• The Crook
    4 replies, posted
Uhm... I couldn't think of a better name and I'm not finished yet, as you can see... but could you guy's maybe tell me what you think so far? I wrote it in an odd way, so, not exactly traditional writing. I pour myself a cup of coffee, the black liquid flows into my mug. A mother screams as her child is born. The steam rolls out and touches my unshaven face, the same cold sweat I’ve had all night sneaks down my cheek. Another kid is plucked off the streets by the same group of burn-outs. I enter the small four cornered room. Only a metal table, bolted to the floor sits between me and him. Between the man in yellow are white hot flames, a baby cries on the other side. I pull out my chair; the room is dimly lit by a single light bulb hanging above us. There is an empty space above his head where guilt should be. I light my first cigarette of the night; the burning tobacco casts a shadow on the wall behind me. A boy cries as his father comes home, again. I relax my clenched hands, and stare this man in the face. They say he’s insane. He’s exceptionally ugly, his hair unevenly cut. They say he’s a sodomite. Nicks and cuts where he shaved. His nose is crooked and dried blood is encrusted beneath it. They say he grew up in a cult. He has a constant plain look on his face, the face of apathy. They say he doesn’t know any better, they say he was born and raised this way. I ask him his name. Gabriel, he tells me with a bored complexion. They say he’s a monster. I ask him why he is here. I killed a man. They say he’s a pedophile. I stare him in the eye, his eyes are a dull grey. They don’t search around the room, they focus on me the entire time. I wonder if this is going to be a cold questioning, he looks at me dead in the eye. There is silence between us, the only sound is my cigarette burning. I ask the question that lingers in my mind. I ask him, how did all this start. He looks at me, not missing a beat. Detective, I suggest you get another cup of coffee because the story I have to tell is a long one, and I’m only telling it once, he says. I press the tape recorder in between us, go ahead, I tell him. I was born in Nevada, it was normal. Except for the fact that I wasn’t birthed in a hospital, I was birthed in a church. The elders took me out of the womb, my mother died right there in the pews. They tell me it’s because the Devil would abduct me before delivery. Within minutes of my birth I was baptized, to be blessed in the name of our lord. They tell me the holy water is sacred, I’ve smelled it, fermented alcohol. When I was five they started my initiation into the church. They told me everyone did it. Every day I watched them slaughter the farm animals. They told me it was normal. When people got sick in the church they were maimed and taken out to “The Yard.” They told us the Devil had infiltrated their bodies. When any of us misbehaved we were taken to “The Yard” and locked up in a small shelter over night, the groans of agony echoed through the stale air those nights. They told me I was becoming a man. I became desensitized, the world was split in two. My people vs. everyone, Us vs. The Sinners. At seven they gave me what they called a toad bat. They gave us small quotas to fulfill. They said it gave us a sense of accomplishment. I still remember my quota got to 33 toads a day. I began to enjoy it, and when I showed the Elders the small toad corpses, I did feel accomplished. I remember the heartwarming sound the toad let out as I crushed its tiny body. He paused, I checked my watch. It is 3:13. My wife is at home, up with our baby again. Her cries echo in my sleep deprived head. The image of my infant sits in my head, telling me that I should be at home. She is why I am here. Gabriel chimed back in, when our church was broken up and relocated, he said. I was sent to Michigan, and I was sent to therapy, I didn’t like my therapist, he said. She was found with her head bludgeoned, all of the first ones were. She told me I could be normal now, she said I could be just like everyone else, he told me. I’m better than you all though, he said. When I was in Michigan I started to see people as toads, that’s why I started. The copier is rocking in the room next to us. After the first dozen I got bored, that’s when I started to steal things. That mixed with the murdering proved to be exciting. He paused again, the only sound was the filament of a light bulb softly humming as it burned. For awhile, he said, I was beginning to think I was somewhat of a saint. That was back when I still believed in the churches teachings. I got bored, it’s a sick thing, I know. But, detective it’s really an insatiable feeling, killing, choosing whether someone lives or dies. I suppose that’s how the jury will feel tomorrow, he tells me. He laughs; slowly after this his demeanor sinks back to boredom. That was when I found the baby, he was nothing special. My fists clench. I grabbed him out of a stroller as a couple was walking through the park. My teeth grit. The little guy didn’t even cry until I got him back to my loft.Oh but did he cry, he grinned. I could feel anger building up inside of me, my muscles tightened, I ached to hit him again. I should think you know what happened to him, but just in case… I started with the bigger knife, being the merciful guy I am. That was all he said before I kicked my chair out from beneath myself. I swung my fist back and just before my fist collided with his cheek bone his face got bored again - blank expression. Then collision. It’s 12:17 AM, there’s a mans blood on my fist. My pockets are filled with cocaine and I’m holding a piece of paper with an address on it, the sky is now changing into a sickly black color.The Night’s cool air dances across my unshaven face. I replace my gloves onto my hands and quickly take off in the direction of the apartment complex. The Night’s employees roam the dilapidated streets I walk on, it’s whores sing to me. One approaches me, “Looking for a good time?” She asks me. The Night makes everything darker. I ignore her, “C’mon, want yo dick sucked?” Her sweet song of seduction. The Night laughs at me. I take out a cigarette, and light it. The whore is close behind, I take a long satisfying drag, “Fuck off”, pause, “Bitch” I add. The Night growls. She stops dead in her tracks, “Man, fuck you faggot.” I hear her stupid wailing as I continue down the street. I smile and take another drag. The Night grows silent. I continue down the streets, my shadow stretched behind me. The apartments I’m looking for are within sight, I quicken my pace. With each step a puddle splashes one way or another, the bottom of my pants are dripping wet. The light poles that line the street flood the wall behind me, my shadow and it create a stark contrast. Two figures running across the scenery, I feel closure. Every step I take, a step closer to the room with a man in it. Every step I take, my shadow dances behind me, tracing my steps. I come up to the apartment complex, no more light poles. No more shadow, only darkness.
Nicely written; good use of atmosphere and metonymy. I like the call and response style used int he first paragraph, very synchronous.
Well thank you.
I like it so far. Please continue. Your choice on grammar is intriguing...To say the least. It's different from the average shit you read every day. Artistic.
I'll write some later, if I can. It's really hard to, for me, because after getting done with homework my brain doesn't want to do a thing.
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