Post by Jove Belane on Apr 27, 2017 10:39:12 GMT -5
1.1 - "I hate my job."
POV: Unknown
I won’t lie, I hate my job. Have since the first day I came in. My boss is a grouchy old creeper fuck. He’s extra gross about it too. He’s always looking at my ass. I can feel his eyes on it. I used to wear leggings, but found out that every time I bent over, he was trying to fuck me with his eyes. Now, I wear baggy cargo pants. I don’t want any of it.
Speaking of things I have to wear, I wear this stupid vest and it doesn’t go with any of my outfits. It’s this ugly kind of faded green and it’s pilly because they never buy new ones. I’m sure the one I’m wearing has been worn by a dozen other people who hated this job too, just like me.
Because of my boss, who has no problem cussing people out on the reg, there’s a lot of turn around. I can’t make any work friends and a lot of the people who have come and gone wouldn’t make good friends anyway. My boss is a grouchy old creeper fuck, but he’s always hiring these bible thumper kids. They drive me crazy with their fake divinity. I’ve been asked not to say “jesus christ” and it’s annoying. For me, living in a Catholic household, “jesus christ” is a common exclamation. It’s Mary you don’t want to talk about.
I hate this job.
Right now I’m trying to count my drawer because I only have ten minutes left in my shift. I do this so I can get out of the place right away. My boss goes home at eight so I always have two hours to myself--I’d die without it. I lie to him too--he thinks that it takes me an additional half hour to close up the place, but I do all of the closing stuff ahead of time so I can take off.
Sweeping, mopping, tidying up the disgusting bathroom, and counting my till are all on the list.
The half hour worth of pay every night, I take happily. My mom says I’m just stealing time.
Ugh.
Anyway, If there isn’t exactly two hundred dollars in the till and if the numbers don’t match up, I get bitched out by my boss and he takes what’s missing out of my paycheck--no matter what. Fucking lame, right? I’ve never stolen from this shit hole and I only make minimum wage.
I don’t even know why I waste my time--he should pay me for all the times he’s pulled my panties down with his eyes.
I usually get lucky, but of course, someone just walked in. I might have to count it all again. Shit snacks. This guy, though, he’d be handsome if his face wasn’t hamburger. His shirt is covered in blood spatter and I clinch my little o-ring wondering if he’s going to rob the place..
This place has been hit four times this year and yes, I’m talking about twenty-seventeen. I’ve been lucky enough to avoid being one of those fools scared shitless behind the counter, but I’m not sure about this guy. I watch him as he makes his way over to the water cooler. He opens the door and pulls a bottle out, opens it, and takes a drink. He looks a little wobbly and it makes me wonder how recently he was beaten up. Stupid guy--should be in a hospital.
I can’t judge though, this job doesn’t offer health care, even though it’s supposed to. Obama care couldn’t help me and neither can Trump, right?
I’m not into politics. It’s pretty gay, if you ask me.
I watch the guy walk to the little medicine aisle we have by across from the fuel additives and he pulls a little bottle of Advil off the shelf, opens it, and proceeds to take some of the pills with his water. I really wonder if he plans on paying for any of this stuff.
He does have a nice butt, though. Seriously.
I can see it now--he’s going to look all pathetic and hurt and he’s going to tell me he can’t pay for the stuff and I’m going to let him walk out the door with the stuff because I don’t want to recount my till. If only he wasn’t so bloodied, maybe we’d kiss, maybe he’d tell me that he was rich and he could steal me away from this shitty job and take me to some sunny place with umbrella drinks and enough sun to turn my alabaster skin bronze.
I hate my job.
I’ve lost track of the other guy because a new guy has just burst through the door and he’s the kind I never wanted to see. His face is hidden by a ski mask and he’s got a sawed off shotgun in his trembling hands.
Two minutes to close. Shitty nutsack.
I don’t know what to do, do you know what to do? I don’t know what to do.
He’s a crackhead, maybe? I always assume criminals suck that crack dick.
He hoists his shotgun up and lets me see just how jagged the saw job he did on the barrel is. I won’t lie, I just pissed my pants a little.
“The money! Gimme the fucking money! A carton of Marlboros! Do it fucking now or I swear to god I’mma blow your pretty little head off!”
This guy just called me pretty, but my soggy drawers tell me I’m going to die. He cocks the shotgun and I feel like I’m going to vomit.
I hate this job.
I have done nothing with my life.
1.2 - "Introductions."
POV: Harvey Lohman
Hi there, my name is Harvey Lohman. It’s a pleasure to finally make your acquaintance. You may know me twitter or maybe even from my old Lawfirm adds, with the catchphrase, “Are you a wanted man? Then you need Harvey Lohman!”
