Character limit 2014 without spaces; according to Microsoft Word I’m well under that. I can’t format this the way I’d like to, or include the image, because I’m finishing this from work and have to transfer it to my phone to post it. My phonedoesn’t play well with the blogger site, and the app I use, Bloggeroid, is hit and miss.
I warn you: this is a dark story. I couldn’t do funny or sexy this week; all I had was… well, this. Please don’t read too much into it (if you’re so inclined) or be concerned; this is just a manifestation of my desire sometimes to “burn it all down”, figuratively speaking.
------
Paul was exhausted, sweating and breathing heavily, but still thrummed with energy fueled by his anger. He surveyed the damage in the basement; broken glass, shattered wood, bent and damaged metal. Mostly there were just keep-sakes down here; all the real damage was upstairs.
He’d started in the top floor, room by room, breaking and tearing and twisting everything he could get his hands on; furniture, appliances, pictures, dishware, etc. The careful, systematic destruction belied the rage behind the act, and he burned with excitement knowing there would be no repercussions. For years he’d kept his emotions under control, no matter what abuse Karen heaped on him, until it felt like he would burst. But every man has his breaking point, and when Paul finally got to his all hell cut loose; by the time he was done, nothing in the house remained untouched.
He was about to go upstairs for the grand finale when he noticed it in the corner; the crystal ball that was Karen’s pride and joy. He thought of the ridiculous rituals she went through before scrying; the chants, the “cleansing”, the nudity (he didn’t mind that part, at first.) He smiled maliciously as he picked it up and hefted its satisfying weight.
He considered his options as he returned upstairs, barely noticing the cuts on his feet from the broken debris that left bloody footprints in his wake. Finally, he decided on subtlety; he would leave the one item she cherished undamaged (assuming it didn’t melt) and let them figure out the significance if they could. He placed it almost lovingly in her lifeless hands.
The gas can from the shed was half full (still the optimist), but with all the wood and paper scattered throughout the house, he thought the fire would spread quickly and hotly enough. The concrete walls of the basement wouldn’t burn, but when the floors collapsed everything except the foundation should go up.
Paul lay in the middle of the floor, the fumes from the gas stinging his eyes. This part was going to be painful, but it would be over soon. He struck the match and dropped it.
I warn you: this is a dark story. I couldn’t do funny or sexy this week; all I had was… well, this. Please don’t read too much into it (if you’re so inclined) or be concerned; this is just a manifestation of my desire sometimes to “burn it all down”, figuratively speaking.
Paul was exhausted, sweating and breathing heavily, but still thrummed with energy fueled by his anger. He surveyed the damage in the basement; broken glass, shattered wood, bent and damaged metal. Mostly there were just keep-sakes down here; all the real damage was upstairs.
He’d started in the top floor, room by room, breaking and tearing and twisting everything he could get his hands on; furniture, appliances, pictures, dishware, etc. The careful, systematic destruction belied the rage behind the act, and he burned with excitement knowing there would be no repercussions. For years he’d kept his emotions under control, no matter what abuse Karen heaped on him, until it felt like he would burst. But every man has his breaking point, and when Paul finally got to his all hell cut loose; by the time he was done, nothing in the house remained untouched.
He was about to go upstairs for the grand finale when he noticed it in the corner; the crystal ball that was Karen’s pride and joy. He thought of the ridiculous rituals she went through before scrying; the chants, the “cleansing”, the nudity (he didn’t mind that part, at first.) He smiled maliciously as he picked it up and hefted its satisfying weight.
He considered his options as he returned upstairs, barely noticing the cuts on his feet from the broken debris that left bloody footprints in his wake. Finally, he decided on subtlety; he would leave the one item she cherished undamaged (assuming it didn’t melt) and let them figure out the significance if they could. He placed it almost lovingly in her lifeless hands.
The gas can from the shed was half full (still the optimist), but with all the wood and paper scattered throughout the house, he thought the fire would spread quickly and hotly enough. The concrete walls of the basement wouldn’t burn, but when the floors collapsed everything except the foundation should go up.
Paul lay in the middle of the floor, the fumes from the gas stinging his eyes. This part was going to be painful, but it would be over soon. He struck the match and dropped it.
WOW. Ahem, (not dialing 911) that was a really interesting story (backing away slowly), but I'm just going to leave my keyboard (running) for a bit (grabbing the children) and head off for a while (gets passports). You stay right there.....
ReplyDeleteDark it was, but that's the fun of FFF. We're never sure where it is going to go.
This is dark but I do like it!
ReplyDeleteAnd I LMAO'd at Advizor' s comment!!
Wow, first comment and Advizor wins :)
ReplyDeleteGood story, but man... have a drink or something...
It might be dark, but it is well written. While I don't comtemplate burning it all down, I do have a rather morbid recurring thought on a particularly steep off-ramp bridge on our local freeway. So I avoid that off-ramp as often as possible, just to block the temptation. I guess there is a little darkness in all of us.
ReplyDeleteThanks, Sillyone. That kind of temptation is why I don't use one route to work when I'm on my motorcycle. There's one section on that road, two lane and winding, where the right side drops off into a fairly deep embankment down to a creek. It's a good 30 foot drop or more. At one specific spot there is a gravel pull off that kind of rises, like a ramp, and I can't help but think sometimes what it would feel like to get up to about 80 on the bike and see how far I can go.
DeleteOf course it's not something I would do, but the thought is there.
Very dark, but I loved it! When I write vanilla I tend to write more dark, too. My erotic side is lighthearted in comparison. Great entry this week!
ReplyDeleteI hope burning it down in your writing will keep everything standing in "real life." Great take!
ReplyDelete