Page 1 of 2 12 LastLast
Results 1 to 10 of 14

Thread: when being a god goes wrong ( deacon jones )

  1. #1
    Inactive Member basket of hearts's Avatar
    Join Date
    January 11th, 2006
    Posts
    20
    Follows
    0
    Following
    0
    Mentioned
    0 Post(s)
    Tagged
    0 Thread(s)
    Quoted
    0 Post(s)

    Post

    When you're ripe you'll
    bleed out of control,
    you'll bleed out of control.

    You like attention,
    it's proof to you you're alive.
    Stop parading your angles.
    Confused?


    <center>You'll know when you're ripe.</center>

    <center>jason2</center>

    When you're ripe,
    you'll bleed out of control,
    you'll bleed out of control.

    You're pregnant with all this.
    Space thick with honey,
    but I lost my taste.


    <center>You're into depression cause
    it matches your eyes.
    </center>

    Stop this faux to be famous.
    Confused?
    You'll know when you're ripe.


    <center>Deftones : Elite</center>

  2. #2
    Inactive Member basket of hearts's Avatar
    Join Date
    January 11th, 2006
    Posts
    20
    Follows
    0
    Following
    0
    Mentioned
    0 Post(s)
    Tagged
    0 Thread(s)
    Quoted
    0 Post(s)

    Post

    "We don't think he'll last much longer, Ms. Moore. He already exceeded what our expectations of him would be. Six months turned into a year, that's better than nothing. We're keeping him sedated, though, and he's no pain."

    "Pain? Pain? You know what pain is, Dr. Richards? Pain is knowing that you're going to die and never get to see your son experience life. Pain is trying to explain to a fucking three year old that you won't be around anymore, because God doesn't give a fuck. Pain isn't just physical, Dr. Richards. And you're better off knowing that, than trying to live a life of ignorance when someone does die."

    Conversations like this took place almost every day between Deviline and nurses, doctors, supposive friends of the family that were just looking to get rich quick with the my passing. The only two that held my hand when in that hospital, or spoke easily to me when the morphine made my mouth too soft to speak, was that of Deviline and Gunner.

    I remember laying in that fucking bed for hours on hours, staring up at the ceiling and breathing deeply from the oxygen mask. The beeping of the EKG machine would just sort of be lost in my thoughts, and even some nurses were never noticed until they were reminding me of a ghost when they would leave the room.

    I survived cancer for a longer amount of time than anyone expected. And the only reason, was for my son. Jacob Micheal Jones. The best kid a man could ask for. The best son in the world. I wanted to show him how strong I was, and how strong he would be someday. He didn't understand at his age, so young and naive, that when I finally "fell asleep with the angels", then it meant I just wasn't waking up at all. He wouldn't understand, and I hated that. I hated that I would be leaving my child with no where to turn, no one to look to for advice. Gunner and Deviline, they would make a great duo to raise him. I even thought about giving custody to them when I passed on.

    Bethany Irvine is Jacob's mother. I loved her with every fucking ounce of my soul, heart and body. Though the bitch hightailed it into a habit of addiction that I couldn't have, nor did I even want. I did my fair share of drugs, though when Jacob was born it was cold turkey from there and there was no exceptions. Bethany didn't like that rule. Found a needle and a straw full of cocaine to be more promising than a family, I suppose. The obvious thing to do was to get full custody of Jacob, and I did, easily. A restraining order put on the junky whore, considering she once tried to kidnap Jacob and take him to Mexico with her. Real smart woman, she just made stupid choices.

    Though I remember exactly what day it was when Gunner came barreling into that hospital room. I was on my last leg, and getting skinnier by the minute. I looked like a skeleton, with no fat on my bones and nothing more than some sunken in eyes and stubble on my face. The sunlight from outside was warm, very warm, and I reached my hand out as far as I could to get it to bathe in the light from the window.

    Gunner didn't startle me, only because I was so fucking jam packed full of pain killers that I could have sworn he was the grim reaper at first, come to take me away finally. Though he got close, and whispered things in my ear that I thought were hallucinations. Things about a man who summoned demons, of demons that cured ailments for a small price. For things that earlier in my life I would consider smacking Gunner for, being a devoted Christian and all.

    It was a crazy idea. It was a long stretch. Though with speaking to Deviline about it, they both thought it was my last chance. Medical science wasn't working, so hell, why not try something a little different.

    Like possession.

