I now almost know what the plot is!

“We’re going to have to kill you”. Tom leapt to his feet, this time neither of the men moved to restrain him.

“What?! No! I’ll do what you want me to do, just tell me what it is! I’ll do anything!”

“No. What my colleague means is, for you to do what we need; we’ll need to kill you”.

Tom went bug eyed briefly then made to run to the door. The blonde man cracked him on the head with the butt of the gun as he tried to get past and he collapsed back down onto the sofa, still shouting incoherently. The taller man walked back from the window and sighed.

“Look, this is going to take rather long time to explain, especially if you keep making all this noise”. He made a complicated symbol in the air; it appeared as if his fingers passed through each other several times. Suddenly the room was quiet, and Tom was mouthing soundlessly. He clutched at his throat, though he could still breathe words refused to form.

“Right then”, the two men sat down again across from Tom, the gun no longer pointed at him. It didn’t matter though; any thought of trying to escape had been pushed from his mind as he continued to mouth futilely.

“You’re going to find what we’re about to tell you hard to believe. Frankly, it doesn’t matter to us one bit whether you believe us or not. You’ll see the truth of it soon enough, and then you’ll have no choice but to do as we ask. As of now, your life is ours; do not think you have any choice in this matter. Serve us well, do as we request and we offer the one thing that has any meaning to you anymore: redemption”.

The man clicked his fingers and Tom found his voice working again.

“Why do I need redemption?”

The man looked surprised. “Because we’re going to kill you. I’m sure I mentioned that”.

The other man sighed and leaned forward. “Look. You are a bad person. You’ve done bad things, and so you’re going to go to hell. Luckily for you, we need something done, so we’re giving you the option to stop it from being a one way trip”.

Jack stared at them then leapt up again, shouting.

“You’re insane! Let me go! I… umph…”

His voice had been taken away again, this time along with his motor functions. His arms fell to his side and he was stuck rigid. Only his eyes still moved, roving around his skull in a panic.

“Like we said, your belief isn’t strictly necessary. For you the end is coming and it’s coming soon. When you see the truth of what we say and realise the only way you’re getting out of it is by following our orders well… You’ll follow them. Now listen”.

 

Several minutes and some hasty exposition later, and Jack was still unable to move. The men had explained what they needed, and explained who they were. They hadn’t told him why they had picked him, but that seemed like a minor point with his death at the hands of two madmen looming. If Jack could move he would have frowned. What they were telling him was rubbish, no doubt about it. The ravings of two people who’d delved too far into their own insane belief system. …But… They’d clicked their fingers and he’d been unable to talk. He’d spent the last few minutes trying his hardest to move any of his muscles the smallest bit to no avail.

 

They stopped talking and looked expectantly at Jack.

“So you understand? Roll your eyes clockwise for yes, anti-clockwise for no”.

Jacks eyes rolled around his head predominantly in an anti-clockwise direction until the shorter man punched him hard in the stomach.

“Silly question, of course you don’t understand. But did you hear? I think that should be all that’s important at the moment, the finer details we can probably update you on”.

Jack rolled his eyes clockwise. The punch had hurt.

“Right. Good. Well I guess that’s that then. I’d say any last words, but I don’t want you yelling again so it looks like they’re going to have been “Let me go”. Fairly fitting”. The blonde man stood back, apparently satisfied and the black haired one stepped forward. In his hand was a syringe filled with a dark purple viscous liquid. In response to the question in Jacks eyes that he was unable to vocalise he shrugged.

“It’s ichor. It’s poisonous and it will kill you”. Jack gave one last attempt to move, tensing every muscle in his body simultaneously and trying to heave himself upwards. This translated to a very slight tremor throughout his body. The younger man grinned.

“I felt that one. I was beginning to have my doubts but maybe you’re right. Well, I guess he’s the best of a bad lot anyway”.

The needle was at his arm now, and as it was pushed into his vein and its contents deposited into his blood he felt it course up his arm. It was at once the most agonising and fantastic feeling of his life; he felt he could do anything whilst knowing this was his swan song, he was walking through fire and though it burnt the burning was purifying him even whilst destroying him. His eyes rolled back into his head and with a final spasm his life left his body. The two men looked down at him.

“Think he’ll manage it?” The blonde man asked, glancing up briefly at his companion who shrugged.

“We’re sending him into the furnace. We’re sending him up into an environment expressly designed to break down people like him. He’s extraordinary, no doubt about that, but he’s only human”.

There was a long contemplative silence.

“Well… Mostly human”.

The blonde man smiled.

“Good job we’re going to cheat then”.

 

Jack was walking out of the bar with his new employer. None of the other patrons had appeared to notice his fit of screaming and no one had asked them to pay. The man turned to him “I’ve explained what you will do. If you do it well, you will be rewarded. If you fail…” The man shrugged. “Well you’ll be mine, and I can be very inventive”.

Jack swallowed then nodded. They turned left, onto a smaller street, then right into a deserted alleyway.

“So how does this work? Are you going to take my soul out or something?”

The man turned to face him and smiled, revealing teeth that looked far too sharp.

“Something like that” he said, reaching forward and tearing out Jack’s throat.

