lonerider

Cool

Here is what I am working on now. Please remember this is rough. I have not really edited yet. Let me know what you think.


PLATE GLASS CONUNDRUM


Chapter 1

There goes that dog barking again. The never ending shrill that protrudes from the dogs mouth like foul words that flow from a feeble mind. I light another cigarette from the butt of the one that I just smoked down to the filter; chain smoking. Thoughts race through my mind. Thoughts of hunger, family, thirst for redemption for what the son of a bitch did to my family. Family, the rhetorical question of life in which I have no answer. Why does one marry, for love, for self-worth? What is self-worth? Why are we pushed forth from our mothers wombs to be relented to such radical and self persecution of which is called life? Why did the son of a bitch choose me, my family? Such brutal thoughts one must have to do such things to innocent mothers and children. He should have never been pushed from the womb. He should have been aborted; the poster child of abortion rights. Fuck Roe vs. Wade. They did this to me, to my family. I light another cigarette from the butt of the one that I just smoked down to the filter. Chain smoking.

1 a.m. With my mind racing wildly, thoughts of sweet revenge, I grab my smokes, and coat. Phone rings. It is the damn police, worthless no good false teeth detective again. Hoping that solving this will help him to get a better retirement I am sure. He doesnt care about what happened. He doesnt know the void that is left behind in my chest. My heart, ripped from the cavity that once housed it; black void. Thank god for answering machines. The door slams. I start the car. No map, no possible way of knowing where to start. Like the cowboy riding through the lone prairies, I ride these lone streets. Oil and mist gives the road a comforting dark appearance. No idea where to start; Mind racing.

The 24 hour quickie mart is desolate like a church on a Tuesday. I drive up to the gas pump. I Slide the card through the card reader. Was it easy? Did the knife blade slide through my wifes throat this easy? I try to shake the image from my mind. Card denied. Shit. I cant get a break for anything. I pull the twenty from my wallet. I pump the fuel from the dispenser, walk inside to pay. The old woman behind the 4 inch glass looks safe. Too bad we all cant have 4 inches of glass around us. Maybe, just maybe that would have saved my wife and daughter.
Pump five and a pack of smokes I order.
She takes her time.
With every click of the second hand I am wasting time.
Hurry the fuck up, I bark, sounding like that god damn dog.
She stares at me with her glaucoma covered eyes. I turn away, hoping that she will just leave well enough alone. My pack of smokes inside drawer return images to my mind. Looking in the drawer at those cigarettes lying there was like finding my daughter in the laundry hamper, the lifeless body of an innocent child, helpless from the monster that took her life. No words are exchanged as I retrieve the cigarettes. I leave the store without confrontation.

The droning sound of the wheels on the road makes one weary when there is no time to be weary. The chant music playing on the cd player, windows down, wind blowing through my hair takes my mind back to times of road trips with my family. My wifes long, flowing black hair brushing her cheeks, so innocent, so loved, so loving with each breath taken. Tears flow like waterfalls in my moment of reflection, the love of a husband, of a father stolen with the slash of a blade. So innocent my daughter, loving big eyes that greeted me with each return home, her soft spoken voice silenced forever with the slash of a blade.

My cell phone rings. It is my friend, the only person that I trusted before all of this happened to me. Could he have killed my wife and daughter? Was he jealous of what I had? I hesitate to answer the phone.
Rot in hell you son of a bitch, I scream.
I answer the phone.
Hello, he says. Silence.
hello, he says again.
What do you want?, I answer.
Where are you? he asks.
I am no where, I am nothing now, I reply.
Mike, you have got to talk to someone about this. You are on the verge of losing it he says.
Losing it? I have lost it, them, everything of which had meaning in my fucking life, I snapped.
Look Mike, you have got to let the police do their job.
Fuck you Steve, I said. I close the cell phone and throw it in the glove box.
Fuck you Steve, I mutter again to myself.

Driving with no plan, map or general idea of what to do, just pure anger, I pull into the hotel parking lot, park and walk inside.
Is there no one working here tonight? I snap.
A young man opens the door behind the counter and walks up.
Can I help you? he asks.
Well, I would like a room if you arent too busy I bark.
The young punk returns a look of disgust. I fill out the paper work and take the key. I walk to the room, open the door and throw my duffle bag on the bed. The room smells like sex and alcohol I think to myself. I lay next to my duffle bag. The light from the window dims as I drift to sleep.