I know the rhyming scheme is a bit of a stretch, but the jingle was nice.
Pardon my digression.
I’ve been talking about Jove Belane for nearly a month now and soon he will be stepping into the fighting ring in Mother Russia for Unleashed. Are you excited? I’m excited. He’s a good man with a hell of a fighting style. I’ve seen him train and if you didn’t know any better, you’d think he was Bruce Lee come back to life and white-washed, Hollywood style. Oh the shame of it, right?
Hehe.
Now, this Jove Belane cannot go without a test. Yes, he’s quite capable inside the gym and we’re all excited about him, but we haven’t seen him tested yet, now have we? If you know Harvey Lohman, you know that he’s the kind of guy who pushes the boundaries of every test and if you don’t know; you’re about to find out.
There’s still no sun to be found in the sky, but the oranges are showing as it is finally beginning to rise up from the horizon and cast sunrays for the skin to absorb. Lovely. There is no sunrise quite like a California sunrise and you can blame that on my own personal bias, but you and I both know that it’s true.
I’m joined right now, in my limo, by three men who are all quite unique in their own ways. They all have, how should I put it, particular talents that I’m excited to put to use.
First is a man named Jelly. I couldn’t quite tell you why his name is Jelly, but it could be because he likes it in a sandwich or maybe he’s Dutch in origin. Either way, it’s somewhat irrelevant. What is, is that he’s a practitioner of boxing as well as a myriad of other styles that I can’t quite remember. He was a consideration for Unleashed, but proved to be a little too, how should I say, criminal in nature.
The second man is named Sebastian. What a fine name for a brute, don’t you think? His favorite thing to do with his time is a combination of torture, savagery, and potentially even rape, but I don’t care to know! None of my business. Sebastian, don’t call him Sebbie, is the perfect compliment for Jelly in that, well, they’re both quite violent and neither hold back.
The third, final, and my personal favorite, is a man named Nathan. He’s the brains of the group. He’s as cold as a cadaver and has very little use for mercy. He was once a golden gloves recipient, but now he’s one of those lovely men who beats up other men and women for money. He used to work for a loan shark, but then one day, he killed that loan shark.
Isn’t that fun and incredible?
No?
Ok, I’ll admit it, I’ve told you an awful lot about three men who will soon become absolutely irrelevant. I just felt like they had earned the right to at least be defined enough so you got the idea that, perhaps, if you need muscle in the future, you know who to ask for. I promise this hasn’t been a waste of your time. There’s a perfectly relevant reason why I’ve brought these three men together. You see, individually they may not have met the mark in the personality, sellability, and not-blatant-criminals departments and were not able to be my ‘next big star’, but together, they can prove whether or not Jove Belane will be that ‘next big’ thing.
I tell them, “Here’s how it’s going to work. The three of you will find this man,” I pull a picture of Jove from my pocket and give them all a good look, “And I want you to jump him.”
Nathan asks, “Break some fingers? Does he owe you?”
“That’s a very good question, Nathan, but no. He doesn’t owe me. I just want to see…”
How rude, Jelly interrupts, “Want me to punch his nose up into his brain?”
I start, “Your enthusiasm is in the right place, but I don’t actually…”
Again, interrupted, this time, by Sebby (don’t call him that out loud), “He looks pretty. Want me to rape him?”
Am I alone when I feel like it’s quite rude when people interrupt others? A particular peeve of mine is when you’re sitting at a dinner table, waiting to make your kind contribution to the meal conversation and someone else speaks over the top of you. That’s so rude. Sometimes they even just turn the volume up on their voices to drown you out. Infuriating.
My patience is my pride, but when tested...Eesh.
“No. He doesn’t owe me money. No. He doesn’t need his nose pushed into his brain. And no! He doesn’t need to be raped!”
Apologies, I really don’t like raising my voice, but at times, I don’t have the benefit of choice.
“I simply want to see how he responds to being attacked. Consider it a test.”
Jelly nods, “Beat the guy up, seems simple enough.”
“Doesn’t it?”
Sebby added, “I’ll walk right over the top of him!”
“You are so colorful,” I grinned.
Through the window of the limo I can see Jove exiting the doors of his apartment. He walks down the sidewalk and I know that it’s time to strike. I can’t guarantee that these potential flat-foots can catch up with him if he gets too much of a lead.
“Now go! Hurry up. He’s going to get away.”
Nathan asks, “What about the payment? I’m broke as a joke.”
“Once the goods are received, you will get your money. Nothing before. That’s the deal.”
