Nuts and Bolts (Extremely Graphic Foul Language)


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Thread: Nuts and Bolts (Extremely Graphic Foul Language)

  1. #1

    Nuts and Bolts (Extremely Graphic Foul Language)

    This is something I started working on, looking for some feedback. Possible prologue for a novel.
    Nuts and Bolts
    1

    No turning back, he thought. No mercy.

    The dirty gym sock was twisted around the ring and middle finger on his right hand, weighted down by the contents he had put in there earlier in the morning. It was time to put on his game face and get this done. He tightened his fist feeling the cotton weave dig into the webbing between his fingers. His heart picked up its beat as he pushed his way through the crowded hall toward them.

    No one saw the sock filled with nuts and bolts swinging like a pendulum back and forth at his side, but a few saw his face and that was enough to get out of his way. His eyes were red and angry, the lids still puffy. His cheeks were red from the tears that had set them on fire only a half hour before. One of his ears was swollen from the slap he had gotten and although the ringing had stopped he still heard the taunting.

    “What are you gonna do faggot? Little faggot! Go ahead cry!”

    Ahead they waited for the afternoon bell, leaning against the lockers, oblivious to the danger that was coming at them full steam. There were three of them. Pat Harmen, Gord Spelay, and the ring leader of their posse; Larry Gill. Larry was laughing with his cohorts as the others in the hall moved away from the approaching danger.

    They were only a few feet away. Gill would be first, he decided and took two more steps swinging the sock in a windmill arch and letting out a cry that stopped everyone dead in their tracks.

    “Faggot!” he screamed as the sock connected with Gill’s lower lip turning it into a stew of red and pink tissue, then one of the 3/8 coarse thread bolts poked through the cotton sock and shattered his incisor and eye tooth. The pain had not yet set in, nor had the bolt finished its work as it tore a gash up his cheek and punctured his right eye.

    The other two had not even a chance to process what was happening. They watched dumbly as their friends face seemed to peel open like a zipper from mouth to eye. He slid down the locker, great gluts of blood spurted out across the locker and a girl in the hall began to scream.

    “Gill,” Gord Spelay said and the sock caught him across the bridge of his nose on its second arch. He felt the gristle bend over and then there was a pop as it snapped and his nasal cavity was exposed to the open air. When he brought his hands up he was horrified to realize that his nose was almost completely detached from his face. Another kid vomited, but Gord could not see him.

    Pat Harmen tried to run for it, but bounced off an open locker door and that was what sealed his fate as the third arch came down on the back of his head and the bolt that had been poking through broke free and drove itself into the back of his skull. He was dead before he hit the ground.

    He tuned back toward Gill who was moaning on the floor, unable to articulate his agony through the battered hole that was his mouth. He did not see the students frozen in horror, did not see the teacher trying to fight his way up the hall. He only saw Gill there moaning like a baby. The same Gill who had tortured him for the last three years.

    “Whose the faggot now Gill? Whose the faggot now?” And with that he swung the sock again and again as blood splashed upward and the screams around him multiplied and intensified. He did not stop though, he continued until the dirty white sock became crimson red and the contents inside finally broke through the content membrane and exploded out like shrapnel.

    “Marty,” A voice from behind screamed. “Marty stop this.”

    Gill was dead, his face a no longer recognizable, a mixture of bone, skin and blood. A few feet away Gord Spelay waited to die as he gingerly held his nose with his right hand. The initial shock had worn off and he felt the sting of what felt like tiny insects burrowing through his face in all directions.

    Marty Angus stood there the blood soaked sock hanging limply in right hand, staring down at what was left of Gill. “Whose the faggot now Motherfucker,” he said through clenched teeth.

    He dropped the sock and looked to his audience. “Show’s over.”

    That was when Mr. Todd tackled him and they crashed to the floor.



    He didn’t resist at all, and why would he? Mr. Todd was his favorite teacher.
    Last edited by MJ Preston; December 30th, 2010 at 07:51 AM.
    MJ Preston is an Author and Artist at Large who hails from Canada.
    He is the author of the horror novel: Hidden Content and the Sci-fi thriller Hidden Content
    To learn more: visit: Hidden Content Hidden Content
    Hidden Content

  2. #2
    My first instinct was it was more like a finish than a start, then I thought you could tell us how he got there, thenthought what happens next, and over the next few weeks, would make an interesting and unusual approach.
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  3. #3
    I enjoyed it. Reminded me of a short story by King about a snapped kid who unloads a rifle on his college campus. A few commas missing in places, and two or three sentences that could lose a word or two and become more effective, but very good overall. I like Olly's idea, creating the story around what preceded this. Then when you come to the attack scene, maybe end the story with him in the psyche ward or something of that nature (although that's the obvious route).

  4. #4
    WF Veteran Bilston Blue's Avatar
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    Hi there, I liked this piece; I want to know what happens next, and before too. I thought about why I cared about Marty, because I don't know much about him at all. What I do know is he's been bullied to such an extent he's prepared to kill to end it, so I guess I sympathise with him because of this, and at the point you reveal the bullying has been happening three years I was thinking 'go on, finish him off.'

    I like the descriptions of the injuries also, I think it slows down the action, almost as if we're watching a slow motion replay of it.

    More please...

    Regards

    Scott.
    "I think a life is a plot. It's probably the elementary plot. I came across a quotation of Patrick White, the Australian writer, just about the time I needed it. He said he never bothers with plot. He just writes about life 'limping along toward death.' That made me feel much better, to keep this in my mind."

    Carol Shields.

  5. #5
    Member shadows's Avatar
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    Grim stuff and the ultimate revenge. Well told.

