672004

It was she, the 60-year-old woman standing in the 6-year-old little girl's path. The little girl so immature, and clueless yet has a grip on what love means. The graceful woman's face looking into the little girl's hazel brown eyes in the sunlight, holding hands about to enter the park, the woman smiles from ear to ear. Her face wrinkly yet so graceful with rosy cheeks and green eyes the color of Lilly pads. Both of them so happy, so grateful to be in each others presence. The little girl loved the smell of her, the smell of an old-driven-mind-set woman, so brave and so beautiful. They continued to walk down the long winding path hand in hand until they hit the monkey bars. The little girl was so full of joy when she knew she could finally climb them. She was gaining bravery off of this woman and she knew she was. She felt so fearless and so brave. The little girl then started to jump as high as her little arms could reach, and as high as her little sneakers could lift off the ground. She tried and tried and tried but her fingers just wouldn't let her get a good grip to pull herself up. The little girl then felt soft hands on her sides lifting her up until she could reach them. She smiled and knew it was the woman she had come here with. She said, "Thank you" and lifted her legs onto the next one and hung upside down. The woman yet again, staring into her hazel brown eyes and replying, "You're Welcome, Sweetheart." The little girl felt butterflies in her stomach, she felt like the woman really loved her and was really proud of her for doing such a simple thing. The girl then jumped down off of the monkey bars, then her shoe came untied. She didn't know how to tie her shoes. She looked up at the woman in confusion, "Can you tie this for me, please?" the little girl asked. The woman looked straight forward, walked towards the crouched down little girl and simply said, "If this is a day for accomplishments, no, you can do it!" she exclaimed. "All you have to do is, loop, swoop and pull." she said. After several times the little girl began to get frustrated, she punched the ground and got red faced. "Calm down sweetheart, practice makes perfect." The woman explained. The little girl didn't get how patient she was, she just couldn't understand how calm she was. She tried and tried and finally got it. The little girl then looked up and said, "You taught me how to tie my shoes! I love you!" as the little girl leaped at the woman for a nice warm hug. The woman giggled to herself and said, "Anytime, dear." "Shall we go home for some cookies?" The woman questioned. "Yeah! Let's go!" The little girl was so excited. They walked back down the winding path retracing their steps back to the woman's house. When they both got there, they talked about how eventful and how full of fun the day was.

-------------

Later on in life, the little girl grew attached to this woman. She took knowledge from her, learned how to tie her shoes from her and was with her every second of the day. She wanted to live there, but, unfortunately she couldn't. Life isn't fair. So as the little girl became 8 years old, to 10 years old to 12 years old, she still went over the woman's house every day. She saw the woman change for the worse, and the woman saw the little 6 year old she used to know change for the better. She saw her grow up, jump on the monkey bars like a true pro, and tie her shoes without looking. The woman began getting ill, so ill she had to go to the hospital. After a few months she was still in there, not coming off of the bed. IV's were sticking out her veins in her neck, and tubes going down her throat. The girl came to visit her often, but not enough before it was too late. June 7, 2004, a Friday. The girl was in 6th grade now, but not in school. In the hospital waiting room, haunted by the smell of viruses, germs, and death floating through the air. Water stained parenting magazines, and science magazines stared at her while she sat and looked out of the 20th story window of the building. Her stomach was sick, her heart was racing.

As it reached, 9:00 p.m. the girl's parents decided it was time to head home. She had school tomorrow and she couldn't skip two days in a row. When she reached her house, she layed down on the couch confused, and angry and sad. Mixed emotions, anything but happy, though. She kept looking at the fabric up close on the couch thinking to herself, wondering if she would ever get to hold hands with this woman and go to the park and climb monkey bars and tie her shoes with her ever again. Merely a second after she thought about this, the phone rang. It was louder than ever, the girl covered her ears. She then felt a tap on her shoulder, she felt bad energy from her mother's finger. "She's gone." The girl had no reaction, she knew it. Life isn't fair. She ran upstairs and slammed the door, opened her window and sat on the roof. She found a nail and dug it into her leg. Her tears burned her open wound as blood dripped all the way down to her ankle. She then looked in the direction of the park, seeing holograms of her and the woman looking into each other's eyes in the sunlight, smelling her, hugging her, climbing and laughing and holding hands... I guess this is the part where I tell you the little girl, was me.

