View Full Version : Untitled--1.5 chapters, [mature language, mature scenes] ~1300 words

April 8th, 2013, 07:39 AM
Looking for any feedback at all, keep in mind while reading that the mature language will not persist throughout the whole story, only in heated scenes such at this one.


Ethan's eyes had begun to throb from the strobing lights, and the deafening music made it feel like his head was about to explode, he was too old for this. He sat alone at his private booth in the darkest corner of his favorite nightclub. He stood apart from the crowd of late teens and twenty-somethings as a married middle aged man--the only sober person in the building. His black hair and brown eyes faded seamlessly into the darkness enveloping him; if he had worn black, he would have scarcely been visible at all save for his face and hands. It was almost angering for him to be surrounded by youths living life at 200 beats per minute without a care for what the next day might bring. He had been one of them once, squandering his potential on nights only foggily remembered to hold alcohol, drugs, and meaningless sex with girls whose names he couldn't remember. He had been so naive to think there could be no karmic repercussion for the hundreds of hearts he'd lied to and abused on that very dance floor.

Tonight however, he was here for something else; he hadn't been here since his son had been born, six years ago. It was taking longer than he expected for the club's owner to welcome him back from his hiatus, but 15 minutes passes like 15 seconds when the music is so loud that you can't think. He had been watching the well dressed redhead he knew to be the club owner--Pierre, though his real name, which he hated for anyone to know, was Daniel. But he was in no hurry, so he refrained from waiving Dan over, instead waiting for Dan to see him. The two had grown up together, and Ethan was the only other person in Sterling City who knew the club owner's real name, and why he hated it so much.
Ethan had become so entranced by the strobing lights and deafening, pulsating music that he hadn't noticed Dan shoving his way through the crowd even though he had been staring right at him.
"Hey, stranger," Dan shouted at the top of his lungs, barely being heard as he hopped the rail surrounding the dance floor and made his way to the booth. "For a second I thought I was gonna have'ta toss a bitch, didn't recognize you," he said, as he sat next to Ethan and draped his arm over his shoulder, "Damn! You got old."
"Yeah, I did, didn't I, L T," Ethan answered, eliciting a scowl from Dan.
Over his years, Dan had become many things--psychiatrist, lawyer, club owner, salesman, he even had a stint as a juggler in a traveling circus for a year. It was true, he was a very busy man; the only thing he regretted, not because it had been a bad decision, was the day he had been promoted to a Lieutenant in the Salt City Enforcement Division.
"My S.C.E.D. days are over," Dan started in a suddenly somber voice. "Did you pass all your drug tests? No alcohol tonight? They'll fight it if they can make a case that you provoked someone," Dan asked gravely.
"Yes. I'm good to go."
Dan was silent for several seconds, his face growing grim, "I can sell this club and find a new job any time I want. You know how easily I move from job to job," he paused to inhale deeply, realizing he'd forgotten to breathe, "I'm his godfather for fuck's sake," a note of anger had slipped into his voice, "let me help," his voice returned to its normal, mellow tone.
"I can't let you do that," Ethan answered simply. "I suggest you have a shot before we go. I'll be waiting."

Ethan waited patiently for nearly an hour before Dan turned the corner in a car that didn't belong to him, with the headlights turned off. The two of them had scoured the city for months, up the mountains, down into the caves, in the slums, and in the hightown before they found this spot. It had no surveillance coverage for enforcement officers to find, a nice enough neighborhood that they couldn't say he had been looking for it, populated enough he would be found, but not so much that anyone would catch them in the act. It wasn't perfect, but it was the best they had found, and they were running out of time.
Ethan sat in his car, watching as Dan got out and walked towards him. He rolled the window all the way down, "Are you ready?" he asked, retrieving a five-shot revolver from the glove department.
"Noethan," Dan hadn't staggered when he walked, but he had obviously had much more than just a shot before coming. "I won doit."
Ethan slammed the door open, knocking Dan flat on his back as he got out, gun in hand as he shouted, "If you won't! I will!"
Dan's drunken, glazed eyes suddenly went wide with terror, "Nonono!" he tried unsuccessfully to push himself to his feet, "Listen. To. Me," he made the conscious effort to speak clearly, punctuating every word, "Do. Not. They. Won't. Pay."
A feeling of despair and anger welled deep within Ethan's chest as tears began streaming down his face, "They have to!" he screamed, knowing that they didn't, and they wouldn't.
What he did next was not out of selflessness, as his original plan had been. In a moment of enraged misery, he lost all pretense of the pride that had been his greatest characteristic, and gave into selfish intent. He wanted, more than he had ever wanted anything, for the gun not to work. Something he had never felt before, something he might describe as 'peace' began to fill him, radiating outward from the deepest caverns of his black heart to the outermost tips of his fingers. He drew a long breath, exhaling slowly, tranquilly, his tears staunched. He looked down one last time at Dan, his oldest and best friend, he looked calm, it was better this way. He looked up at the night sky one last time, put the gun to his head, and pulled the trigger.


Dan's scream of terror had came after the trigger was pulled by his inebriation, it sharply cut to silence after an equal delay as he realized the gun hadn't fired when Ethan pulled the trigger.
"Fuck!" Ethan shouted in anger, rapidly squeezing the trigger a dozen more times to no avail.
Dan had leaned against the car, still unable to stand, terror in his eyes, awe on his face.
Ethan turned to his car, kicking in the driver's side door with furious strength. "God!" he kicked the door, "Fucking!" he kicked again, "Damnit!" he kicked for the last time, this time pulling his foot away to reveal a hole in the door. He stood, shoulders hunched, breath heavy as he realized what he'd done, "Holy shit."
Dan crawled along the side of the car until he reached the hole, then turned to look up at Ethan, "Holy shit is right. Glad you never kicked me that hard when we used to spar," he seemed oddly sober, "Ethan, let's get you home."
Despite all that happened, he couldn't stop himself from laughing at the notion, a man so drunk he couldn't stand saying let's get you home.
Feeling suddenly lighthearted, or maybe just exhausted, Ethan mocked, "Let's get you home." He looked down at the gun still in his hand, "Fuck this," he tossed it into the dumpster on the passenger side of his car.
Ethan jumped backwards as a shocking crack came from the dumpster, followed by the sound of air escaping a tire. "Shit! You ok Dan?"