Post by Stephen Paulinski on Jun 2, 2014 20:59:01 GMT -5
John Cooper awoke with a start. The same nightmare had been haunting his dreams for the past three years. All the fire; the death. Images of the rubble and carnage began to flood his mind. The blood; the bodies; the screams…
John shook his head vigorously. No, he demanded of himself, Stay strong. Repress. Do your job. It’ll all be over soon… He sat up from the pavement he was sleeping on, wrapping himself in the thin blanket he owned. He let out an annoyed breath as his raven locks flopped in front of his eyes. John hated long hair, but it was necessary. I wonder how she dealt with long hair, he mused. He immediately regretted asking himself that. Images of her started to flash through his mind. He tried to distance himself from his thoughts. He was not allowed to remember her. He had to complete the mission, then he could see her. I’m coming soon, he reassured her, speaking with her in his imagination, I promise. A single tear fell into his thick beard, and a small smile crossed his lips. I pro-
NO! he shouted internally, Remember the mission. There is no time for self-indulgence. He continued to berate himself. It’s no longer about you! It’s about everyone else. It’s about the mission. He angrily pushed his long, messy black hair away from his face, tying it behind his head with a rubber band that was on his wrist. He thrust his hand into his pocket, withdrawing a small, dented and dirty white box that contained his contact lenses. He looked at the box briefly, staring at the solitary memento from his life before it was thrown away. After carefully placing them in his eyes, John arose, still wrapped in the blanket as though it were a large cape.
The mission was almost over. He had one more stop to make. After that, John could rest. The thought of his goal being so close caused the homeless man to shed another tear. He had waited three long years for this moment. He was so close, he could taste it. One more stop, that was all that was left. One more stop…
“Hey, buddy,” a gruff voice called out, “Wat’cha doin’ out here?” John turned and saw a burly man brandishing a weighted club known as a blackjack. He looked like a bodybuilder, with muscles bulking out in every possible direction. He had to be about six feet, three inches, three hundred and fifty pounds by John’s estimates. John internally rolled his eyes; he didn’t have time for this.
John put on the act. He’d been perfecting it for three years. It started with the look; brown eyes wide, glimmering with fear, mouth agape, eyebrows raised high. Next was the gesture; pointing at his mouth, making incoherent grunts. John was mute, and he was trying to convey to the thug that he was. This was all part of the act. John knew that the thug was going to mistake him for easy prey. It was for scum like this that John created the act.
The thug smiled. Good, John himself smiled internally, He took the bait. This was a textbook case, or at least, it was until the criminal threw a monkey wrench into the whole operation.
“I’mma make this reeeeal easy on ya, buddy,” the burly man said. He pointed at John’s messenger bag laying on the ground. “Just hand that over, and everything’ll be fine.” John’s eyes widened with “terror”. He shook his head, conveying that he was pleading with the criminal to reconsider. Internally, John was cursing at himself. He thought he had hidden it behind the dumpster the night before. He was getting sloppy. He knew there was only one way this encounter could end.
It all happened so quickly. In one, gracefully violent motion, John handed over his bag to the thug, wrapped the strap around the criminal’s wrists, and raked his long, sharp nails across the assailant's eyes. The thug doubled over, shrieking in pain, covering his bloodied eyes with one, massive hand. John vaulted over the giant’s drooped form , spun around mid-air, and landed on the criminal’s back piggy-back style, his arms wrapped around the thug’s oak tree of a neck. A whispery, slithering voice escaped John’s lips. “For what it’s worth,” the voice began playfully, “I am sorry.”
The criminal let out a gasp of surprise. “N-no!” he stammered, “I know who you are! Y-you’re that guy that killed all my buddies. P-please leave me alone.” The brute began to blubber; John smiled at his pain, “Please don’t kill me.”
John was fully in character now. He was no longer John Cooper, the mute, helpless vagrant; he was the Demon: the shadow of the night; the creature that stalked evil and injustice all over the country, and put an end to it. Permanently. “Sorry,” the Demon chuckled, “You’ve seen too much. In my line of business, you don’t get very far trusting anyone; especially scum like you.” With that, the Demon brought an end to the encounter. Centering its weight over the head of the criminal, the Demon wrung the criminals neck. A sickening snap echoed along the walls of the alley that the two occupied.
In an instant, it was over. The criminal was a dead, crumpled mass; his face looking up at the sky while his chest rested against the concrete. The Demon sighed, annoyed that it had to come to this. It quickly scooped up the messenger bag and rifled through the contents. Everything was still there: its face, its smoke pellets, its wrist blades, its skin. It let out a sigh of relief. In that instant, the Demon was gone, replaced in its stead by John Cooper, the defenseless and dumb homeless man.
