. They should've called it M&M's acid. $5.00 a hit."
I was getting excited. I had never ever done anything like this before. This was awesome.
"I'll take two, please."
"Are you a narc?"
"What!? HELL NO! Hell no! Why?"
"Well, if you were a narc, you would've had to tell me. Then I would've gone away."
"Whatever. Cool, we get to trip."
"See man, if you were a narc, you woulda had to tell me. That's the law."
"Well, I wouldn't have wanted to break the law now would I?" After that last question I broke out laughing, and it turned into epidemic proortions, and, like a virus, all three of us were laughing. It was as if I knew Murdergirl and Tripboy all my life, and they knew me their whole lives, and it was just another get together. One of many from the past and many still to come. But only after today. And the day was about to be juiced up a bit...
"Hold out your tongue." I did. And that was all there was to it. The doser told me to go buy some orange juice and drink lot's of it. Said it would increase the visuals. Visuals. What were visuals? I had to ask....

"Scott! Hey man have you seen Scott?" The person just looked at me. At least that's what I thought he was doing. But then there were three of them. Multiplying before my very eyes. And where was that slut? I could've swore that she had dissappeared into the sidewalk. My orange juice. Still in my hand. Man, my hand. It was moving, I mean really moving. But from inside you know. The colors were more then intense. They were moving too. The whole meaning was moving. And it went that way for about six hours.
It seems that I had bought the orange juice for the muerto chick and myself and upon drinking said fluid, started to trip. Upon arrival in LALA land, she and I had split company, and each to their own, had gone out to find our fortunes. I was walking down the sidewalk, and there seemed to be more people out then before. I walked past these three gothic looking chicks. Satan's little helpers that are calm and serene about the whole situation with Satan, just not with Earth's situation, which they probably call something else, dressed in the ever eternal darkening colors of black, some darker black, and then bottomless pit black. They couldn't be completely dressed without the regulation 42 piercings code either. Or the wonderful world of bobby pins openly displayed so that someone, anyone would ask about it.
I was loaded. Just loaded down.. Then I remembered that I had a sack just full of weed. And then I could imaginarily smell the weed. Imaginarily is an imaginary word that would best describe the smell. Where was everyone? I started to walk down the sidewalk looking for Murderslut girl or Scott, or a pair of jugglers...
And then I had this visualistic picture of someone shaking a pair of dice, and the dice landing, and the picture zooms right in on two little pictures of jugglers, in place of where the numbers usually are, staring up at me-
"Sparawanna for the hempless?" I turned to look at this squatter. I just looked at her for a few seconds. She was gorgeous. I moved on...
Man this was awesome. Just the feeling of being a giant transmitter. Broadcasting around to everybody within the general vicinity of myself. Everyone was becoming exposed. You could not escape the power invisible ray things...
The slut thing was missing. The slut thing was missing man. And I could've saved her man. But she got away. I had to find her. Nah! Fuck her! Been there,done that! I started to laugh loudly and it was a sight to see I'm sure, as I was having these episodes all by myself thanks to Mr. Trip. Therefore a normal person wouldn't be walking down the fucking sidewalk and then just start breaking out laughing. For no apparent reason.
But then, these people were coming to greet me. That train guy! Yeah! Scott. And a lot of friends behind him. I hoped or else I was about to experience a bad trip. And I had never had one. The rest was just motion upon commotion, and a swaying of things saying.
"Whazup! Brother who saved our asses today. Family!" I was confused, fucked up, but I knew that I had left my family somewhere else. Deep down inside I also knew that I didn't have this damn many family members.
"Where", I asked looking around, clearly searching for mom and dad.
"Dude! Look at me", Scott said grabbing me and turning me to face him. Eye to eye.
"Man. You're fucked up! What're you on" grinning ear to ear at me. I laughed and said 'acid', and then he was laughing, and then I thought that everyone was laughing. Laughing with me. Or was it at me? I started to get really nervous, and looked around the room at everybodies smiles, trying to perceive that one person that really wasn't on my side...
Man I was tripping. I realized that this was all fun and games, and received a little comfort. I still had that little stomach knot thing going on. It started when I started to trip. And been going ever since. Sometimes I think that I'm going to die. Then too. Only from the pain in my stomach, I figured it would probably be a little stomach alien parasite, one that once became a certain size, would come bursting out of my stomach, and quickly slither away down a storm drain, or in an air duct. Waiting. Just waiting. For that one chance, man. That one chance to pounce on the first person that travels alone. Hooray. If I was that one person, I'd be walking around and it jump out at me and I'd have to kick it's alien a-
"Hey man! What are you doing?" I was outside. Kicking this ugly ugly garbage can. And having a conversation with myself. "Yeah! Well I'll kick your ass. Motherfucker?!" I kicked the can again.
"Dude!!! What are you doing." Reality, someone was talking to me? I looked up. Afraid of who I would see. One of the hippies from inside.
"Man- he deserved it", I said kicking the can again.
"Dude, it's just a can"
"Can- what're you talking about", I said, watching the way his lips moved. This guy started saying something and the way his lips moved and kept on moving, I could've swore that he was the most funniest thing there ever was and confirmed this by cutting him off, laughing my head off. I started to walk down this alleyway, where I was. I thought that I could hear something...
...and as I turned the corner. The first thing that I saw was a blinding white light. The light was so bright, that it seemed I had just woken up from a deep sleep, only to open my eyes to the morning sunshine. Glaring right in my face. With all the strain of a forty four million watt bulb. Then the more that I looked at this brilliantly bright spectre, it was moving, and I was starting to see something in the light. And then I heard this growl, this deep growling. Then something really dark moved rapidly towards the light. The darkness had it's own shape just as the light had it's own shape and size. Something rang in my head and I started to turn away. I was completely spooked. Like Ichabod Crane's horse. And as I started in what I thought to be the right direction, and that being away from that maddening color clash, I broke out into a full run. It seemed that my heart was going to burst out of my rib cage, like some pregnating alien parasite.
I was really freaking out, and blindly continued running in the same direction. The only obvious choice. Away from whatever was making the terrible terrible sounds. It sort of sounded like screams, but screams that were contorted, twisted, and amplified. As if there was no shortage in oxygen, the screams were sometimes drawn out, only to be even more amplified toward the end of the screams, once again showing no lack of oxygen. But whatever those sounds were coming from, the being doing the screaming couldn't be human, and probably didn't breathe oxygen either. Then I heard a man's scream, an anguished man's cry. It was coming from the same direction. But then I heard that same inhuman sound, only this time it was grunting and groaning. Sounded like a goddam evil pig. Maybe mixed with a little bit of dragon? Monster? What the fuck ever. And it was coming in my direction...

ChapterVVIVII??

