battybm
04-15-2009, 09:39 PM
My second attempt at establishing some kind of ground structure for a story. Please Zoklets give me good feedback be it on story plot, structure, grammar, word usage, any kind of advice would be greatly appreciated. This will help me decide whether or not to continue writing and developing this story, or to this and focus on a more promising idea. Thanks.
The Rat
Waiting and eagerly wanting, my body lingered in the chair shaken by twitching desire, excited for the moment of revelation. My enemy Mike called in advance and let me know the update on my fate, something I anticipated for and took his threat to beat my body into a corpse as a challenge to not only my flesh but my outlook on life. I create my own impending destiny, and I sure as hell will originate my own death, and for him to make that decision for me defied my very philosophical analysis on existence. Mentally I latched onto this emotional state, reaffirming my animalistic rage with mental chants to hammer this aroused state into my consciousness, thereby solidifying my focus. This focus will needed during the frantic state of an adrenaline rush, and I replayed possible scenarios as to prepare myself tactically.
You ask most guys about the final thoughts prior to a fight, and most reply with the casual succumbing to ego and prehistoric survival genetics long repressed from social conditioning. These men will tell you that they also never plan any sort of preemptive attack whatsoever, rather stick to the moment and feel the flow of the fight, of course factors modify this; such as being double vision drunk that I see two people next to me when I look in the mirror so I come to the conclusion that I must have an evil twin that has always been behind my back, I just never cared to notice, until I came to know the fantastic logical elixir that is alcohol, which jumped started my brain to devolve to infant capabilities. I run off into another tangent and considered the possibility that he may bring allies. He needs this backup though, for he has been known to go bat shit crazy during a fight, often long after the fight is over and he desperately strikes inanimate objects as an outlet.
On the other hand, im not the type that goes into a fight with my balls exploding from testosterone. No I bid my time against my oppressor, and once I get another opportunity to respond to another cut down by him, my mind has calculated 7 possible fighting scenarios based on my future action and will use this to prepare for any surprise moves or friends swinging in the fight unexpectedly. Mike will be so unorganized for this sort of tactical assault. Yet be reassured that I also formulated multiple ways to avoid the fight with soothing and peace affirming words. That may be the course of action considering how many friends he chooses to bring along.
Twenty minutes have passed and my forehead has been dripping with eagerness, my sense still keen on the passing of each second. A cigarette would only damper my current state, however the stimulating effect of the nicotine rush might aid me, yet that also comes with the subtle and powerful effects that short breathlessness, that would create an unneeded weakness however.
He said fifteen minutes, maybe he’s gathering reinforcements. I have my aluminum bat and hand me down pistol from my father to take care of any shortcomings the odds may throw at me. It is possible he is acquiring an arsenal as well. I thought reviewed which contingency plan I will go with. When he pulls up to park will I just let him in the house, argue and build the discussion into a heated shout match, then just as he reaches a violent implosion; strike with robust fists totally dominating any defense and counter attack. That would cause alarm for the neighbors and I cannot afford the heat that will come down from officers breaking apart a fight. During the confusion they notice my door open and have the reasonable foundation to search my house. The evidence would be all too incriminating. Fuck I will need to beat him outside and be sure to close my door on the way out to meet him.
There they are, the bright lights orbiting just outside my house, my knuckles clenched in rage, my uncut nails pressing hard enough into my palms for me to notice. The mindlessness hits almost on command; the door is flung open with a bravado that guarantees im a bad motherfucker you shouldn’t challenge. Remembering to close the door, I slam it with just as much power at my entrance. The car across the street turns off, movement is seen in the interior shadows. I disregard past planning with a strong sprint across my dirt yard, the sound of cement under my feet seem louder then usual. I see the passenger rise out his seat, and turn slightly for a quick observation at his profile. A young black male, possibly six foot, with the ability to dunk my ass in a toilet, he almost squeaked intimidation into my violent, and quick wild eyes of anger.
