[NymMoondown]

I remember the night all this began. I had gone to visit Robert and Perry, who live in the trailer Park. So does this kid who goes by Dallas. Dallas and I don’t get along all that well. Basically I guess you could say I was one those kids who no one ever really cares to classify; the GipsyFaggotTechnoPunkBleedingheart. And Dallas, he was a Nazi, though my perspective may be skewed a bit, all things considered. I suppose I should bring up the fact that The ‘Estates as its called is the highest producing area in the highest producing region in the highest producing State in the country of Methanphetamines. This really didn’t bother me because I’m not looking for trouble and I have a habit of defusing any conflict I ever bump into.

So I’m driving along on this stereotypical stormy Friday night, trying to find Robert’s house. Since I’ve only been there a few times, I’m feeling like I’m in the wrong side of the ‘Estates. I finally get onto Rob’s street when suddenly this kid on his bike comes from out of nowhere and smashes into my front tire. He goes skidding across my hood, right, and I almost crap my pants. I slam my car into park and jump out the door, hoping for the best. The kid, maybe 10 or 11, is fine but he has this shaky paranoid feel about him and the the bad skin that can only mean one thing in a place like this. “Great, another baby meth head!” I think to myself as I spy the brown paper bag sticking out from the kids windbreaker.

I figure I'd better not leave this kid standing here or I’ll find myself in a lawsuit with some 300 pound recovering drug addict with 20 kids. Or something equally bad. I load this kid’s bike onto the roof of my Station wagon and he tells me how to get to his house. We get there in a few minutes and he gets out and tries to get the bike off the top of my car. I grab it for him and ask where he wants it. He leads me down to the basement that they somehow built under this heap of a trailer with out thinking. This is where the less than normal night takes a turn for the worst.

So in about 10 seconds I learn all of the following. 1) This Kid is Dallas’ little brother. 2) Dallas is running the biggest lab in the highest producing area in the highest producing region in the highest producing State in the country of Methanphetamines. And finally, 3) Dallas is none to happy with me finding any of this out, Neither are any of the three cronies he keeps around to make himself feel smart.

Now don’t get me wrong. I’m a pretty big guy and I’ve had my share of scuffles before, but one on four--five if you count the kid, which I should have it turns out--those odds aren’t fun no matter how you slice the pie. So these guys play punching bag with me until I can taste the water on the floor through the holes in my cheeks. And all this time I can just feel my rage boiling inside me. I’ll burn this kid’s soul! I think to myself as Dallas pounds his foot into my ribs for what seems like the hundredth time tonight.

After these goons have had their fun they take me and everything with my blood on it--a few propane tanks filled with the toxic go that is meth, one really expensive tench coat which belonged to Dallas, and a few boxes of psudifed and some Drano--and the dump all the stuff into the cement that is being poured for a new foundation a few blocks away. After everything is in the pit, the toss my nearly dead self onto all of it and finish the deal off with about nine inches of cement.

My parents, never the concerned type at this point in my life, don’t feel overly concerned that I’m not reporting in since its a weekend and all. So no one knows I’m under this cement with these caustic nasties except Dallas and his gang. All the while I can just imagine whats going on in the houses around me.

Horrible things happen while I’m buried as it were. Domestic abuse. I can see and hear and smell husbands beating wives, wives neglecting kids, kids molesting younger kids. kids growing up to beat their wives. Its all just a horrible circle that I see played over and over again. Generation upon generation, I see this happen with one family and then another. All around me people are hating one another and little b little they all get revenge on each other until they all die. Sometimes I can feel them asking me. They’re asking me to seek revenge for them, seek revenge for their hatred. I let that hatred nourish me as I lie in a jumbled heap of battery acid, Drano and cement. Revenge tastes so good when you don’t know how long its been since you have last eaten.

Finally I feel like I might be able to dig my way out of this mess. I move a little here, move a little there. Wiggle wiggle and soon enough I’m able to get out of there. I brush the dust off the jacket and myself before I get a chance to look around. Its still raining and for all I know, I’ve only been under for maybe twenty minutes.

