Jordy was yelling things, useless things considering our current predicament. Things I really did not care to hear.
“My brother, why my brother?! We need to go back. Maybe there is still time.”
“So go for a swim…” I muttered.
“What did you say?”
“I said I’m the only one with balls and I don’t even have any! He is dead. DEAD! Done, gone, finished. WE are still alive, or does that not mean anything anymore?”
“How can you just move on like that? Why don’t you care…why don’t you care!?”
“Because I can’t. I won’t. Every second we waste discussing Jason is slowing us down. We have to keep moving.”
The sun wasn’t out, yet the air was hot and getting hotter. Real hot, and sticky, too. I felt the sweat collect in my brow as I glared at Jordy. Pathetic. Pitiful. Was this the man I loved? Or was it a façade, a weakness brought to boil by this crap world?
“Look, I get it; you’re ‘tough girl’. You don’t have to be so strong…not all the time. Not with me.”
Don’t be strong?
“Those girls…babe, I’ll be honest with you, I have been thinking about those sick little girls.” Jordy buried his face in his hands. “Everything they said…and the old man…I don’t know.”
This Gawdamn heat.
A coward. I saw him there, standing, no, just there strait up; standing is for the brave, for those with something to be proud of. Looking in his eyes, I could see past the blue and pupil and retina and optic nerve. I saw rot. I saw fear and worry and angst and concern and distress and doubt (DOUBT! After all we’ve been through!) and fright and suspicion and revulsion and trembling and… it’s like a disease, you know. No, that’s not right; it’s like a virus. It spreads. Oh, it spreads alright. I have seen it before many many many times. I have even felt it before, too. It can be fleeting, but like any virus, once you have it, you have it. Fear runs up your spine; tingling sharp, like a razor on a nerve. It’s an outta control train, full on, no stop, paralyzing and hypnotizing your body and it HITS. HARD.
Man, it’s hot out.
“Mommy!” your child screams, but you don’t do anything. You look at your husband. He is sobbing. This wasn’t supposed to be your life! A raider takes out a rusted machete (if rusted machetes could spin yarns, this one in particular could tell tales of bloody woes. Trust me.). Before you can inhale your pathetic little girl; little- house -on -the- prairie- life- you -always –wanted- life you will never see, breath; the blood of your dear husband is pooling on the floor, kissing your toes and you just KNOW in your heart they are going for your boy next. “C’mon sweetheart, give it up and mebe’ we don’t cut your lil’ boy here a neck smile.” But that’s the thing about fear. One of the hulking goon’s steps closer to you and you can smell his hot stink. You don’t care about a single thing in that moment in time except for the FEAR the FEAR the FEAR!
“Take him! Take him! Take him! Gut him! Anything just don’t touch me! Leave me alone and get out! Please leave me alone this is too big for me all of it I didn’t ask for this life this rain!” The heat the freakin’ heat ohgawdtheheat.
It was raining. It was blood. Jordy lay in a heap, dead.
Yes. Sometimes you can only fight the fear so long before your mental bridge gives way and you go tumbling down into insanity. The old man and little girls did not help either. Was it the curse? Maybe we'll see next chapter. It wont as long of wait
THIS is what I call challenging the stereotypes!! This was high-risk and pulled the focus from cliche to unique. This episode delves in to the 'Psychological Thriller' arena and shifts your story from a light adventure into a darker journey.
When I first read it, I felt lost... then I heeded your advice, went back read the other stuff and 'BING' the lights came on and her sickness and self-digust was felt.
You didn't worry about organizing the perfect group - instead you basically said, 'Down the rabbit-hole I go...'
I liked this a lot and wonder about questions created and when is the next chapter!!
If there was not a drop of rain falling from the sky, this lifeless street would appear devoid of all activity and be forgotten. If there was no water flowing across filled drains, through parking lots, and up driveways, this town would be nothing more than another one of those from the lore of Western stories with cowboys, outlaws, and Indians. If there were more than a gangly large man and a fifteen year-old boy traveling through the storm to get to a certain house, than this desolate age would have a community. But the simple truth is loneliness, fear, and survival dwelled here... hope merely visited.
Husky boots trail through the murky rain water passing in the opposite direction of it flow as they keep pace with the teenager walking slightly ahead in the lead. “So, what’s the story with ‘Bone’, Bird?” asked Fatboy while fixing his view on the line of houses searching for the one that he and Rayn camped in.
