shadowind

i wrote a short story awhile back, it might need more details, my problem is usuallly i try to put to much into a story. so i tried to put as little as possible.

1
The small town’s streets brought back memories of younger days, of sweet nights and fun times. But tonight there was a grimness in the night air. I couldn’t pinpoint it. A nervousness rested with the fog. It obscured anything more then a few feet away. It was alright through, I knew where I was going.

2
I came to the house to meet an old friend, all I found inside was blood shed.

3The man head was missing, it was nothing but a mess of goo splattered on everything in the room, the shot gun in his hand told of suicide and the note on the counter of depression. Still it seemed surreal, no, almost like it wasn’t real, something more was here, the fog hides more then sights, it hides the origin of those silent screams, of the things that go bump in the night. Elisabeth’s dad was part of the local government, a real law and order type. Something was missing, it didn’t fit.

4
the cops wrapped it up as a suicide, but it wasn’t good enough, not for me or Elizabeth, I told her that, I told her I was going to find out what I could. In the note there was a part about a motel in the city, an old man’s confessions before his death, I decided to ask the whores what they knew.

5
As soon as I entered the lot a hot looker was already trying to squeeze her hands into my wallet. She went by Chelsea. She had soft deep eyes, I could see why he liked the girls around here. At first she didn’t remember him, but his picture brought the Irregular customer back to mind. He came in maybe 2, 3, times. He got into it with the owner the last time. The owner wasn’t around I would have to come back Monday.

6
The place I was staying at was my second home. Me and the crew ran these streets when I was 15, and this house was our base of operations. Tonight it was just me and Joe, reliving old days and breathing in the musky basement air in his room below the thin floor boards. My fiancé wanted me to come home, but I couldn’t, I had to talk to the motel owner, I had to know. During the night I could hear Elisabeth and her mom’s sobs in the above rooms. They heard it that night to, the grimness in the air, the silent scream of something being wrong, it will forever echo for them, till I find the missing puzzle piece, raveled in the secret life, the secret person, found with shotgun in hand and sitting at their kitchen table.

7
I never kissed a barrel before then, it changes things, the motel owner didn’t like my questions, but he made one fatal mistake, he looked away. I didn’t bother cleaning my hands, I knew the blood would never wash away, the owner’s distraction was staring by the door way, perhaps in shock of what a simple pen can do. A short rummage through the file cabinets revealed a key to the back room. Before I could open the door a gun click paused me. Like a close up of a deer in a semi’s head lights, I could only hope my fiancé wouldn’t be hearing those same silent screams that haunt my every thought, Instead of a gun shoot, crying came from that same spot in the doorway, Chelsea was glad he was dead, she was crying happiness, she helped me open the safe in the back room. The room was full of security taps and monitors recording the secret capturing of hidden cameras. The safe had about 50 grand, a Uzi and a folder. The folder was the gem, it had evidence that his death wasn’t a suicide. But it lead to too many questions to end my search. The hidden cameras proved my innocence. The cops said it was time to lay of, that it was to dangerous, but the screams only got louder.

8
Chelsea gave me a name before we we’re separated by the cops for questioning. Thomas Johnson, boss of the new factory not more then a few streets over from home. The property was surrounded by high rise fences and had an unusual amount of security, it was the cause for the recent growth of the town and apparently a link in a dead mans story. A part of the fence allowed for easy scaling, the barbed wire wasn’t a challenge. I noticed a semi being loaded underneath a flickering street light. I made my way into Johnson’s office. I brought a heavy duty drill, his locks didn’t stand a chance. Behind his locks was more then just the standard business records, there was information on the factory’s real product. I now knew why he died, he was getting to close to interfering with Johnson’s bottom line. I knew by the time the cops arrived the documents would be shredded and burned. I took what I could.

9
I was surprised to find Chelsea waiting for me on my way out, she had a needle in her arm and a glazed hollow look in her eyes, the street corner was no place to leave her tonight, Joe was sound asleep in our crept, I hoped he wouldn’t mind waking to find another deep sleeper beside him, she should be fine, the stolen reports and syringe told me so. I went to the local station, the doors were locked and closed, this towns police force was asleep at home, waiting for something other then punk kids stealing cigarettes from the mom and pop stores. The city district wasn’t to keen on my night owl activities, but it got the task force moving and me a night in jail.

10
I was back from the city, home sweet home but there was a bitterness in the air. The house was void of its familiar sounds. A news report of the drug bust was the only audible vibration. But those silent screams were back, there should be something more here, a note, a message, but there was just a silence and then a boom

(option one: boom was a gun shoot, end story, protagonist dead)
(option 2: explosion)

11.1 blackness, void, death

11.2

My tranquil nervousness exploded in a ball of flame. A stinging in my leg reminded me I was alive. The window become an escape route for the swirling black smoke as I made my way out. The splinters in my leg were like grass hoppers jumping around my nervous system. The pulsating pain worsened as I heard the fainting drone of sirens. Everything faded to blackness, and the siren’s screams grew fainter.

12

The hospital was a dream, I never knew the world of pain killers to be so lucid. When I came to she was asleep on the bedside couch. She was the angel in my nightmare. My fiancée. My Hannah. Maybe I should of listen to her, maybe I should of went home. Now it was to late, I couldn’t back down now. I had to find them. I could see the cops guarding my door, they wouldn’t let me leave, I decided to lay next to her and try to silence the screams with the sweet familiar scent of her hair.

13
Gun shoots woke us, I told Hannah to go hide in the restroom and lock the door. A bleeding cop busted through the door as I hobbled to peak out the window to the hall.. He gave me his reserved side arm. A shiny metal cart showed where Johnson’s Henchmen were as they advanced up the hall. It seemed he was out for revenge, all he would get is a pile of his own men, oozing blood and holding their own guts. I never knew video games and paint ball would keep me alive against 4 sadistic madmen. The last man was gargling his own blood, I watched him die.

14
Hannah was put in protective custody, I escaped out a bath room window. Thomas Johnson couldn’t hide from me. His henchman cigars and matches came from his hotel, it was a jumping off point. One way or another, I’ll find him. First I needed a gun, I knew a few houses I could rob.

15
The “sky rise” was a resort hotel atop a eagles perch view of the city lights. The cliff it rested upon was a long fall. I had plans to send Johnson flying if he was there. There was a party going on inside, ball room dancing and cocaine lines. A second story balcony was my entrance point, a ladder left by a forgetful paint crew made it the perfect way to get past security. I asked a room service girl where I might find the hotel manager.

16
Bill Garcia was hitting up the powder when I found him. A word from the wise, don’t let your body guards get wasted with you. He talked like a school girl with the latest gossip. Stupidity and betrayal is still despicable, he lost his ring finger to his own cigar trimmer. I was tired of his type, I decided to let the cops clean up the mess. A few of the crooked bastards where there high as the kites of my childhood. I knew the entire police force wasn’t all bad through.

17
Johnson’s goons were allover the complex. It was Johnson’s fall out shelter. I expected my friends to be alive inside. If they weren’t Johnson would be begging for death. A T.V. inside the gate house was blaring. It was a news report about me, vigilante or not, I had to do what I had to do.

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remember "for mere impulse of appetite is slavery, while obedience to a law which we prescirbe to oursleves is liberty"-rousseau: the concept of the general will "if we can not reconcile all opions, then let us endeavour to unite all hearts."-?"to be is to be perceived"-? "‘We can be as honest as we are ignorant. If we are, when asked what is beyond the horizon of the known, we must say that we do not know’-Robert G. Ingersoll