I turned the corner, sprinting really, and I could hear that wretched sound coming closer and closer. I pushed myself beyond the limits of a cigarette smoker, reaching for unheard of resources, hidden deep within my psyche. But I could feel the toll of my excertion in my burning lungs. They continued to do their job, but it was pointless, the sound kept getting closer. I was running down this long stretch of dark alleyway, and the darkness was almost upon me because I could hear it. Closer, Closer still. I glanced over my shoulder when I was sure that it was up on me, but the darkness wasn't there. No. Because at that moment it was traveling in the air from the giant leap that it took, and landed solidly right in front of me. It wasn't more then ten feet in front of me, and I could see it more clearer. But I was on LSD, this thing probably wasn't real. That was until it lifted it's upper darkness and roared. That's when I saw it as plain as day. A hideous creature, how perceptive. Just like in the movies. But this one was uglier. And more hideous. As if such a thing were possible, with teeth, rows too many, and claws, sharp as perforated razor blades, I knew that I was going to die. My bag of tricks were gone, left at the house with all the other travelers and trippers. For their amusement, while I was out here staring down this ugly mean ass, kill meister. Tripping to the grave, how rave. Those jokers at the squat I could imagine them looking through my stuff, asking who wants what. Everyone arguing over my shit, and having to play gambling games, to just let the winner take all. Man! Fuck this mother fucker. I ran toward it rather then away from it, all my thinking rolled into a partial second. If someone were to have asked me what that creature looked like, I wouldn't of been able to describe it because it was something that was so new to me, so different, so unreal, and I wasn't telling myself that it was real. I was telling myself that it was a figment of my imagination. But it sure looked real. I was really scaring the hell outta me.
I rushed forward and threw my legs in the air, one followed by the other, in a combination meant to knock some teeth out. The first one connected with what must've been the chin of the creature, and the second hit him square in the middle of it's had-to-be chest. The creature grabbed hold of that second foot, with it's claws wrapped around my shoe. As gravity would have it, I fell down, with my foot still in the creature's grasp. As I landed, I pushed off the ground with everything that I had, and bounced my free foot off the ground again, kicking the monster squarely again in the chest. It stumbled back in a roar, and then everything became loud as the monster screamed at me, and seemed to lose it's strength. It started to drop to it's knee's but then stopped halfway down, and I could see something protruding out of it's chest, something thin and bladelike. Slowly, but in steady procession, blood appeared to outline the blade, and then there was a huge sucking noise. It was a very wet sucking noise, as the blade tip dissappeared inside the body of the monster, from whence it came. And out flying in the air the blade of death glided right through the entire neck of the beast- and kept going. The monster gargled and gurgled, like something drowning in applesauce, then it's head rolled off and bounced a little on the ground, and just for a split second, I imagined it a basketball, and I wanted to scoop it up and throw it in a hoop. Just to play with it and know that it was more then dead, that it wasn't real.
There was someone behind the creature, and he had a dripping sword in his hand. He looked almost identical to the Terminator. Or a light sensitive vampire. With wraparound shades, and very dark leather, his boots really set off the getup, with highly polised glistening chrome chains that extended down to the bottom heels. *********later on the hero will have boots that with the stamp of a foot will protract out the soles of the boots, and extend in all directions out of the boots. great for slaying monsters, demons creatures whatever.*******************
The stranger walked up to me, fast. He had been ten feet away, and my eyes had involuntarily blinked, and he was there. Right in front of me. He was putting a hand in front of my face, and flashing it from my one eye horizon to the other- then back again. "Can you see me-" his hand was making tripping sight tracers, as if the site of color was a slow process, gradually accepted by the eyes. Then he was back in a flash, all the way to where he had been standing, ten feet away. "Yes -I can see you. You're real-"
"Shh! Be quiet", he said and motioned toward me-
-and then my eyes involuntarily rolled down, getting darker, and then up real fast, and I couldn't control my vision anymore, and they trailed way down and pitched black. And I was out like a light.

Chapter ?
I woke up at the squat the next morning, on the floor. My back was sore, and as I dragged myself to my feet, I involuntarily grunted and groaned. They weren't ordinary grunts or groans, but very loud ones and I seemed to have absolutely no control over the volume level. Why was I so sore? I felt like I had just finished working out all day at the gym. I quickly scanned the room I was in and my eyes finally locked on my pack and my bag o' tricks, after looking over a sea of dead bodies- dead tired. This sleeping arrangement reminded me of a nursery mexican's trailer. One person will rent a trailer, and all sixty relatives will live there too, all working sixteen hour shifts at the nursery everyday, six days a week. How they could cram all these hippies in this one room, gave me a special feeling, of one sardine in a big can of 'em. I walked over and across and sometimes on the bodies, heading toward the kitchen. My cotton mouth was screaming something that only I could hear.
Apparently not everyone was asleep after all. There were, say, fifteen hardcore poker players in my midst. The players ranged from 16 to 35. Almost all of them were naked as well. It seems that some people like to lose more then others in a common game of strip poker. The only mutual feeling shared by every contestant is the feeling of excitement. Perhaps to much. The women's nipples were all hard, while the guy's nuts were all shriveled, as if they came right out of a block of ice. The picture presented before me was rather comical, and I could honestly say that it was a better picture then that one with the dogs playing poker. A couple of the girls were teasing a couple of the guys, to the extent that I thought they were going to couple right there. Right under the poker tables, for everyone to see. What a show. Why not? There was no less of a privacy issue there. I pretended that I was really thirsty, which I really was, and minded my own business. I walked up to the fridge, and opened the door and-
-this cat jump sailed up and over my shoulder, and onto the table of cards, spraying and hissing as it landed, at anyone and everyone, then scrambled across the whole table, sending cards in all directions, to make it's clean getaway to the floor. Because after it hit the ground, it shot off and was gone in maybe a second.
I still had the fridge door in my hand and I started to laugh with the rest of the room. It was one of those laughs that got funnier the longer a person laughed it, and it seemed like a long time before anyone could stop, and by then all our sides were hurting from the strain on our lungs.
Then I started my hunt for coffee. Which there wasn't any. I asked the laughing poker pals at the table if they knew if there was coffee or not, and this really pretty hippy chick told me to look in the cabinet behind me for some. I thought that maybe she had been looking me up and down, checking me out. Hell yeah! Well. I found the coffee, and then went to get the coffee machine filter compartment to load that baby up, and wake up. As I pulled the little drip unit toward me, I all of a sudden received, via my unfortunate nose, this disgusting rotting smell. I started to look around me for a monster, and knew that I was dead in the water without any of my weapons with me. But then my eyes trailed down to the filter unit, which was still in my hand. The rotting old moldy coffee jammed in there must have been in there since before the Columbians realized that they even had coffee for an exporting option. I was about to mention something about it but then decided against it. 'Wash the dishes' Fuck washing the dishes. Be a rebel, man! Besides, I didn't want to sound like an old diddy. Whatever the fuck that was.
I washed that unit almost as good as I always washed my Own Unit. My Own Unit got dirty sometimes behind alleyways, and from the stench I had a good idea that both units were probably just as dirty. So while I let the wonderful coffee brand 'foodstore #1 coffee' brew, I went stumbling across and over the contiunuation of the sea of bodies in effervescent search of the little boys room.
But when I got to the restroom I soon saw that it was also the little girls room. As I stepped into the warm steamy bathroom, the first thought to cross my groggy foggy morning mind, was if fog could be in the bathroom, than so could rain. And indead it was raining. It was coming down in warm torrential floods and draining down the bathtub drain. As I stepped across the bathroom threshold, I raised my eyes and saw something rather peculiar- no shower curtain. But the girl was gorgeous. Drop dead gorgeous. Her hair was long and flowed smoothly with the sudsidized H20, flowing down her beautiful curving graceful breasts, only to create little magical waterfalls, as the water splashed over the breaking points of her nipples. The river continued down her smooth as silk stomach, and caressed the graceful thighs and inner thighs, only to completely enhance her graceful titties. And her bush- not too little and not too much. I could even make out her succulent lips, and I thought I could hear her talking to me, with that almost hypnotic quality, from the beautiful lips that were attached to her hips. Her legs were also very lovely. With long graceful, even, muscular contours, the water continued it's inevitable downward descent, to her calves and all the way to her perky toes.
"Are you just going to stand there gaping at me or are you going to shut the door, so I can conserve what little warm air there is left- There! See! That air there! It's all around you!" She was pointing at me and grinning the whole time. Flushed cheeked I shut the door as fast as possible, to save her fuckin air. I'd like to fuck her in the air. But a gentleman never tells. Never.
I hadn't stayed in there. I sometimes think back to that situation and wish that I had. If instead of letting myself out when she said that, if I let myself in.
I had to cross the sea of bodies once more, to relieve myself outside, behind the shady pinetree, truly one of God's ugly marks that he has allowed to exist. The tree was an insult in the very fact of it's existence. With branches pointing every which way, the entire heighth looked truffeled, as if some giant cat had used it for a scratching post, a worn one at that.
But it was dark and shady, and conceiled Mr. Rogers very well. As I stood there relieving myself beside the ugly tree, I looked around at all the filth. There was litter all over the squat's yard, which was pretty bad since the front yard consisted of a three by five concrete plot. The litter didn't stop there however. All out on the sidewalks and street, there were; empty Yahoo containers, old napkins, cigarette butts, cigarettes minus one and two hits, broken winebottles entwined in paper bags, broken soda bottles not entwined in anything at all, and a dirty red completely worn baseball cap with the letter 'A'. And everything that was light was in motion, flying along like tumbleweed. It was clearly a New Yorkian Western setting. And I was looking for the lone gunman, and glimpsed upon scanning the alleyways, with my excellent eyesight, the strange man that I saw last night, there with that monster. Monster!? Then it all hit me and I remembered everything. And that's when the guy started walking toward me, almost gliding across the air. He started toward me slowly, and then his gliding was smoother and faster, then he was hurdling toward me, and I was afraid. I turned and started to run-
and woke up,
panting, afraid and out of breath, like I had been running. Then I closed my eyes and went back to sleep.
Chapter

Apparently it all wasn't just a dream, because as I got up to take a leak, I saw the same gorgeous girl, and she was playing poker with the same other group of poker people from my dream? Was it a dream? I didn't
think so anymore. Of course, just being awake this morning seemed to have it's own dreamy quality, and my body felt tired and detached. I got up and made myself a cup of coffee, and sat down at the table to drink it and watch the others at the table give all their money to Ms. Gorgeous. God. I couldn't keep my eyes off her. I looked over at her again, and she was looking at me as well, and smiling. That smile made me want to drag her under the table and let her meet Mr. Rogers personally.
I reached into my pockets and jingled my own change. I wasn't even aware that I was so rich, until I remember the two wallets that I had hoisted from the intentional rapers down the train tracks. I pulled all my change out of my pockets, and sorted through it, taking out the pennies. Pennies were bad luck, and anyone that kept pennies in their possession eventually would have to leave the table, broke. I knew that and I wanted to save some embarrasment ahead of time.

That whole week went by very fast. I couldn't remember anything about my whole trip. Anything. All I could remember was how good the tripping feeling was. And that made me want to do it again. Scott reassured me that he could get more acid, however much I wanted. I was happy to hear it. I, along with a few other key players, helped sell Scott's weed in exchange for money and whatever need we had for the weed. But for us, we sold it, money was better then the weed, so we tried to smoke as little as possible, to turn over the greatest profit. We made it a group challenge, and it became a challenge, because the shit was the SHIT. Scott got his cut, then we got ours. That was the arrangement. If Scott didn't get his cut, he would send guys after the foolish outcast, if they could find them. Sometimes people just dissappeared. Whatever happened, happened, but once an outcast, you were always an outcast and you couldn't be part of the 'family'. That's what our squat was, one big happy fucking family. I used to know a saying, 'Fuck me once, then fuck me! Fuck me twice, then FUCK you!' But the Family's motto was, 'Fuck the Family anytime, then FUCK you!'
I kept thinking about that. Even after Murdergirl's body showed up in a sewer grate, disposed of like some common sewer rat, naked torn, half her body mauled, and the other half with weird carvings covering most of it. The girl had no doubt been murdered. But that was only the beginning.

Chapter

I was working near Broad St. with a heroin junkie named Tre. Unlike myself and the other keyplayers, Tre didn't sell the weed for the money. Well he did, it's just that he didn't have possession of it long enough. He would have his fix flowing through his veins before I could even much count my money. As far as a heroin junkie went, ol' Tre was a professional, moving smoothly and quickly, and able to conceal doing so. I mean, he had a real knack at it. Once, we had been out selling Mary J all day, and on the way back, Tre took out all the money he was owed(Scott would count how much we took each day, hey business was business), and said he had to stop at his dealer's house. I was fine by that. So we walked to the house and Tre went in and came out five minutes later, a large grin that he couldn't quite hide, spreading across his face. Well, Tre was smiling because he thought that he would die if he didn't fix right then and there. And the time had arrived. But first we walked to the end of the drug dealer's block, and walking in the steady flow of people traffic, he fixed. I had almost felt like wavering off, away from jailbait, but I could barely see anything, and I was right there. So it was safe to assume that one could walk with Tre and not get busted after all. Yay! That was good information to have, that Tre could just fix away any old place.
Well, we had worked the people over for about $3000.00, and we were smoking cigarettes with two of our customers. These two shlums were clearly gay. By every right that allowed them to screw eachother's buttholes, they were sickeningly gay. But hey! Money was money. Their money wasn't gay! Fabio and his chump girlie man were both wearing pink, and alot of it, and also a ton of jewelry. Everywhere. And I just knew that they had piercings in places that would hurt a sane man that even heard about where. But it was clearly them. Just like their speech.
"Well so me and Jake here went to see our little friend, Bob? And he wasn't there-" He/she was the type of person to end all sentences in questions, regardless of the sentences context.
Giggling. The Jake thing giggled and continued for his, his queenbee. "But that wasn't how it happened. How it happened was before we went, we found this guy downstairs. And he was just walking around, mumbling something-"
"Yah! Probably how he wanted more crack, you know? Like- Where is iiiiiitttttt?" The faggot really started to grate my nerves. I found that I didn't like them any better now then I did before I came to Seattle.

@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@
"Just give me the fucking money!" The lady was real scared now. I didn't give a shit. But she'd better, or she was dead. She started to fumble around with her cash register, clearly panicking.
"Look bitch, you got fifteen seconds, fourteen, thirteen, twelve, ten...." I skipped eleven just for the hell of it. I was swinging my gun from left to right like a pendulum. She started to shovel the cash into my knapsack, in a state of electrified shock.
"Right, thanks alot. See ya." As I started to leave I turned back around and said through clenched teeth, "Oh, by the way, get on the floor and count to twenty. DO it NOW!"
I split that scene in a hurry. I went down the block, then headed down another block, going zigzagged. For some fucking unknown reason, these pigs could never find any motherfucker when he zigzagged. These fucking pigs! The only thorn in my spine. But they weren't that big of a problem. You just had to think through the shit before you did it. But you had to be smarter then the rest of them too. No problem.
I headed straight for my friend's house. One more block, I looked to the right, yup, the same goddamn tree in the same goddamn yard. I could find my way around this city with my eyes closed and at the same time tripping my balls off on acid. Acid rules when a person is in my line of work. I guess that it's not right to steal, at least that's what my dad told me. But was does he fucking know anyways. I was a rebel from the get go, and I've always done my own thing, and I didn't give a shit what anybody thought.
Knock, knock, knock. Just three knocks. It's the only knock that my friend would open his door to. Yeah, John was a careful motherfucker that never went to jail in his life. I guess that it pays to be extra careful now-adays. Besides, if he ever was put in jail, he'd definitely wind up being someone's bitch, his little hundred pound ass.
"Hey man. What's up?"
"Nothing much. Whatchu been up too?"
"Man I ran into some bullshit tonight. Could I crash here?"
"Yeah man, come on in."
• Once I got inside, we went into the livingroom, and John started to pack a bowl. "Man you're gonna like this shit. It's killer green from B.C."
"Right on, man. I'm glad you got some-'cause I'm all out."
"I hear ya man. There ain't much going around right now. I got this good friend who fronted me 'til tomorrow. So I went out and made some cash tonight. Now I can smoke all my profits." With that he grinned greedily, like one of those fat fucks about to sit down to a feast.
We started to watch tv and the news was on. The screen changed to the liquor store that I had robbed. The lady reporter started to speak. "It was here that somebody made off with about five hundred dollars in cash. Luckily the store had a hidden camera, and we caught the whole robbery was cought on tape." Then the camera changed pictures, from the scene of the store to a picture of my face. Fuck! Goddamn it! John looked over at me with a look that read- you didn't, did you? I looked down at the floor in silence.
"Well shit, man. I don't want the fucking cops breathing down my fucking neck. I don't need the fucking cops breathing down my fucking neck. If they somehow find out, I'm in a heap shit of trouble. What the fuck man!?" John said this, practically yelling at me.
"Man, they ain't gonna find out. I was careful when I came here."
"You mean like when you were careful in that fucking store? Christ man! I've seen crack heads that were more careful then that."
"Man, it will just be for tonight. Then I'm gonna split this scene tommorrow. Come on man, we're friends man. I've never gotten you in trouble yet." I spat this out to him, with the sound of my own voice sounding like a fucking beggar or something.
There was hesitation there, that fucking uncomfortable silence, so silent that I could hear my own heartbeat, and finally John started to speak, the sporatic mute motherfucker.
"Ait man, but just tonight."
"Right on, man." Now I was happy. It's a good thing that John decided to let me stay. I don't know what I would've felt like doing to him if he'd said no. I reckon I would've knocked his ass out, and stayed the night anyways. I have this thing about fights, the huge adrenaline rush that I'd feel as I smashed a person, somebody, anybody, that I simply didn't like, into the ground. Maybe I was a mean person, a bully, but does anybody think that I really gave a shit.
"Yo man, it's a pipe, not a mike." I had to interrupt John's conversation about why we even existed on this planet.
"Oh, sorry man," he grunted back at me. Did you ever notice that whenever a person was caught holding someone else's pipe, they always grunted back,"sorry."? Either that or they passed it on back to you, not even caring or thinking about caring, whether or not most of your weed got burned up in the process of them being stoned.
We finished the pipe and then talked about the future. My future. "So where you gonna split to?"
"Oh I don't really have a set place. I think that I'm gonna go down to Florida. Check out the bush for a little while." Silence. There it was again. Oh well.
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Florida. O.k. I could do this, yup, this I could do. The problem with now was that I had to get out of the fucking city. "Thank you for choosing Greyhound Bus Lines. The lines are busy right now taking calls that are more important then yours, but if you stay on the phone for about thirty years you might get to talk to one of our representatives, that is, if there still is a Greyhound. I think that was what she said. I found my mind tripping on me occassionally, due to all the acid still floating around in my spinal column. I should've stuck to 'shrooms but do I listen. Hell no. Rebel baby.
So I turned on the television, and in a couple seconds there was the story about me Mr. Rebel himself, with another big closeup of my face, and I was getting pissed off about the whole ordeal. The fucking newslady was just a blah,blahing away, talking about how they had road blocks and shit like that set up all over the city. I know that was mostly just bullshit though. I mean shit man, it was only five hundred dollars. Roadblocks? Yeah right. I smoked one more bowl with John, said goodbye, then headed down the street with my shit going in the general direction of the bus station. I started to come around a curve when I got a full view of some pigs in cruisers heading my way. Fast reflexes, being a natural part of me, and something that I carried with me wherever I went, I rushed into someone's property, and headed for the back yard. The pigs drove on by, eating their fucking donuts or something. I'm not sure what cops did when they weren't working. I know that when they are working they like to fuck with everyone because their nightstick is longer and more bad ass then everyone else's. Well seeing how I had to get the fuck out of the city, I stayed out of their sight until they went by.
After a few more seconds, I cautiously got up, heading for the bus station again. It was just a couple blocks over, and I arrived there in about ten minutes. I walked inside and headed toward the counter. I walked up to the attendant, who was talking on the phone. I wasn't in a patient mood so I rang their little bell that they had there on the counter. The attendant threw me an evil eye, and continued talking on the phone. I waited and waited, getting angrier by the second. The guy again throws me this fuck-you-I'm-on-the-phone look, and turns his back to me, still talking away. If I had one string left, this guy just pulled it. O looked around the station in search of patrons and didn't see a damned soul. Fuck it! I jumped over the counter using my arm like a pole vault. I rushed up to the guy, and at the same time pulled my gun out from under my shirt. By the time I reached the asshole, the gun was already pressed up against the guy's skull. The man dropped the phone and started to shake. I guess I would have too, if I had a gun pressed up against my head."Your wallet. Give it to me now!" The guy started to turn around, so I swung the butt of the gun down hard, on the back of his head.
"A-a-aaa, I didn't say Simon says turn around." The dipstick lay on the ground frozen with fear.
"Get the fuck up and don't look at me, or I'll give you a matching headache." The guy got up with some difficulty but at least he wasn't facing me.
"Good. Now then, Simon says, open all the cash drawers." The Greyhound man started panicking as much as do what he was being told to do, which amounted to about half-assed. After he opened all the drawers, I walked from one to the other, taking all the paper bills. I made sure not to forget under the drawers, which was where people kept their larger bills. Then took my butt-gun, and smashed it under Greyjerk's chinline near his ear. It was lights out for Mr. Gabby, and he slumped to the floor. I reached into his pocket and pulled out his car keys. I went outside and scoped the parking lot for his car but that was easy, -his was the only one on the lot, a Toyota Celica.
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Once inside the greyhound asshole's wheels, I started to cruise toward the interstate, which was direct access of where he was headed. He occasionally glanced around the inside of the car, noting the lack of cleanliness there in. There were empty soda pop bottles, cigarette butts, candy wrappers and the such strewn about. It was amazing that the car hadn't caught on fire up until then. I hadn't ever met anyone who put their butts out on their car loor upholstery. Indeed that greyhound asshole was a slob. But for what I was going to use it for, cleanliness was irrelevant. The car's owner, did, however, have a nice stereo system in it, and I was, quite frankly, surprised that the system hadn't been ripped off, because he worked at that bus station. I turned it on and switched stations until I found a hard punching rock song. I raised the volume all the way up, and the car shaked-rattled-and-rolled toward the interstate.
When I was stopped at a redlight, I reached over to check out the glove compartment. Wouldn't you know it, there was a gun. Since carrying a concealed weapon like that, was against the law, I doubted that there were any papers on it. No doubt the greyhound slime had purchased it from some street hoodlum, the hood dude no doubt desperately trying to raise money for his ever-growing need of crack. I took the gun out of the glove box, and when I did I saw for the first time this box of ammo, previously behind and under the gun all along. The gun was loaded too. That greyhound slime must've been one terrified, intimidated, s.o.b..
The gun was a pp7and only carried seven rounds, but was perfect in size for concealing, and could pack a punch.
Beep! A horn honked behind me, and I looked up, and the light had changed to green already. My mind was racing with thoughts of what the hell to do. Since I was on the run, it was either me or them. All of them, everybody. Except who I chose for friends. But the pigs, it was going to be a mortal struggle with. A struggle to the death. And I knew it. But they didn't. They worked their shifts day in and day out. Not knowing what was going to happen from one day to the next. They reminded me of guini pigs. Hence 'the pigs'. Scuttling along here and there oblivious of their surroundings. The only power that the pigs possessed was being in numbers!
********* jacque blows up this inventory, then fbi offices. later get's apprehended goes to jail, is popular there, get's almost killed by a thug hired on by secret police infitratrated into the prison. Finally get's out and then is shot to death by father the same fbi man after him all along. **************

