Stories of action and violence August 7, 2012 - August 31, 2012
love law and order and anything that fuels me.
would love to read readings with lots of thoughts and descriptive words of action and violence.
hey, and let it be in a somehwhat novel form.
hey. I know Im not the best but something like this...
Somewhere in the desert a conversation lightly picks up like a gust wind across the dirt then lightly thrown at the shaded red sand beneath the bottom of a badly beaten up trailer. Inside, a bareness trails follow by a voice rising and dying like a sun behind a distant mountain hill.
"He sat inches from me with a hand gun. I remember it so clearly," Grande whispers were a mounting peak then a chest heave apart.
"….Said he was going to kill me."
I can hear a gust of sudden wind arouse in his throat as muscles contract, his bones crack faintly in the dark as he continued on in talk.
"I smelt the fear before I tasted it as he nudges it under the table into my stomach. “ ‘Go’, His voice was sotto and cold." Grande thick whiskers for a mustache whisked in the dark as his eyes mince at the darkness searching for the light. "I didn’t want to die but I knew if it was to happen, my time had come."
A short heavy breath escape the ingression of his mouth before his voice could rise once more. It reminded me of a dog or the breath of this singer before my favorite song.
His throat faintly coughs before his need for water is recognize before his words speak the roof of his mouth snaps against the dryness of his tongue almost sticking together shut and he wheezes this one out.
"Took me up to a cabin. Told me if the cops came back before he did I was a lucky man. Then he tied me to this pole. He left on foot."
The thunder collapse outside above us and I manage to turn overt off my back and see light. Outside looks so warm.
"My throat had grown weary. The tongue tasted as ash before a burial. My nuts felt detach S"--- he cursed. "I felt like a dead man already- like all my guts were butchered. I closed my sleepless eyes and believed in someone I never knew, knew I existed."
His hands were shaking--- post-stress syndrome. I can hear his shackles like shingles obliterating the floor; raping her for God. For a moment his heart probably skipped its beat berating his breath guiding him onto a slow heat stroke death in the darkness of a trailer in the cavity of the desert. In the zone he became a dead man, that dead man tasting deaths kiss, engulfed by his enemy threats.
I reached into the darkness but he felt so far.
Tears touched the trailers floor. His ground unearthed; its ground not fertile but hard; dried and ruthless like a motherless thug and I waited for him to talk. Soon I heard a hard swallow and knew he was swallowing the remains of a dead man: His sultry, dark and hallowed ash.
Created Aug 7, 2012