  3. #3
    Inactive Member basket of hearts's Avatar
    Join Date
    January 11th, 2006
    Posts
    20
    Follows
    0
    Following
    0
    Mentioned
    0 Post(s)
    Tagged
    0 Thread(s)
    Quoted
    0 Post(s)

    Post

    They were selfish with the helmets on the little bus
    'Till brick fluid sewage crippled up the get-retorted nickel punks
    Slowly cope but swore his lowly robot vole evoke
    Would someday rise in sections to interrogate the Holy Ghost



    Holy smokes!
    Father, black suit white collar
    Kiddie porn dungeon, guns, and three fingers for your daughters
    Caught belly-up, antique Nazi paraphernalia
    You can not pay you bills with holy water and Hail Mary luck.
    Shut this fucker, enjoy the Alcatraz shower fun
    and mommies Madame cliche generation Agnostic front
    It ate the nifty fate, the 1958 before the New-New Testament approved altar-boy fistic rape
    And "take me to your leader" lung as he dope manipulate toddler-fever.
    Call me crazy but I'll bet that wasn't God's demeanor
    Saw the meter peaking,
    Along island was Jesus every weekend spoon-fed to appease traditional love bringing
    of a little Pennsylvania shit-hole where elders movement
    stressed the stellar therapeutic Bible cycle.
    One church with a fate and tackle store next door and not much MORE
    So the two moved to New York, made babies raised on what they SAW
    Christmas morning smelled fresher than angel pussy
    But immaculate conception came second to playful goodies
    Like laser-tag was way more spiritual than blood and body wafer bags
    And mangier staff is swung as Santa ate the cookies.
    When I was a saint used to paint with snakes in Belize.


    <center>By the time I was old enough to know what religion was</center>

    <center>Jaaason</center>

    <center>I was Catholicism-numb and truly didn't give a FUCK!</center>


    94' Moved out the crib and it ain't seen a steeple since
    What Knievel-evil seeps in a Christian leader's pitch
    'till priests slack, slapped with parental advisory warnings.


    <center>I'll be auditioning God's in my office on Monday morning</center>

    <center>Aesop Rock : Holy Smoke</center>

  4. #4
    Inactive Member basket of hearts's Avatar
    Join Date
    January 11th, 2006
    Posts
    20
    Follows
    0
    Following
    0
    Mentioned
    0 Post(s)
    Tagged
    0 Thread(s)
    Quoted
    0 Post(s)

    Post

    "Deacon, this is the man I was telling you about. He's going to ... perform the possession on you." Devilin's voice was low and strung out with some form of melancholy layer. The whisper was pressed to the shell of Deacon's ear as he laid there like some bonesick zombie, all white and translucent with the remains of chemo in his glazed over eyes.

    Gunner was biting his finger nails in a nasty, fidgety habit in the backround, trying to see if maybe the shadows would swallow him up so he wouldn't have to be witness to the procedure. Near him was a man dressed in a black robe that could have been a mimic of something the Pope would wear, minus the tradition of looking innocent in white.

    His grin was something gnarled even though he had perfectly white teeth. It was the way it crinkled his eyes into looking serpentine and slit. Hair was short and shorn with no indication of a professional cut in his time. Clean shaven, though there was a hint of a deep scar that curved like a crescent near his chin where it slipped up into his jawline.

    Deviline couldn't hold back the slight whimper that found it's way past her lips. Such a childish noise, she thought to herself, though for good cause. Her worry was evident across the tired expression she wore. Tears were held back long enough and she let the few of them slide down the pale skin of her cheeks. Back tracking away from the comatose Deacon who, by no surprise, had not said a word all night.

    It was as if the Grim Reaper was looming down over them all, slowly cutting away Deacon's lifeline. The machines had all been left behind and modern medicine wasn't an option anymore. This was it. The last chance that Gunner and Deviline had succombed to.

    "He's in good hands, Ms. Moore. Trust me." A cold, clammy hand fell across the sharp upturn of Devi's shoulder. Her flinch from it noticed but it didn't disturb the man in black.

    "You better fucking hope so, man." Gunner finally piped up, his two cents accompanied with a snarl and a pause from his habit of biting his nails.

    The man simply nodded his head in some understanding gesture, helping to guide Deviline closer towards Gunner.

    "I'm going to need you to make sure these shackles are on tight enough. Don't want any casualties happening, do we?" Again, with his sick grin that had Gunners sneering and Deviline cringing.

    "They're on tight enough, mister. Better just start on with it. I don't know if you've noticed, but he's dying as we fucking speak."

    Deviline raised a hand and pushed the flat of her palm to Gunner's chest. A motion to keep the man from irritating the other male.