I started moving forward again, and I started to think about what I was going to do. Since I was on the run, it was either me or the pigs, and the pigs deserved having the spotlight. I wasn't about to spend some time in the slammer, just so a pig could meet his monthly quota. Pigs could be so insensitive sometimes.
Three miles to the interstate. The next tune on the complete amp filled stereo system with surround grand cnayon echo filled sound, was that of Metallica. This kind of music always made me step on the gas a little harder.
I started to merge with the traffic entering the interstate. I was just cruising along, and then I saw the lights. I figured out they were after me, snce pigs were always transparent in their intentions. I immediately pulled over, and put my newfound gun in my left hand, hiding it alongside the door, waiting, just waiting It's either me or the pigs, I reminded myself. The cruiser pulled up behind me and I turned the car off. My heart started to pound as I glanced in the rearview mirror. The cop was straightening his hat and loking in his rearview mirror. Great! A vain pig. I hope he looks like a real pretty boy at his funeral- wearing his ever informal wear. The cop opened his car door and stepped out, rahter like a rooster that was just coming out of a hen-filled barn. Everything about the man's movements were cocky as he strutted toward me.
I rolled my window down and glanced in my sideview mirror. Now Mr. Vain was straightening his belt as if he was about to walk down the aisle of a beauty pageant.
"Is there something wrong officer", I asked even before he reached my door.
"You know you were speeding?"
"Ah, well. I'm in a hurry."
"Aren't we all." The pig said this while writing down the car tag number on his little pad. Great! Something was going to happen. There was no way outta this without something happening. He walked back up to my window and stretched his hands palms down, on the roof of my car.
"I'll need to see your license and registration please." He started to lean toward the car, and I panicked, thinking he was about to see the gun, or recognize me from T.V., and my heart was pounding and I wasn't thinking clearly. All I wanted to do was get away! Away from this pig vomit that stunk! Fuck him! It was like a slow motion film. My gun went up, and I watched his facial expression change from that of you're getting a ticket to a fragile porsilin stare filled with wretched terror. Even as he was going for his gun, I was cocking mine, still looking at that haunting stare. And even as he was pulling his gun out, I blew his brains out all over the asphalt. Even as his vomity carcass started responding to brainless unbalanced gravity, I was starting my car. When he hit the asphalt, I hit the gas, and I lurched away from the buzzard bait. A few cars had seen what had happened and I could hear horns blaring and see lights shining. The flashing, which was everywhere, shone through all the mirrors attached to my car, casting a mass of emanating color, slowly fading. Then I went around a curve, and the flashing went with it.
Well, that was that. Either me or them. The game had started and I just took my turn. The only difference between this monopoly game and real life was there wasn't a boardwalk and if I landed on Go to Jail, I couldn't get out for $50.00. Before this, I could've afforded getting caught. But for the time spent in the slammer, my life would've gone on.But not now. No. Never. If I got caughtmonopoly would've been spent worrying about who was going to get my ass next, or whether it was going to be a dick or a shank.
Fuck that! I needed to just get the hell outta this area. I drove on, becoming aware of my shaking only after burning my nose, while trying to light a cigarette. I tried to clear my head but it was no use. Just a jumbled mass of images collaging and colliding through my mind. From the liquor store to my friend's house, to his face yelling at me, back to the store clerk's scared expression, then back to the scared stare of the cop as his brains splattered out the side of his head, then back much farther still to my father, who never stopped looking for me after I ran away, who was most certainly still looking for me. I needed to calm down. I had just the thing. Just a little need for weed. I was glad that I knew where John's stash was hid. That dumb motherfucker! He helped me out more than he realized at the time. I finished my cigarette and then lit up the already rolled joint. As the sweet smelling smoke filled my lungs, I could feel myself getting calmer. With each hit I took, I got calmer. Finally the joint was just a roach and I noticed that the trembling had gone. I lit up another cigarette and tried to figure out what I was going to do next. I'm going to get outta here, off this road, I thought. Then I was going to have to get rid of the car. The cops were going to be looking for this garbage can on wheels, thanks to those passing horn blowing witnesses. Then I was going to have to become inconspicuous. I was sure that people were learning what I looked like by now, what with all the news coverage. And there's more where that came from ladies and gentlemen. And the story goes on.
But who was I kidding. A couple passersby seeing some dude blow a cop away going sixty miles an hour, just a blur. But if any of them had seen the little news coverage, they would know who I was. Then the little news coverage would turn into a full blown out media mesh. Fiction atop of facts, facts on top of even more fiction. I would be fried before even reaching the electric chair. All I knew was that I needed to be careful. Freedom's a fucking headache.
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"Sir! We just got a report on a blue shooting."
FBI Agent Dunklin gazed up from his newspaper that he was reading. "Anything in particular, that's fascinatingly important on telling me about an officer getting shot?", Dunklin asked, with an eyebrow shrugged in the general direction of rookie Agent Tomason.
"Yeah, your boy, who you've been after forever, made it on TV today. Apparently he robbed a liquor store, then the punk was pulled over today, on the freeway, and he blew this cop away, who probably has a wife and twelve kids. Now this punk has crossed our jurisdiction, The robbery took place in Alabama, and the shooting, outside Pensacola, Florida. That makes it federal.
This rookie's a walking fucking library, thought Dunklin. Dunklin got up from his desk and walked to the coat rack and got his favorite brown trenchcoat down, and started putting it on.
"Where's this shoot out rook?"
"Sir, on I-10 after passing the Pensacola exits. And can I remind you sir, that my name is Tomason? Tomason, sir."
"What was your mommy doing when she popped you out rook? Writing a letter To Perry Mason?"
"Please don't talk about my mother sir."
"Why? She got a good lawyer? Perhaps from the Mason-Dixie region. Will she hire Mr. Mason to sue me? Rook..." Dunklin was still laughin as he stepped out of the office. All these young punks. These rookies thinking that just because daddy put them through college and they get a little piece of paper, saying they were ready, that they could start running the FBI. Once those bullets get flying, the boys separate from the men. Dunklin had seen many veteran agents killed in action just because some rookie wussed out, and couldn't properly cover them for fear of breaking a nail. Veterans that were agents twenty or thirty years, just to have their lights snuffed because some rookie didn't have their backs like they were supposed to. Rookies.
Agent Dunklin had seen his share of violence. Having been on the force for thirty three years, he had seen all kinds of evil. every evil imaginable. His mind had grown so accustomed to the wrongs in people, that that was all he could see now. And if he couldn't see it in a person, he kept looking until he found it. Now there was some lunatic out there, running loose, that needed to be dealt with.
Whether handcuffs or a bullet to the brain, it didn't matter to Dunklin. He was a punisher to deal with the slime of the world. Criminals beware.
**********
I decided to take a county road heading north. If he stayed on I-10 too long it would be too risky. The gas light came on and I knew I didn't have long to go before I was sitting on the side of the road somewhere. Luck was on my side again, however, and there was an exit sign advertising gas, food. lodging, and accommondations.
I pulled alongside the gas pumps and got out of the car and stretched. I was looking into the sky while stretching, my arms raised in the air and the shaking started again. First my fingers and then the sensation quickly traveled down my arms, then to my shoulders. What a fucked up thing to see, a person's shoulders shaking. Not just that but my arms too. I put my arms down and shoved my hands in my pockets, trying to relieve the shaking. I looked around, checking out the surrounding area. There were some customers paying for gas in the store, some teenagers hanging out by two trucks, side by side, acting a bit uncouth. I could tell they had been drinking because I could smell it. How strange to smell the alcohol from here. There was wind blowing pretty steadily, and I was about forty feet away from them, and yet I could smell the alcohol as if there was a glass of liquor right under my nose. How strange!
I filled the car with gas, and went in and paid for it. I didn't have much money really. A couple hundred or three or four. I quickly went and grabbed some chips and a couple of 20 oz sodas and paid for those too. Then I hit the road again. Looking in my rearveiw mirror I thought how strange it was to smell the alcohol on those kids. I was still a little shaky so I rolled myself another joint and smoked it down. Slowly the shakiness subsided, until the full impact of the joint entered my system. Then I was so high that the smelly situation at the gas station was the furthest thing from my mind........
*************
Dunklin got out of his car and walked up to a few officers that were talking to some pedestrians. The whole area was swarming with police officers. Pedestrians, ans ambulance, and a news channel van, also were there. Some cops were dealing with the traffic, trying to usher it along. But still vehicles were moving slow, trying to catch a glimpse of the body laying in the street. "I'll take it from here, gentlemen.", Dunklin said to the cops.
" And just who are you?" asked one of the officers. Even as he was asking Dunklin the question, Dunklin was showing his badge.
"FBI gentlemen, And you're excused". The cops looked down at the ground a moment realizing defeat, and then walked off.
Dunklin turned to the witnesses. There were three of them and they sure looked like talkers. "Did all of you see the man who did this?"
"Yeah. It was the same guy that was on the TV yesterday. You know. That guy that robbed the liquor store?", the lady said. She reminded Dunklin of a goldfish. She even had the double chin for it.
"Did you see what the man was driving?"
"Man, it was a red volvo. Bright red." This skateboarder looking young man said.
"Did you see what the guy looked like?" asked Dunklin, tyring to reinforce fish faces' story.
"Yeah man. It was like te lady said. The guy on the news".
"Well, thank you for your cooperation." With that Dunklin walked towards the body. The body was just laying there, with a body covering over it. The ushered cars were driving in the lane right beside the body, and a greyish substance created a trail from the body to the lane of cars. It looked like the cars were driving and squishing into the asphalt, the brains of the situation.
If I was an asshole, I would bitch these idiots out saying they were ushering cars right on the evidence, Dunklin thought. But the only thing a trail of brains would prove is how far they could get carried away with a bullet. That thought made Dunklin chuckle. Dunklin walked up to one of the officers and asked to be directed to the man in charge. The cop pointed to this overweight, blob of a man, who no doubt filled the image of a cop eating too many donuts and loving evey one of them.
"Son, you're sucking at your job. You need to clean this mess up better. FBI. Do you realize that the traffic could eventually drive off with your corpse? Son!?" Dunklin had the man moving. When he caught a glimpse of the cop who was killed, he was running and talking. He threw a big what-the-hell-are -you-guys-doin' here-don't-you-see-what's-goin-on? mood swing filled with extreme shouts and loud talk. Dunklin was all smiles once again leaving his triumphant humor stomping grounds.

