Home | Community | Message Board


Mycohaus
Please support our sponsors.

General Interest >> Music, Art, and Media

Welcome to the Shroomery Message Board! You are experiencing a small sample of what the site has to offer. Please login or register to post messages and view our exclusive members-only content. You'll gain access to additional forums, file attachments, board customizations, encrypted private messages, and much more!

Amazon Shop for: Scales

Jump to first unread post. Pages: 1
InvisibleDoctorJ
Stranger
 Arcade Champion: Frogger

Registered: 06/30/03
Posts: 8,451
Loc: space
some short fiction I wrote
    #3260396 - 10/21/04 02:21 PM (12 years, 1 month ago)

I doubt anyone will take the time to read this, but I'm pretty proud of it, so I figured I would share it with you guys.

Usually I write gangster stories or science fiction, but this time I wrote something a bit more emotional. I think its one of the best things I've ever written, and I may even submit it for publishing. But I wanted a little feedback first.

*************************************************

No More Poems, No More Tears

by J. Smith

Pain can be a very effective teacher, and sometimes its lessons are difficult to unlearn. When my high school sweetheart left, I was plunged into a downward spiral of suicidal depression that almost destroyed me. It was at that point in my life that I became like a broken radio: the music inside me died, and was to remain silent forever.

I was only eighteen, and I was on my own for the first time. My father was an avid believer in the old adage ?When you?re eighteen, you?re out the door?. So I was living in a little shoebox apartment in the ghetto, which was all I could afford. I worked as a checker in a health food store. Money was tight, and more than a few nights I feared coming home to a dark, hot apartment, because I was always late on the electric bill.

It was in this, my darkest hour, that Jessica decided to leave me. I knew it was coming because we had seen less and less of each other over the past couple months. We were both very busy, her with getting ready for her senior year and me with trying to survive on my own for the first time ever. Every time we tried to spend a little quality time together, something always came up. But it was more than just business: she was avoiding me. She had made new friends and was hanging out with them a lot.

So one day I flat out accused her of sabotaging the relationship. She admitted to this, at which point I asked her why she was doing it. But she couldn?t give me an answer. All she could say was that it was over.

A few weeks later I found out that she had fallen in love with another boy. Luckily for me, that guy didn?t feel the same way about her that I did. He didn?t even want her. But I had to watch her throw herself at him.

I remember John?s pool party at the end of the summer. She was there and so was the guy she liked. I had seen her naked before, but I had never seen her in a bikini. When she walked outside, the curves and angles of her body triggered a chemical reaction in my brain that caused me to want her uncontrollably. It crushed my heart. Desire is the root of all suffering, or so said the Buddah.

She wore the bikini to impress this guy, but all it accomplished was breaking the splinters of my heart into even tinier pieces. The depression had begun to really take a hold of me by that point. I was having trouble sleeping at night, and in the morning it was hard to get up. I was just so tired all the time. My lungs were sore from crying. Sometimes on my lunch break I would sit in the park and just stare at her crumpled photograph.

I was a real poet back then, a hopeless romantic with a heart of gold. I truly loved this girl with all my heart. We had been together for two years and we had given each other our virginity (or at least she said she was a virgin at the time; these days I?m not so sure). I?m not a big fan of the institution of marriage, but I would have been more than happy to stay with her forever. She was the only person in the world who had ever given a damn about me.

My life was in chaos back then. No money, shitty job, and no plans for the future. Jessica was supposed to be my rock, but she crumbled, and I had no ground to stand on. My parents had abandoned me and all of my friends had gone off to college. And all the people around me were strangers that I couldn?t relate to.

That was what I needed most of all at that point in my life: someone to talk to. Someone who understood. Someone who was capable of relating to me on my level. She was the only one who had ever understood me; the rest of the world just judged me and went about its day.

There was no rational reason in my mind why we shouldn?t be together. We were the perfect match. We were both artists. We liked the same kind of music. We had the same philosophical and political beliefs. And we were highly attracted to each other.

It was around mid September when I decided to try and get her back. I was just so sick of feeling sorry for myself. There must be something I can do, I thought, There must be some way to get her back. Jessica meant too much to me to give up on her. I just couldn?t do it.