 

He fell backwards and then when he should have hit the floor he kept on falling. Darkness swirled in front of his eyes, darkness somehow far deeper than mere absence of light. Through the corners of his eyes he kept thinking he could see other people falling with him but they vanished as he tried to look closer. He fell for years, centuries, millennia, against an unchanging backdrop of darkness. Then with no warning he crashed into something, not with the bone crushing speed he should have but hard enough to knock the wind out of him. He rolled over coughing and found himself face down on a sandy floor.

 

The devil straightened up and took a handkerchief from his jacket pocket. He methodically wiped the blood from his clawed hand then dropped the sodden piece of material into the nearest bin. Leaving the mutilated body lying where it had fallen, he walked quickly around the corner into a dead end alley, walking until he should have hit the wall at the end where he vanished, leaving a nothing but a slight smell of sulphur.

This totally counts as 22 words.

Fuck the semi-colon,

I do not get it’s use,

And every time I use it wrong,

My spell check… kills a moose.

 

OK so the poems a work in progress. However I am rapidly coming to the realisation that me and word do not agree on when I should use a semi-colon. Word wants me to use one every sentence, I feel that is overkill. Currently I am deferring to the spell checkers knowledge on that assumption 5 years of writing nothing longer than an equation have clearly taken a toll on my ability to use grammar.

Day One, wherein I change from First to Third person in the fifth paragraph.

The last few mornings it’s taken me a good five minutes after waking up to convince myself it’s not a bad dream. I’d pinch myself but seriously, has that ever worked? I feel pain in dreams; if I decided to pinch myself I’m sure I’d feel it. Anyway, the smell is what makes me realise I’m actually awake; even in the diseased pit of my subconscious nothing ever smelt that bad. I coughed deeply then reached for my cigarettes. On my last few, at least that’d give me a reason to get out of the house and away from the smell. I wrapped a dirty t-shirt around my mouth and nose and walked into the kitchen to put the kettle on, grabbed the last of the milk, last of the instant coffee. I ran out and took a deep breath of the slightly fresher air in the corridor, ducking back in briefly to grab the now boiling water before heading further from the kitchen. A few days ago I’d worked out the part of my cramped living quarters furthest from the kitchen; the corner had the added benefit of being under a window. I paused as I got there to watch a lady in what looked like an elf costume running through the park outside the window. Was it Halloween? I’d lost track. I looked at my watch then frowned. It must’ve stopped; it couldn’t be 4pm that would mean I’d slept for 15 hours.

I left the building ten minutes later; I couldn’t work out if I was imagining it or if people were crossing the road to avoid me on the street. I thought maybe the smell had followed me out of the house, maybe it was ingrained in my clothes, on my skin. Then I passed a shop front and caught a glimpse of my reflection; unshaven, looking like I’d slept in my clothes because I had, holding onto my last cigarette like my grip on reality would slip away as soon as it was over. I shook my head to get the image of myself out of my mind, and walked into the newsagent.

I walked around the park, smoked half a pack of cigarettes, sat on a bench and ate a packet of crisps. I was trying to avoid going back into my house, not wanting to return to the faulty fridge and the bad memories. People were definitely avoiding me now, though I could feel them looking at me when I sunk my head down into my chest and stared at my shoes. A sudden wave of doubt crashed over me, were they really watching me? I looked up, and all around. The park was empty. I shivered, grabbed the rest of my cigarettes from next to me on the bench and nearly sprinted back towards me house.

Someone was in my house. I’d been counting my change, at this point every penny counted, and had almost got my keys in the lock before I realised. The curtains were pulled shut where I’d left them open, and now I thought about it the gate had been propped open too. After taking a moment to think about what to do, Tom slid the keys into the lock as quietly as he could, and slowly pushed open the door. Avoiding the creaky floorboard, he skirted the edge of the landing, making his was to the front room. The door was slightly ajar, the light on. Silently he crept back towards the front door, and picked up the length of wood he kept by the side of it. Edging back painstakingly slowly he looked into the room. Sitting on the sofa with their back to the door was a man in a dark suit. With a sudden burst of speed Tom swung open the door and raised the plank over his head.

“Why is there a dead dog in your fridge?”

Tom was caught frozen with the length of wood held over his head. The voice had come from behind him. He turned around slowly to see another man, dressed the same as the first, pointing a gun at his stomach.

“We have a proposition for you”. The men were sitting on his sofa, a gun still pointed at him. He was across the table from them, and though it should be the last thing on his mind he couldn’t help but feel like he was being interviewed. They’d been sitting in silence for ten minutes or so, the men apparently unbothered by the smell and not in a hurry to reveal why they were there. Tom’s first thought had been that they were the police, but the longer he’d sat there the less likely that had seemed.