-kayla

From the Depths She Devours

And there was me.

Alone for some reason. I liked it a lot. It was when I was alone that I only exposed my feet. In my opinion they were a private part, which I held as dear as any part on a woman. So of course I could not allow myself to be seen barefoot unless the only person that was watching was the One who created me.

The shack I call home was up the highway some. On days like this, nothing to write, no one to talk to, nothing to read, I would pull my shirt off and walk three miles to get here. The small beach which really was considered a small chunk of shore daring to venture from the fresh water of Apost Lake.

And there was me.

Alone for some reason. There was nothing in particular that I could say was wrong with my life. Everything was eliminated. The wife, gone, work, gone, bills, covered by old folks help. The freedoms one might suppose come with turning sixty-five, I can only describe as, neutral. But, when you eradicate the bad, you cannot live with good. In retrospect, life was hard, but I loved every moment of it. But now I was done. No books to write. I had been writing my brain out over the years. Following the archetype of King or Hemingway. A life of no imposition. I never would have deduced that I would later yearn for the feeling. The thoughts these days are prolix and end in leaving me numb and lackluster.

And there was me.

Alone for some reason. There wasn't much to this place. Grey foggy sky that made me feel like shit. Nasty damp sand underneath my ass. But something must have been exciting. For I had the biggest boner since I first laid my hands upon the soft flesh of a woman. I was starting to doubt if I could still produce them. Perhaps it was the shot of epinephrine now pulsing through my veins when I thought I may had seen something on the horizon. It was one of those things humans tend to disregard in fear of losing our sanity. One of those happenings that occur so fast, that "it can't be real". Maybe it wasn't to the world but for me, there was something. May I bless thee with my words? Oh give unto a sign that I may have clarity? So that I may give wisdom unto thee. The conjunction of death. Do tho wish to hear my words? It was like talking to yourself. Being a writer, I would consistently tell myself random lines that I may use. I never knew where they might come from. It happened though. However, I haven't had one of these outbursts since the day of retirement.

Hmmmm. A sign? What the fuck?

There was but sand all around me. I loved things like sand. For, it was not text books that brings man knowledge, but objects like sand that truly reveals the world from the darkness it clings to in such passion. It showed me how convenient the world was and oh so accidental. Some folks will feel insignificant by looking up at the sky. The intimidation of stars and planets and whatever else the cosmics may hold in store. I however, look not to the sky, but to an even greater space. One which is much smaller but only to our understanding. Perhaps this space was vast behind belief. The vastness of cells. The fact that sand is so small and has no reason to the naked eye. The fact it stretches along the beach for miles across and under. The fact that a hundred million viruses could live in the space of but one speck of sand. And man has no idea to what may be in that virus. What is in RNA or DNA. We are so minuscule indeed.

I threw a big handful of what may have been galaxies and threw it into the water. The specks of sand just scarcely landing in the water. The lake now gravid, with the holistic beings of these hinterlands began to ripple.

And forward came She. From the water, stepped a beautiful woman. My wife. I smiled. She was barefoot and wore a white gown. There was something wrong. A second head began to grow on her shoulders. It came within seconds. My wife's original face looked upon me with somber dissatisfaction. The other head was ugly. Hideous even. There were bulging rashes all over. It hung to the side as if there were no neck supporting it and its hair was cut in so many angles it was like someone cut it with a lawn mower. She continued walking to me. But I no longer wanted to. This was not my wife. My ex-wife was probably screwing some guy right now in Texas. This was a monstrosity. But I could not move. She did not move her mouth but yet I caught words. This was the beginning love. See what you did.

"But do you not see that face. It drove me away!" I cried to her

You had the axe. You could have removed it love. I love you.

She disappeared, I cried.

Tears accomplished nothing nevertheless. Here comes the next round.

The waves rippled again and spit forth another anomaly.