Chapter 2

The days grow long as I sit tirelessly waiting, thirsting, trying to control the voices in my head. The hum of the digital age is numbing yet frighteningly arousing. I try to be a good man, a solid figure in these times, but alas I can only motionlessly sit as the world speeds hurriedly bye. I thirst for redemption for the crimes committed against me. Curse they O lord for thou hast forsaken me. I gave myself to you O lord and you damned me to hell, this hell, a life of torment and self-destruction. Quiet you! Forgive me O lord for I know not what I speak. These voices that speak are not of my own mind, they are of the feeble people that have forsaken me. Sweet blood, Oh the thirst for sweet blood is so overwhelmingly great. Such innocence lost at my time of birthing. Spit forth from the womb of a wretched whore of a mother. Why was I spat onto this earth and not on the leg of the John that gave me life? Cursed world that allows me to breath! I will not allow them to take my life, oh no, I have a purpose in life. SHUT UP YOU!! I will not hear another word that you speak. For years I have listened to you. You care nothing of my pain, you ensue it upon me! You are a whore, a whore which I can not remove from my head. All of you! Yes I know. It is time to relieve the thirst. I shall be reborn, as I have countless times before. The sweet blood, the virginal blood, which can only, cleans me of my wickedness. For I know, that I can only be baptized in the blood and receive peace for only so long. Oh, the sweet silence that ensues. To quiet these voices in my head, I will reap my wrath upon this world once again. Amen O lord, Amen!

Ten dollars.
Hey. I said thatll be ten dollars mister said the cab driver.
Oh, ok. Thanks said Jacob.
As Jacob exits the cab, the driver snaps WHAT! No tip?
Jacob just stares with his sunken eyes, eyes that have seen some much in these times. No Jacob replies.
To hell with you then you cheap son of a bitch! snaps the cab driver as he drives away.
The stench of urine permeates from the dank, narrow, cobble stone road that lead to the dank apartment building. Jacob scurries down the stairs to mistress Jasmines apartment. Jacob removes his clothes. Mistress Jasmine appears in the room.
Beat me Mistress moans Jacob. Jasmine whips Jacob.
Do you like that Jacob? scowls Jasmine.
Do you want to fuck me you little piece of shit? Well do you? yells Jasmine as she whips Jacob once more. A fresh cut appears across Jacobss lower back.
Yes mistress Jasmine moans Jacob.
Yes what Jacob? Yes whatwhat is it you want to do to me, you pathetic man? purrs Jasmine.
I want to fuck you mistress Jasmine! hisses Jacob.
No Jacob. You will not fuck me today. Jasmine hisses.
Jacob removes his worn, tattered, blooded riddled body from the room, retrieves his clothing and scampers out of the building. You are right mother I am a pathetic piece of shit! I am what you made me mother! Jacob replies to the voice in his head. Time lapses with furry as Jacob walks back to his apartment. Why do I do what I do? Why do I subject myself to such putrid things? I am dirty, I am so dirty, I lust after pain, and it consumes me, my every thought Jacob thinks to himself.
You must wash your sins away. You must wash your sins away a voice in Jacobs head replies softly.

I wake to the light of the rising sun peircing though the cheap hotel curtains. As I lay there on the bed thoughts of family return. Why me, why my family, I think frustratingly.
I turn on the T.V. Great, 12 channels of crap, I yell. Suddenly I come across a news channel. Another brutal discovery was made today. A mother and daughter were discovered dead in their Brooksdale home. Police are refusing to comment at this time the reporter exclaimed.
This has got to be the same monster! I shout. I grab my bag and set off to my house.

