brief beaty
Posted: Wed Aug 06, 2008 3:12 pm
I entered the bar feeling slightly exited. Pat Fenlon stood behind the counter with his fat belly straining against the dirty fabric of his shirt. Old Jimmy sat, half asleep, on a shoddy stool semi oblivious of the world around him. Faint laughs and conversations drifted across the room as I approached Pat.
"I've got the thirst" I smiled wryly.
"Most of you fellas do." The disgusting man answered, and with no further addo he poured me a glass of whiskey.
I took a small sip, leaned against the bar, and looked around. A few of the local townsfolk were there, most of which I did recognize. With a shrug i turned back to Pat while my right hand delved into the dark depths of my coat, caressing the smooth death dealing metal of my 9mm. I trembled with anticipation as I slipped the pistol into view, and smiled gingerly while Pat's greasy face elongated with fear.
I aimed the 9mm towards his face, studied his sweaty forhead, and squeezed the trigger gently while still smiling. The bullet tore through the left side of his fatty face and, in a most curious way, his left eye was forced out of its socket followed by a gush of muddy blood. As blood sprayed across the back wall I swooped around while Pat dropped to the floor. The patrons trying to leave were soon soothed by my voice as I, with the gun, motioned them to sit back down.
"Stay my friends, and behold!" I roared, my face painted in glory.
Somehow old Jimmy had awoken from his slumber, and tried to rise against my command. I relieved him from his glass and smashed it across his jaw, a glorious rainbow of scarlet gin streched through the air as the old man buckled to the floor. I calmed the other patrons by gesturing with my gun, placed my boot against Jimmy's head, and applied pressure. With a comic pop, his skull was split, and brains came gushing out. I laughed aloud and directed my attention to the crowd.
Mickey Looms, the bloody fool, came rushing at me with despair written across his face. I gripped a stool and swung it with a majestic howl, replacing despair with pain as his nose broke and he fell sprawling to the floor. Like a frog he lay, writhing with pain, and in mercy I ended his life right then, sparing him the humiliation of living.
My pulse was intense, filling my groin with blood and with unhuman strength I leaped upon the bar, raised my arms in splendor, and shouted: "Friends! I know you, we're friends. Drinks are on me!"
I grabbed a bottle, jumped to the floor and approached David Bloom, the hunchback. The impact om my blow crushed the flask, and covered the poor sod in glass shards, blood, and booze. He wimpered in agony, attempted to speak when I punched him in the face. Like a cripple he cried, the sad little freak, and I broke his jaw with a youthful kick. I decided to end his malformed life, and did it in flame, by igniting him with a candle.
In the light of my torch of righteousness I turned to Vincent Staines. "You know. I've always kind of liked you." I said, and shot him in each eye. A piece of art he was, a blinded beaty, crying blood.
I drew my knife, and gutted Sally where she stood. "No more pleasure from your mouth." I mused and turned around, faced Sheriff Jefferson, who had snuck up on me from behind. The last thing I heard before darkness took me was his wretched voice:
"You'll hang for this."'
And now I wait.
"I've got the thirst" I smiled wryly.
"Most of you fellas do." The disgusting man answered, and with no further addo he poured me a glass of whiskey.
I took a small sip, leaned against the bar, and looked around. A few of the local townsfolk were there, most of which I did recognize. With a shrug i turned back to Pat while my right hand delved into the dark depths of my coat, caressing the smooth death dealing metal of my 9mm. I trembled with anticipation as I slipped the pistol into view, and smiled gingerly while Pat's greasy face elongated with fear.
I aimed the 9mm towards his face, studied his sweaty forhead, and squeezed the trigger gently while still smiling. The bullet tore through the left side of his fatty face and, in a most curious way, his left eye was forced out of its socket followed by a gush of muddy blood. As blood sprayed across the back wall I swooped around while Pat dropped to the floor. The patrons trying to leave were soon soothed by my voice as I, with the gun, motioned them to sit back down.
"Stay my friends, and behold!" I roared, my face painted in glory.
Somehow old Jimmy had awoken from his slumber, and tried to rise against my command. I relieved him from his glass and smashed it across his jaw, a glorious rainbow of scarlet gin streched through the air as the old man buckled to the floor. I calmed the other patrons by gesturing with my gun, placed my boot against Jimmy's head, and applied pressure. With a comic pop, his skull was split, and brains came gushing out. I laughed aloud and directed my attention to the crowd.
Mickey Looms, the bloody fool, came rushing at me with despair written across his face. I gripped a stool and swung it with a majestic howl, replacing despair with pain as his nose broke and he fell sprawling to the floor. Like a frog he lay, writhing with pain, and in mercy I ended his life right then, sparing him the humiliation of living.
My pulse was intense, filling my groin with blood and with unhuman strength I leaped upon the bar, raised my arms in splendor, and shouted: "Friends! I know you, we're friends. Drinks are on me!"
I grabbed a bottle, jumped to the floor and approached David Bloom, the hunchback. The impact om my blow crushed the flask, and covered the poor sod in glass shards, blood, and booze. He wimpered in agony, attempted to speak when I punched him in the face. Like a cripple he cried, the sad little freak, and I broke his jaw with a youthful kick. I decided to end his malformed life, and did it in flame, by igniting him with a candle.
In the light of my torch of righteousness I turned to Vincent Staines. "You know. I've always kind of liked you." I said, and shot him in each eye. A piece of art he was, a blinded beaty, crying blood.
I drew my knife, and gutted Sally where she stood. "No more pleasure from your mouth." I mused and turned around, faced Sheriff Jefferson, who had snuck up on me from behind. The last thing I heard before darkness took me was his wretched voice:
"You'll hang for this."'
And now I wait.