This was even hitherto more familiar. It was me. Walking just as gracefully as my lover had. And just like before. It began to grow. Only this was bigger. It was splitting like a cell. There were two me's. They confronted me. This was how it continued fellow.

"It was beyond my power."

You had the knife my friend to kill it.

The copy of myself pulled a blade from seemingly nowhere and stabbed the other. It bled. It died. It sank into the ground. The clone ascended to the skies. I cried.

Tears accomplished nothing nevertheless. Here comes the next round.

From the waters crawled another furtive organism. One out of the water, it stood on its legs. They bent every which way. Broken in too many ways. The man wore a blue suit. He was my publisher. Books were in a net sack flung transversely on his back. He began stumbling to me. Falling over on multiple occasions and screaming in agony. He would pick himself up again even so. It like its predecessors found its way to my feet. You fell. You failed. I died with you.

"You had so many more! Mine was over."

It's never over until death. No more works from you.

It took the sack of books and from his hands he summoned fire setting the binding, the string, the paper, the glue ablaze. Then he too took to flame. They burned until ashes and blew with the wind. I cried.

Tears accomplished nothing nevertheless. Crossroads?

I waited for something to appear from the waves. There was only wind. Above you! From the sky, came the clone of me. It was descending to the earth. He landed in front of me. Stand. I stood. He held something outwards to me. A gun. Take it. The thing smiled.

He was wearing a red shirt. I wore no shirt. We were different.

"How do you wish to torment me?" I was losing patience.

You choose. How is life gonna go?

* * *

A body was found down by the lake today by two boys. It was an old man. Wearing a red shirt. He was barefoot. Left behind by the killer.

Left behind indeed.

REVELATION 13

-Jake T. Edmunds

So guys this was just something I wrote today. It is a bit different from what I usually write and may be a bit confusing. It has more meaning to me but I hope you enjoy it. You should check out that verse too if you have time.

Cliche

She was like part of my routine- and I'm sure if you'd ask another, they'd tell you the same exact thing.
Standing there all glassy eyed, staring in to some eternal hurricane, as stripes of sun spots peaked through the window.
They flashed like silver in her dirty auburn hair, and all the while, she fiddled with a necklace, stoic faced, and absent minded.
As far as I knew, she hadn't missed a morning yet, and a few times, I nearly decided to follow her myself; if only to see if she ever even got off.
But, of course I never really took the time to bother though. I had school to get to, and people to please. It wasn't as though the idea had faded. I just grew to ignore it, tucking it away in to the corner of my mind devoted to impossible things, like Santa Clause, and becoming Barbara Eden.

But something was different about this morning.

Today, when I stepped on to the Grimy PAT bus, & settled in to an empty seat towards the back, I was surprised to see that on this occasion, the woman was sitting down for once, just across from me, on a tattered seat, who's cushion was visible through rips of fabric.
She was humming to the floor, with a seemingly dead stare, and admittedly, there was a part of me that couldn't help being terrified at her very existence.

Needless to say, terrified was far from the only thing I felt, as curiosity overwhelmed me, and fascination flushed my skin of fear.
I had never been as close to her as I was today, and from the moment I sat down, I found myself unable to easily comprehend anything other than surprise.

Despite her tattered looking monks clothes, and frazzled. wavy, dirty hair, from a distance the woman before me had always looked to be what one might consider quite pretty. But from here, only maybe four feet away, it was certainly fair to say that in truth, she was nothing less than beautiful. Ravishing even, in a way that nearly made break in to bits and cry.

I never did put my finger on what exactly it was that had made me feel that way. but more than likely, I suppose, it was simply knowing that something so stunning was going to waste.
With a heaviness beginning to settle in my chest, holding my gaze upon her startlingly lovely face was starting to almost pain me, and before long, I had to force myself to look away, pulling out a frayed novel from my book bag, whose contents I'd hoped would distract me.

It was a futile effort, I should have already known, when coming to realize that the words could only distract me so well.
Every now and again, I could help but glance upwards a few times, if only to see what she was doing, & on about the 5th glace, I found myself under the eyes of a polished black stare.