The weather is not as beautiful today as it was yesterday. Today it is cloudy, dark, and desolate. As I drive up into my driveway I see detective Moore.
Good morning Mr. Johnson the detective says with his false teeth grin.
Good morning detective I reply. I heard of the second case today on the news I say.
Ah, yes, the other double murder across town. The detective replies with a look of inquiry. Where were you last night Mr. Johnson? asks the detective.
I was staying at the Vista hotel over across town. I reply. Ah, the shit hole the detective replies. Were you with anyone who collaborate your story Mr. Johnson? the detective sneers. Yeah, the whore I called for and fucked the hell out of last night. Is that what you want to hear detective? I mean hellI only lost everything that I held dear to me the night before. Hell, I must have killed my own family, and then killed another mans family out of spite huh detective? I snap.
Calm down Mr. Johnson. No one is claiming you killed anyone. I just had to ask Replies the detective with uncertainty in his eyes, the eyes of an animal, hoping to get just one more scrap from the table. His partner, a thinly built man, looks as if the wind could blow him over with just a slight gust.
Why are they working me? What angle are they looking for? Are they even trying to find my families killer? Are they trying to find the monster that has taken our families and shaken them in a tumbler and threw them into hell?
Can I go inside my house? I ask.
Sure, replies the detective.
As I walk into my house I am not greeted by my daughter with a hug, or my wife with a kiss, just a yellow strip of do not cross tape. I enter the house. Flashes of memories return to that night, to finding my family. As I enter my bedroom, black tape marks the spot where I discovered my wifes limp, lifeless body. Her hair, her lovely black hair, so long and flowing, covered her face as she lied dead on the bed. I look for clues, something that could lead me to the killer, something that I have never seen before. I look to the windows, cabinets in the kitchen, mirrors in the bathroom, suddenly; I find it, something that I missed before. My daughter never owned a ceramic angel. The wings of the angel are both broken. Could this be a clue to find him? Could this be something he left for me to find, or for the police? I will be damned if I let them have it. I will find him. I will have the pleasure of finding him and reaping my vengeance. The inscription on the bottom is barely readable. The inscription Where angels fly with no wings, is where you will find me. What does it mean?
Damn made in China figurines I shout. I hear foot steps. I hide the angel in my pocket.
Mr. Johnson are you ok?
Yes I am I return. Hurriedly I gather new clothes.
Mr. Johnson did you find something we should no about?
I shake my head and reply No detective, you will be the first to know if I do.
Mr. Johnson, where will you be this evening? the detective asks.
Around, I reply.
Very well then Mr. Johnson. I will see you around then Mr. Johnson the detective replies.
I leave the house with what I hope will lead me to him. I get in the car and back away from the drive, and drive North on Vine. There has to be someone who can explain this to me, I think to myself. Who, I wonder, Who?



Chapter 3
Blood flows through his mind as paint flows across a painters canvas. Splashing, splattering, tossed upon the canvas in uncontrolled fashion, washing away the sins of the past. He laughs with each slash of the blade. Laughing the laugh of a bad man, the laugh of shear delight, power, consumed, joyful shrills of passion. Each slash of the blade brings control, orgasmic delight, like the delight of groping female breasts for the first time. Ah the silence that ensues, the voices silenced once again. The delight of what he has done is overwhelmingly strong. He cries, but yet he is not remorseful. Mother would be proud, oh how mother would be so proud, he thinks to himself. He cleans his blade on the soft velvet dress that she wore, the dress of the whore that had subjected him to this madness. She wanted it, he tells himself. She always looked at me with those naughty eyes, those soft, ruby red lips, ample breasts, and soft milky skin. She asked for it, he thinks to himself. I need not justify myself to anyone, he snaps. He lifts the body from the floor and places her on the bed, next to her dolls, and turns off the light to the room. The voice of another child is forever silenced by the hands of the monster.


What makes a man or woman do what they do? What solitary delusion of lifes disembowelment brings one to embrace deaths cold hand as a friendly gesture of good intentions and twisted fate? Lust, delusions of lifes promises filled. Empty void filled with each life taken. Motherfucker was the word of choice by my mother to show her affection towards me. Piss ant, no good, rat boy, son of a bitch was my fathers name for me. Why was I allowed to be born? III hate everything and everyone in this world. Confessing could bring no recourse for my actions.
Fuck you mom!
Fuck you dad!
Disturbed? Maybe. Perturbed perhaps? No. I hate this world and would love to see it burn, burn as if it were struck by the sun on a hot July weekend in the desert. Well, fuck you too! The voices, the voices in my head haunt me with images of grotesque flashes of death, dismemberment, and grandeur. I love what it is I do and no one; I mean no one can stop me. I am the shadows. I am the wind. I am the earth, the stars and the moon. I see all, and pull the strings like a puppet master dancing his Marinates like rabid beasts running amok through the night. I am tired, tired of everything. I want to sleep. Sleep the sleep of a thousand children.


Who. Who can help my unlock the door and unveil the killer to me? I ponder to myself. I listen to the sounds of the cars and trucks around me. The silence is intense as the vehicles stop and wait for their drives chance to complete their journey. I find myself numbed and deafened by the silence thats ensues me. I must break out of this envelope that has engulfed me and find my destiny. Destiny has chosen me and laid me out a path that I must complete. Like Job in the Old Testament I must take what the Devil has given me and keep the faith in the God that has challenged me. I must not turn back for I may turn to salt to be blown away by the winds that be.

[Edited on Jun 18, 2005 6:43PM]

[Edited on Jun 18, 2005 6:43PM]