eugipants

[disc:9cb99ba578]Story contains strong language and topics of violence, as well as acts of violence.[/disc:9cb99ba578]


In the darkness that only light can pull off - here I am.
Waiting for this man to speak - who is he?
Why am I here? I’m kind of anxious.
This room is making me ill. Subtle fog from cigarette smoke that stinks the house.

I don’t smoke.

The smoker takes a drag of his cigarette, then leans forward and put his elbows on the kitchen table these two men were sitting in. With the cigarette between his fingers, he points to the man opposite him, as if suggesting something. Smoker seems to be an idea kind of person - wearing a tuxedo, gelled black hair, briefcase to the left of his seat. . .
Suddenly. . .

“Who are you”

I don’t know his name, I don’t know why I’m here. But I can hear him speak in a low, subtle-like growl. But I’m too frozen to speak for myself.
Wait . . . He doesn’t even know my name?
George. . . And what’s the wise plan behind this? I want to ask bad.

George at this second has fear, paranoia, and confusion installed all over him. You could tell from the look in his eye.

But I don’t ask, instead I watch him take another drag. He’s going to get very sick, this man. Very sick . . .

Smoker’s eyes are bloodshot from exhaustion.

And so I wait patiently, but for what? do what I please with my hands, look around . . . That’s a nice vase . . .

“Keep your hands were I can see them”

The look in George’s eyes now widened. The look in Smoker’s eyes stiffened, became smaller as if George is pray. Hell, he is. And so George sits there, waiting, with no other, choice for Smoker to speak again. Then did, and George would never forget -

“Where is my wife. Did you kill my wife?”

The question floats in the subtle fog, emphasizing it’s non-existent weight.

What kind of wise question is that!? Your wife?
Oh my God. . .

Mysteriously from under the table, Smoker slips out a pistol. George springs his arms up and spreads his fingers.

“Look, listen man . . .”

“Keep your fingers, hands, feet, and legs together”

But before he finished the command, Smoker slides his own feet on George’s so that he could feel every twitch of his legs.

Will he let me speak? What is this? I’m scared shitless . . . What do you want from me!?

“You killed my wife”

His tone is accusing. This takes George completely off guard. The dull kitchen surrounding and the wooden table they were sitting in became suddenly irrelevant to him as he stared into the darkest hole. His heart beats insanely.

I can’t find. . . The words. I . . . I’m staring into this man.
I’m dead - what? - I know it.

Smoker relaxes back in his chair, takes another drag, and without breathing it out properly he lets go of his gaze from George towards his pistol. Smoker’s hands seemed like no stranger to the slick black thing. With inhuman patience, he twists a likewise slick cylinder on it. What could have been a loud and disturbing murder scene now compliments the silence of the room, as the pistol is itself silenced.

Black hair, grey eyes . . . bloodshot eyes? Full, black goatee . . . The things I’ll need if I get out of this thing alive.
Oh God, I want to live.
. . . Wait, oh my God he’s the one married to Melinda! This is all about Melinda!?

“Well . . .”

He finishes with the pistol and gradually gazes back into George’s wide brown eyes.

“. . . I got news for you. Just so that there are no surprises, you will die. So, please, make my job easy and relax now, why don’t you?”

Please, ple-
“ -please, wait, I. . .” George's mind scrambles, he forgot about Melinda, “what do you want from me?”

Smoker chuckles with impatience whilst his eyes become slits by the seconds. Is this man serious? He‘s probably thinking; but of course he knows what I want from him - the truth, no less. And with that, he briefly sniffs back the smoke in his nostrils, which forces him to rub his nose off the brutal in-take. Smoker focuses again on George with a new smile in his face.

“Who are you working for.”

What? Me? Seriously? I’m a fucking hermit, I never speak to anybody. I’m honestly the loneliest man I’ve met. After 27 years I’m still a virgin, and… shit, no, I don’t work for anyone! I don’t do that shit anymore. People use me god damn this!

“I. . . Uh. . . Wait, I. . .”

“Fine. Who are you working with.”

George shakes his head with a worried frown in his face. His mind was concentrating on his shaking body so intensely that he forgot about the placement of his hands.

“Keep your hands where I can see them.”

With a heart-stopping glance to his hands, George noticed just where they were, and so he quickly bumped the table violently while his hands made their way to the top. Smoker shut his eyes as if to suggest he was swallowing his annoyance. Not yet, he reminded himself.

Wait, Melinda, I can tell him that I don’t know anything about her, I can swear it.I can get out of . . .

“I swear man, I don’t know what happened to Melinda,” He whimpers in the faintest tone he could but his voice cracked and his eyes began to water. There was then a quieter silence as Smoker stares into George with open eyes. George himself shut his eyes and blocked it all out. Smoker tightened the grip of the cylinder.
“How do you know my wife’s name. I never told you.”
Smoker’s tone dramatically increased. His mouth shook as if he wanted to bawl something and this might just be so because his eyes were weakening.
He wants to cry? George was frozen with his mouth wide open.