    In many ways it is a complete short story. The reader knows that Marty has been bullied for three years by the three boys and has now flipped and got his revenge. Unless you want to take him through - prison or a secure psychiatric unit I don't see where else there is to go.

    I think if you wanted this as a prologue, you would only want to show him getting the sock ready and going to the school to seek out the boys and then the massacre would be your ending and the main bulk the story that led up to it.

  6. #6
    Member lowprofile300's Avatar
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    That was well played. It's a nice mad revenge piece; as enjoyable as a chilled glass of chianti after a long days work. Well played indeed.
    The only constant in life is change. Plato

  7. #7
    Awesome postal! Touches on a nerve.

  8. #8

    Nuts and Bolts Revised

    Nuts and Bolts
    No turning back, he thought. No mercy.

    The dirty gym sock was twisted around the ring and middle finger on his right hand, weighted down by the contents he had put in there earlier in the morning. It was time to put on his game face and get this done. He tightened his fist feeling the cotton weave dig into the webbing between his fingers. His heart thumped harder as he pushed his way through the crowded hall toward them.

    No one saw the sock filled with nuts and bolts swinging like a pendulum back and forth at his side, but a few saw his face and that was enough to make them get out of his way. His eyes were red and angry, the lids still puffy. His cheeks were flush from the tears that had set them on fire only a half hour before. One of his ears was swollen from the slap he had gotten, and although the ringing had stopped he still heard their taunting.

    “What are you gonna do faggot? Little faggot! Go ahead cry!”

    Ahead they waited for the afternoon bell, leaning against the lockers, oblivious to the danger that was coming at them full steam. There were three of them. Pat Harmen, Gord Spelay, and the ring leader of their posse; Larry Gill. Gill was laughing with his cohorts as the others in the hall moved away from the approaching danger.

    Only a few feet away now.

    Gill would be first, he decided, taking two more steps, swinging the sock in a windmill arch, and letting out a cry that stopped everyone dead in their tracks.

    “Faggot!” he screamed as the sock connected with Gill’s lower lip turning it into a stew of red and pink tissue. Then one of the 3/8 coarse thread bolts poked through the cotton sock and shattered his incisor and eye tooth. The pain had not yet set in, nor had the bolt finished its work, tearing a gash up his cheek and puncturing his right eye.

    The other two hadn't even processed what was happening. They watched dumbly as their friends face seemed to peel open like a zipper from mouth to eye. He slid down the locker, great gluts of blood spurted out into there air.

    A watching girl screamed shrilly.

    “Gill,” Gord Spelay said and the sock caught him across the bridge of his nose on its second arch. He felt the gristle bend over, and then there was a pop as it snapped and his nasal cavity was exposed to the open air. Bringing his hands up protectively, he was horrified to realize that his nose was almost completely detached from his face.

    A boy vomited, but Gord could not see him.

    Pat Harmen tried to run for it, but bounced off an open locker door, and that was what sealed his fate as the third arch came down on the back of his head. The bolt that had been poking through broke free and drove itself into the back of his skull. He was dead before he hit the ground.
    He turned back toward Gill who was moaning on the floor, unable to articulate his agony through the battered hole that was his mouth. He did not see the students frozen in horror, or the teacher fighting his way up the hall through the mob of onlookers. He only saw Gill there moaning like a baby. The same Gill who had tortured him over the last three years.

    “Whose the faggot now Gill? Whose the faggot now?” And with that he swung the sock again and again as blood. Bone and tissue crunched, splashed upward and the screams around him multiplied and intensified. He did not stop though, he continued until the dirty white sock became crimson red and the contents inside finally broke through the battered cotton membrane and exploded out like shrapnel.

    “Marty,” A voice from behind screamed. “Marty stop it!”

    Gill was dead, his face a no longer recognizable, a mixture of bone, skin and blood. A few feet away Gord Spelay waited to die as he gingerly held his nose with his right hand. The initial shock had worn off and he felt the sting of what felt like tiny insects burrowing through his face in all directions.

    Marty Angus stood there the blood soaked sock hanging limply in right hand, staring down at what was left of Gill. “Whose the faggot now Motherfucker,” he said through clenched teeth.

    He let the sock drop and looked to his horrified audience. “Show’s over.”

    That was when Mr. Todd tackled him and they crashed to the floor.

    He didn’t resist at all, and why would he? Mr. Todd was his favourite teacher.
    MJ Preston is an Author and Artist at Large who hails from Canada.
    He is the author of the horror novel: Hidden Content and the Sci-fi thriller Hidden Content
    To learn more: visit: Hidden Content Hidden Content
    Hidden Content

  9. #9
    Very well written. I wouldn't call it an "enjoyable" read - the content and way it described makes it more shocking than anything - but I take it that that was what you intended.
    (could just be me being a sissy as usual...)
    This would work very well as the prolouge of a novel; do you intend to describe his stay in prison/mental hospital or something totally different?
    I look forward to more.

  10. #10
    Quote Originally Posted by Elynae View Post
    Very well written. I wouldn't call it an "enjoyable" read - the content and way it described makes it more shocking than anything - but I take it that that was what you intended.
    (could just be me being a sissy as usual...)
    This would work very well as the prolouge of a novel; do you intend to describe his stay in prison/mental hospital or something totally different?
    I look forward to more.
    I haven't really decided where the story will go. I do know that this is actually something from Marty's past, but I'm still up in the air as to what will become of him.
    Last edited by MJ Preston; December 31st, 2010 at 03:24 PM.
    MJ Preston is an Author and Artist at Large who hails from Canada.
    He is the author of the horror novel: Hidden Content and the Sci-fi thriller Hidden Content
    To learn more: visit: Hidden Content Hidden Content
    Hidden Content

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