Embarassed, I quickly looked away making a promise to myself not to look back again, but it didn't take long for me to break that promise, as I glanced up yet again to see the woman still gazing at me, a faint smile not creeping from the corners of her mouth.

This time, I didn't look away as fast as I had the time befrore.
She was fiddling with her necklance, as it dangled in the middle of her chest, where the gray skin beneath her fingers was stretched thin acorss her bones.

When she spoke, I nearly jumped.

"Would you like to see my necklace?" she asked quietly, clutching the string of beads between her hand.
Part of me was hesitent, but on the other hand, I didn't want to be rude, or discover what happened when you angered somebody who was mentally unwell.
Tentatively, I agreed, nodding as she pulled the necklace from over top her head.
It was only when she placed it in my hands, that I actually realized what the necklace consisted of.

Four teeth, dangling bettween strings of purple and gray beads, warpped around elastic string lay shining in my palm, the pearly white enamel of the crowsn, glistening under yellow bus light.

I didn't know if I should be disgusted or intrigued, so I simply leaned back over & returned the item to its owner.
"Where did those come from?" I asked pointing towards one of the four teeth, as she placed it back around her tiny neck.
"they're my wisdom" she grinned wider, staring back at me yet again.
"I take them whever I go" she continued dreamily, "so I can never be without it".

At this point, the bus slowed toa halt, and three people from in front of us exited the bus, to greet the chilly march air.

"It's very pretty" I offered of her necklace, when the bus began to move.
Although her gaze at me was unyielding, this time, she gave no reply.
After a minute or so, unsure if she heard me or not, Imade a move to speak again, but found myself being cut off before I had the chance to speak.

"Did he tell why it must be now?" she asked suddenly, and her face drooped in concern.
"Did he give you any explanation? Could you tell me? I won't argue. I swear".

Confused, I glanced around to see if something had been missed.
Was she still talking to me, or was it somebody else now;
someone in her head
someone in her ear.

"Sorry?" I asked to make sure I hadn't been mistaken.
"Were you talking to me?"

This time, she leaned foward, grabbing my wrists in her hands with a pleading look in her eyes.
"I know you're a prophet. I can tell by your beauty. But please- give them just another day. Let them say goodbye to their families. I'm begging you. Please" her voice was so hushed, I could hardly make out what she saying.

Taken back by her sudden change in demeanor, my stomach twisted in nervous discomfort, and I vigorousley shook my head.
"I think you've made some kind of mistake" I told her quietly, and tried to move my arms from away from her grip.
When I did this, she only latched on harder. "Please" she said more eager this time. "Don't get off of the this bus"/
As if she had known what my stop was, the bus began slowing to the corner where I exited the bus.
I was beginning to feel panicked, so I stood up before I really needed too, wrenching my arms from the woman's grasp, and rushing towards the front of the bus.

When I turned around to see her behind me, my heart nearly skipped a beat.
"Please" she was whispering in my ear again, now seemingly almost in tears. "You can't do this. You musn't". The doors to the bus opened, and I ignored her, flashing my bus pass at the driver,as I quickly decended the steps to the sidewalk. From behind me, I usddenly heard her screaming
"Get off of the bus! Get off of the bus!" but I knew no body would take her serious. After a few moments of futile screaming, she followed me out of the bus, and collapsed on the sidewalk. I was afraid that she would folllow me. Afraid of what she might do.
So before the walk sign flahsed white across the street, I made a dip in to the street, completley unaware of the tractor trailor about to turn the corner just a street down.

It was a moment I would never forget, and everything went so fast, I could hardly believe it.
The truck was facing my direction, heading quickly towards me, as I tried to reach the other side, before a bus comming the other way destroyed me. Terrified, I lunged foward throwing myself on to the sidewalk and from behind, as terrible noise arose, like a nuclear bomb exploding in the middle of a parking garage.

Heat caressed my back.
my arms, and shoulders, and chin were all bleeding and incrusted with gravel.
But when I turned around to see that both vehicles had swerved to miss me, only to hit each other, the reality came to be too much.

I vomited on to the sidewalk, as the bus and truck went up in to violent clouds of flame and black smoke.