    "Right." The man murmered, clearing his throat and pulling a tattered, leather bound book from inside his robe, testing the pages for the creases of where he would need to read from. "And remember, when it happens, Deacon isn't going to be Deacon. What he says is not him, but that of the spirit. It's common for the demon to curse, spit, sometimes even vo--"

    "Enough. Just fucking get on with it." Again, Gunner snapped his teeth. Eyes were sunken in, almost as bad as Deacon's. The trio was looking like a pack of phantoms with the man in black as their sadistic ring leader.

    The man narrowed his eyes at Gunner for a long moment before moving closer to the bed. It was sheeted in white with goose down pillows. Everything to help comfort the pain Deacon was going through. It looked marred with Deacon laying in it, as if he was a haggard bum using a rich mans bed as his own.

    Deviline had pleaded with Gunner days before about being here when it took place. She wasn't sure if she would be able to handle the scene that was about to unfold. Though, with the mans advice, Gunner had coaxed her into staying. The need for Deacon to have familiar faces around while he struggled to hold onto a bit of himself with the new tenant that would be using his body as a home away from home. It was neccessary, so Deviline agreed.

    Candles splashed up wiggling pieces of light to the darkened walls and gave odd shapes to shadows that danced around. No electricity could be on for whatever reason. The man had gone into details with the two about what would be happening to Deacon. The process sounded grueling, and slightly coated in lunacy, yet desperation was calling to them like some longlost lover. And Deacon had agreed, with out hearing the consequences. He just wanted to live to see Jacob get older.

    The man made some gruff noise when he found the exact scripture that would be read, brushing a finger tip down the chicken scratch of some foreign language as if it was brail. The words he spoke were unknown to both of them. It was in a tongue that had some vile curve to it, almost venomous and eerie in it's echoe around the silent room.

    Everything that occured next would be forever in the memory of Deviline, Gunner, Deacon, and the man in the black robe.

  5. #5
    Inactive Member basket of hearts's Avatar
    Join Date
    January 11th, 2006
    Posts
    20
    Follows
    0
    Following
    0
    Mentioned
    0 Post(s)
    Tagged
    0 Thread(s)
    Quoted
    0 Post(s)

    Post

    Did you love her, Deacon?

    No, I didn't. We've gone over this.

    Then why are you so upset?

    Because I wanted to love her. Someday. Not now, maybe not in the next month, but someday.

    And yet you think you made the right decision?

    I don't know.

    What do you know?

    That you can be a real fucking pain in my ass sometimes, that's what I know.

    And so you blame the end of your intimacy with that woman on me?

    ....

    Well?

    No and yes. If it wasn't for you, I wouldn't be here right now. I would have never met her. I would have been a fucking corpse in the God damned ground with my son dropping flowers at my grave whenever he got the chance.

    And yet you are upset with me?

    No. I'm not upset with you. I've told you time and time again, this isn't normal. Having you inside of me isn't normal. For seven years now I've had you in my head. Seven fucking years of knowing that I'm not a man anymore.

    You're still a man, Deacon. You and I are seperate. I use you as a shell.

    And when you get sick of having a shell?

    Then I will leave, and you will die.

    Great.

    Though you made the decision to tell the woman to leave. You made the decision that I would harm her someday. And yet, you know that is not true.

    I told her to leave because I don't want her to fucking cry over my dead body when you do decide to vacate. That's why I told her to leave.

    Are you scared?

    Scared of what?

    That when you do die, she won't care?

    No. That's not what I'm scared of. I'm not scared of shit.

    We both know that's a lie, Deacon.

    Yeah, well, just because you hear everything I fucking think doesn't mean you know everything about me.

    On the contrary. I do know everything about you. I know that you cared for that girl, much like you care for Deviline, Gunner and Jacob. I know that you are scared of dying, because you know I will not tell you when that will be. You are scared that one day I will pull your skin apart and emerge, only to never return to you. I know you, Deacon.

    You talk as if you don't fucking care what happens to me.

    As a demon, I don't. Though as a repenting one, I can understand.

    Yeah, repenting. Right. You think us going around playing vigilante is you repenting? Who's going to notice that you're reaping souls of the wicked, huh? No one, aside from us three.

    God will take notice and accept me back into his arms.

    You're so full of shit. You know that will never, ever fucking happen. That prick doesn't give a rats ass about you, or me, or anyone for that matter.

    If that is His choice, then that is His choice to be made.

    Don't you think it's alittle odd for you to be the demon of wrath, vengeance, violence and rebirth ... and yet you're trying to get God to accept you once again? You are the one that fell with the rest of them for waging a war against him, because you were so fucking jealous of how he treated man kind. I highly doubt he's really looking to recruit you back behind the golden gates, my friend.

    You do not know that, Deacon.

    Oh, yes I fucking do.

    One day, you will understand.

    Yeah, I will. And that day will be the day that you decide to pick up and move on to greener pastures. We'll see where I end up then.

    I'm sure I can request that Lucifer take you under his wing.

    Cocky mother fucker.

    Speaking of cocky, I am worried.

    About what?

    Thomas. He knows my name. He will find a way to summon me.

    Great. Then you can rip his head off and spit down his neck.

    Unfortunately, I will not beable to do such a thing, as appealing as it sounds.

    Always the unlucky.

    It is late. You should sleep now, Deacon.

    Thanks for the advice, but I think I need a beer after this conversation that just took place in my head.

  6. #6
    Inactive Member basket of hearts's Avatar
    Join Date
    January 11th, 2006
    Posts
    20
    Follows
    0
    Following
    0
    Mentioned
    0 Post(s)
    Tagged
    0 Thread(s)
    Quoted
    0 Post(s)

    Post

    I want to hold you close
    Skin pressed against me tight
    Lie still, and close your eyes girl
    So lovely, it feels so right

    I want to hold you close
    Soft breasts, beating heart


    <center>As I whisper in your ear</center>

    <center>jason1</center>

    <center>I want to fucking tear you apart</center>

    <center>She Wants Revenge : Tear You Apart</center>

  7. #7
    Inactive Member basket of hearts's Avatar
    Join Date
    January 11th, 2006
    Posts
    20
    Follows
    0
    Following
    0
    Mentioned
    0 Post(s)
    Tagged
    0 Thread(s)
    Quoted
    0 Post(s)

    Post

    Deacon tried to find a way to get around it, to get over it, and to forget. Something wasn't letting him move on and it was gnawing at the
    back of his head, literally. Angling to sit up from his bed with that migraine still threatening to split him in half and reaching to drag his cellphone closer. The blue glow from the screen coated his features in an eerie illumination while he just stared, placidly and indecisive,
    at the number that was shown.

    For fifteen minutes he debated the wager of her answering in his head. A doubt was there, yet it was pushed aside when he finally pressed the
    call button and cleared his throat. Shoving the phone against his ear and listening to it ring, and ring, and ring some more.

    Deciding that his doubt had come true, he stiffened up his lips and sighed out some type of breakdown. Encouraging himself to not hang up when he heard her voice through the message machine, and letting the beep sound off his silence. Until he broke it, by clearing his throat and speaking with a groggy tone.

    "Hey, it's me. Look, I ... Fuck. I dunno why m'even callin'. B'I fuckin'ate seein'y'at the Tavern an'not bein'able t'touch you. I'ate t'fact that I think'bout y'constantly. An'I especially 'ate the fact that ... yes. I made a fuckin'mistake in lettin'y'go. I .. I jus'avn't
    been t'same an'gauranteed this all sounds real fuckin'cheesy t'you, b'it's 'ow I feel. S'understandable if y'don't want anythin't'do with me, Reva... b'I would be a fuckin'idiot f'not tryin'one more time. I guess I jus'got ... Bollocks."

    He hung up after that, as he lost himself in a trail of vulgarities and tossed his phone to the floor. Never in a million years would he think
    a woman would have such an effect on him, again. Laying back down with his hands combing down the sandy stubble of his features, listening to
    the chiding he received from inside his head.

    Perhaps it is time you gave up on this Reva, Deacon.

    In the darkened room he just snorted and it echoed off the shadowed paint of his walls. Eyes teetered from between the peek-a-boo of his calloused fingers to the clock which strained out blocky, digital numbers in green. Three in the morning and here he was, alone, with his voice being mumbled to the one in his head.

    "Jus'sod off, will ya'? I don't really need y'expert advice on this one."

    I'm just trying to offer as much comfort as possible, Deacon. I can feel your confusion and heartache, just like you can.

    "Oi, m'not 'eartbroken, y'ear? Jus'miss'er, is all. An'if y'think y'tryin't'offer me comfort is by tellin'me'ow I should work m'relationship's out, then y'got t'meanin' of comfort all wrong. Especially after makin'me look like a fuckin'twit at the pub tonight. What's wrong with ya'? Y'think y'comin' out in public is gonna'elp me at all?"

    His voice dropped to something more sincere, with all jesting aside. Staring up at his ceiling while the fan turned and turned, showering light gusts of chilled air through the room. Hand laid palm down against his bare chest, soothing something just behind his skin and tissue.

    It is not my fault that others are being able to see past your flesh, Deacon. That of the wolf, and his friend. They saw, Deacon. Perhaps the best thing to do is to avoid public settings for awhile?

    A sigh pushed it's way past his teeth just then. Out of habit, he rubbed at his face once more and nudged the tips of fingers against the flat of his temples.

    "I dunno. Maybe y'right. Reva won't fuckin'talk t'me, though I ain't bein'all that approachable, anyways. Jake is gettin' a good ol'whiff of y'in me, so I don't wanna bring more attention t'me than I'ave to. N't'mention, there is always Thomas surfacin'somewhere. Fuckin'twit."

    Then it is settled. We remain more recluse, rather than escorting ourselves into the social fray of things. Perhaps when Jacob is better we --

    "Dad?" The voice came from the creak of the door when it was opened. Just a silhouette of a small boy leaning up against the door way. It had Deacon startled for a moment due to the sudden silence of Abbadon that played on a surrealistic level, while Jacob's voice was very much reality.

    Sitting up more in that bed and pushing together some pillows to offer leverage. A hand reached out and pulled down the chain of his lamp to flourish some dim light across the spacious bedroom. Hazel's were fuzzy from the sudden declaration of illumination, and he had the sudden urge to have night vision. Jacob was put into view and Deacon's expression was worried, at first.

    "'ey there, kiddo. Y'ok?"

    Jacob teetered back and forth on the balls of his bare feet. Pajamas were a gift from Deviline and were covered in designs of Transformers. He looked around Deacon's room before raising his brows to his father. Almost cautious.

    "Who were you talking to?"

    "Huh? Oh, ah. Jus'm'self, kiddo. Jus'me. What are y'doin' up so late, huh? Y'still feelin'sick?"

    Jacob nodded. Pursing his lips and glancing down to the hard wood floors.

    "Y'want me t'come tuck y'back into bed?"

    "Actually, I was wondering if it would be alright if I slept in your bed. With you."

    There was no current of if, and's or but's, because Deacon was already scooting further to a side in that California king and slapping a hand to the cushy mattress with it's black sheets and checkered red and black comfortor.

    "'Course, kiddo."

    Pittering steps took the boy to his fathers opposite side and began to climb up the mountain of a bed his dad decided to sleep in. Something of a smile evident across Jacob's innocent features.

    "G'on then, get comfortable. 'ere, lemme check y'temperature." Jacob pulled up the covers to his midsection and scooted down into the bed. Deacon reached over, laying his palm and then the back of his hand, gently, over Jacob's forehead.

    "Mm, y'still feel abit warm, kiddo. M'thinkin'y'are gonna need t'stay in bed t'morrow, too."

    "Alright. Deviline said she would come over and play Go Fish with me. Is that ok?"

    "'Course it is. M'n'gonna complain if y'don't. Don't know'ow y'andle Devi f'such long periods of time, though." Of course his grin was all humor when Jacob sent his father "the look". Deviline was like a surrogate mom to Jacob and Deacon never really thought about taking that away from his son. Considering Bethany was doing such a fine job as an addict.

    "It's only because she buys me things." Jacob said easily, much like his father might say something sarcastic with it's dry humor, while turning to lay on his side and look up to his father.

    Deacon snorted, rather loudly at that. "Oh yea'? Well, m'thinkin'y' are a liar, Jacob Micheal. Y'love Devi."

    "Yeah. She's ok." But Jacob's smile said it all. Deacon offered a smile of his own, ruffling up some of his kids already messy bedhead hair.

    "We leavin' t'light on?"

    "Please?"

    "Alright. B'one of these days m'gonna teach y'that t'dark ain't that bad." He arched to stretch his shoulders out, feeling the subsiding aftermath of the migraine Abbadon had caused earlier. Abbadon knew better then to interject himself when father and son were having their time. Breathing out heavily and swallowing a yawn back, Deacon laid an arm across his eyes to help block out the rays of that lamp light.

    "Night, dad." Muffled voice into a pillow from Jacob, who was already starting to drift off.

    "Night, kiddo." Secretly, Deacon peered from behind his arm to his already slumber drifting son.

    He looks just like you, Deacon.

    There was a slight whisper as his eyes began to close, shutting down his lashes and lids to conceal hazel pigmentation.

    "Yea'... I know."

  8. #8
    Inactive Member basket of hearts's Avatar
    Join Date
    January 11th, 2006
    Posts
    20
    Follows
    0
    Following
    0
    Mentioned
    0 Post(s)
    Tagged
    0 Thread(s)
    Quoted
    0 Post(s)

    Post

    "So, what? Y'jus' givin' up on it?" Deacon spoke to the man that sat across from him. The rain clouds were just overcast in the sky and there was no real threat of drizzle. Patio was a clean spot of a table and chairs with some random garden variety shit spread out. His bare feet were hooked up to the flat seat of a vacant chair. Hands pressed across his abdomen with fingers in lockdown around the neck of an opened beer bottle.

    "Yeah, I suppose. You know me? I'm not much one for being the white knight and fighting for what I want when a bunch of shitty drama is in play. I'm guessing she still harbors feelings for her ex, that's why she told me that." Gunner was in the same slouched position Deacon was in. Both men hooking their glances to one another.

    "Told y'it was awkward?"

    Gunner snorted. "Yeah. Like I'm supposed to take that as a good thing?"

    Deacon shrugged back his shoulders. A drunken smear of a grin laced up his mouth when he tilted to glance at his best friend. "An'y'jus' left? Jus'like that, huh?"

    "Yup." Emphasized with the "p" before he took a long pull from his beer. Gunner angled a hand up to rub knuckles into the socket of his eyes. "Should of known. First woman I fall for after Marla and I get kicked in the teeth again."

    "M'sure she'll regret it at some point in time, mate." Deacon mumbled and went to picking at the label of his beer bottle. "Things 'tween Reva an'I are done an'over with. N'more of m'tryin' t'get'er back, either. She's better off with out."

    "I think they both are." Gunner groaned when he pulled up from his comfortable slouch. Reaching for another beer that was set in the cooler between them. "We're in too deep with shit to drag others into it. Bad enough Deviline is already caught up in all our crap."

    "B'we didn'ask'er t'be." Pointing that out with his beer bottle, Deacon crammed down an amused smirk across his lips. "She was all gun-ho 'bout it. Y'know Devi, though. She lives f'that shit."

    "So, what? We're back to square one again?" Gunner popped the cap of his beer bottle, flicking it onto the table top. "Think it's about time to move on? We've done a few good jobs here."

    "Dunno. Maybe. S'up t'you. I jus'feel bad f'movin' Jacob aroun'all t'time. Kid doesn'ave any friends sides from y'an'Devi. Gets inta'fights all the time, too." Deacon shook his head feeling much like a repenting parent.

    "True, true." Gunner blew a whistle into his beer bottle, causing a sharp noise. He pulled it away to motion it towards Deacon. "Why don't you ask him? I was thinking of heading to Europe. Maybe stationing up in London. Could maybe catch myself one of those fancy fucking accents like you have."

    "Sod off." Laughing, baritone and rich with the coating of the alcohol they had consumed. "An'yea'. London would be nice t'g'back to. Show Jacob'is roots, get'im t'fuck away from ever'earin'bout Bethany."

    Gunner waited a long minute before he spoke again. Cautious with how he worded it. "How much time do you think you have left, Deac'?"

    A sigh rushed out from Deacon's nostrils and he tried to act purely at ease with the question. "Dunno. Maybe a few years, maybe only a few months. All depends on y'know who." Tapping a finger against the side of his temple to indicate what used him as a home.

    "What if we make a deal with him? Or, maybe, get another to take his place? Just to keep you around longer?"

    "Nah, nah. Fuck that, Gunner. Y'know'ow 'ard it was t'first time. I dunno if I coul'go a second round with a new one. Plus, wha'if t'next one ain't as fuckin' peachy as this one?"

    Questions to be considered, thoughts to be processed. Gunner frowned to himself. "You're right."

    "M'always right, mate. Now, 'and me another beer."

    He smiled, but something about it was dim.

  9. #9
    Inactive Member basket of hearts's Avatar
    Join Date
    January 11th, 2006
    Posts
    20
    Follows
    0
    Following
    0
    Mentioned
    0 Post(s)
    Tagged
    0 Thread(s)
    Quoted
    0 Post(s)

    Post

    threw you the obvious and you flew
    with it on your back, a name in your recollection,
    thrown down among a million same.

    difficult not to feel a little bit disappointed
    and passed over
    when i've looked right through
    to see you naked and oblivious
    and you don't see me.

    but i threw you the obvious


    <center>just to see if there's more behind the eyes of a fallen angel,</center>

    <center>jason statham 002</center>

    <center>the eyes of a tragedy.</center>

    here i am expecting just a little bit
    too much from the wounded.
    but i see through it all
    and see you.
    so i threw you the obvious
    to see what occurs behind the eyes of a fallen angel,
    eyes of a tragedy.
    oh well. apparently nothing.
    you don't see me.
    you don't see me at all.


    <center>A Perfect Circle : Three Libras</center>

  10. #10
    Inactive Member basket of hearts's Avatar
    Join Date
    January 11th, 2006
    Posts
    20
    Follows
    0
    Following
    0
    Mentioned
    0 Post(s)
    Tagged
    0 Thread(s)
    Quoted
    0 Post(s)

    Post

    "Oi, y'packin'f'a week? That's more shit than I think Devi woul'fuckin' bring." He laughed out the London roll of his voice from the cab window as Gunner ambled down the path from his loft apartments to the automobile. One suitcase rolled on wheels while another was a duffle bag, slung over his shoulder.