“Bone saved us. He saved me and my cousin Dale.” responded Bird as he followed behind Fatboy like a security guard transferring a prisoner.
He swung an aluminum bat around and used it to knock down trashcans whenever they passed them just to have fun. Fatboy recognized the bat as the one that he had found days earlier in the house that they were currently returning to. It was the very same bat that he used to battle the wetcats.
“What’d he save you guys from?” Fatboy saw the house two-driveways down and slowed his pace as he tried to formulate a plan to get away from Bird.
“The Bloateds…” said Bird with a pause, “They killed the people that we were with. Dale got sick from one of them and Bone fixed’em with medicine.”
“What? What’s a Bloated?” asked Fatboy irritated by all of the new terms that he had been hearing in the last few days. “You ain’t never seen a Bloated, Fatboys?” Bird stops and leans on the bat as the rain began to lighten.
“They fat sick people, filled with mucus and rain water. They crazy, Fatboys. They crazy. We seen them attack people for no reason at all. They got sores on them and they make other people just like’m.”
Fatboy looked at Bird trying to decide if he should believe what he just heard or if he should chok up Bird’s comment as something simply coming from the lips of an older slightly-retarded religious nutcase.
“Dale got sick from one of’em and Bone fixed him with medicine-pills. That’s why he let you come back to get your backpack. When you told him you had medicine-pills, he knew they were important. I mean, lookit how good Dale is now. He almost like a genius… heck, yesterday he counted to fifty and read from the Bible.”
Fatboy rolled his eyes away from the gangly big man and decided to go with his second train of thought on the matter. He led Bird up the driveway of the house and remained focused on the bat in his hand. His challenge was that Bird also carried a rubber gripped machete as a backup weapon sheathed on his leg.
“This is the house I found you in, Fatboys.”
“I know, Bird. My backpack should be in here somewhere.”
“We gotta hurry. Bone wants us back soon… wait…” Once again Bird paused, “I gotta pray to the storm before we go in.” The gangly man removed his drenched leather rain coat and laid it on the ground then raised both of his hands to the sky before he started to mutter.
“Look, do what you have to do, Bird… I’m going in, come in when you’re done.” said Fatboy before disappearing in the house. This was an opportunity for him to look around for clues on Rayn as well as for him to carry out his real purpose for returning which was to find his pocketknife which fell from his pocket while fighting the wetcats. He knew that he needed a weapon.
Upon stepping into the house, it was like returning to the scene of a horrific crime. The black mold snatched his breath away and the wet chars from cold campfire in the middle of the room instantly drew tears from his eyes as he thought about Rayn. It made him even more determined.
He moved up the stairs slowly, tripping on the step just before the last while biting his bottom lip and stalled in the small hallway connected on both ends by the room he found the aluminum bat in and the other that had the wetcats. His memories began to bother him as the presence of terror reminded him to go on.
He went into the bathroom and wedged his hand between the broken toilet bowl and the tub. He withdrew his pocket knife and gripped it tightly as Bird approached from behind.
“Ain’t no backpack in here, Fatboys.” He said with a grim suspicious look on his face. “You knew that didn’t you?”
Fatboy turned towards the much larger man that was holding 'his' aluminum bat. “That’s not your bat, Bird.”
Bird stared down at the bat and walked his glare back to the teenager. “Finders-Keepers, Losers-Weepers. Ain’t no backpack in here, Fatboys… but you knew that… didn’t you?” repeated Bird as he eased even deeper into the bathroom to confront Fatboy.
The youth stood against the giant and planted his boots against the base of the tub, “Fear no man.” He thought to himself.
“Bone knew you wasn’t alone, Fatboys. He wanted to give you a chance… I wanted you to join our family.” whispered Bird as the weather outside allowed gray-lit sun beams into the opening downstairs in the living room.
“I have a family, Bird! And she means EVERYTHING to me! Let me go. I have to find… my sister.” stated Fatboy in a tone other-than a request.
“No.” answered Bird.
“Then, no more talk.” Uttered Rayn’s protector as the small click of his knife blade being extended pierced the gray-lit room.