The three men have a glance at each other before a shared glance at me and they finally start to exit the limo.
I know, I know. This seems cruel. So cruel. Don’t worry though, I have a feeling that Jove will fair well against these three. If he doesn’t? Well, then it wasn’t meant to be, am I right? I didn’t get out of my law career to twiddle my thumbs, I didn’t leave that life behind because I wanted to pay for a plane ticket just to send some nobody to Russia to die.
Eh, St. Petersburg, Russa. . I hear the weather is terrible right now, but I I also hear that the St. Isaac’s Cathedral is a must see. We’ll hit that spot.
Till next time!
1.3 - "He went for cigarettes."
POV: Jove Belane
I probably wouldn’t have started smoking if not for Mariska. There’s only so many times you can kiss a woman and taste that nicotine before you want one for yourself. It’s easier that way. She stinks and you stink too. Maybe that’s what love is, stinking together.
She’s a bad habit who shares bad habits. I am now one of them.
I woke up and Mariska was sleeping beside me. We had been making a habit out of that, too. She had stolen from me twice and tried to have me broken up, but somehow, some way, she ends up in my bed almost every night.
Loneliness is a dangerous thing, at least, that’s the current excuse.
I sat up in bed and stole one of Mariska’s cigarettes and lit it up. It was a Newport and I knew I’d have to switch over to a non-menthol before I found myself hooked on those damned things.
You hear a dozen times that it crystallizes your lungs and you decide that a menthols are somehow worse than regular ones. They all kill, but I guess, someone has to have a standard of what kind of cancer they end up with.
Nobody’s looking; I’ll take regular cancer over the mint flavored variety.
Mariska and I didn’t share much more than the fact that we were good in bed and it hadn’t changed. One, we weren’t very good together and two, we were still good in bed together. I think it was getting better. The sex part, that is.
That’s not all there is to life, but it’s a good chunk of it.
I pulled the plane ticket this hipster jerk called Harvey gave me and I saw the name of the destination and I still didn’t know what to think about it.
St. Petersburg, Russia.
What the fuck had I gotten myself into? When it was all just talk, it seemed impossible, he seemed like a vacuum cleaner salesman. I didn’t believe Harvey’s claims anymore than I believed ‘Mariska’ was really the sleeping woman’s name, then a week later, I had this ticket.
Harvey told me a lot of things that I didn’t believe. He smiled a lot and the majority of his smiles were fake. I thought about it more and considered how, sometimes, his teeth looked more like fangs than human teeth. He had all the tidings of Nosferatu with well managed hair and a fancy sport coat.
Maybe he was the devil.
Maybe if I had put just a pinch more thought into it, I would have conjured up a fuck to give, but I didn’t. To date, I had given all my fucks to Mariska and there was no way I was going to get them back.
I stood up and stretched and stepped over the mess of clothing we left on the floor the night before, on my way to the bathroom. I put the ticket down on the bathroom sink counter and took another drag off that foul Newport. I exhaled through my nostrils as I took a good close look into my own eyes in the mirror.
I looked into the dark pits which used to be my pupils and heard myself welcome darkness aloud and ask what it had in store for me.
I didn’t think it was going to be very good.
Wondered if anyone would be able to afford granite for my tombstone. Something subtle, but striking.
I laughed.
I walked back into the bedroom and pulled my jeans and t-shirt out of the mess of bra, panties, blouse, and skirt. I got dressed and the whole time I just looked at Mariska, sleeping soundly. There was something about having her there that made me feel good, but simultaneously sick. She was one half crazy and the other space was full of lies.
It was her eyes.
Her eyes got me every time. No matter what I tried to do, she would reel me back in with those eyes. She’d get my cock wet and then she’d proceed to squeeze me in ways I didn’t know were possible.
She had incredible control.
I pushed off the urge to wake her up for another round.
I made it to the door, but not before she woke. She asked me where I was going and I told her I needed normal cigarettes. She asked me for another pack of Newports. I laughed and told her sure. I said I’d bring back a bottle of something to drink. She liked that. I thought we could spend the day in. See what happened.
I wondered if I knocked her up.
What would our kid look like? The thought made me shiver.
Once I got outside the apartment, I turned north and headed up the street. Just a few blocks up was a convenience store with normal cigarettes and maybe even a cheap bottle of something that’d get Mariska and I fucked up enough to forget that we privately hated each other, all over again.
I liked that idea.
I finished the cigarette and flicked it into the street and that’s about the time I heard the clicking of leather soled shoes behind me. Three sets of them. It was kind of hard to deny they were following me as I had seen them exit a limo just moments after I had left my apartment.