I couldn't stay in that car any longer. I drove a little ways up the road to this rest area. The place was busy as hell. What the hell were all those people doing headed to Georgia? I walked up to the restrooms, and quickly scanned the people. There were far too many people walking in and out of the restrooms to risk trying to mug someone. Someone sees, before you know it you've got people pulling over to take pictures, going the other way. Plus there was a security guard around here somewhere. At rest areas there always was. And with this one being so busy I wouldn’t have been surprised if there were two or three of them. Then I saw it. A little push-call button plaqued on the wall beside the restrooms. For a security guard – push the button. I pushed the button. That was one sure way of getting a lock on the dude's whereabouts. In about fifteen seconds this overweight, overaged, terrible excuse for a payroll gig walked up to me.
"Mister, come with me a second." And I turned and started walking the other direction, sure the guy was going to take my cue. But does he? No.
"What can I haelp yuuu weth sa." That's just what I didn't need, to be noticed by anyone. I turned around and walked up to the guy and kind of hissed and spoke at the same time, "Well I could say that I found a dead body while walking my dog Spot, out real loud, so the whole damn place hears me, and you and all the rest of these motherfuckers can join me on a nature hike in search of dead bodies- OR you can come with me like I asked you to in the first place and be a big hero in your own terms."
The guy just let his jaw drop a little, but it was enough to know that he believed me or could at least conceive of the possibility, as to the validity of my exclamation, but in any case, the desired reaction occurred, and he followed me like a puppy dog. A dumb puppydog. I led him down the little dog walk, and continued to captivate the guard's attention with my story, which I continued with ease.
"So my dog starts to bark, and she takes off down this hill up here. There by those trees." He turns to look at where I am pointing at and then turns to face me with a look of contentment. I continued talking and trying to explain the completely imaginative situation, and the guard was looking at me as if I was trying to defend my honor or something. It started to get on my nerves, so I asked him what his problem was.
He just shook his head and stopped walking, and watched me take a couple of steps away from him. I stopped and turned around. Chief had this smile on his face I wanted to rub off. The guy wasn't saying a word but I could hear him challenging me, by my third ear.
"Alright pal. That's far enough. Why don't you stop wasting your time and my time and everybody else's time, huh? You think that just because I'm some out-in-the-boondocks hick, that you can pull a wool over my eyes, huh? Well, I'm smarter then that. Hey pal! I catch young punks like you all the time trying to mess my park up. Just last week I caught these teenage punks trying to decorate the bathroom walls- at four in the morning. I don't know what you're trying to pull but it won't work. Not one goddam step further, not from me. You think I don't know, huh? You think I don't know that you don't have a dog? Because I do. I know. And the reason I know is because I think before I do something. If you’ve got a dog – then where is he, or is it really a she? Is there really a dog at all. You ought to try thinking sometime. It might work well exercising that little brain of yours."
The man was insane. What in the hell was he jibbering? As if to answer my question-
"You want to know how I know? You told me. First you said Spot. And not a minute later was tellin’ me about her, about what she had done. So what are you up to?"
I was about to laugh out loud. 'Til my sides split open. Stupid motherfucker.
"Alright you caught me." I was looking in his direction, but couldn't see the rest area at all because we were in the woods a little bit. There were enough trees, to efficiently block the entire view of the people, the little garbage cans, the vending machines, and the bathrooms themselves.
"You’ve caught me. I don't have a dog- I've never had a dog! The truth of the matter is I need your car-" The whole time talking, I had started approaching the guard, but not in a threatening way. However, he still none-the-less started reaching for his holstered gun. I say holstered because it never got unholstered. With a speed that amazed the rest stop rent-a-cop, as well as myself, I lunged forward and went down on my hands, and sprung off them quickly, feet first, in the direction of the security guard's chin and head. It all ended very quickly, with gravity working after just that one assault, he fell down and was out for the count. I raided the man's pockets and took his wallet, car keys, and wedding ring. I threw the man's id, license and social security, on his unconscious chest.

Agent Dunklin started to go to his car....

%*&^(^*&)*(&_)*&_(*_(*_+(*_)(*+()*_()__*%^*%$&$#^#@^YEDN UYT*&^%(HB(^&%(*&_)

I started walking the streets once again. Earlier I had shaved, and cleaned up with a steamy shower. I clad myself all in the color of night, in the hopes of being invisible. To become one with my surroundings. With a long sleave shirt, pants darker then space itself, and army boots half hidden by my pantlegs, the only thing missing was the shades. Though the way I could get my eyes to flutter, was a sudden thing, I wanted to be able to do it anywhere. With these wraparound sunglasses, I didn't have to worry about where I was. I was trying to keep this thing (god given gift;editornote), this talent, a secret. I did not intend to wear the sunglasses, however, unless I needed to do so. It was just something better to have then not to have.
I was suprised to see how busy the streets were on a Wednesday, with throngs and throngs of busydoers. I laughed to myself thinking it rather funny that I was coming to the streets for a much different reason then most of the people, and with my reason far more appealing then theirs, at least to me. I walked by the coffee shop that I had performed at a couple of times. The place was swamped. There were actually people sitting on the chairs outside, in this frigid weather that we were having, carrying on colorful conversations with one another, but not in the least bit worried about the icicles that were probably forming on their most private of places. But then I saw why it was so crowded. Open mic night. That one night of the week when a person would get up on stage and let out their soul. And at the end of each song, whether you loved it, or wanted to vomit all over the singer, the people would clap, maybe not as long as the last song, but they would still clap. I didn't have a guitar with me, but I figured that I could borrow one from somebody, so I signed my name on the performance guest list. Number 15. Joy. Happy happy joy. I could catch a fucking movie and still be back in time to perform my piece. Oh well. I could go out and smoke a joint with somebody. There was no point in smoking by myself.
I walked upstairs to the only other floor in the coffee shop. There were tables set up everywhere, with fat little squat candles sitting at the centers of all the tables. Around all the tables were squat black gothic looking wooden chairs, and an overabundance at that. People and chairs of course. It reminded me of trying to walk the streets in downtown Tokyo. Bumper to bumper people. Rear to front to rear again. Like one gigantic fucking orgy.
There was this guy on stage, and he was whistling and playing the guitar. The whistling and the guitar were ok, but then he started to sing and a cat's claw was scraping a nerve in my brain. My inner ear. I decided that I really would go out and find that person to smoke with me. I had a whole pack of joints with me, encased in a regular box of Marlboro. I walked up to the strip and hadn't started walking it half a block before I saw a group up people that I knew.