John blinked, and immediately felt that something was off. It took him a moment, but he finally came to the realization that his right contact lense was missing. He covered his eye quickly, and began to search on his hands and knees for the lens. When he couldn’t find it with one hand, he withdrew the one covering his exposed eye and began his search with renewed urgency. He needed to find the lense before he was discovered. If an innocent happened along…
John’s dark train of thought was interrupted by the sight of his reflection in a pool of water that had formed from the recent rain-fall. He looked so different than he had three years ago. His right eye reminded John of his former life. The brilliant blue iris shone in sharp contrast to the dark brown contact that covered his left eye. Strands of his midnight black hair were his natural snow white. John clicked his tongue, annoyed. He was going to have to restock on hair dye. Maybe I should go with a different color this time, he thought, I always wondered what I’d look like with red hair. He paused as memories of his old life, of her, began to flood back. Or brown, he mused sadly. At that thought, he knew there was no point in trying to hold back his memories. Images of her began to rush through his imagination. He remembered every little detail about her: her chocolate brown hair that was almost always in a ponytail, her sapphire eyes that shone with happiness and sadness simultaneously, her porcelain skin. He remembered his first encounter with her: how he had ended up injuring them both through his emotional outbursts. He remembered the time he exploded at her at the Valentine’s Day dance, the time she cut her hand open in the chemistry lab, the time they made up in the nurse’s office. He remembered the first time they got drunk together, the first time they kissed, the first time they became one… He smiled, and cried, staring into the puddle for what seemed like hours, and, for the first time in three years, Stephen Paulinski whispered the name of his lover, taken away from him long before her time by government lead. “Camila...”
When Stephen had finished crying, he felt stronger. Allowing himself to reflect on his past life gave him the strength to get up and move towards his final goal, towards his final resting place.
Stephen wiped his eyes, smiling broadly. When his vision focused, he noticed a small, round, clear and brown object laying near his hand. Stephen placed it in his right eye, and then went away, replaced by John. Stephen was dead. He would remain dead. When he was finished with his mission, John would be dead, too, as would the Demon. One more stop, and then he could end it all. One more state. One more city. One more stop...
John Cooper rose, reaffirmed in his mission. He was ready. It was time to move on. Onward to Philadelphia, John told himself. He chuckled silently at his next thought. The city of Brotherly Love, my ass...
---------------------------------------
I hope you enjoyed my little story. I understand that the reader is "thrown" into the action without much explanation as to why or how Stephen got to be the way he is. The actual purpose for this story is set-up for a future RP I will be doing between Stephen and Camila. If there is enough interest generated, I will write out a story that fully explains how Stephen got to be the way he is, and why he chose to do all of this.
All criticism, questions, and comments are welcome. Thank you in advance for helping me hone my writing capabilities!
John shook his head vigorously. No, he demanded of himself, Stay strong. Repress. Do your job. It’ll all be over soon… He sat up from the pavement he was sleeping on, wrapping himself in the thin blanket he owned. He let out an annoyed breath as his raven locks flopped in front of his eyes. John hated long hair, but it was necessary. I wonder how she dealt with long hair, he mused. He immediately regretted asking himself that. Images of her started to flash through his mind. He tried to distance himself from his thoughts. He was not allowed to remember her. He had to complete the mission, then he could see her. I’m coming soon, he reassured her, speaking with her in his imagination, I promise. A single tear fell into his thick beard, and a small smile crossed his lips. I pro-
NO! he shouted internally, Remember the mission. There is no time for self-indulgence. He continued to berate himself. It’s no longer about you! It’s about everyone else. It’s about the mission. He angrily pushed his long, messy black hair away from his face, tying it behind his head with a rubber band that was on his wrist. He thrust his hand into his pocket, withdrawing a small, dented and dirty white box that contained his contact lenses. He looked at the box briefly, staring at the solitary memento from his life before it was thrown away. After carefully placing them in his eyes, John arose, still wrapped in the blanket as though it were a large cape.
The mission was almost over. He had one more stop to make. After that, John could rest. The thought of his goal being so close caused the homeless man to shed another tear. He had waited three long years for this moment. He was so close, he could taste it. One more stop, that was all that was left. One more stop…
“Hey, buddy,” a gruff voice called out, “Wat’cha doin’ out here?” John turned and saw a burly man brandishing a weighted club known as a blackjack. He looked like a bodybuilder, with muscles bulking out in every possible direction. He had to be about six feet, three inches, three hundred and fifty pounds by John’s estimates. John internally rolled his eyes; he didn’t have time for this.
John put on the act. He’d been perfecting it for three years. It started with the look; brown eyes wide, glimmering with fear, mouth agape, eyebrows raised high. Next was the gesture; pointing at his mouth, making incoherent grunts. John was mute, and he was trying to convey to the thug that he was. This was all part of the act. John knew that the thug was going to mistake him for easy prey. It was for scum like this that John created the act.
The thug smiled. Good, John himself smiled internally, He took the bait. This was a textbook case, or at least, it was until the criminal threw a monkey wrench into the whole operation.