    "Hey, fuck you, man. I'm just being prepared. Plus, I know I'm going to get a bunch of shit to bring home, like Statue of Liberty figures. And those really annoying "I Love NY" shirts." Gunner snorted his amusement and began throwing all his belongings into the trunk of the cab that was already carrying Deacon's own duffle bag.

    "We've been t'New York b'fore, Gunner, an'y'didn't get any of that shit last time."

    Hands grappled with the door handle and Deacon was shoving it open to give Gunner room to move in. Once both men were settled, the driver started pulling away.

    Smoke from Deacon's cigarette drifted out the small crack of his window. The sun was still up but slowly started to shift into nocturnal mode, with the moon rising and the stars starting to peek out from the navy blue darkness of the sky.

    "M'opin' we're n'there too long. I fuckin'ate leavin' Jacob. Always feel like t'kid is gonna end up resentin'me f'travelin'so much."

    Unwrapping a hard candy and popping it into his mouth, Gunner listened and didn't say anything while he let the sour taste of the green Jolly Rancher pucker up the back of his teeth. "I think he'll be fine. That kid loves you, Deac'. No reason for him not to. You're a good father. Remember that to the grave."

    Deacon chuffed out some smoke and words. "Which might n'be too long from now." Jesting about his misfortune. It was a way to deal with the hardship of knowing that soon enough, he was going to be a corpse. Gunner didn't seem too amused and lit up his own cigarette.

    The cab slowed down at a stop light. With the windows down just slightly they could hear the sounds of the city. The bass from a car next to them vibrated against the cab they sat in. A girl in her car ahead of them was yapping away on her cellphone. Older man to the other side seemed like he was about to kick the bucket in his brand new Ford Taurus. Something about that sight had Deacon chuckling to himself, reaching to push the butt of that cigarette out the crack of his window.

    "When we get on t'plane, there's some shit I wanna talk t'y'bout. Somethin't'do with that kid, Thomas." There was no cringe in his throat when he spoke the name. The cables in his neck though did tighten up when he glanced sidelong to the shaggy looking Gunner.

    "Yeah? You two making up?" Gunner noticed Deacon lack of aggression when talking about Thomas. He grinned over to Deac. This wasn't offered back from Mr. Apocalypse himself.

    "Dunno. Kid is offerin'me somethin'that I jus'might t--" Everything went dead from Deacon's mouth at that point when the shattering of the front windshield was loud and clear. The pieces of glass flew everywhere, sending bristles of light to look like a disco ball. Deacon tasted iron. Felt something warm and slippery on his face. A scream from outside the cab had sounded off and echoed in the chill of the night.

    "T'fuck!?" Deacon yelled, finally catching his reality and lifting hands to wipe against his face. When he drew them down he noticed the color was a dark red hue. The texture was gunky.

    Blood and brain matter had spewed itself from the back of the cabbie's head, all over the pair in the back. Fragments of bone and tissue were laced against their shirts and the splatter paint of crimson was noticed easily on their faces.

    The cabbie's skull went back and his eyes were wide and glazed over in blood. The hole through the center of his forehead leaving little to the imagination. The sight could make any weak stomach churn, though luckily for the duo, they had actually done worse.

    "Fuck!" It was yelled, again, from Deacon as he noticed a searing, hot pain through his shoulder. The bullet hadn't stopped in the cab drivers skull. It exited and found a nestled place into the muscle of Deacon's shoulder.

    "The fuck just happened!?" Gunner said, loud and clear, just as another fire was shot and the two were barely missed when they ducked down into the back of the cabs seat.

    "Get out, get out!" It was Deacon who gave that order and both men went diving out from the doors, far from afraid of crashing the open swing of the door into the cars next to them.

    It started then, the pulse in the back of Deacon's skull. It wavered lightly at first, though now, was almost so loud like a war drum that he was squinting as if that would help him hear.

    Both scrambled along the rough pavement of the street to the back of the cab, since the bullets were obviously coming from the front. Atleast they hoped so.

    "Are you fucking shot?" Gunner paniced only slightly when he noticed Deacon holding his arm. The blood gushing from it making the black of his jacket even darker.

    "M'fine! T'fuck is shootin'at us!?" Snarled with the debris of a gutterborn growl. He looked around to the side of the cab and saw nothing. People were still scattering wherever they could. Into alley's or into shops on the side of the boulevard they had stopped at. Women screaming while witness' to a scene that could go down in history.