It wasn’t Mariska’s gang though. They couldn’t afford a horse and cart, let alone a limo. Maybe they were Mormons… Big heavy Mormons with potatoes for faces.
I ignored it.
I kept walking until I met an alleyway. I turned into the alley and took six steps off the sidewalk and turned around. Sure enough, the trio of potential Mormons came around the corner and confronted me.
I immediately asked them if I had Mariska to thank, half jokingly, because of the limo thing. They confirmed it had nothing to do with her when the fattest one asked ‘what the fuck’ a ‘Mariska’ was.
I laughed.
I really wanted to know which one of them was going to make a move. I kept my hands down, inviting the first blow. I smiled. I wanted it. I told the fattest one to make a move and see what would happen. I figured he’d step on a fat roll on the way towards me and fall flat on his face.
He stepped towards me and put his dukes up like he was Rocky Marciano. I kept my hands down and stuck my chin out. I told him he could have the first punch, but I warned him that he wouldn’t get anymore after that.
The punch put me back a step, but his second attempt connected with air and I caught the back of his head with both hands and drove a knee right into his mush. I say mush, because that is what his face had turned into as he stumbled backwards. Damn near put his nose into his brain. I looked at the blood on my jeans and couldn’t hide the frown. I explained that they were my favorite pair of jeans.
The next guy, the least fat of the two, decided it was his turn and came at me, and I sidestepped his rush and helped him, face first, right into the wall behind me. I caught him before he fell and laughed right into his face as I pulled his wallet free from his back pocket and stuck it in my pocket.
I hoped the wallet contained some money-I was broke.
The next guy though, he didn’t fuck around with me. He caught me from behind with what I figure was a taser. I immediately felt my muscles leap out of my control and then I was looking upwards as the three guys put the boots to me.
I closed my eyes for a moment between stomps, hoping to pass out. I wished for it. I didn’t want to know how dirty the asphalt beneath me was.
Goddamnit.
The guys started to plod away, two of them nursing injuries. I felt stupid for doing it, but I forced myself to roll over and push myself up. I looked down to see my t-shirt was now dyed red with my blood, but I used the potential laundry bill as incentive to rise all the way back up.
I told them that I wanted some more. The taser guy. The really ugly one. He smiled, looking to oblige me. I couldn’t see much, but I took advantage of the fact that I could see their silhouettes against the daylight at the other end of the alley.
He walked right into my front kick and ate all of it. If I hadn’t been wearing shoes, I’m sure my big fucking toe would have gone right up his nose. He fell like a bag of hammers and I didn’t even stop moving, didn’t break stride and walked right over the top of him. The next, skinniest one, came at me with a wild swat and I tagged him with an elbow right into his temple. He fell to the wayside as I stepped up to the fattest one who didn’t want any of it.
He took what was left of his nose and he ran for it. I was lucky too, with a good view of his back, I fell to my knees and breathed out, right before everything went black.
I’m not really sure if any of that really happened.
1.4 - "The End."
POV: Jove Belane
I woke up feeling like Martin Sheen stuck in a hotel room in Apocalypse Now. I was sore and didn’t know where I was. Fuck, I wasn’t even drunk and I felt hung over like another long night with Mariska, only it didn’t end with that all too familiar bang. My headache pounded out a beat and I could have sworn it was a song.
I heard the lyrics.
“Can you picture what will be, so limitless and free
Desperately in need, of some, stranger's hand
In a, desperate land.”
The pounding beat was my heart. I forced my eyes open and found that I was sitting across from some little weasel hipster shit. I had a feeling I knew him, but I couldn’t remember his name.
He told me that ‘some guys’ had jumped me, but I had managed to fight them all off. Said he saw the whole thing and I didn’t put it together at the time, but he had some kind of ring side seat for it. Like he had…
I accused him of setting it up and he showed me those fangs he called teeth.
He told me he wouldn’t lie--said he had and honestly, if I had the strength, I would have punched him. I didn’t. I knew if I had, he would have burst into shards like a beer bottle struck by a bullet.
He told me that he needed to test me. Said he wanted to see what I could take and what I could dish out. I looked at him and I don’t know if it was because I had blood in my eyes or I was wearing rose colored glasses, but he looked red like the devil wearing black horn rimmed glasses he probably didn’t need. He slipped over and sat beside me. He patted my knee and apologized for what he had done.
His name was Harvey, I finally remembered.
He told me that everything was going to be great from then on. He promised me that my name would go up in lights and eventually everyone would know my name. He laughed and when I looked into his eyes, I saw a soulless being--a monster. I didn’t see a hipster. The hair on the back of my neck stood up. I coughed, found I had coughed up blood into the palm of my hand, and demanded we stop. I needed something to drink. I needed out of the limo.