From across the street I could see the woman, sobbing on the sidewalk, admist crowds of wide eyed onlookers, pointing at me, with their mouths all hanging slack.
And from above the flames, and leaking gas, I could hear the poor woman crying
"You could have let them say goodbye!! Why didn't you let them say goodbye?!"





-MIRANDA











So yeah.
I just had this lame little idea.
It's really typical.
And completley Final Destination-esque
which I didn't notice
until after it was done.
but whatever.

DUDES!

really good website i just found, it helps cure writers block,
it also has character name generators, and a title generator
creative writing prompts etc.
i hope you guys enjoy it! :D
try it out, will yuh?

http://www.languageisavirus.com/


-kayla

It's funny how things work out, because I remember waking up with the sun poking through the little blocks i call a window, looking at my clock with blurry red numbers that read "12:30." It's so refreshing to wake up and know you'll be spending the day with someone you love. Sometimes, I think to myself, why am I like this? I know, I'm insane. Don't you remember? The days in the spikey dewey grass, the sun beating down on our heads making our faces warm and full of energy, our cheeks meshing together like perfect gears. Our white teeth compared to the green grass, our glowing personalities, everything was okay. It was all alright. We gradually started seeing each other more, I can't begin to explain how happy I was every day to finally get out of my house. I couldn't take it there anymore, It was like a prison. Don't you remember? The days we had spending time on the swings going back and forth yelling over the squeaks of them. So carefree, so full of ramen and maccorroni and cheese.

Little kids, it what we were, and that's how it would always be. Bubblegum, lollipops, Pepsi, candle lit dinners. I loved those days. Reflecting back on this, I can't believe it all flashed before my eyes. So fast. So quick, so bumpy. Holding hands with our hoodies interfering with our fingers connecting like we want them to. Walking on a dirt road laughing and calling each other names. The streetlights watching us like the clouds would. Walking on hay down towards the spot. Our silhouettes, the back of our heads looking at the landscape of the city with the sky pink and purple and the city looking at us, smiling and us smiling back.

Do you remember? Or has it faded? We didn't kill this off like you smear the font on a magazine with water. We're not folded and bent like old photographs, or old books. Swallowing our compassion along with some summertime popsicles. Watching the shitty fireworks explode downtown, I'm not sure what to do.

The tunnel. The park.

It's all so warm, I remember now. I'm so ecstatic. To spend time smelling the laundry detergent on your clothing. To smell broccoli and cheese in your hair. The wind it picks up gradually and it starts to rain. We're soaked from head to toe now. For once, I'm actually happy. I'm not sure what this is supposed to represent but the sidewalks are a darkish gray today and I'm smiling from ear to ear as I watch my feet walk from left to right. It's so miserable and rainy outside, I can't help but to laugh.

Don't you remember? I hit you. I beat you. I'm abusive. I pulled your hair until strands of curly hair fell to the ground. I bit you until my teeth marks showed up splotchy and purple. I hit you until your skin felt as if you just got burned by the burner on an oven.
Don't you remember? You can't feel bad If I cry puddles at a time. You can't feel sorry for me, you'll be like every other person. The world revolves and so do I. I haven't asked much from you other than some courage and some heart.
I figured If I wrote this, I could let go of the majority of my anger. But all this did was bring out filthy tears filled with salt. Burning my pores, and burning my cheeks. Dripping onto my pants leaving dark spots. Splashing everywhere.

How do I tell you this. How are you going to read this.
Sometimes, I scare myself.
Sometimes, I can't write.
Sometimes, I'm too paranoid.
Sometimes, I'm a bitch.
I'm heartless.
It's time to run
To run, like the wind.

-kayla

i need

some motivation. honestly, i feel like a poser on this thing.
i don't think i can complete the weekly prompt because i'm not smart enough?
i don't know, you guys know so many big words and you guys are so experienced with writing
and i'm just like, "hey i'm kayla, ima poser." so i don't know.
i just need some motivation.

anybody?
please?


-kayla marie.

That Skinny Boy Sure Knew How to Kill

The kid liked heavy metal.

He drove while I sat in the passenger seat.