Last Edit: Nov 28, 2012 2:56:52 GMT -5 by blackmage
Listen Blackmage, I do hope you are printing off a paper copy of this tale as you go along. I used to belong to site called msn.groups in which I and many others had typed our fan fiction, then one day with no warning whatsoever it shut down. Luckily I had paper copies of my stories but a lot of people lost all of their work in an instant. So if you don't have a copy as yet be sure and print one off.
Last Edit: Aug 2, 2012 15:41:28 GMT -5 by John Reid
I've been saving each of the episodes as documents. Honestly, I didn't plan on it going this long and getting this deep. It has REALLY been fun and it is growing into something that is living independent of me.
I actually like Rayn and Fatboy and they're not the type of characters I normally write... or even care about. This has been a great challenge.
This is shaping into a very unique world, and although I want to know some more about the world itself, you are definitely doing some great character building that keeps me shifting over to the characters as I read on. I also find that I am really enjoying that they are separated.
His dad wanted him to play football while his mom had always desired a piano player. As a non-standout student attending Springhill Elementary, Fatboy did neither. The Springhill Honey Badgers football team would never know his potential. The music program would never learn of his talents. No family member would attend a play with him in it and there really weren’t many that took the time to call him a friend. Fatboy was always a generation ahead in understanding and wiser than his years would ever show… he was always private, suspicious, and most of all, lonely.
They could never really reach him and yet they loved him so much… his parents. Now, they were gone. Fatboy would not make this same mistake with Rayn; for her he is willing to give everything.
“YYAAAAAHHH!!” shouted the teenager charging forward across the mildewed wood of the small bathroom floor. Fatboy rammed his full body weight into Bird in order to stunt his bat swing and force him closer to the broken sink beside the door.
Bird released an ‘UMPH’ of air as his larger size stood strong against his young adversary. His mind was made up to kill the boy and his actions did not betray his thoughts. He attempted to swing the bat, as Fatboy planned, but quickly found the bathroom too small to gift him with space and momentum. The head of it flung forward only to strike the bottom of the sink as Fatboy wedged beneath his arms and his thigh perched forward for footing.
Fatboy gritted his teeth and sunk his pocket knife deep into the top of Bird’s thigh causing him to scream while dropping the bat. He instinctively slammed his fist down into the back of Fatboy as he was pushed back further from the bathroom and into the second floor balcony. The two cracked the balcony and dropped to the ground just before the corner bedroom as Fatboy hollered out with blood from his mouth while snatching the machete from Bird’s sheathe on his thigh.
Bird swung his fist into Fatboy’s face striking him harder than he had ever been hit in his life. The youth slung backwards from the force leaving the bright light of common sense in front of Bird as the darkness of confusion and pain took its place within his body.
The rummaging memories of his father passed through his mind’s eye in blinking seconds as he spoke about the fearlessness of honey badgers in YouTube videos on the internet years ago before the blackouts. The ringing in his ears played as a symphony entertaining his mother with her favorite song. It was the blood from his nose that trickled across his lips, that reminded him to wake up.
Bird gathered his footing and leaned against the balcony as he struggled to stop the flow of his life fluids with a wet wrap. He pulled Fatboy’s pocket knife from his thigh and slowly moved to close the distance between the two.
“Gonna kill you, Fatboys. Gonna kill you real good… just like the others.” He muttered.
The machete was still in Fatboy’s hand as he staggered to his feet. He was desperate and outsized.
“Fear no man,” he whispered only to realize that fear wasn’t here because of the man before him. Even in this heightened situation, the air became that much more eerie and cold as fear visited the youth... it was coming from the presence of death.
Fatboy held his hand forward shakingly and spoke to Bird with blood bubbles forming in the corners of his mouth, “Let me go, Bird!! We don’t have to do this! I have to find my sister! I have to find her, Bird… please.”
“Gonna kill you real good, Fatboys!” the larger man replied. The distance continued to vanish between them as much as their ability to breath deep with black mold swirling around. Panic crawled all throughout the teenage child; for he was no killer. He had never killed a person before but this situation was becoming dire.
“Bird… Please stop.” He begged as the larger man threw himself forward with his strong leg pillared and his knife hand forward. Fatboy shrugged away his shoulder high and the machete crossing his body with the blade flat.
His agility was intuitive as his father’s voice called out for him to move backwards. The machete blade ripped through the flesh on the bottom of Bird’s forearm then sliced deeply into the muscle below. Fatboy’s eyes were closed, but every part of him knew what was happening. Survival became his protector and desperation his madness. The blood across the sweeping machete blade slapped the youth as droplets then splatters.