The limo smelled like death. I looked around and found the leather interior feeling like human flesh. It was muggy and sweaty. It made my skin crawl.
I must have been hallucinating.
I heard those lyrics…
“Lost in a Roman wilderness of pain
And all the children are insane, all the children are insane
Waiting for the summer rain, yeah.”
I laughed with Harvey. I didn’t know why. His laughter was infectious. I looked at him and found he had pits where his eyes had been. He smiled and flashed yellow teeth and infected gums. I felt like I was going to vomit.
I demanded he pull over. I demanded a break.
He called the driver ‘Charon’. He told him to pull over.
I fell out of the open car door.
I heard it again. It was ‘The End’ by The Doors.
“Ride the snake, ride the snake
To the lake, the ancient lake, baby
The snake is long, seven miles.”
Was I dead?
I heard Jim Morrison whisper, “It could be almost anything you want it to be.”
I pulled myself to my feet and Harvey rolled down the window. I looked at him and saw the same little pale hipster I had seen before. He smiled and asked for Twinkies.
I staggered towards what appeared to be a Sinclair. I stopped and turned and looked at the Limo caught in the green glow of the Sinclair sign. Harvey rolled the window down again and signaled that he wanted two packages of Twinkies.
I felt my chest, intent on proving I was alive. I pinched myself. It hurt.
I turned and walked through the doors and staggered past the ATM and straight towards the row of coolers. I stopped and opened the door to one of the coolers and grabbed a bottle of water. I stumbled backwards and propped myself against a stack of twelve pack soda containers and screwed the top off the bottle. I took a drink.
Dead men couldn’t drink.
Dead men couldn’t feel.
Where was I?
My peripherals were blurred as I staggered towards a small display of medicine. I zeroed in on Advil. I wanted something stronger, but the place was dry. I wanted morphine. I wanted codeine. I wanted anything than a little bottle with a cap that seemed impossible to get off.
I downed six tabs and knocked them down with the rest of the water.
I hoped the wallet I stole had some money in it.
The check stand seemed like it was miles away and the girl behind the counter was busy with another customer. I went back to the water cooler and grabbed another bottle. I emptied it. I felt like my heart was about to give. I felt like it was all about to end. I kept hearing that song. I kept feeling the slow steady beat.
“It hurts to set you free
But you'll never follow me
The end of laughter and soft lies
The end of nights we tried to die.”
Was I dead or was I dying? Both? Is that possible? Fuck it; enjoy the ride.
For some reason I thought about Mariska. I thought about her eyes. I thought about the cigarette smell mixed with mangoes. I thought about how good she felt, wrapped around me. I thought I loved her for a split second.
I had become insane.
I forced myself to breathe. I forced myself to collect myself. I heard someone whispering about money and Marlboro cigarettes.
I remembered.
Marlboros.
That’s what I wanted.
I opened my eyes. It was a robbery.
“Desperately in need of a stranger’s hand, in a desperate land.”
I came up behind the customer. He was wearing a hood. The girl looked scared. I heard the pounding of my heart, but everything else was muffled. It seemed like the pounding of my heart was getting louder and louder.
Louder.
Louder.
I slapped and pulled the shotgun down by the barrel and he discharged it--blowing a good portion of his feet off.
“...in a desperate land.”
Some stray buckshot found my flesh. I tried to ignore it. The girl screamed. She screamed loud and she cried. I picked up the shotgun and handed it over to her and told her to aim it at her new friend. Everything was muffled. I was confused. I wasn’t sure if I was alive or dead. I didn’t know where I was.
I pulled the wallet out of my pocket and found it was empty. Fuck.
I looked pathetic as I told her I couldn’t pay for the stuff I had taken. She wiped her eyes and told me not to worry about it. We both ignored the man screaming. The man was screaming and getting ready to pass out from shock.
Shock.
I reached to the Hostess display at my left and grabbed two packages of Twinkies. I set them on the counter. I asked for a pack of Marlboros and a pack of Newports and she gave them to me. I told her I would pay her next time. She told me not to worry about it.
She told me to leave before the police came.
I told her I owed her.
I told her she’d see me again.
I told her I’d make up for it.
I heard the song.
“Driver, where you takin’ us.”
I jammed the cigarettes into my pockets and, with Twinkies in hand, I staggered out of the store and as soon as I stepped into the open air, everything came to a screeching halt. Perfect silence.
I heard nothing.
I saw nothing.
The limo was gone.
I was all alone.
END.