So I started writing her letters, long letters about my feelings for her and the hopes and dreams I had for our future. I would leave the notes in her mailbox, or sometimes underneath the windshield wiper blade of her car. At the end of every letter I would urge her to call me, just to talk, and I would leave my number in case she had forgotten it. But she never called.

I would see her in Denny?s sometimes, because that?s where all the kids hung out. Every time I saw her, I would tell her I loved her, even though I knew she would not return the gesture. I just wanted her to know that my door was always open to her, that I would never hold my pain against her. But she always blew me off with a roll of her eyes.

I used to hang out at Denny?s a lot. It was a safe place because there was always someone up there that I knew. I was scared of being alone, because I didn?t know what I might do to myself. The empty walls of my unfurnished apartment would fill my head with suicidal thoughts, enticing me to take the easy way out. So I would go up to Denny?s, drink coffee and smoke a lot of cigarettes. I always had my notebook with me, because I wrote a lot of poetry back then.

Sometimes, Jessica would deem fit to grace me with her presence at my table, and we would talk a little. She could never figure out why I didn?t just go after another girl. There were plenty who would have had me. But I didn?t want them, because they weren?t her.

I kept getting the idea that maybe she just didn?t realize how much I cared for her. If only she knew how I felt, I thought, then she would love me back. That is, after all, what girls want, right? They want to be loved and appreciated. Right?

But Jessica had somehow gotten it into her head that I was just another horny, lonely guy feeding her lines. I began to feel terribly guilty about how I had treated her in the past. Maybe I just hadn?t been affectionate enough, or appreciative enough. There had to be something I could do to make her see what she meant to me.

I thought really hard about what I could give her that no one else could. Then it hit me. I had never written her a poem before, despite the fact that I had been writing poetry for years.

So I wrote a poem for Jessica, an epic piece that described an arduous journey through a dark forest, and a clearing at the end of the path. Standing in the clearing was Jessica, my goddess of salvation. With words I painted a picture of her beauty in the utmost detail.

I knew I couldn?t just give her the poem- presentation was everything- so I got out my Super Sculpey and sculpted her a heart-shaped box. It was a reference to an old Nirvana song that we both knew. ?I?ve been locked inside your heart-shaped box for weeks?? went the verse. After firing and sanding the box, I painted it black, with a blue and white butterfly on the lid. Jessica loved butterflies.

I folded the poem and put it into the box, along with the bud of a single red rose. Then I drove to my old high school, her school. It was lunch period and the campus was completely unguarded. I went to her spot in the cafeteria and found her sitting with some friends. She wasn?t very happy to see me. So I gave her the box without saying a word and left.

The rest of the day I spent pacing back and forth in my empty living room. Every now and then I would try to write something, but I just couldn?t hold my concentration. I kept thinking about her, and the poem I had written. Would it work? Would she come to her senses and I realize that she and I were meant to be together? Of course the poem would work. It had to work.

At 3PM I decided to go to Denny?s. She would be there; I was sure of it. She was always there after school.

I walked into Denny?s and went to my usual table at the back. What I saw there drove a dagger through my heart. The heart-shaped box was on the table, shattered into pieces. The poem was crumpled into a little ball underneath the table. She had left this for me to see.

I sat down at the table, put my head in my hands, and cried for what seemed like hours. When the waiter came by, I wiped my salty face and ordered a coffee in my creaking voice. I sat there for several hours, smoking cigarettes and just staring into space. The sun disappeared and the fluorescent lighting gained dominance over the atmosphere of the restaurant.

By the time that it was completely dark outside, I had to get out of there. I had to put some distance between myself and that horrible scene. The pain was buzzing loud in my brain now. My golden heart had been transmuted to lead via the sinister alchemy of suffering.

When I got home I washed ten hydrocodones down with a bottle of vodka. I was so sick of writing, I didn?t even bother to leave a note.

I woke up two days later, thirty minutes late for work. When I got there, the manager wrote me up for my tardiness. Don?t ask me how I survived. The only thing I can think of is that maybe God has some greater purpose for me, but these days I don?t believe in God much.

I never really did get over Jessica, but I never tried to kill myself again. Not out of happiness, mind you, but mainly out of fear. The only thing I could really ever do about the whole Jessica situation was try to move on and just forget about it. And consciously, I guess I have. But my subconscious still remembers. Sometimes I dream about her, and wake up crying. Sometimes they play ?Heart-Shaped Box? on the radio and I have to change the station.

