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Thursday, February 21, 2013

The Fuckno Wars CH 32 Reflection











We Don’t Live Here Anymore   by Jakob Dylan 





The alley was lit by the weak light of the red moon above, with shadows cast by tall elm trees.  A large, young man got up from his knees and wiped his face off with a rag.

His soul was hidden in a corner of his mind, for it had been over taken by another. 

Not an alien nor a demon. 

Something else. 

A Walkin had come to town.

This particular one had become infected by a cannibal.  It was his own damned fault.  He had eaten the flesh of the dead.  And now he wanted to eat the flesh of the living.

He had just finished with his latest meal.

His belly was full.  It was distended.  But the meal had been very tasty.  He wanted more of this.  The hunger of a cannibal is not satiated by a full belly.  There is no end to such hunger.  A full belly is an intrusion upon such a hunger.

It is the desire to eat, not the full belly that a cannibal desires.


Seen staggered with his stretched out belly and placed one hand on the wall of the building to his side, and he placed the two middle fingers of the other hand into the back of his throat.


The emptying of a belly affords the opportunity to eat more food.


The relief of such an expulsion of a large meal was a rush to him.  He had been doing this all evening, you know.  It was a behavior that a new cannibal must learn, evidently.

However, the original intent of this particular Walkin had been to put an end to the actions of the original cannibal in this tale: Sven.


Seen wiped his mouth with the rag again.  It was a cut-up blouse once worn by the once-lovingly adorned Trish Tocker.

He chucked it and turned to the front of the alley.  Her money awaited him in the van.  She had promised it to him.  He neared the end of the valley and saw a man putting things away into the back of the van.

The man moved like he was injured, yet intent upon his work in spite of that.

Seen admired such devotion to work.  He watched the man clean up the mess.  When the man closed up the rear doors to the van, Seen crouched, ready to charge.

The man steadied himself against the side of the van with one hand and touched the back of his head with the other.  Then he looked over to the building where Seen crouched.  The man’s shoulders clenched up in fear, and he stumbled to the driver’s door.


Seen sprang forth.  He saw his path.  Light of belly and heavy of foot, he would have to cross between the parked cars between him and the van.


The man climbed up into the driver’s seat and pulled the door closed with a heavy thunk.

Seen growled and surged.  He felt the bumpers of each vehicle on his shins and the pain made him see stars, but he was intent upon his prey in spite of that.


The driver looked down and put the van into gear just as Seen smashed up against the window.  The van rocked to and fro, and the man looked into Seen’s eyes.


A connection occurred.


It was a spark.


Seen looked into the eyes of the soul he had just released from her body, and the man in the van saw the face of the one who had just killed her.


Trish Tocker pressed on the accelerator petal and the van screeched its tires and got traction. 


Seen stopped dead in his tracks.  His mind seared with the images of the past.


He had been here before, on this mortal plane.  His duty was to kill---


---kill someone.


An evil man.


One who ate the flesh of his own kind.


What was he doing?


From the dark recesses of his mind, he heard a voice call out, “Help!”


His thoughts went back further.  He recalled many visits to this place, from the origin of eternity, and all along the path, he had helped.

Each visit had been short, as he entered each unconscious, fallen warrior and made them stand up and fight again, and win.  And then he would leave, and visit the darkness again, and wait for the next opportunity to Walk-In again.

He had been heroic, in many engagements through the eons.


But how?

It was all a fog now.

The only thing that called to him again was his belly.


He came back to his infected senses, and he saw the van disappear into the darkness.

Only two red tail-lights marked its existence.

As the van raced off, the two red lamps closed in upon each other and became a single red spark and then faded from view.










Dreaming Of You   by The Coral 








Trish looked into the side mirror to see if the crazy man was running after her van. She saw him in the tail-lights as the van spun its tires, shrieking against the tar and creating a cloud of smoke.  He just stood there, washed in red-lit smoke.  He seemed stunned.  What the hell was going on? His figure shrank and faded into the darkness as she drove forth, and she wiped her face with the back of her hand.  She was sweating.


The watch on her wrist bumped her nose and she looked down at it.  It was big.  It was a man’s watch.