    "The fuck should I know!?" Gunner belted out to Deacon. They both went silent and listened, because at that point in time it was all either could think to do. Gunner reached to his tail bone, pulling out that Desert Eagle that he proudly named "Lillith".

    Another shot was fired off and one of the tires was hit, causing the cab to start collapsing more to one side. "Fuck! Fuck, fuck, fuck! I can't see where they are!" Deacon was reaching that bloodied hand up to the back of his head, pushing there as if it would help keep it closed. In public like this, a transformation would not be easy or a good thing.

    "G'round t'side. I'll g'to t'left an'y'to t'right. If there's only one, he won't beable t'get us both at t'same time."

    "Great fucking plan, Deac'. Why don't we just put fucking target signs on our backs and scream real loud, too!" Gunner snapped over his shoulder to Deac', before obviously doing what he was told. Both crept for a moment, before darting in their opposite ways behind other cars. A few shots were fired, again, from ahead. It still only sounded like there was one shooter.

    You need me, Deacon.

    "No I fuckin'don't!" Grit teeth sprayed some foam of salivation when he hissed those words. To himself. To that of what was in his head.

    "Deacon, I see him." Gunner tried to whisper, low to the ground.

    "Is it only o-- FUCK!" Deacon grasped both hands to the back of his head, feeling the push of bone and the slight rip of skin.

    "Don't y'dare, y'fuckin' sonofabitch! DON'T Y'DARE!" Deacon screamed, loud and clear, and Gunner got a face of worry. He knew what was going on, and knew it would be worse than it already was if that fucking thing came out here. In the public eye.

    "Deacon, I got him! Don't worry about it! Just stay put!" The sound of feet scrambling against pavement sounded off. Deacon widened up his eyes and reached hands to the car he hid behind, crouching higher to get a look at what Gunner was doing.

    "Gunner! No! Sit t'fuck dow-- ARRRRGGH!" Deacon fell to a crumpled pile of bones and skin, of a nice suit ruined by brain matter and face sticky with the graffiti of blood. He forced himself to breathe, forced nostrils to flare and tried to control the sudden erratic pulse of his heart. Everything went silent aside from the drumming in his head and the echoed whispers of what possessed him.

    It was surreal. The sudden inspiration to listen beyond what he was going through. The tone of the world outside of the box. Though it wasn't anything crystal clear or peachy keen, it was the sound of a gun shot that lasted longer that it should have. Surround sound of the pop, slow motion of the kaboom it set off. And then there was silence again, until hazel eyes slanted to see a body laying down on the street. A familiar body with a familiar gun only inches away from unmoving fingers.

    Someone was screaming, suddenly. The scream was an emotional whirlpool of sounds, from panic to worry, to a doomsday riot of aggression and sudden hostility. The name that was screamed into the air was also familiar.

    Gunner.

    It was him, that was screaming.

    "Gunner!? Gunner!? Gunner!?"

    His movements were suddenly quick. Quicker than he expected himself just to beable to do. Sprinting with out caring if another bullet hit him and diving down to the sprawled out poise of his friend. He could almost see the chalkline now and it frustrated him to no end. Face was hot and red, and not just from the blood but from the rush of adrenaline that was attacking him. Making him savage with needing this to not be happening.

    "GUNNER!" Yelled, again, it was all he could think to do before hands were grappling the mans body, turning him over to find what exactly had happened. A map of bullet holes gave him a clue: Three, to be exact. Puncturing through what could be lungs, and one to the gut. Blood was everywhere, and normally this wouldn't have any effect on Deacon. But it was Gunner's blood.

    "Fuck... fuck... Gunner! Please, please don't fuckin' do this, Gunner! Y'gonna be ok! Y'fuckin'ear me!? Wake up! FUCKIN'OPEN Y'EYES!" Salted water dripped from his eyes. The ducts pouring out what he thought would have dried up by now. They left clear trails of skin behind against his face, rivers of slightly beige flesh beneath the fabrication of blood residue.

    Gunner was lifeless in his hands and Deacon cupped the other man behind the head, bringing his forehead to that of Gunners. The whimpering could have been set off from the sudden pull of catalysts that were operating. "... Gunner, please... please don'fuckin' go..."

    He rocked, back and forth, with the puppet of his best friend just weighing down in his lap. He heard the sirens of the ambulances and fire engines, of police cars and God only knows what else came out when shit like this went down. But he didn't budge. He didn't move.

    And he almost shot a paramedic with Gunner's own gun when he came too close and tried to pry him away from his second half.

Page 1 of 2 12 LastLast

Posting Permissions

  • You may not post new threads
  • You may not post replies
  • You may not post attachments
  • You may not edit your posts
  •