I was having a hard time rembering what happened during the night so I decide to head over to the old abbandoned state hospital that they’re in the proccess of tearing down. This place, they used to lock up any one who they didn’t know how to ‘cure.’ The closer I get, the more I can;t stop thinking of those old unmarked graves off to the side. I can feel each and every one of those people trying to escape their own tiny prisons. Physical or otherwise. I heard that they castrated every patient at that hospital. Like an animal shelter, but no one is ever going to pick those people out of the crowd and take them home.

As I walk through the broken concrete and brick I feel a familiar sensation tingle at the back of my mind. Suddenly I can see him in the gloom. It has to be Dallas and he is standing over a wrather unfortunate looking heap. Without thinking I grab a piece of Rebar from the ground and I charge this guy from the back. As I get closer I realise he is standing over the body of one of his croneys from the other night. Suddenly I see the kids face in my mind. He is asking me to kill Dallas. He says that Dallas has sold hundreds of thousands of dollars worth of drugs to kids. That he has ruined countless lives. I can’t get this dead guy’s image off my skull and before I know it, I have Dallas lanced through the middle like the arrogent, bigot, worm he is. He gives me one final look before he goes into one of those real movie theatre death things. “I killed you over a year ago...” He says in this raspy dry voice.

Once I’ve had a little time to cool down, I realise what I’ve done and decide “The best thing I can do right now is get out of town.” So I run down to the train tracks and wait for the right train to go bye. I find one and as its hualing this big CAT bulldozer down the line, I hitch a ride in the scoop and end up in Fargo, North Dakota. Call me crazy, but thats how I got here.

“Thats a pretty intersting story partner, but I’ve go to let you off here.” The driver of the semi truck says. “Thats fine, I’ll just have to rip your throat out and feed it to the crows.” this time its a twelve year old girl speaking through my head. She is, well mot of her is, riding in the little fridge this guy has in the back of his cab. Jucging by the look on this guys face, He didn’t hear that last bit from me.

“Thanks for the ride this far.” I say over the roar of the engine as I hop down to the ground. I walk over to the Payphone and call 911. When the operator asks what the emergancy is, I tell her there is is a guy heading west on 94, just 20 minutes outside of Bismark.He is driving a Peterbuilt truck with a private paint scheme. In the back of the cab there are the ramains of a missing 12 year old.

“Sir, how did you come upon this information?” I tell her that I can’t talk right now, I need to use the rest room.
“Sir, I’ll need you to wait there until a police officer arrives to question you.” I send her a small telepathic message over the line. “Its the right thing to do, just call the cops on this sicko.”

Hanging the phone up, I turn to watch the truck fade into the distance. I can’t hepl but feel a bit of regret as he the man gets away with life in prison at the least. The girl told me she wasn’t the only one. I keep feeling like I should have killed him for what he did. I tell the little girl to get out of my skull; I did wat she asked. I gave her the revenge she seeked.

Why dont’ I believe that?

[KAMUT]

Interesting concept!
Cool.

The one thing I say to you I say to everyone else, is simply get in the practice of spacing your paragraphs, especially online. its tough to take in all at once.

otherwise, its really good.

[NymMoondown]

it looks way better with tabs and when its double spaced.

[KAMUT]

Yeah, brother. tabs doesn't cross over from word when you make it into a post, so you physically have to go in and change it.

Thats usually the case.

[NymMoondown]

oh yeah, except for all the death and stuff, this is all real stuff. the trailor park, the hospital, even the Dallas guy is a real person.

[KAMUT]

Coming back to it, its easier on the eyes, thanks.

I like your style of writing, kind of first person perspective (Though I'm not the literary arts expert, just another student) with a touch of brassy humor. Its like a go for the guts, point of view to the world, and in my opinion, one of more interesting styles to read over a period of time.

I like this style because you can tell a lot about the "main character" without nessecarily spelling it out. Allows the reader's creativity to shape the main character through his/her view of the world, or better yet, engages the brain. Interesting....... (would you classify this a ghost story?)

[NymMoondown]

sort of, I don't really know where I'm going to take it (except maybe to Quebec City....) I like that idea though, of a ghost story.

[Death Angel]

WOW!
I have to say that this really moved me. Great work.

[NymMoondown]

Dundun Daaaaaah!! I've got two more additions in the works.

[KAMUT]

Cool, keep it coming

[FuzzyIzmit]

I truly enjoyed this short story. If you have many more, you should consider putting out a collection to publish. Seriously.