I?ve had a bunch of cheap flings since Jessica, but none of them were really very serious. I just can?t trust women anymore. I can?t allow them to get that close to me. Whenever a relationship starts to get serious, I freak out because my heart is still so delicate, and I can?t risk breaking it again. I always used to laugh at that old stereotype of the man who doesn?t want to commit. I could never understand how a guy could be like that. I could never understand how men could nonchalantly do such cruel things to women. But now I understand.

These days I don?t even talk to women much anymore. I?d rather just avoid that tangled mess of Christmas lights altogether. They say that relationships are supposed to enlighten you. But I don?t feel enlightened. I feel inhibited. Every relationship I have that doesn?t work out is just another scar on my personality, another set of ingrained bad habits. I honestly feel like I?m less of a person after every relationship that ends badly, which is all of them. I feel like if I get my heart broken one more time, I?m going to lose all faith in humanity. It scares me, the darkness inside. I bet if Hitler?s high school sweetheart had stuck by his side, there wouldn?t have even been a holocaust.

I?m tired of bearing the entire burden of initiating relationships. I don?t talk to girls because they don?t talk to me. Sometimes I wonder if women realize how hard it is for a guy to approach a girl he doesn?t know. I bet they do know, which is probably why they never do it themselves. I guess they just don?t have the initiative. Just once I would like a girl to buy me a drink at the bar. Or maybe just start a conversation. Just once I would like to feel appreciated. But that?s not how the game is played. I know that. I?m just so tired of having to put forth all the emotional capital necessary to start a relationship. Love is like a blackjack table, and women control all the odds and collect all the chips. I?ve lost so much of my heart to that game that I can?t afford to gamble anymore.

But I do catch myself daydreaming about Jessica now and then. I imagine that she shows up at my door and just says ?Hi?, in the same soft, gentle tone of voice she used when we first met. I take her in my arms and kiss her, and tell her that everything is OK, that I knew she would come back.

Sometimes I have those thoughts, but I try not to dwell on them too much. I know where they lead. There is no end to that dark hallway and no bottom to that black pit. Thoughts like that are dangerous.

A few days ago, I found myself in the old neighborhood, so I stopped into Denny?s for a cup of coffee. All the familiar waiters are gone now, and I don?t know any of the kids that hang out there. They are all younger than me. I guess they are this year?s senior class.

Some girls I didn?t know sat down in the booth next to mine. They had just come from the movie theatre. The film they had seen was obviously a chick flick, or at least that?s what I gathered from eavesdropping on their conversation.

?Brad Pitt was sooooo hot in that movie,? said one of the girls.

?I wish guys were like that in real life,? said another.

The first girl laughed. ?I know, right? I wish I had a guy that would send me flowers and write me poetry. I would keep him forever. But the only guys I ever meet are like total jerks, you know??

If it had been a different time, I might have introduced myself. I might have asked for the girl?s number. I might have even jotted off a quick little haiku about how pretty she was.

But such bold moves are no longer my practice. And I don?t write poetry anymore.


--------------------
peace, pot, and microdot!


Post Extras: Print Post  Remind Me! Notify Moderator
InvisibleLocus
Male

Folding@home Statistics
Registered: 03/11/04
Posts: 6,049
Loc: ny/europe/other
Re: some short fiction I wrote [Re: DoctorJ]
    #3260458 - 10/21/04 02:50 PM (12 years, 1 month ago)

hey, that was very cool  :thumbup:   

What was your inspiration to write this type of story?