The man with the gun was the shorter one, blonde with his slightly thinning hair slicked back from his forehead. He had multiple scars around his mouth, which contrived to make him constantly look like he was smiling. The other man was taller and older, black hair turning to grey at the temples. He had a lazy eye, another thing which Tom found incredibly distracting as his brain seemed determined to focus on the most inconsequential things. After he’d dropped his makeshift weapon they’d told him to sit down. They asked him about the dog again, he’d replied:

“Its barking was getting on my nerves”. Surprisingly they seemed to think this was a perfectly reasonable explanation, and apparently this had also ended the conversation for them. Tom’s attempts to get any sort of explanation about what they were doing there, or what was going to happen to him had been met with stony silence. The only response he’d managed to get out of them was when he’d tried to stand up and the larger man had moved with incredible speed and shoved him roughly back into the seat.

“We have a proposition for you”. Tom jerked upright; he’d been slowly slumping down into his seat, wondering how long he’d be forced to sit there.

“What?”

“A proposition. A suggestion. We need you to do something for us”.

“Who are you people? Why are you here?”

The blonde man sighed and took over the conversation, his partner stood up and crossed over to the window. The curtains were closed but he peered into the material intensely as if he could see the park beyond.

“That doesn’t matter. What matters is that you’re in trouble and we can help you – if you help us”.

“What trouble? You mean because there’re two strange men in my house pointing guns at me and pushing me around?”

The man grinned and now his scars made him look like he was about to lean over and bite.

“Oh no. We both know you’re in worse trouble than that”. He told him. Tom’s mouth dropped open. He was silent for a moment, and then crumpled back into his seat.

“What do you want me to do?”

Jack knocked back his shot. It hit him in the way only spirits can when they drop into an empty stomach. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d eaten, any money that came his way had been going on drugs and there was precious little money anyway. He grabbed a handful of nuts and shoved them into his mouth before taking a swig of beer.

“What do you want me to do?” he asked, spittle and bits of nut flying across the table. The man across from him appeared not to notice, though something had hit the lapel of his suit.

“I need you to get rid of someone for me”.

“You mean kill them?” Jack frowned and tried to look shocked. Now the important business of getting through the drink the stranger had bought him was started he was beginning to have room in his mind for other thoughts. Thoughts like why the man across from him was still wearing sunglasses in this dark bar.

“Not quite. Though I am well aware that you would have no problem getting that done”.

Jack spluttered again, covering the table in front of him in a thin film of beer.

“What?! Who’ve you been talking to? I’ve never killed anyone!”

The man sat back and smiled with a strangely predatory look. It was strange that the look was predatory because Jack was almost a foot taller than the man, and broader. Also, Jack had a gun and knife about his person, and whilst it was likely the stranger was likely also armed (you’d be hard pressed to find someone who wasn’t in this area) he’d put good money on him being able to get to his first. Suddenly the man lunged forward, putting Jack in mind of a snake striking and for all his extra size he involuntarily leant back.

“Four people. Todd Bateman, Aysa Spades, Sally Jackson and Jesse Peters. You’ve killed four people”.

Jack sat upright, trying to hide the shock he felt. Something was twisting in his stomach and he realised that this was fear. If the man knew the names he was in more trouble than he’d known. He frowned.

“Wait… Jesse who?”

The man leant back again and shrugged.

“November 8^th, two years ago. You hit him with your car whilst driving rather too fast and didn’t stop. He died in hospital two days later. You didn’t intend to kill him but intention isn’t really what matters right now, it’s the end result I’m interested in”.

Jack couldn’t help it, his eyes widen and he slumped back in shock. This man knew more than he did about his felonies, and if he was spouting off like this he must have the place surrounded. He briefly wondered about trying to take the man hostage, shoot his way out. He let the thought go as quickly as it’d come; a cop wouldn’t risk civilians and so everyone in the bar must be part of it, he wouldn’t even get across the table.

“Fuck. I guess that’s me well and truly screwed then” he said, taking a swig of beer and wondering if it’d be his last.

“Well no. I really do want you to do something for me. If I were just interested in retribution we would not be sitting here talking like this”. The man across the table inspected his nails, apparently unaware of the surge of hope Jack had just felt.

“So what’s the deal? How much jail time would I get taken off?”

The stranger looked briefly surprised then threw back his head and laughed. His laugh had an edge of madness to it and went on for just a little too long before he rocked forward in his chair and thrust his face far too close to Jack’s.

“I’m not a cop you fucking cretin, but if you don’t do what I want you’ll wish I were. No, I come from a very different…” the man didn’t finish, Jack had tensed, grabbed his knife and thrust it into the man’s face. There was a blur and a feeling of intense heat, darkness took over his vision.

Blinking, Jack came too. He was sitting in the same bar, the same stranger was sitting across from him looking calm, unruffled and completely without stab wounds to the face. None of the other patrons seemed to have noticed anything; they were getting on with the same quiet drinks they’d been drinking before he’d blacked out. He frowned then looked down at his hand. The skin was charred and the as he looked at it he felt the pain coursing up his arm. He tried to scream but found he couldn’t, his tongue didn’t seem to be working. In his burnt and blackened hand he could see molten metal dripping through his fingers and hissing as it hit the floor. He looked up again and saw the man had taken off his sunglasses, he looked directly into his eyes and suddenly he found his tongue again and screamed and screamed and screamed.

NaNoWriMo 09

I need some way of forcing myself to stick to my NaNoWriMo schedule, and posting chunks of writing on the internet sort of seems like a good idea right now.