“I love her, how could you?”

Love? Not loved? She’s. . .
“Listen, man, I know nothing about her, I don’t even know why I’m here, I don’t understand how you could possibly think I -” This is not a smooth move by George. Smoker made sure to make him understand this now that he’s launched off his seat and gripped the back of George’s neck with a berserk look in his eyes. No warning as he pushes the weapon down George’s throat which forces him to cough painfully. George cries. Smoker growls and grinds his teeth. He’s waiting for something.
It comes. Smoker frantically takes the gun out of George’s mouth and targets a rainbow-pattern inspired vase behind him. The shot deafens and blinds George. He feels the weapon on the side of his face - the cylinder reaches past his head. And then Smoker slowly sits back down on his disturbed seat. Throughout all this, George’s hands gripped the edge of the table, and when it was all over they fell on to his lap.

“Not yet”

It’s all Smoker says. Then he looks at George and his eyes widened and his mouth shook open and this time his teeth ground stronger, for he could not contain what just came from his pained voice.

“Keep your hands where I can fucking see them! how many times do you want me to fucking tell you!? god damn - ”
There was no pause between this and what is about to happen.
Smoker begins to cough violently. Hands grip his chest, the look in his eyes more so pained than his voice.

. . . Wh- what? Is he-?

George manages to finally wake up from it all.

My God his heart. . .!

And although his mind told him to stay seated, he felt his feet free off Smoker’s own and so he stood up, never minds the fallen chair, and runs to Smoker’s rescue.
. . . Until he sees the pistol in Smoker’s weak hand and without thinking twice, George pulls it away from him and aims it blindly.
George makes his way back to his seat - he stumbles, he nearly falls, but he still aims. Smoker still chokes. George’s eyes now circles of fear and disbelief.
Smoker looks into his eyes after he finishes coughing, still his face is red from the forced breathing he is still going through. His hand grips his heart as he gulps the pain away.

This is it, this is where the tables turn!
No, what am I doing? I’m doing what I can. The hunter becomes the hunted, and the prey outsmarts the. . .no!

His grip weakens.

Yes! No! God! God? There is no God. I would not be here if there was a God. But this could be a test from God! Well I failed the test. . .

Smoker manages a breath but he knows his exhaustion and smoking has gotten the best of his health. Finally he will die, and he knows. He will see Melinda again. No, he won’t, he nearly shot a man, he will not see Melinda in a peaceful place! Suddenly Smoker does not want to die.
Seconds before it all ends, he sees Melinda as a kind of illusion replacing George. She’s pointing the silencer now. Then, With his last breath . . .

“Melinda . . . don’t”

Melinda?

George’s grip fails again but the trigger is pulled twice by accident. Two shots connect with Smoker’s Adam’s apple and right eye - two holes deeper than the darkest hole prior. The silencer did nothing to take away the bang! that George’s weak mind heard regardless.
And so Smoker falls on the ground, dead, in a gradual pool of blood which contrasts the white floor and the rest of the kitchen. George is still standing, but only for a second. He falls to his knees beside the kitchen table and drops the loudest silencer ever. He looks at the corpse, but he‘s not surprised. He’s not shocked, not confused. He looks away for a second and grabs his temples then breaks down on the ground.
All was now done.
His last words. . .


“God, I loved her . . .”

gohn67

Hey Eugipants,
I liked it.

Quick pacing and present tense created a tense roller coaster of a scene.

At first I wasn't able to decipher that the italics was George's thoughts.
I thought in the beginning that you were watching them and the italics were his thoughts.

The thoughts reminded me of Mememto. Especailly the thougts in the beginning parts of the story.

For example here. The short sentences and questions. Shows a confusion, much like in Memento.

I wasn't really looking for grammar spelling punctuation when I read this, but I did notice this

pray = prey.

The dialogue like the thoughts show urgency and a bit of madness. Sounded realistic aslo.

I wasn't sure what you mean by his eye becoming slits. Blinking?

Why does he think this if, he has a wife? Why would he lie to himself in his head. Damn, I just realized Smoker is Melinda's wife. Got confused. It was kind of hard to follow the dialogue. Like you use "he said" but I don't which he it is.

Question mark instead of period. Just noticed that some of you dialogue is not punctuated correctly. Look it over.


Thanks for the read, man. Now I have to get back to Shakespeare.

__________________
The Frowning Dog Blog

eugipants

No, thank you for the feedack ^_^.
I knew at first that it would be confusing but I guess it goes with the pacing of the story as well. I'm not familiar with Memento, so may you please explain that to me?

One last thing. Er, there were places were I didn't put question marks, and that's on purpose because I wanted it to be more of a command than a question. A question mark weakens the tone of the character, so I put a period instead. Sorry for the confusion.

The "eyes becoming slits" part meant that his eyes were closing, not necessarily blinking, just closing up to the point where you couldn't really see his eyes at all. He's a very sick man afterall, so I thought slits was a good description.

Thanks again for the feedback gohn67