--------------------

The important thing is not to stop questioning. Curiosity has its own reason for existing. One cannot help but be in awe when he contemplates the mysteries of eternity, of life, of the marvelous structure of reality. It is enough if one tries merely to comprehend a little of this mystery every day. Never lose a holy curiosity. ~ Albert Einstein
"Fear is the great barrier to human growth." ~ Dr. Robert Monroe



~~~*Dosis sola facit venenum*~~~

*Check my profile to listen to my music* :smile:


Post Extras: Print Post  Remind Me! Notify Moderator
InvisibleDoctorJ
Stranger
 Arcade Champion: Frogger

Registered: 06/30/03
Posts: 8,451
Loc: space
Re: some short fiction I wrote [Re: Locus]
    #3262330 - 10/21/04 10:48 PM (12 years, 1 month ago)

meh. just wanted to take a break from writing stories about drugs, guns, prostitutes, and shit like that. this kind of sappy stuff is a lot easier to get published. If you wanna get started in writing, you kind of have to play to what editors want, unfortunately. You can't start playing by your own rules until you get a name.

or so I'm told...


--------------------
peace, pot, and microdot!


Post Extras: Print Post  Remind Me! Notify Moderator
InvisibleLocus
Male

Folding@home Statistics
Registered: 03/11/04
Posts: 6,049
Loc: ny/europe/other
Re: some short fiction I wrote [Re: DoctorJ]
    #3263002 - 10/22/04 12:52 AM (12 years, 1 month ago)

yeah, after i got done reading i was thinking about how that didn't sound at all like it would have come from you, haha. i mean just from what i have read of your posts before. That was cool anyway though. yeah i could see that sort of literature on the shelves.


--------------------

The important thing is not to stop questioning. Curiosity has its own reason for existing. One cannot help but be in awe when he contemplates the mysteries of eternity, of life, of the marvelous structure of reality. It is enough if one tries merely to comprehend a little of this mystery every day. Never lose a holy curiosity. ~ Albert Einstein
"Fear is the great barrier to human growth." ~ Dr. Robert Monroe



~~~*Dosis sola facit venenum*~~~

*Check my profile to listen to my music* :smile:


Post Extras: Print Post  Remind Me! Notify Moderator
Offlinetrent_logain
Stranger
Registered: 10/19/04
Posts: 27
Last seen: 11 years, 9 months
Re: some short fiction I wrote [Re: DoctorJ]
    #3265493 - 10/22/04 08:20 PM (12 years, 1 month ago)

Your guy came off as a bit of an obsessor. Continually writing letters without receiving responses and stalking her. You kept referring to your characters as kids when they are eighteen or over. When they are everything but. I like your adages throughout the story though. I would like to see what else you have written about whores, guns, drugs, etc. I do agree with Locus on that something like you have written would belong in your local book store because the majority their stuff is garbage.


Post Extras: Print Post  Remind Me! Notify Moderator
InvisibleLocus
Male

Folding@home Statistics
Registered: 03/11/04
Posts: 6,049
Loc: ny/europe/other
Re: some short fiction I wrote [Re: DoctorJ]
    #3267093 - 10/23/04 07:39 AM (12 years, 1 month ago)

yeah, i'd like to read some of those other stories also. i mean this one was written well, and it was good for being new territory, but it wasn't my type of read. and i know it wasn't yours either.