For some reason I banged the hood and yelled like a chimp that has ate his own shit, even jumping up and down with two springy hops, facing him with malicious intent. He stared at me, in utter shock with wide eyed confusion, his body backing with half-assed stance. I rushed him, and the build up of energy that I collected really helped me come in with predator like ferociousness. I was throwing punches that had each first landing perfectly across various parts of his head; stray uppercuts came at whim and shook his jaws very foundation. His body fell back to defend the beating and to escape, he looked beating to a flabbergasted pulp. He turned his back and tried to flee, but I caught him with a head lock that actually changed his momentum with such force that it transformed into a backwards choke slam to the concrete. Needless to say his body was limp.
Instantly knowing that my victory was only a battle, and he wasn’t mike. For the simple deduction that Mike is Irish not black kept me alert. I noticed that the black male dropped a small box. I scrambled to picking it up, realizing it was heavier then anticipated, with an imitation pitcher like motion; I launched it at Mike who had just gotten out his seat to rise to the commotion. His head jerked back from the impact and collapsed to the ground. I run to the side to inflict further damage, and when I see his curled up body I stomp my heel across his face.
I hovered over the body cocking for a full on thrashing, when I saw that mike grew his hair out. This puzzled me for he had tremendous will to never let his hair grow beyond a certain length. Then I saw he put on some weight, and seemed really dark for this time of night. Upon closer inspection I realized I had just curb stomped an elderly black woman carrying groceries, and I threw a six pack of sodas directly at her skull; explaining the exploded cans surrounding me with liquid sugar becoming adhesive onto my skin. I lost my shit and ran to the other side of the car where I saw clearly now that I had choked slam a 12 year old kid like he was my steroid ridden opponent in a WWF match, worse yet; in an ill conceived drunken redneck wrestling death match in the front yard. I sprinted like an Olympic runner being chased by a crocodile with mutant cheetah legs until I rounded the corner with quick precision. I needed to hide, at least until the morning comes. By then the cops would be changing shifts and the hunt for me would be subsided.
My heart was now racing with more fear, as the anger had been consumed by the current circumstance I was under, however the small forest fire that quietly retreated but was willing spread at any moment, told me that I need to still ruin Mike’s life with my knuckles.
The Rat
Waiting and eagerly wanting, my body lingered in the chair shaken by twitching desire, excited for the moment of revelation. My enemy Mike called in advance and let me know the update on my fate, something I anticipated for and took his threat to beat my body into a corpse as a challenge to not only my flesh but my outlook on life. I create my own impending destiny, and I sure as hell will originate my own death, and for him to make that decision for me defied my very philosophical analysis on existence. Mentally I latched onto this emotional state, reaffirming my animalistic rage with mental chants to hammer this aroused state into my consciousness, thereby solidifying my focus. This focus will needed during the frantic state of an adrenaline rush, and I replayed possible scenarios as to prepare myself tactically.
You ask most guys about the final thoughts prior to a fight, and most reply with the casual succumbing to ego and prehistoric survival genetics long repressed from social conditioning. These men will tell you that they also never plan any sort of preemptive attack whatsoever, rather stick to the moment and feel the flow of the fight, of course factors modify this; such as being double vision drunk that I see two people next to me when I look in the mirror so I come to the conclusion that I must have an evil twin that has always been behind my back, I just never cared to notice, until I came to know the fantastic logical elixir that is alcohol, which jumped started my brain to devolve to infant capabilities. I run off into another tangent and considered the possibility that he may bring allies. He needs this backup though, for he has been known to go bat shit crazy during a fight, often long after the fight is over and he desperately strikes inanimate objects as an outlet.
On the other hand, im not the type that goes into a fight with my balls exploding from testosterone. No I bid my time against my oppressor, and once I get another opportunity to respond to another cut down by him, my mind has calculated 7 possible fighting scenarios based on my future action and will use this to prepare for any surprise moves or friends swinging in the fight unexpectedly. Mike will be so unorganized for this sort of tactical assault. Yet be reassured that I also formulated multiple ways to avoid the fight with soothing and peace affirming words. That may be the course of action considering how many friends he chooses to bring along.