I wasn't too fond of the music.

Its intense waves sending vibrations through my body. And in my opinion it was irritating. I occupied myself by looking out the large window of the two door car. It was beautiful up in the mountains. Their wide spires were sharp enough to make the firmament cry. We were alone on this country road driving up the side of one of the peaks. The doctor lived up there.

The boy was no older than 15 and was driving. I couldn't help laughing. I myself was 32. I couldn't hold back the guilt. I found it strange. When you're a person like me, you can easily dismiss your emotions to get the job done. I shot a little girl in the face once. Never thought about it twice. She lived though. But I have left her scared. That's another story however.

So anyways, guilt was poking at me like a hobo with a damned stick on a Monday morning once your coffee spills all over you and you just got dumped by some ho. I was letting a 15 year old drive my car. I had not personal concern about my vehicle. It wasn't worth much. It was hot. Really hot. Comprised of stolen parts. So many stolen parts we couldn't give a brand name to the car. It was probably a Ford, and Mustang, and possibly Chevy, and maybe a little of Pontiac. I painted the whole thing a quick black to cover the rust and scars of putting a car together yourself. In other words, I didn't give a shit about the car.

I had known the kid though, forever. I lived on the streets when he was born. And soon, he would too. It was the first night of his life and his mother was fighting with the boyfriend.

"I fucked you so this baby was possible! It's fucking mine!"

"I don't want the shit anyway! But I'm not giving him to a fucker like you! He belongs to me. I shoved this thing outa my pussy!"

"You little bitch. Give me my fucking kid!"

I remember the noise. The gunshot. The cries of a baby. I knew the guy. He was a fucker. Killed plenty of people in his day including some of my best friends. A little pimp I guess you could call him. And now the kid's mother was on the list. She was dead now. Within minutes the guy kicked open the screen door and began an arrogant promenade down the street. Crying baby in arms. It just so happened I was having myself a joint on the corner when all this happened. That fucker has gone too far. I threw my joint into a garbage can and walked up to his face.

"You give me that kid, Red." That was his name.

"Fuck off. This is my fucking kid."

"And that woman's, you just blew away." I pointed to the house they lived in.

"She was a biiiiiittchh." He stopped walking away from me.

"And you're a fucking bassssstarddd."

"Fuck you."

I pulled out one of my few possessions; a sexy S&W revolver. It was my daddy's.

"The kid's mine now buddy. I claim it. Your girlfriends not the only one to die tonight fucker."

He froze when he beheld the weapon.

"Alright you dumbfuck. Put the gun away."

"Hand me the baby. I'm gonna take care of the kid. I CANNOT let a prick like yourself to be in possession of such an innocent being. "

He had no choice and placed the young kid on the ground. Wrapped in blankets.

"Good boy" I smiled and blew the fuckers gut out.

I picked up the boy. He was still crying. The gunshot? No.

Letting go of the little pride I had, I decided to go to a homeless shelter. Get the kid fed. We stayed there for a few days. He was a weird baby. Only cried when he shat himself or was hungry. Never from all the scary sounds that annoyed babies. He slept like a….baby. Only…babies don't sleep like the phrase describes. They always wake up and bitch for some milk. Or if a dog barks in the night, they wake up and wail. But this child did not. He slept like a baby was said to. Never waking up. Weeks went by in the shelter and I got a crazy idea. Was this kid deaf? He was.

As time went by, we ended up getting welfare because I "had a child" and we began living in an apartment. My life didn't improve though. Still did the same old shit to make money. Killing people. Selling weapons. Drugs.

The kid was smart. I named him, Quinn. He never learned how to sign. He didn't need to. It was bizarre. He used his eyes like a blind person uses their ears. He could read your face and lips. He would see reactions in the world that no one every notices. Like a bee flying in a pattern indicated aggression. Using this, he predicted that the girl swatting at it would get stung. He was right. Bitch cried for hours. He could write really fast. And learned how to speak a little. He didn't speak often though. He couldn't hear what he sounded like (which was impressively accurate) but it made him insecure.

We didn't eat much. Enough to survive. It made for a skinny child. He was bony, but Quinn sure knew how to fight. He has beat up more people than I have.