--------------------

The important thing is not to stop questioning. Curiosity has its own reason for existing. One cannot help but be in awe when he contemplates the mysteries of eternity, of life, of the marvelous structure of reality. It is enough if one tries merely to comprehend a little of this mystery every day. Never lose a holy curiosity. ~ Albert Einstein
"Fear is the great barrier to human growth." ~ Dr. Robert Monroe



~~~*Dosis sola facit venenum*~~~

*Check my profile to listen to my music* :smile:


Post Extras: Print Post  Remind Me! Notify Moderator
InvisibleDoctorJ
Stranger
 Arcade Champion: Frogger

Registered: 06/30/03
Posts: 8,451
Loc: space
Re: some short fiction I wrote [Re: Locus]
    #3267358 - 10/23/04 12:05 PM (12 years, 1 month ago)

OK, the last story was about a deranged male character. Here's one about a deranged female character:


Untitled

by J Smith

Angela liked Mauricio because he never did what he was told. He was always such an asshole to her, and it turned her on. Mauricio represented a challenge. He was unpredictable. Not like Angela?s husband Cortez, who was as boring as a rock.

Angela had grown tired of Cortez. He had changed so much since he had been with her. Angela remembered when she first met Cortez, in a dimly lit nightclub downtown. She was looking for some cocaine, and the bartender told her that Cortez might be useful to her. The first thing she noticed upon meeting him was his cocky grin and irreverent gait across the floor of the club. She remembered his silk shirt, gold tooth, and the mischievous little glint in his eye. But most of all, she remembered his reply when she asked him for an eight ball.

?Sweetheart,? he had beamed in over-confidence, ?If you ain?t talkin? kilos, you ain?t talking? to me, yo.?

It was a boastful way for him to tell her that he was out of her league, and that she should go speak to one of his employees. And through their entire courtship it had been like that. He had made it seem as if she were chasing him. He wasn?t like the other boys, who always came up to her with the same old act. They always told her that she was beautiful, that they loved her, that they wanted her. Ninety percent of the time it was bullshit, and even when it wasn?t, it was boring as hell. The worst was when they got attached and started following her around. Fucking psychos. There was nothing worse to Angela than a man who wouldn?t get scarce when she no longer wanted him.

But Cortez never played it like that. He never came onto her. He always pushed her aside. He forced her to come to him on his own terms. He did not lay himself at her mercy. He was not so stupid, and boring, and predictable, that he would bend over backwards on her account.

God, how she missed his old attitude! She missed the witty remarks he had always made. The subtle jibes and subconscious insults. She missed the way he never took shit off of anybody, not even her. But most of all, she missed the feeling of constantly being on trial when she was with him. His relentless scrutiny had kept her on her toes. Normally, it was her that played the games and administered the tests, but Cortez had turned the tables on her. For once, she knew what it felt like to be the pursuer. She finally knew what it felt like to be the one trying to live up to someone else?s standard, not knowing whether she was scoring points or losing them. Being with Cortez had been like walking a tightrope with no safety net. The danger turned her on.

But something about Cortez had changed once he and Angela were married. He had begun to accept her, and appreciate her for who she was. He had begun to respect her. He had even begun to trust her. It was sickening. Angela?s once proud, wolflike husband had turned into a loyal puppy dog. The kind that follows you around and wants to play all the time, even when you are busy.

Cortez loved her. Cortez pampered her. Cortez had given her everything she could have ever wanted or needed, and she was sick of it all.

Mauricio, on the other hand, represented a fresh new challenge. An unsolved Rubick?s cube to occupy her emotional hands. Mauricio did not chase Angela; Angela chased Mauricio. Once again she had an object of desire, which was worth more to her than any amount of money. Mauricio was her forbidden fruit: her husband?s right hand man at the head of the Family?s Houston cocaine distribution operation.

Back when Angela had first met Cortez, he was just a wiseguy, not a big boss. He was a wholesaler of illegal narcotics, but he worked for a boss just like anyone else. He worked for someone higher up in the Family. But over the years, he made strong alliances in the neighborhoods, and he pleased his superiors with his diligence and honesty. So when a few guys above Cortez got shot in a deal gone bad, Cortez moved up in the organization. Now he was the Family?s head representative for the entire city of Houston.

Cortez strove to live a life without conflict. He held to his convictions and he kept his word. His strongest defense against insurgence was diplomacy. He allowed everyone he worked with to make money, thus ensuring that he was more valuable to them alive than dead. Cortez hated violence. He had grown up in Guatemala, during the revolution that had been engineered by the CIA to destroy the budding socialist government there. Cortez had witnessed much bloodshed before escaping to America. And so, even though he was in a dirty, violent business, he strove to find peaceful solutions to the conflicts that invariably arose in the ghetto.