He moved as the lithe namesake repeated by his father and found himself behind his enemy as any honey badger would. The machete kicked out of his hand from a wild swing by Bird as he reached back to grab him.
“YOU’RE GONNA DIE, FATBOYS!!” howled Bird swirling around numb from adrenalin. He yanked at Fatboy’s pants leg as his wound pulled strength from his determination. This allowed Fatboy to drag along the floor until his fingers bled in order to make it to the edge of the bathroom
“Let me go, Bird! LET ME GO!!”
The rustle between the solemn two opponents became the staccato of music that Fatboy’s mother would never know and yet it was her voice that was the climax to this song…
“Baby, you have to survive,” she whispered to her tired son as it drove him to end her ballad with the final searing rhythmic pulse of bass provided by his aluminum bat and Bird’s final bit of weight falling limp on the floor.
The humble harmonics of woodwind instruments providing the epilogue for this encounter was provided by Fatboy’s frantic heaves for air and Bird’s shallow breathing reminding his subconscious that some life is better than none.
Fatboy leaned against the balcony to catch his breath, then eased down the stairs and left the house.
“Thank you, Daddy… Thank you, Momma. I won’t let you down anymore. I love you both… I’ll be seeing you again, soon.”
He placed his pocket knife in his pocket and set off to find Rayn.
“I just won’t be doing it THAT soon.”
He smiled as the clouds above closed off the trickling sunrays and gathered into darkened anger that was fated to become the next raging storm.
Thunder grumbled as the air thinned and the rain increased in its fight to make it to the ground.
He wondered if Rayn was caught in the same storm as he.
Last Edit: Nov 28, 2012 3:06:18 GMT -5 by blackmage
Your story just keeps getting better and better. I would considering publishing it if I were you. Now about the image. I thought at first it was a sketch until I enlarged it. Is this a photo? Where did you find it? Because I think it would make a great cover for the novel.
I think the story is going along great! Fat-boy doesn't need to say he loves Rayn, you just know he does because of all the stuff he does for her. Rayn's story is really written well. I think if it was a book it would be awesome!
“Don't say you don't have enough time. You have exactly the same number of hours per day that were given to Helen Keller, Pasteur, Michaelangelo, Mother Teresa, Leonardo da Vinci, Thomas Jefferson, and Albert Einstein.” -H. Jackson Brown Jr.
I did not know if I was alive or dead. If it was the latter, I was in Hell. I was told stories of Hell as a child; every child is. I thought the world became Hell with the never-ending rain that drenched the world in sorrow. I was wrong. This was worse. I was terrified.
I thought I was wearing Jordy’s flesh. That is not entirely accurate. I was wearing the flesh of everyone I had ever killed, every life I had taken and ravaged. Men, women, children…what was heavy on my soul now manifested into tangible weight, and it stunk; rancid, with postulating, black holes. I ripped at it, dug my nails in and tore. Every layer I took apart revealed another past evil, another deed I thought I had buried. I think I tore for hours. Maybe more. I eventually gave up and let the peeled skin hang.
It continued to rain. Blood so dark and thick I thought it was chunks of tar. It was blood though, I was sure of it. I don’t know how I knew but I did.
I ran. I needed to get away; to breathe, to be anywhere. I looked up and down and around and around and around. Dead sky, dead swamp. I felt like skin in rigamortis. Like a doe covered in the ash of forest. Like an infant drowning in its own afterbirth. I screamed through stale tears and exhaustion. Curse the old man and curse those little girls. Curse this eternal rain.
This rain of blood.
This rain on hellfire.
This rain that baptized the Earth and rebirthed it as a repulsive ghost town.
It’s a horrible feeling to be helpless; I realize this now. The swamp became so dark I believed myself to be blind. The storm of blood was thundering and the wind howled in a way that rattled my skeleton. I was certain I had been swallowed in the swamp. Not just my body but my soul, whatever I had left of it. At this point I let go. I wanted out of this madness. But the truth was coming clear…I am the madness. I felt my existence melt into the swamp in a screeching maelstrom that was encompassed by the old native man laughing.