Quinn was 13 and fell in love. Some broad down the street. Deaf parents. She could talk to him. Taught him signing. Read a lot with him. She was kind of cute too.

And she's the reason for tonight. Quinn reassured me he could drive. And he could. Very alert. Very good vision. We were driving to some doctor's house. I asked why. He simple wrote me a note.

"He fucked up, that's why."

Last night the girl came over to our little apartment. Sobbing her eyes out. Quinn took her to his room. They were in there for hours. She finally left and the two kissed. Quinn looked happy. Quinn sure knew how to act though. She left and he was furious. He refused to talk about it. But the next thing I knew, he's dragging me into the car. He talked a little. Said he needed someone to have his back. It was sad. A kid should not thing of his father as back-up. I failed him. I had done no better than Red. But Quinn needed me right now. I couldn't live seeing him sad. Therefore, I was up for anything.

The kid liked heavy metal. We listened to it as we drove. The ironic thing is he couldn't even hear it. He said "I feel it" once. And that was it. We listened to his CD's in the car. I had no idea where we are going. He said we were only looking for a doctor. God knows how Quinn knew were the guy lived. It was dark now. No beautiful sky. It was quiet up there. We finally pulled a left onto an exit that lead straight to a driveway. Quinn turned into it and got out of the car. I followed. His veins were thick and were popping out of his arms. He was wrathful. The house was a one level Ranch style. No stairs. Quinn kicked down the door. The doctor must not have had a good reputation. It didn't look like he was poor. But, there was no art on the walls her expensive vases. I could have lived in a place like that. The first room we walked into was a living room. It was amusing. The little man was sitting there. Like he was in shock.

"Waddo you men want?" his face trembled and he threw money on the floor.

I laughed hysterically.

Catching my breathe I said "He can't hear you buddy. And put your fucking money away." I wiped tears from my eyes.

"You son of a bitch."

"Yeah" I replied "She was a fucking bitch ya know that?" I was beginning to see why Quinn didn't like him. However, I was under the impression we were just scaring the guy. Messing around. Making him pay in a humorous manner. But my heart skipped a beat when Quinn pulls my gun from his pants. He kept it concealed.

"Quinn!" I knew he couldn't hear me. I jumped for the gun but then he turned it on me. I could only weep. I created him. He was bred in violence. The very first night of his life, both his mother and father were shot down. He didn't know that though. Never questioned where his mother was. And he thought I was his father. Content with the fact that I wasn't going to stop him, he slowly turned the gun back to the doctor. He squinted.

"Oh please! Oh please! Don't!" he was a weak piece of shit. I would have shot him myself with good reason. Quinn walked up to him while he fished for something in his pocket. He stopped. Pulled the object from his pocket. It was a piece of paper. A picture. Of the girl. He put it in the doctor's face. Made him look at it. He dropped it and let it float down onto the man's lap. Backed away. There was nothing left on the doctor's shoulders afterwards. The picture was splattered with blood. The blood of the doctor. Quinn liked it. He grabbed the picture and slid it back into his pocket.

It was quiet. The mountains were a quiet place. I looked at him with teary eyes. I wasn't mad at him. He was like his dad.

"Its Ok" I told him. He read my lips.

We began to drive home. I was driving this time. We played no music. He looked out the window like I had. I tapped his shoulder so he would look at me.

"So…What was that all about?"

He read.

Quinn talked the whole time home. I never heard much from him. He screwed up a few sounds like "s" and "d" but he was ok. He told me the story. The girl wasn't poor. She was getting a bit of surgery on her fingers. They got crushed in her daddy's printing press. The doctor failed though. Not enough anesthesia he would have planned. Only enough to numb the girl. To close her eyes. She was aware though. Aware to the hands squeezing her breasts. Aware to the pain caused by the aggressive hands. Aware of the tongue sliding up and down her legs. She woke up at her house. Un able to do anything. Afraid to tell her parents. Only told Quinn.

Quinn sure knew how to get revenge.

Quinn was like his daddy.

Quinn sure could kill.

-Jake T. Edmunds