She looked at the back her hand and it was hairy.


The man in the red tail lights had killed her.

She began to relive her death.


“…are we live?”


Her own words echoed from far away and grew louder until it hurt her ears and she realized that she was screaming them out loud.

She stomped on the brakes and the wheels shrieked again in anger.


Trish put the van in "Park" and took deep breaths. 


What the hell was going on? She pushed the images, the memories away from her mind.

She needed to get a grip on things.


She flicked on the dome light and the whole van lit up inside.  She looked back at all of the equipment on the shelves and the broken stand light laying on the floor and the probably-fucked camera in its hard case. 

Jeff was nowhere to be seen.  She had just left him.

Should she go back and try to look for him?

Then she thought, Fuck that. 

He’d left her there on the ground, bleeding from the back of her head, and he’d just run off.  Jeff was a bastard.


Her head wound was making things all fuzzy.  She was hallucinating, that was it.  She hadn’t really been killed or anything.


The crazy man with smeared blood all over his face was just a marauder, stealing things.  He was just trying to scare her away so he could loot the homes.


He took her microphone and scared Jeff away, and the ended up lying on the ground…





…are we alive?




Trish touched the back of her head.  The wound was damp, but the blood was congealing.  Her cut probably had dirt in it, but a scab was forming.  Of course, she would most likely get an infection if she didn’t seek medical attention.


She remembered the first aid kit.  She would use that.  This would afford her the best chance of avoiding an infection.

But what if there was a skull fracture?  What if pouring disinfectant into her wound caused poison to enter her brain?


She realized that she was thinking all fuzzy.  Too much had happened and she should make her way to the nearest hospital as fast as she could, before she lost all reason.


This became her plan.  She turned back to the front and leaned over and up to the dome lamp to flick it off, and in the rearview mirror, she saw Jeff’s face.


Jeff was right behind her?


She swung around to look behind her but no one was there.


She whimpered.



She looked at her hand.


A man’s watch lovingly adorned her wrist.


Her hairy wrist.


The blood on the hairy fingers was from the back of her head.


She used her hairy arm with the man’s wristwatch on it to turn the mirror directly towards her face.


Jeff’s face looked back from it.


She touched her face with her hairy, bloody fingers.


She was Jeff.



It was a hard thing to swallow.


What the hell was going on here?





Panic Station   by Muse 









“Good evening, this is Rock Stickbilker here with the latest news.  Tonight on Cable Unlimited News, we have a report of widespread power outages in the city of Fuckno, Californica, USA And also, some funny video footage of what looks to be a prank played on a local television station there during that city’s time of darkness.  But first, a message from one of our great advertisers. If you enjoy nacho chips with salsa like I do, then take a bite of this:  The new Chipotle Cheeze and Beef Chunk Chips, from Rico-Pays.  Mmmm.  They are Chewy!  Now,  (munch…munch)  to the their new ad.  (munch…munch).  It's a great ad!”











God Help You.

God Help Us All.

---willies out.





Saturday, February 16, 2013

The Fuckno Wars TFW CH 31 The Interview







Down The Road   by C2C 






Under the light of the blood red moon there slipped a shadow from tree to car to van.  A tall pole extended upwards from the van with a dish at the tip.  Bright light shined on a young woman standing with a microphone in her hand.  A man with something upon his shoulder aimed it at the woman’s face. 

It looked like he was aiming some sort of weapon at her face, making her do something against her will.

Seen peeked around the opened rear door of the van and watched for a moment, evaluating his next move.  Take out the man with the weapon first?  That would make the most sense.

Then he heard the tone of the woman’s voice, after the man counted backwards from five.  She said, “Hello, this is Trish Tocker for KFUK-TV, which is now being carried on the excellent and wealthy Cable Unlimited News system.  Hi there CUN!  Unfortunately, no one in our lovely city of Fuckno will be able to see this news report.  Allegedly, the power has gone out…”

Seen shrank back into the shadows.  He thought for a moment.  Her voice was not stressed.  She seemed calm.  She was talking into the weapon.  And then he made a connection.  This was the other end of the magical television box that had hung from the wall of the hostibal.  She was on TV.

He was not in danger, but they were.

He walked out of the shadow towards the woman.  She said, “Oh, wait, hello!  Excuse me sir, are you a resident of this neighborhood?”

Seen said, “Hell there Miss Tocker.  I do not live anywhere.  I am timeless.”

She said back to him, “Sir, what do you mean by that?”

Seen walked right up to her and grabbed her microphone from her.  She screamed and jumped back, and he turned around to look into the TV weapon on the man’s shoulder.  The man kept doing his job, for that was his training under duress.  Record everything.

Seen laughed into the microphone.  He said, “This is the beginning of the end.  Stay tuned.”  Then he threw the microphone at the camera man.  He lunged at him and shoved the heavy thing from the man’s shoulder and the man fell backwards onto the street.  He smacked his head hard and lied there. 

Seen turned around and looked for Trish Tocker.  She had looked tasty to him.  But now she was gone.  Where did she go?

He grabbed the stand with the hot white light pouring from its front and swung it about, shining it over the cars on both sides of the streets.  He stopped when he caught movement.  She was running off to the side of a building in the dark.  Seen threw the light to the ground and the bulb smashed.  Now there was only the light from the moon and from the headlamps of the van.

As he ran off towards the small building, his eyes got used to the red light from the moon above.  The small sign on the front of the building read, “Public Utilities Water Division.”  He screened the further end of the structure but could not make out any movement.  The hairs on the back of his neck stood up.  Someone was observing him.  He resisted the urge to see if the man with the camera was following him.  He didn’t want to turn his back on what was before him in the dark. 

He bent and crept along the side of the building, but it is difficult for a large man to hide himself all that well.  His nerves screamed that something was about to attack him.  He bent quite low and grabbed for something, anything on the ground to toss ahead near the rear corner of the building.

His fingers closed on an empty soda or beer can.  He snuck further along and then chucked it down the alley.  It tinkled and echoed as it passed the edge of the building and then a tree branch swung around the corner.  It smacked the side of the building at the approximate height of where his head would have been had he simply walked on down there.

He saw her face look about the corner.  Then she screamed.  He leapt up and grabbed her shoulders and looked her right in the eyes.

He said, “You could have hurt someone, you know.”

Trish Tocker felt urine seep down her legs.  She whispered back in halting breath, “Please, please don’t hurt me.  I have money in my purse back in the van.”

Seen said, “Thank you for your money.  I shall take it as a gift from you.”  Then he swung her against the side of the building. 

She slumped to the ground and whispered, “Is it on?  Are we live?”

Seen picked her up and threw her against the building again.  She made no more sounds.  Seen pulled the knife out of its sheath from his side and began to cut away her clothing.

She murmured, “…cut. We have to do this over…”

Seen said, “As you wish.”




Non Photo-Blue   by Pinback





A tiny light blinked into her field of vision.  She could not make out anything in the void except for that light.  It called to her.   She moved towards it and felt its warmth.  It was comforting, in this vast eternity of black.  It was some sort of opening.  It was an entrance.


She knelt down and to look at the tiny spark.  It winked out a bit and was gone.  Then it came back again.  She grabbed it and brought it up to her face.  She could see someone inside it.  It was like a tiny window.  She was looking through this tiny spark into another place.


And then, the light enveloped her.  She felt the light wash over her, into her, throughout her whole body.

She immediately felt a sharp pain throbbing at the back of her head.  The world spun a bit.  The ground was hard underneath her back.  She opened her eyes and looked up.


The red moon overhead glared down at her. Trish Tocker had walked in to the unconscious camera man lying there in the street. She had no clue about anything at all.  But she felt a powerful hunger in her belly.

She rolled over and got onto her hands and knees.  Her head pounded.  She felt at the back of her head and it was hot, wet and sticky.  Great.  She had a head wound.  She eased her way up on her trembly legs and braced herself against the side of the van.

The van was still running, powering the lights, camera and microphone.  But those were all on the ground.  What was going on?  Where was Jeff?  He wouldn’t simply drop all of this expensive equipment and run off.  Something had happened to him.