Angela was not fond of Cortez?s business strategies. She thought he should be more ambitious. He compromised too much. He allowed weaker men to walk all over him. Cortez hadn?t turned out to be the itchy trigger fingered gangster she thought she had married. Cortez was a pussy.

But Mauricio was different. He was ambitious. Ambitious enough to run off with the boss?s wife and one million dollars worth of buy money.

Cortez always made Mauricio handle the monthly transaction. Mauricio bought and distributed the cocaine using Cortez?s capital and connection. Cortez was really just an executive figurehead: a middleman. Mauricio did all the work. Every month, Cortez would collect the profit from the operation and launder the money through the mortgage companies and stockbrokers he controlled. Officially, Mauricio was on the payroll of one of Cortez?s dummy corporations. But one million dollars of Cortez?s cash was always in circulation, and this money was almost always in Mauricio?s hands.

On this particular balmy July afternoon, Mauricio?s distribution network was out of cocaine. The head representative of the Family in Texas was supposed to meet Mauricio downtown for the buy. But by that time, Angela, Mauricio, and the buy money would all be in Mexico.

Angela pulled her Lexus up next to Mauricio?s Camaro. The Camaro was a flashy dope dealer?s car, with all the ground effects, twenty-inch rims, and tinted windows. It suited Mauricio?s personality. It wasn?t like the car Cortez drove: a stately Mercedes Benz. Cortez?s car was that of a politician, or a diplomat. Mauricio?s car was that of an anarchist, who answered to nobody. It turned Angela on.

Angela checked her makeup in the mirror and lit a cigarette. From her Chanel purse she removed a small snuff box full of white powder. She snorted a bump. The coke gave her a false rush of chemical confidence. She was ready to do this thing.

Mauricio came outside carrying a briefcase. He was wearing black pants and a wife-beater undershirt. Angela embraced him in the driveway. Mauricio?s face remained stoic against her passionate kiss. Her eyes closed, but his eyes never faltered as he stared icily through her. She ran her hands down his back, her touch electric with desire.

?I want to see the money,? she said, looking him in the eyes for the first time.

Mauricio set the briefcase on the Camaro?s hatchback and opened it. Inside were one hundred bundles of bills. Each bundle contained $10,000. Angela couldn?t figure out what turned her on more: the money, the car, or the man.

?Are you ready to do this?? Angela asked.

Mauricio did not speak. He only nodded. Then he threw the briefcase into the hatchback and started the car. Angela got in the passenger seat. When Mauricio put his hand on the gearshift, she touched it lightly with her own. Her eyes met his once more.

?I love you,? she said.

?I know,? said Mauricio, as he pulled the Camaro onto the street.

Angela smiled at this. He was playing games with her, but only because he knew damn well that her declaration of love was a lie. Angela didn?t understand love. She only understood sexual attraction. Love was just a word she used to get her way. But Mauricio didn?t fall for that, not for a second. He had given her the snappy retort instead of staring dully into her eyes and gamely repeating the lie, as her husband had done that same morning. Except when Cortez told her he loved her, he actually meant it. That was the pathetic part.

As they entered the onramp for 45 South, Angela thought about how many times she had done this before. Not on this grand a scale of course, but she had played boys against each other for fun and profit in the past. She remembered dragging her boyfriends to seedy nightclubs and bars, wearing only a tiny tank top and hoochie mamma shorts that left little to the imagination. She would tell her boyfriend to go get her a drink at the bar and then start flirting with another boy. When her boyfriend returned from the bar to see another boy hitting on her, there would be words exchanged first, followed by the inevitable fist fight. And Angela would watch the whole thing and think about how pretty she must be to have two boys fighting over her.

Before her marriage, she had always kept two or three boyfriends at once. She loved it when they found out about eachother. She loved the drama. Boys are so dumb, she thought to herself. Whenever they found out she was cheating, it just made them more competitive for her love. They never realized that when two boys fight over a woman, no matter who wins, the real winner is always the woman. How many friendships between boys had she ruined this way? How many times had she turned brother against brother for her own amusement? She couldn?t even remember.

Angela was no stranger to using emotions as weapons. Jealousy and empathy were just tools she used to get her way. And when those weapons failed, she could always use sex. In some ways, sex was more valuable than money or dope; it was like her own currency she printed every day. Her pussy was the fucking Federal Reserve.

