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| You Can Run For A Long Time. | Started by: WhitePunkOnDope on Oct 31, '16 03:47 |
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Upstate California , Dannemore Woods. Nightfall. The sound of shovels deep in the dirt. Renegade gardeners digging one hole. It has it's own repeat noise. Dirty deeds in the night. No moonlight. The resounding thump in the trunk. "Don't you fuckin go near it" I gleam as I step forward. "We'll wait on the main attraction like he said." The silhouettes of two, making a deeper excavation from the car lights. Everything else was in darkness. I kept checking my watch. I looked to the trail below to see headlights winding up towards us. As their lights dropped the car was still some distance away. "Alright! Stop, stop!" I scowl as I walk over to our car and turn out the lights.. The car crept slowly towards us from the darkness. For a moment, blindness. The car signalled two sharp lights on and off. I reached in and put our lights back on. "Alright, dig" Fist had brought the faces. Dressed to kill out in the sticks of no where. Silhouettes in the night. It wasn't a cruiser. They would have put the spotlight on by now. As the car brakes squeezed, it came to a stand still. For a few seconds nothing moved. The muscle in the hole stopped to turn around and look. All I remember is the shoes getting out uniformly. The car doors slammed shut in unison. Clunk, Clunk. Fist had an overcoat on. Cigarette in his mouth. Shrouded in semi darkness against our lights except the little sinful ball of red. "It's in the trunk.." Fist looked at his two and they moved to open it up and remove the old preacher. The back trunk light revealed Father Patrick J Brown, gagged and sobbing. His glasses managed to stay on as they dragged him to the hole. My muscle got out. The Father had been caught up in scandal in his house. For some it was hearsay, for the media at the time? It was a frenzy. Fist was cleaning up. A message of sorts. Wasn't about religion. It was about principles and moral standing. Revenge. I think that was why I was asked along. When I ran about as a street rat, I was put into foster care with the faith. While it never happened to me? Young boys were taken from their beds. As he gets dragged into the deep, I stand on the circumference with my gas canister from the trunk. Fist stares Brown down as he falls down to his knees begging Fist for his life. Not for one second did I wish they left the gag in. Grace looks at me and I begin to pour the gas all over him. He begs for his life and begins to jump up and down reaching for the feet of Fist. He scrapes the walls of his destiny, his finger nails claiming more soil as he tries to clamber out wailing he was sorry. "You can run on for a long time. Sooner or later God will cut you down.." Fist barks as he flicks his cigarette and sets the preacher alight. The surround becomes a glow. Every man grimaces a face of no remorse. The old fuck got what he deserved, his screams echoed the valley... |
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Olympia stood to the back.. She never really liked watching these scenes.. She didn't like the screams mostly. The piercing loud, shrill sound of someone burning to death.. She knew that Fist and WhitePunk would soon kick the man into the grave that had been dug.. His limbs still kicking around because his brain was still a little bit alive.. Somewhere in there.. She stood to the back because she had already done her part. She did the research that proved that the Father was guilty.. She had caught him, and that was her part. The rest was done by the big guys that could tolerate lighting a man on fire.. Then kicking him into his grave, burying him still 1/4 alive, and leaving the scene like nothing had happened. For her, the scene continued in her mind for days. It took awhile for her to move on from deaths like this.. Deaths she wouldn't wish on anyone. But, she knew some people got what they deserved. And that's what kept her going.. Punishing the guilty. |
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| Reply by: Olympia- at Oct 31, '16 05:30 | |
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