I walked for a time wearing the sunglasses. Though it was nighttime and I probably looked like a freak, I had to test out my new gift, my fluttering. Fluttering was a perfect word for it, and I wanted to see who all was hiding what and on who's shoulder.
I hadn't been walking long, fluttering along, when I saw the demon. It was anchored in this business lady that was about ten feet from me. I walked up behind her, fluttering and whispering.
begonedemonIcastyououtinJesusname begoneinJESUSname
But the lady kept on walking. I sealed the deal and imagined this big dagger in my hand, with Jesus's blood coated on it. And so saying those tiny words and thinking of the dagger, with my knew concentration gift, stabbed the demon with that dagger. The demon leaped off her shoulder and turned toward me, snarling with drool streams pouring on the sidewalk, drool that only I could see. Fluttering I stabbed the thing again, and the earth opened up, and swallowed it up. More like sucked it up. It happened so fast that is the best way to explain it. There was no rumble, like an earthquake rumble, and no vibrations. This crack in the sidewalk just opened up instantly, and like a giant vaccuum cleaner, sucked the demon to itself. The crack had been walked on by a fat man with a cigar, but he didn't fall into it. I started to get the impression that no one else could see the crack either, and then it sealed up, fast.

THE MONSTER flung itself toward me, literally. There was a time in space, where I saw the monster stopped in midair, arms outstretched with catlike claws that were demonized; in that they were bigger and more wicked, with full perferated edges, the one edge on each nail, being serrated along it's entire length, proved to be more then adequate in performing slicing and dicing ceremonies. For whatever else reason could there be of their existence alone. All five nails, were longer then a foot, and shaped in an ever graceful curve. And thick too. Instead of regular nails, these nails looked as if they were the continuation of each finger, the thickness was circular. With only the second sense, the monster seemed half-assed trying to slay me. As I quickly stepped out of the way, I swung with my fist toward the monster's face, only to retrieve it and send my other fist into it's midsection, as it had turned toward me with many rows of teeth. Great. Not just a nightmare, but a bad nightmare. I grabbed at it's neck, which quickly turned into a luncheon frenzy on behalf of the monster. I quickly moved out of the way and brought my arms up past the monster's chomping mouth, then with smashing fists of fury or insanity, pounding the thing's forehead like a jackhammer. I was fast and steady. And like a jackhammer, the target under it broke down under the pummel. I couldn't believe it, but I had too. And I sure as hell wasn't going to stop. After a minute, I stopped. And waited away from the motherfucking thing. It was my heighth. But dark. I couldn't describe it. You would think of the essence of dark to be black. But this essence was different. This essence wasn't black, wasn't grey, wasn't any color, or rather a negative color. It's lean muscular structure, was toned to something different, something darker. I knew that if I were too gut it right there, that the guts wouldn't look like any guts ever seen by anyone. Something darker... I had to destroy it. I reached for a butcher knife from the rack, and with my commotion in motion, headed straight for the kill. Once again my actions were second nature, as if I had been born for this very sort of chaos..
But the monster flung itself in an immediate upright position, in a flash of a second, as if there was a giant invisible spring underneath the monster that became activated. UMM, gravity was where? It's unnatural ascent into awareness, the monster was met with the butcher knife that I was holding, and I was stabbing it's heart, and immediately thereafter sliced it's throat. But the motion couldn't be complete without the knife circlingback around, like a heat seeking missile, and to be stuck usefully in the monster's forehead. "God help me" I said but thought it strange, to say it only after I had slayed the monster.
Immediately, this hole in the fabric of something started to open up right behind it. It looked kind of like a hole, but without definition, as the whole of the hole kept changing, and there were these tentacular arms surrounding and spreading out from the hole, in all different directions. Once again there was no color but a negative of it, and everything else for that matter. The hole appeared to just swallow the monster, and I could smell sulfur. As fast as it had appeared, it dissappeared. I was nervous and licked my lips and could taste salt. It was then, that I realized that I was thirsty. My lips were really dry. I had to drink something. Why were my lips salty?
I felt fatigued. I had never exerted myself with such agility and speed. The skill was beyond my own ability or understanding. It was almost as if someone had helped me out. Had given me strength. Immense strength. Then I wasn't fatigued anymore. I felt as if I had rested forever, as if I were the new to come. The next ones. The next ones. The words kept echoeing in my head. I felt completely restored, refreshed.
I couldn't stay there any longer. A sixth sense, the same one that I had followed, told me subconsciously that I couldn't stay any longer. To move on. I listened to it. And moved on.
*************

"How much for a night?"
"Twenty five forda single wide."
"Thanks", I said, handing the Indian a fifty."Keep the change."
"Thank you sa. Thank you verdy much."
The room looked like your average day roadside motel. If you looked closely enough you could see a smudge or two in the mirrors. If you ran your finger along the top of the cheap television set, you could be sure to have collected a dust bunny. The bed had a bump or two in it in which I would have to adjust my body positioning in order to receive the most maximum level of comfort. These bumps and every other little flaw came with the payment of $25.00, but all the extras were completely free.
I went outside to buy a coke and I noticed that there was this glowing light in the distance. As I watched this light, it appeared to move. In spaztic fashion, it zigged and zagged fast enough to be Taz from the looney toons universe. Only glowing. As I watched, the light suddenly shifted destination points, and headed straight down toward the ground, then dissappeared into the horizon in front of me.
I returned back to my room and turned the tv on. I tried to get my mind off of what the hell that light was. There was nothing interesting on at the moment, so I switched it off. Then I decided to take a bath and relax with a joint. I brought my bag of tricks with me, and I spread the kommas out. Now the kommas looked like something you would harvest weed with. With a children of the corn special, you could gut or dismember anything with muscle mass. After my previous experience with the monster, I was taking no chances. I left my front door locked and my bathroom door open. That way I could hear any noise and be prepared. I also kept my bathroom light off. Because the bathroom was at the other end of the room, it was completely dark. I kept only one light on in the room, and it was by my bed. I first bathed, then smoked a joint, surrounded in the darkness, with only the warmth of the water and the mellow effects of the joint for companions. After smoking the joint I wet a washclothe and placed it over my eyes. I had adjusted my body for the maximum amount of comfort. I was practically floating on my back. I just started thinking..
I thought I heard a noise out in my room, by the door, and then I felt a breeze sweep over my wet arms and across my wet back. I got out of the tub as quietly as possibly. All of a sudden I heard this low guttural noise, unearthly in every aspect. I silently grabbed hold of both kommas, one in each hand. I had hundreds of hours practice with these bad mammyjammies, so by having them in my hands, it allowed me to feel more sure of my time left on earth. I heard the sound again, only this time it sounded more vicious, which I didn't figure was possible. I was becoming scared. I didn't want to go out in the room, but finally decided that I must, or else die. As I started to move, I could hear the door, being slammed off it's hinges, by some tremendous force. A split second later the door flew right pass the open bathroom door, and slammed into a wall with such force that it shook the whole bathroom that I was occupying; the sink, the bathtub, me. Then I opened my eyes. I was still in the bathtub. I must have dozed off. Then I started to look around the dark bathroom, and my eyes stopped gazing around and locked onto a glowing pair of red eyes. They were anything from human. And they were coming straight toward me. Fast.

Chapter 6
With skill and speed once again a saving factor, I reached out immediately grabbing both kommas in both hands, and swinging one arm about two feet higher then the other, with one going left to right and the other right to left. I was rewarded for my efforts with a anguish filled beast like gurgle. I brought the kommas back around to opposite directions, this time right to left, and the other left to right. Even though I struck out blindly and opposite in each instance, I was rewarded a second time the same way. The thing, whatever it was gurgled, dangerously close to being sputtered out. This time I swung the kommas from above and headed down inward. There was this sickening splashing noise, that quickly became muffled compared to the sound of something wet, spraying the wall and the floor. I could hear the same noise
drip off my kommas, and I knew they were soaked. Whatever object it was that I had swung at dropped to the ground, and I could hear it scratching at the floor, but it's determined scratch slowed down more and more until finally it was quiet again. I got out of the bathtub, which I had been standing in, and turned on the bathroom light.
Lying on the floor was this ugly, I mean UGLY little fucker. His skin was red and it had bumps all over it. Some bumps were larger then an apple, and he was covered with this coarse looking hair. But it wasn't a thick hair, but rather looked like the hair on the back of a bog with mange. Even with a small amount of hair, it was spread out evenly, like a balding man would try to conceil his own problem by spreading what little hair that he had across his whole head. All along the thing's spine, there were little tiny horns, stretching in different directions, down toward it's buttocks, or what appeared to be it's buttocks. There was this strange apendage hanging out from the thing's rear, and I was assuming that it was a tail. It couldn't of been more then four feet tall. From that heighth it was no wonder why it's head was hanging onto it's body but only by a small string of flesh, that didn't look unlike an embilicle cord. I was glad that it hadn't bit me, because judging from the creature's teeth, one bite would've been more then enough to finish me. I still had the kommas in my hands, with that white knuckled grip that was sure to give my fingers arthritus later in life, and I poked and prodded at the thing, half afraid that it was going to reanimate itself, pick it's head up and reattach it to it's body. Paranoid. When I noticed that it wasn't going to move again, I realaxed a bit and stepped around the bleeding corpse, and out of the bathroom. As I was stepping out I looked up because I thought I had seen motion in the big vanity mirror that was beside the bathroom door. Then I heard the growl and I was moving again but so was the creature, which rushed out from around the corner. Meanwhike I was Babe Ruth swinging my two little bats in their deadly direction, and the blades sunk into this new thing. An even uglier one at that. The difference was, this one was flying around. With a pair of(teradactle- sp) ugly looking redwings, there were horns covering them, spreading in thick density out in all directions. Oh great! Flying porcupines. Mammoth ones. But like I said, it was

"Ok. Here's the deal. You have been given Samsons strength. In exchange for your services from time to time. You can hear better then anyone on earth or of our dimension. God is our existences protector. We must fight the good fight, or countless thousands will die; more then those who've already died and are dying. I will also protect you against the hordes. Some demons are stronger than others. Most of them though are the equivalence of killing dogs. The teeth, the claws, you know, the works. Most are faster though. Much faster. So you will be too. Their senses are increased to a certain spiritual scent. A scent like no other. A scent that only they could smell. Until now. You must use all of your gifts, in time. There are more gifts that you will learn as time goes on. But you mustn't remember this, any of this, until the time is right. When the time is right, you will remember. And be afraid. When you realize the full nature of the beast and therefore your battle ridden destiny, help will come from a most unexpected source....but I will be with you always, and will watch over you and protect you always. But now you must rest. You are very tired "
Then the thought faded like water, flowing over rocks in a gentle caress. As smooth as it flowed in and then out, of my consciousness, it became more of a birthright, a knowledge that I was born with. It was my destiny.

**********************************************************************************

Chapter

.....But just as he got out to the car, he noticed movement in the darkening confines. Rather than acting shocked, Agent Dunklin continued to forage in his pockets, searching for his long lost keys. He let his face slack up, to that of a man that seems to have lost his way. After a few dramatic seconds he lets the keys slip his grasp and fall to the ground. He cursed quietly enough but still loud enough for him to hear it and the car as well. Shit! As he crouched he swifty pulled his shoulder piece out of it's holster. The movement was rapid and fluid, like the Colorado River. As he raised up (even now the hammer was already cocked), he was focused on the backseat, searching for any movement that his eyes would pick up. But it didn't matter because he yanked his rear door open. A door that he always keeps unlocked anyway. The creature was huddling there, shaking and twitching, with horns everywhere shaking about right with him. It seemed to have entirely too large a set of choppers to be real enough, and would have been that way had it not been for the creatures own mere existence, a mirage to start with. In itself conflicting reality, Dunklin's head got a little dizzy, and he experienced an extreme case of d 'ja voo(spell check)

Missing pieces o' the puzzle
TRUTH:::::::Agent Dunklin - Daddy
I(Jacque)-son
-brother ...possibly killed early on. By luck though. Almost the other way around
-brother ...relentless in his search for me, I barely get a breather
-brother ...the meanest one, one that hurts others and causes pain to others
-brother ...the youngest- killed soon after the first dead one
-sister ...sadistic incestuous sister, enough deliria to make your blood boil

no one else sees the demons because the demons are only physical illusions to me. But they are lodged in my brain so far that the demons can really kill me. Luckily I'm a martial artist. I will have to hack my way through them. Now they can all start killing people in their search for me. Now I am the fury toward them and fight them at every whim. And take out my brothers one at a time. Once or twice face Dunklin, kill him at the end. Good Ending Climatical sequence right 'for the en'.
southern for -yep haf do it 'bout Tom or two

“Be here around midnight.” CLICK! Who was the guy kidding. Midnight? It was eleven thriy eight. That left me with only twenty two minutes to drive all the way across the city. And that would have been an accomplishment itself had I had a car to drive across it with. I ran up to the nearest intersection and there was a truck stopped at the intersection. I never understood how people could be that mind drained as to sit at a fucking red light at a late fucking hour and still abide by the rules. There wasn’t a cop around and I knew if it was me I would just skip right through any red lights at such a late hour as this. But thank God for the rule abiding fucks of this word.
I ran up to the drivers side door and tried to pull the doorhandle up quickly, but the door was locked. I had been prepared for this and as the driver inside turned to see what the hell was happening to his once a good night, he was greeted with the barrel of a gun.
“Get the fuck out of your truck. I need it.” The guy started to fumble with his seatbelt and then unlocked the door and I helped him with the rest of the evacuation procedure. I yanked the door opened and grabbed him by the nape of his sport’s coat and pulled him out of his truck. The guy rolled on the pavement a little before coming to a complete stop to the sound of squealing tires that the guy had owned up until a second ago. And they were leaving him

I started walking the streets once again. Earlier I had shaved, and cleaned up with a steamy shower. I clad myself all in the color of night, in the hopes of being invisible. To become one with my surroundings. With a long sleave shirt, pants darker then space itself, and army boots half hidden by my pantlegs, the only thing missing was the shades. Though the way I could get my eyes to flutter, was a sudden thing, I wanted to be able to do it anywhere. With these wraparound sunglasses, I didn't have to worry about where I was. I was trying to keep this thing (god given gift;editornote), this talent, a secret. I did not intend to wear the sunglasses, however, unless I needed to do so. It was just something better to have then not to have.
I was suprised to see how busy the streets were on a Wednesday, with throngs and throngs of busydoers. I laughed to myself thinking it rather funny that I was coming to the streets for a much different reason then most of the people, and with my reason far more appealing then theirs, at least to me. I walked by the coffee shop that I had performed at a couple of times. The place was swamped. There were actually people sitting on the chairs outside, in this frigid weather that we were having, carrying on colorful conversations with one another, but not in the least bit worried about the icicles that were probably forming on their most private of places. But then I saw why it was so crowded. Open mic night. That one night of the week when a person would get up on stage and let out their soul. And at the end of each song, whether you loved it, or wanted to vomit all over the singer, the people would clap, maybe not as long as the last song, but they would still clap. I didn't have a guitar with me, but I figured that I could borrow one from somebody, so I signed my name on the performance guest list. Number 15. Joy. Happy happy joy. I could catch a fucking movie and still be back in time to perform my piece. Oh well. I could go out and smoke a joint with somebody. There was no point in smoking by myself.
I walked upstairs to the only other floor in the coffee shop. There were tables set up everywhere, with fat little squat candles sitting at the centers of all the tables. Around all the tables were squat black gothic looking wooden chairs, and an overab