The city rushed by them in a blur. Angela took another hit of coke and thought about how smart she was. She held two of the city?s most powerful men in her pocket like nickels and dimes. All of her life, she had gotten exactly what she wanted, first from her father, and then from a string of boys stretching from her teens to the present. All she had to do was use her charm to ask for what she wanted. And they would invariably respond: ?What?s that dear? You want me to saw my own leg off? Sure thing, sweetheart.? Boys were so obedient. Angela uttered a maniacal laugh and stared at her own devious smile in the mirror. Boys were like pawns, and she was the Queen.

Just then, Mauricio exited the freeway and pulled onto a side street. They were in South Houston now, no man?s land. Dilapidated projects and abandoned warehouses lined the streets.

?Where are we going?? she asked, ?I thought we were going straight to Mexico.?

Mauricio?s face never changed. ?I got one little thing I gotta take care of first.?

Angela pouted in the Camaro?s bucket seat. This minor change in plans was very annoying to her. She blew out a breath in exasperation. Why hadn?t Mauricio been a good little boy and taken care of all his shit beforehand, like she had asked?

They pulled into the loading dock of one of the warehouses on the street. The garage door opened for the Camaro. It was dark inside the warehouse, and Angela couldn?t see what they were pulling into. She turned to Mauricio to ask again what they were doing here. The pistol was in his hand, a chrome .45. It was pointed at her.

?Get out of the car,? said Mauricio.

A flurry of thoughts raced through her mind as she exited the Camaro. But by then, her eyes had adjusted to the dim light cast through filthy windows, and she saw Cortez standing there, with a disappointed look in his eyes. He walked over to Mauricio and put a hand on his shoulder.

?Thank you, Mauricio,? he said, so soft it was almost a whisper, ?You are a true friend.?

Cortez shifted his gaze to Angela.

?As for you,? he said, ?We need to have a little talk.?

Angela?s mind was grasping at straws now.

?He?s not that good of a friend!? she shouted, pointing at Mauricio, ?You know he fucked me, right? And he was good, too. He made me come harder than you ever could.?

A momentary grimace of pain flashed across Cortez?s face when he heard this. Mauricio stood motionless, still aiming the gun at Angela.

?I have forgiven Mauricio for being a man,? Cortez said through his heavy South American accent, ?After all, how was he supposed to resist a fine little white girl, all over his nuts??
The question was met with silence, and Cortez continued, ?One thing I?ve learned in life, is that whenever a male and female get together, it?s almost always the female?s idea, though she may let the man think it?s his. You made the decision to pursue him. Without your intentions, there would be nothing to forgive him for. Your actions, my dear, are unforgivable.?

Cortez?s voice rose in anger, and it echoed through the empty warehouse hard enough to stir the dust in the dirty sunlight. ?And don?t try to tell me this was a crime of passion either, sweetheart. If you really loved Mauricio, the way I love you, you wouldn?t have made such an idiotic proposition to him. Flee to Mexico! Are you stupid? Do you think you would have been safe there? And then, not 45 seconds ago, you try to sell Mauricio out in a play to make jealousy affect my judgment??

Tears were streaming down Angela?s face now, her eyes wide with fright, her mouth agape in shock. Her senses were overwhelmed with fear, but with the little rational presence she had left she kicked herself mentally for being such a fool. Slowly her fear became anger, anger with herself. Not for betraying either of these boys, but for betraying herself. She did not feel regret for what she had done to them. She was only regretful that her actions were not sufficient to get what she wanted. It was then that she realized she was going to die.

Cortez continued, ?You have tried to play us against each other like boys. But we are not boys, we are men, and as such we have honor. How do you think we could have obtained our current positions without having any honor? The Family does not promote cutthroats and thieves; they do not trust men without honor with business as important as this. How could you not realize that your petty little games are inapplicable here? Did you really think you could play this man against me? This man, who owes everything he has to me, and to the position I have put him in??

Angela interrupted Cortez to make an appeal to Mauricio. ?Shoot this prick right now!? she said, ?Can?t you see he?s just a useless old man? You are the one who takes care of business. He just sits in an office all day, collecting a percentage! Kill him and claim your throne. We can make things right with the Family afterwards. They won?t let this interfere with distribution.?
Mauricio just stared at the floor and shook his head. ?No, chica,? was all he said.