“I’mma make this reeeeal easy on ya, buddy,” the burly man said. He pointed at John’s messenger bag laying on the ground. “Just hand that over, and everything’ll be fine.” John’s eyes widened with “terror”. He shook his head, conveying that he was pleading with the criminal to reconsider. Internally, John was cursing at himself. He thought he had hidden it behind the dumpster the night before. He was getting sloppy. He knew there was only one way this encounter could end.
It all happened so quickly. In one, gracefully violent motion, John handed over his bag to the thug, wrapped the strap around the criminal’s wrists, and raked his long, sharp nails across the assailant's eyes. The thug doubled over, shrieking in pain, covering his bloodied eyes with one, massive hand. John vaulted over the giant’s drooped form , spun around mid-air, and landed on the criminal’s back piggy-back style, his arms wrapped around the thug’s oak tree of a neck. A whispery, slithering voice escaped John’s lips. “For what it’s worth,” the voice began playfully, “I am sorry.”
The criminal let out a gasp of surprise. “N-no!” he stammered, “I know who you are! Y-you’re that guy that killed all my buddies. P-please leave me alone.” The brute began to blubber; John smiled at his pain, “Please don’t kill me.”
John was fully in character now. He was no longer John Cooper, the mute, helpless vagrant; he was the Demon: the shadow of the night; the creature that stalked evil and injustice all over the country, and put an end to it. Permanently. “Sorry,” the Demon chuckled, “You’ve seen too much. In my line of business, you don’t get very far trusting anyone; especially scum like you.” With that, the Demon brought an end to the encounter. Centering its weight over the head of the criminal, the Demon wrung the criminals neck. A sickening snap echoed along the walls of the alley that the two occupied.
In an instant, it was over. The criminal was a dead, crumpled mass; his face looking up at the sky while his chest rested against the concrete. The Demon sighed, annoyed that it had to come to this. It quickly scooped up the messenger bag and rifled through the contents. Everything was still there: its face, its smoke pellets, its wrist blades, its skin. It let out a sigh of relief. In that instant, the Demon was gone, replaced in its stead by John Cooper, the defenseless and dumb homeless man.
John blinked, and immediately felt that something was off. It took him a moment, but he finally came to the realization that his right contact lense was missing. He covered his eye quickly, and began to search on his hands and knees for the lens. When he couldn’t find it with one hand, he withdrew the one covering his exposed eye and began his search with renewed urgency. He needed to find the lense before he was discovered. If an innocent happened along…
John’s dark train of thought was interrupted by the sight of his reflection in a pool of water that had formed from the recent rain-fall. He looked so different than he had three years ago. His right eye reminded John of his former life. The brilliant blue iris shone in sharp contrast to the dark brown contact that covered his left eye. Strands of his midnight black hair were his natural snow white. John clicked his tongue, annoyed. He was going to have to restock on hair dye. Maybe I should go with a different color this time, he thought, I always wondered what I’d look like with red hair. He paused as memories of his old life, of her, began to flood back. Or brown, he mused sadly. At that thought, he knew there was no point in trying to hold back his memories. Images of her began to rush through his imagination. He remembered every little detail about her: her chocolate brown hair that was almost always in a ponytail, her sapphire eyes that shone with happiness and sadness simultaneously, her porcelain skin. He remembered his first encounter with her: how he had ended up injuring them both through his emotional outbursts. He remembered the time he exploded at her at the Valentine’s Day dance, the time she cut her hand open in the chemistry lab, the time they made up in the nurse’s office. He remembered the first time they got drunk together, the first time they kissed, the first time they became one… He smiled, and cried, staring into the puddle for what seemed like hours, and, for the first time in three years, Stephen Paulinski whispered the name of his lover, taken away from him long before her time by government lead. “Camila...”
When Stephen had finished crying, he felt stronger. Allowing himself to reflect on his past life gave him the strength to get up and move towards his final goal, towards his final resting place.
Stephen wiped his eyes, smiling broadly. When his vision focused, he noticed a small, round, clear and brown object laying near his hand. Stephen placed it in his right eye, and then went away, replaced by John. Stephen was dead. He would remain dead. When he was finished with his mission, John would be dead, too, as would the Demon. One more stop, and then he could end it all. One more state. One more city. One more stop...
John Cooper rose, reaffirmed in his mission. He was ready. It was time to move on. Onward to Philadelphia, John told himself. He chuckled silently at his next thought. The city of Brotherly Love, my ass...
---------------------------------------
I hope you enjoyed my little story. I understand that the reader is "thrown" into the action without much explanation as to why or how Stephen got to be the way he is. The actual purpose for this story is set-up for a future RP I will be doing between Stephen and Camila. If there is enough interest generated, I will write out a story that fully explains how Stephen got to be the way he is, and why he chose to do all of this.
All criticism, questions, and comments are welcome. Thank you in advance for helping me hone my writing capabilities!
