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Rated: GC · Short Story · Thriller/Suspense · #1638982
Moe is confronted with the choice a choice: to believe or not to. He attempts the latter.
1000 WORDS



“So you know what he is, uh, right? This guy you know, walking around the bushes and what not. I think he’s a fucking asshole, him and all of his types, just walking around and talking to people, telling us that the world will someday day end for no other reason than just to talk, just a fucking asshole talking to me about the end with his friends. People like that haven’t any shame.”

“What in the hail are you talkin’ bout Moe.”

“Nothing, Charlie, just nothing, but I think you ought to reconsider the offer, you know. It’s a really good deal, the one you’re passing up, about that fucking asshole.” I continued on in some detail about all this guy had done, but Charlie wouldn’t budge an inch over the matter because he could not see the importance of it all, not so clearly at least, not for now. And then it happened. Boom. Splat. Bam. This fucking asshole came into the store we were in, and he started talking up a storm about the beginning of it all, about what we should be thankful for, that someday the world would end and that we would be on trial. We all would be on trial.

“Ricky, I ain’t got the time or da inclanation to talk to you bout this shit. I got this here place to run since pa died. You best buy somethin or leave else I’m gonna raise some hail on you.” At this point, Charlie placed his shotgun onto the countertop, and I thought that Ricky would shut it because, let’s face it, Charlie’s not the type to fuck around. Rightly so, Ricky glanced at the metallic death blow staring him in the face, and started to back away slowly, just one foot after another before the other guy entered, the guy I mentioned entered the store.

“So has brother Richard convinced you yet of the wickedness of your lives and how you ought to walk with us into the enlightened domain before the end draws closer and consumes your petty existences.”

“To be quite honest, Tom,” I began sincerely, “we remain unconvinced but per chance you can spring your earnestness about the matter as to convince us, uh, me and Charlie here, of how to spend the rest of the day.”

“Quaintly done, my dear fellow, and I will convince you, let us not suffer any doubts on that matter, for this is the day of decisions, this being the twenty-third day of January, month of the light, on the two thousandth and second year after our profit and guiding light was spat upon and lied to.” This fellow, I supposed was really into the mockery. “At ten P.M. today, and not a minute sooner or later,” he stated before I cut in.

“Is that eastern or pacific?”

“It is in his time. He will come to our church, our organization, and devour all those who do not believe in the truth of his words. We, who have been so noble as to speak for him will be rewarded.” Tom displayed a royally sinister grin. Just then I heard gun shots from beside me, and Ricky dropped to the ground. Tom was shocked by this, and turned to rush out of the store, but Charlie put two shots in his back, stunning him, before adding another round into the back of his head.

“Well that’s one more than I bargained for, Chuck.”

“Pay me for da first asshole. This one here’s fur me.”

So I gave Charlie the money, like any smart guy would do, and we dragged the two sacks of bones and blood into the back, where Charlie opened a beer and began to dissect them, as though they were deer. He offered me a homemade hamburger, but I told him that I needed to rush about, with this and that to do.

I got home at five that night and decided that I had to take a shower, to wash these thoughts from my mind, and sitting alone in the bottom of that watery crevice, I was soothed by the sensations of the splashing of warm waves of clear and liquid solitude. Suddenly, I heard a crash in my living room, of a smashed in door no doubt, and, before too long, a knife was pointed in my face from some broad’s hand and I hadn’t a clue as to why, for, when glancing up from the wide angled shot, I saw that my girlfriend was my captor. A leaden foot booted me in the head, and I was out.

I woke up in some room barely lit by the candles around the walls, and all the people I had avoided these past few days paced around me slowly. Some grimaced as they become aware that I was awake; others completely ignored me, but I am not sure what I preferred. Ropes had constricted my movement, and I was faced forward, like one in some platonic cave, and all I could see was a burning red cross turned upside down. There were other prisoners there too, and they moaned and cried, trying to bitch about these unfortunate circumstances to me through duct-taped mouths.

As seconds begat minutes, the flames on the cross intensified; amazingly it was not the cross the burned, only flames suspended around the cross, acting happy to be there. When the bells chimed in the distance, the flames went out, followed by the weak light of the candles. A red figure emerged before the cross, eliminating the entire room. This figure or demon or beast, whatever, barged over to the person to my left, and removed the duct tape without mercy. After the screams, the devil spoke quite delicately.

“Do you believe in me, and forsake your god?”

The person said no, the brave fool, so the devil slashed his throat and moved on to me. “And you?”

All I could do was nod. Charlie was dead.



© Copyright 2010 Jay Bradley (jbradley49 at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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