Cortez laughed. ?Do you really think that the Family would let some horny gringo bitch decide who gets promoted and who gets muerte? They would have both of you killed for your insolence. Are you so shallow that you can?t see the Family runs deeper than business? My superiors are trusted friends. I?ve helped put their kids through college, and protected them from those who would seek to destroy their empire. It?s deeper than just money. Can?t you understand that??

Angela cleared her throat in disgust. ?You and your sentimental bullshit,? she said, ?I thought I had married a man.?
Cortez winced. ?It seems as though you and I have a different opinion of what a man should be. To me, a man is someone who keeps his word. Someone who values relationships instead of sucking them dry and tossing them aside like a Styrofoam cup. You think men should be ravenous carnivores, always taking, never giving. I see men as independent beings that work together for the common good. I make money with my family, for my family. This is the money that puts poor children through school with food in their stomachs. Without the Family?s business, many hardworking people would not be able to stay afloat. The revenue we generate flows throughout the whole community. We may not be able to change the world, but we can provide for our own. You see this as weakness, but I see it as strength. And although I consider myself a strong man, I do not have the strength to do what I must do next.?

?You must understand that I love you with all of my heart, Angela. But I see now that I have been too permissive. Today you crossed a line that has made our differences irreconcilable.?

A single tear rolled down Cortez?s cheek. ?I cannot kill my wife,? he said.

Cortez looked to Mauricio. ?Mauricio,? he called.

?Yes boss??

?Kill my wife.?

Mauricio did as he was told.


--------------------
peace, pot, and microdot!


Post Extras: Print Post  Remind Me! Notify Moderator
Offlinefung_us_among_us
Male User Gallery

Registered: 12/08/02
Posts: 6,906
Loc: Central Oregon Flag
Last seen: 1 year, 3 months
Re: some short fiction I wrote [Re: DoctorJ]
    #3268533 - 10/23/04 06:22 PM (12 years, 1 month ago)

jesus dude, you're fucking amazing. i enjoy both of them.. the first made me kinda sad and reminded me far too much of the last relationship i was in (remember, i posted about it in OTD and you gave me a lot of advice.. you were probably the most helpful out of anyone), but the second one.. fucking amazing.

you need to read Venus in Furs by Sacher Von Masoch if you haven't yet. it's a phenominal book about sexes, power, emotions, etc. i'd say the general theme of it would be power.. the main character enjoys being whipped by beautiful women in furs (as did Von Masoch in real life), and finds a woman he really likes and gives everything to her. he convinces her to whip him and gets her into all that stuff (she had never done anything of the sort). i won't say anything else as to not spoil the book for you, but it gets pretty brutal and very sad. i found myself sympathizing with his character numerous times, because i consider myself more of the submissive and non-controlling type of man.

i'd like to say it changed my sex life but i don't think it has. i'm still a pussy that lets women get the best of me. it hurts me to think that deep on the inside they've all got at least a little of that evil woman-ness lurking.


--------------------
:feelsgoodman::dancingshroom::dancingshroom::dancingshroom::ahahaha::dancingshroom::dancingshroom::dancingshroom::feelsgoodman:


Post Extras: Print Post  Remind Me! Notify Moderator
OfflineJatoba
Stranger
Registered: 10/22/04
Posts: 38
Last seen: 3 years, 7 months
Re: some short fiction I wrote [Re: fung_us_among_us]
    #3269654 - 10/24/04 12:48 AM (12 years, 1 month ago)

I thoroughly enjoyed it. The first piece of english fiction I?ve read in about two months since I moved to Brazil


--------------------
The difference between something and nothing is anything, and thats what I do.


Post Extras: Print Post  Remind Me! Notify Moderator
Jump to top. Pages: 1

Amazon Shop for: Scales

General Interest >> Music, Art, and Media

Similar ThreadsPosterViewsRepliesLast post
* Another Gangster Story (more short fiction) DoctorJ 583 2 02/15/05 06:39 PM
by TinTree
* Just wrote something short... Ashland 739 5 06/29/06 06:16 PM
by Ashland
* Short Fictional Piece That I Wrote Feanor 603 4 03/30/08 06:03 PM
by Feanor
* Hmm just a lil paragraph type thing I wrote phEight 379 1 03/17/06 08:56 PM
by MisterKite
* Some stuff I wrote... burgatory 357 2 03/08/08 02:05 AM
by burgatory
* Official 2007 very short story thread. Post yours and critque others HERE
( 1 2 3 all )
joekenorer 5,692 59 12/20/07 12:32 AM
by Hyper_Panda_GO
* I wrote a short short for class Pat Bateman, VP 344 2 04/09/08 03:33 AM
by Pat Bateman, VP
* Critique my short story manna_man 520 2 05/20/04 03:22 PM
by manna_man

Extra information
You cannot start new topics / You cannot reply to topics
HTML is disabled / BBCode is enabled
Moderator: Middleman, automan, sui, DividedQuantum
1,121 topic views. 0 members, 2 guests and 2 web crawlers are browsing this forum.
[ Toggle Favorite | Print Topic | Stats ]
Search this thread:

Please support our sponsors.

Copyright 1997-2016 Mind Media. Some rights reserved.

Generated in 0.168 seconds spending 0.003 seconds on 14 queries.