Short Story

spic-ole · Posted: 10 Nov 2003 01:43 PM Post subject:

Andy stared at Derek's face, but still could not make it out. For some reason, it still seemed distorted.

Andy's released his grip on Derek's throat.

"What the hell is going on?" he thought to himself. Who is Derek? Where did the cop car com from? What happened to the cop? He couldn't make sense of anything.

elchrist · Posted: 10 Nov 2003 02:24 PM Post subject:

As Andy left his knees and made way for the fire, he noticed what appeared to be a fresh pile of sand. He quickly looked at Derek and made way for the mound where it now resembled a makeshift burial.

Shocked, Andy throws himself to the floor and begins to dig with his bare hands. Frantically digging up to what he hopes is the answer, he yells back at Derek with, "What's in here!?"

Andy then pounds a hard object with his knuckles and stops to make sense of what he's uncovered. He moves his head closer and stares right into a pair of eyes. It's a face, the skin has been detached.

missy · Gots My GED Joined: 22 Nov 2002 Posts: 113

The smell of rotting flesh was almost overpowering, but he continued to dig deep enough to uncover the whole face of the cadaver. Andy noticed a shiny object lying across the makeshift grave, It was a police officers badge. He quickly turned to Derek who was nowhere in site. Andy stood up calling for Derek, wanting some sort of explanation, with the bloody badge in his hand he ran towards the car, where moments before he had last seen Derek.
Shaken by the smell of death in the air and the silence of the night, Andy gradually regained his composure. Yet, Countless questions came to his mind, could he have escaped the same fate as the officer? Could Derek be the killer? Why did he disappear?

bemisnorris · Posted: 11 Nov 2003 04:45 PM Post subject:

Andy looked around nervously. Nothing. No car. No Derek. Nothing. He reached into his pocket and fished out another bent cigarette. As he placed the cigarette in his mouth he remembered that he didn't have a lighter. "Shit," Andy thought out loud, "You could've at least left me your lighter, asshole." Andy sucked on the unlit cigarette and started walking again.

spic-ole · Posted: 13 Nov 2003 09:32 PM Post subject:

Andy walked for what felt like hours, but where to, he didn't know. "It should be daylight soon," he thought, He sat down to rest for a moment and to think about what had happened.

He reached into his pocket for the officer's badge, but couldn't find it. "I must have dropped it," he said to himself.

As Andy sat, he stretched his legs out, "This feels good," he thought, "I should lay down for a little while. I'm fucking tired." Before Andy knew it, he was asleep.

Mr.Tasty · Posted: 14 Nov 2003 11:04 AM Post subject:

The morning sun pounded Andy’s eyelids like a ton of bricks. Nothing to do but keep on walking.

Andy was fucked up, and he knew it. Not the kind of flaw one admits to himself; a flaw rooted in nothing more than poor choices. All these years in this world, and he could not manage to let anyone inside his walls. He had a rock-solid alibi for his disposition. An elaborate fabrication, he had repeated to himself so often, it had become mechanical:

“My father was a great guy, and a real practical fucker as well. He endorsed the indirect parenting method: letting me get neck-deep in shit and then making me write a ten page report about what I had learned. Twenty pages if he found more than three typos. He spent most of his free time parked in front of the TV in his ongoing quest to find the least common denominator of existence. So I never really got a chance to have a direct conversation with the guy. I didn’t even know what he did for a living. He would only communicate with me through correspondence. He would actually make the mailman take the letters from our address, have them sorted and processed, and delivered back to our home.

No wonder my mother shot herself on my ninth birthday. I promised her that I would shoot myself right after. It was our little practical joke to derail my father’s theories about existence and the human condition. I lied. I never had any intentions of shooting myself. Fuck her. I never liked her mashed potatoes anyway. My father just turned the volume up when he heard the shot. That night I packed eight cans of ravioli, two six-packs of tonic water, a roll of toilet paper, my Swiss Army knife, and a tent. I camped out for five days and five nights on the banks of the Lincoln River. When I returned home there was a note stapled to the front door:

Couldn’t stand the smell,
went to Vegas.

Your Father

P.S. we’re out of ravioli.

He returned a month later, after I had testified to the cops about the suicide, cleaned up the blood stains in my room and written an eighty page debriefing on the events and their relevancy to our existence. He overlooked the sixteen typos.”

What woman in her right mind would ever buy this bullshit?

spic-ole · Posted: 16 Dec 2003 10:09 AM Post subject: