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To the Revenge House.
By Daniel | August 5, 2007
A Candle In the Wind
Bullets banged and boomed like a black mans’ radio. The forest shook like Poleroid pictures. The nature birds and owls took flite as if to say, “Our world is burning, but it dont stop turning; off to another home am I”. In every witch direction: Chaos. This once peacefull place of solitude and wonderment, gone in the flicker of a crazy mans’ triggre finger. Flick flick flick. Crap crap crap. It was Vietnam minus anime, it was WWII Hollowcaust minus mustaches, it was Boston Tea Party minus tea … plus blood. Ten innoscents, dead as coal.
The woods where burning, the world kempt turning. God shrugg’d his ample shoalders. If He don’t give a rip, whom is there to keep this world into the piece and quiet that it so thusly deserves? One man: Wolferine. He gives a rip, litrally.
—
The smell of human being blood trickeled thru Wolferines’ beards and sideburns. Within the minute he was on his chrome entrusted motorcycle, Judge Harry Stone, headed south-bound on the Highway on Hell. 40 miles per hour; 45! 50!! finally, 55 miles per hour!!! The world fled past Wolferines’ eyes like a Runaway Bride. “This world is wont and full of need.” he thought. His motorcycle was his Stallion; his Silver Eye’d horse of the night. Giddy up, giddy up.
The sun fell lavishly into the horizon and created a canvas of silhouete. Winter trees stood as if skeletons of the Great Beyond, beckoning… “Hither.” Wolferine responded in kind. The night had a air of mistrust; a bouqet of surreality. Pablo PiCasio hath dragged his jagged rock of a brush and drawn the night in shades of Bruised Arm Purple, Broken Hart Dark Red, and Anthony Mason Black.
Dots on a canvas…. art? Or… the blistered and chapped skin bodies of the dead in the distants? “Don’t even think it, man” thought Wolferine. Yet, the thought came like a running back into the end zone. Spike, spin for the camera. Commercial. But this is true life where you can’t cut to commercial. The dead stay dead and revenge is sought with a vengence. The wind blue down from the mountains of Canadia with a harshly fierceness. Wolferine shivered, grew his arm hairs thicker so as not to bristle. Evolution by any other name would still be Just Too Sweet.
A trail of blood. A grin snaked its’ way ‘cross the mouth of Wolferine. He felt one with Hansel and Grettel. Under his breath; a laugh. A German sounding laugh, seeing as H & G were of said nationality. Onward home. To the Revenge House.
—
The trail of human blood led strait to a Giant Yellow House. Dread crempt over Wolferines’ skins much like the adamantium over his milky white bones. He knew a fight awaited him. But he was Clutch. If he encountered a Terminator, he would hook him up to the internet and infect him with multitudes of Warez and illegal downloading.
He knocked like a gentleman. To words: Big Misteak. Thru the door punched a fist of brass knuckles. Wolferine was stuck at a Crossroads. Not. He roared into action and karate kicked into the Mystery Mans nether regions. Unfortunetely; Machine Guns. Bullets ripped thru the Mystery Man and killed him but Wolferines’ metallic laced bones richocheted them in a zig zag motion. In slow motion: A beutiful site of grace, like underwater swimming. In true life motion: a George Four-man knock-out punch. Wolferine opened his eyes only to see a Man of Shadows standing over him, pistol in hand. ‘Tween thine eyes. He slempt the sleep of babies.
—
He awoke to a Rat on his face. “I Think I Smell A Rat” he pondered. He was tyed to the floor, being Nibbled. Rats wondered, almost as numerous as gnats in Virginia. A voice echoed from the corner of the room, as if the voice of shadows.
“Your a freak of nature. A black sheep. An mathamatical outlier and your weird. How you found me, I don’t even want to know. I’m ‘fraid I would partially throw up in mine own mouth. I know you and I know you’re ways. Cut first, don’t even bother with questions. I know your after me because of… The Incident In The Woods. But Listen. Those people, er, sheeple didn’t deserve the right to life. I was cutting them there just desserts.” The Shadow Man stood and presented himself to the light. His goatee: Flawless as teen love. His muscles: Rippled like a brain. And his v-neck shirt: Dark and ominous, like Hakeem Olajuwan.
Wolferine was dumb-founded. “Hath thou no diggity?”
“Diggity is in the eye of the beholden” ejaculated the Shadow Man into response. “I sense violence in you’re eyes. I sense a blood lust. Wolferine, I never liked the cut of your Jim.” As if a flash of lightening, the Shadow Man was upon Wolferine. His spit was blood, his eyes were coals, his teeth were shark teeth.
“Your not even human; your just a inhuman animal.”
Bloods boiled, eyebrows raised, and claws were SNICK. “Get outa my hair space!” whooped Wolferine and in the batting of a lash, the tides were turned. Wolferine mounted the Shadow Man as if his own motorcycle. First gear: Punch. Second Gear: Punch Punch. OverDrive: ~~ZAP~~ The Shadow Man was nowhere to be found. But that voice… yet it lingered…
“Wolferine. You’re light shines to bright. You’re candles’ wick is licked and I’m about to annhiliate you. Shut thine eyes and let it wash over you like bubble bath…”
“You think you’re mission is Heaven Scent, when actually it’s straight from the pits of hell. God may turn a cheek and blind his eye, but the Devil may care. Show you’reself and earn you’re manhood.”
The Shadow Man stepped into the light for the second time and the chagrin hit the fan like a silver platter of turds. “Your life is moot.”
“Er, wrong.” Wolferine had a surprise up hinst sleeve. Said machine gun from the entrance of the house. T’was ‘gainst his Morals, but when innoscent lifes are dragged into the mire and the muck, Morals are out the window faster than the hand of a wistful young man doing that airplane thing in the wind.
Bang bang bang.
Dead.
Topics: By: Daniel, Wolferine | 1 Comment »
August 5th, 2007 at 10:34 am
“Hath thou no diggity?”
Funniest thing I’ve ever read. Holy Christ.