We believe we construct our surroundings; our ever changing circumstances and the choices that follow. This is not true. Our environment changes us, whether we choose to be conscience of it or not. It is of the same relationship as the beat of our heart. We feel but cannot touch; we are aware of but are helpless.
I accepted everything about the world and what it made me. No regrets and remorse. I faced the truth as the swamp’s sorcery tucked me in and whispered in my ear, as my mother used to. I am slow waves in the street-rivers. I am your child’s scream in the night. I am why you haven’t slept in days. I am death. I am finally home.
Hey! When's the next chapter of Rayn coming out? You're leaving me hanging here! Oh and I never did get a reply to my question. Where did you find the cool photo of the little girl in the rain? I think it would make a great cover.
....ughhh... well, I guess I have to succumb to peer-pressure...
I will clear my desk, my throat, and my thoughts and get back to my cold dark concrete room to dig into the grim adventures of Rayn and Fatboy.
There are no windows in my room and only a small elementary school desk that I am forced to work from. My paper for notes is wet, my pen - low on ink, and my candle dim. I will endeavor to immerse myself back into this world of Forever Rain, knowing that their home adds sunlight to my lowly existence.
Omen: Get in line, I have been working like crazy also. I have two major projects I have to finish and hopefully everything slows down. Haven't had time to log into the board... I actually miss it. It feels good popping my head in to see what's going on.
Aug 3, 2017 11:16:19 GMT -5
The Muse: time to get stories rolling again!!!
Aug 3, 2017 16:15:48 GMT -5
The Muse: *POKES OMEN...wanders off looking for Redmage and Magister while mumbling to self.."Now where did knighthood get to....?"
Aug 3, 2017 16:24:51 GMT -5
The Muse: Wednesday!!! Yay! Halfway back to F R Y D A Y!
Aug 9, 2017 14:29:33 GMT -5
Magister: Ive been lame, but ill be making it a point to be on this forum daily! We will rise it from the ground I've let it rest on for too long, to the skies of everlasting geekdom!
Aug 10, 2017 17:11:23 GMT -5
The Muse: woooo hooooo!!! Geekdom rising!!
Aug 11, 2017 21:08:09 GMT -5
The Muse: Woohoo hoooooo! Friday!!!
Aug 18, 2017 11:18:58 GMT -5
The Muse: Gearing up to deal with Hurricane Irma....scratch that...packing to leave town!
Sept 5, 2017 22:45:14 GMT -5
The Muse: Survived the hurricane...as did Omen, Redmage and Magister although they dont have internet yet. How did everyone else in the southeast fare?
Sept 15, 2017 16:10:18 GMT -5
g40t90yes: Good Morning. Now I am no political activist, but with is going on in today's activist world, I have a question. Last Sunday Vice President Pence walked out of a Colts Football game because the Players took a knee. I would like to read your View about this
Oct 11, 2017 7:50:37 GMT -5
g40t90yes: Continue. Now The NFL Owners (Jones-Cowboys, Ross-Dolphins) are going to demand their players stand for the Anthem. Again just thinking out loud. Couple of weeks ago Owners (Jones) knelt with players. Now you are pulling back. Why??
Oct 11, 2017 7:54:40 GMT -5
g40t90yes: One more thing. Some people view The NFL Draft and NBA Draft as a modern day or fashionable auction block for black young men. Thoughts!!! Please.
Oct 11, 2017 8:04:49 GMT -5
The Muse: Im sure there are going to be a lot of thoughts on this...why not start a thread on the topic under the "chat" board. It will be easier for everyone to read and comment on it there. This shoutbox is kinda cumbersome to have to scroll through to read stuff.
Oct 11, 2017 17:15:26 GMT -5
The Muse: Where does the time go?
Nov 7, 2017 9:26:16 GMT -5
Omen: I don't know... some say time goes around in circles - for me, its just a dreary long squiggly line, in some places in its a smile, in others... its not.
Nov 8, 2017 0:02:19 GMT -5
The Muse: Sunday's are for cooking.... Let's do this!!
Nov 26, 2017 13:45:55 GMT -5
The Muse: Monday....yay
Dec 4, 2017 11:47:42 GMT -5
The Muse: IT'S s Friday!! Staring in the face of almost two weeks of down time. This is WAY overdue. 😛
Dec 22, 2017 11:12:47 GMT -5
dakoolah: Happy New Year!!
Jan 1, 2018 17:38:08 GMT -5