Twenty minutes have passed and my forehead has been dripping with eagerness, my sense still keen on the passing of each second. A cigarette would only damper my current state, however the stimulating effect of the nicotine rush might aid me, yet that also comes with the subtle and powerful effects that short breathlessness, that would create an unneeded weakness however.
He said fifteen minutes, maybe he’s gathering reinforcements. I have my aluminum bat and hand me down pistol from my father to take care of any shortcomings the odds may throw at me. It is possible he is acquiring an arsenal as well. I thought reviewed which contingency plan I will go with. When he pulls up to park will I just let him in the house, argue and build the discussion into a heated shout match, then just as he reaches a violent implosion; strike with robust fists totally dominating any defense and counter attack. That would cause alarm for the neighbors and I cannot afford the heat that will come down from officers breaking apart a fight. During the confusion they notice my door open and have the reasonable foundation to search my house. The evidence would be all too incriminating. Fuck I will need to beat him outside and be sure to close my door on the way out to meet him.
There they are, the bright lights orbiting just outside my house, my knuckles clenched in rage, my uncut nails pressing hard enough into my palms for me to notice. The mindlessness hits almost on command; the door is flung open with a bravado that guarantees im a bad motherfucker you shouldn’t challenge. Remembering to close the door, I slam it with just as much power at my entrance. The car across the street turns off, movement is seen in the interior shadows. I disregard past planning with a strong sprint across my dirt yard, the sound of cement under my feet seem louder then usual. I see the passenger rise out his seat, and turn slightly for a quick observation at his profile. A young black male, possibly six foot, with the ability to dunk my ass in a toilet, he almost squeaked intimidation into my violent, and quick wild eyes of anger.
For some reason I banged the hood and yelled like a chimp that has ate his own shit, even jumping up and down with two springy hops, facing him with malicious intent. He stared at me, in utter shock with wide eyed confusion, his body backing with half-assed stance. I rushed him, and the build up of energy that I collected really helped me come in with predator like ferociousness. I was throwing punches that had each first landing perfectly across various parts of his head; stray uppercuts came at whim and shook his jaws very foundation. His body fell back to defend the beating and to escape, he looked beating to a flabbergasted pulp. He turned his back and tried to flee, but I caught him with a head lock that actually changed his momentum with such force that it transformed into a backwards choke slam to the concrete. Needless to say his body was limp.
Instantly knowing that my victory was only a battle, and he wasn’t mike. For the simple deduction that Mike is Irish not black kept me alert. I noticed that the black male dropped a small box. I scrambled to picking it up, realizing it was heavier then anticipated, with an imitation pitcher like motion; I launched it at Mike who had just gotten out his seat to rise to the commotion. His head jerked back from the impact and collapsed to the ground. I run to the side to inflict further damage, and when I see his curled up body I stomp my heel across his face.
I hovered over the body cocking for a full on thrashing, when I saw that mike grew his hair out. This puzzled me for he had tremendous will to never let his hair grow beyond a certain length. Then I saw he put on some weight, and seemed really dark for this time of night. Upon closer inspection I realized I had just curb stomped an elderly black woman carrying groceries, and I threw a six pack of sodas directly at her skull; explaining the exploded cans surrounding me with liquid sugar becoming adhesive onto my skin. I lost my shit and ran to the other side of the car where I saw clearly now that I had choked slam a 12 year old kid like he was my steroid ridden opponent in a WWF match, worse yet; in an ill conceived drunken redneck wrestling death match in the front yard. I sprinted like an Olympic runner being chased by a crocodile with mutant cheetah legs until I rounded the corner with quick precision. I needed to hide, at least until the morning comes. By then the cops would be changing shifts and the hunt for me would be subsided.
My heart was now racing with more fear, as the anger had been consumed by the current circumstance I was under, however the small forest fire that quietly retreated but was willing spread at any moment, told me that I need to still ruin Mike’s life with my knuckles.