She set about unplugging the wires to them, starting with the camera.  That thing cost a year’s worth of wages.  She placed it gently into the hard case and snapped the latches shut.  The microphone was next.  The lamp looked to be broken.  That would come out of Jeff’s wages.

When she got everything put away, she considered what to do about Jeff.  She couldn’t just ditch him and bail.  She wouldn’t want someone to do that to her.  But she considered the situation.  She woke up on the ground, bleeding from the back of her head.  Jeff had deserted her.  All the equipment was lying there on the ground, unprotected, just like she had been.

She needed medical attention for her head wound.


As she closed up the back of the van, she turned towards the front of the van, this time on the driver’s side.  She would drive this van now.  She looked over to the side of the street at the building there. 

Something flickered in the back of her mind.  Why was Jeff gone?

The building had a sign on its front.  She could barely make out what it read. Something bad had happened.  Something very bad had happened by that building. 

In the back.


Her skin crawled as she made her way to the driver’s side door, steadying herself against the van with her hand.


Something bad had happened to her.  She was beginning to get a picture now.

“Is it on?  Are we live?”  Her own words echoed back from beyond a tiny entrance in the void, in the spark.


She felt fear pour through her veins.


She was in danger.


Again.




God Help You.

God Help Us All.

---willies out




Tuesday, February 12, 2013

The Fuckno Wars Side Note



 Dark Night   by The Blasters




You know, I have tried to put this story down for a while to continue on with other things that I need to do.


I've tried to set down this tale many, many times in the past few years.


Thing is, sometimes a particular story won’t let you go.  I don’t know exactly why such a thing happens.


But I have a clue.

The only thing I can surmise is that once you have created characters and fleshed them out to a point where they develop their own personalities, then they may demand the ending.  They will show up in your dreams at night, or even make you daydream about their tale while you are doing other things through the course of the day.

This particular story is not the answer to life, the universe and everything, or course.

It’s probably not all that well written, either.  But one thing that matters is this: when I attempt to write, I do my best to stay true to the characters.  They will never do something that isn't within them to do.  There are no surprises for the patient reader from the behaviors of the characters that one has come to know.


Any story, when properly constructed, has been mapped out at least a bare amount.  The ending is there already; even if it's a whisper of an idea in the writer’s head.  The course to the ending is a skeleton that simply needs to be fleshed out. 


The situations and turns of events are set up beforehand as mile markers along the way.  There should never be a sudden, lucky find.  Foreshadowing is vital.

No gun must magically appear to save someone.  No answer for a puzzle should magically appear at the end.


The hints of each save along the way must be hinted at and foreshadowed, far before they appear.  Any other sort of save will only cheat the patient reader and make them lose faith in the writer’s intent and ability to construct the foundation, and even the writer’s own integrity.


Integrity is the currency of a puzzle that a writer constructs for the reader to solve.

The reward is the fulfillment of the tale in a true manner.  Nothing must be false.

No one must be cheated.  Everything must make sense, at the end.


Evidently, this is important to the characters as well.  They do, indeed, take on a life of their own.



For this particular tale, Redemption is at the end.  In order to get there, then the road must make such a Redemption truly count.  It is not simply violence and shoot-outs and explosions and a happy ending.

Unless such events things are necessary for the tale.


The characters must face seemingly insurmountable odds through out the story’s arc, and then overcome them.


It is the job of the good writer to place in each of the characters the tools that could help them to achieve such a thing, from the start.


Even if the characters do not know that they have such tools, the reader must (simply must) have a clue that those tools have been there all along, and this should happen along the path of events.


In such a way then the writer becomes a scribe: someone documenting the occurrences and their outcomes, staying true to the characters and each their personalities.


The writer will be along for the ride.


The reader will know this, because they will feel the same way.


Anything else is hack.




Redemption is at the end of this particular tale and it has nothing to do with religion.


Redemption has to do with paying your dues.


Time to get writing full steam on this.  For you, my friend, and for me as well.

Thank you for your patience, all these years.



Follow me to the end, if you would be so kind.  This is from where the current tale started.










God Help You.

God Help Us All.

---willies out.





.







Tuesday, February 5, 2013

The Fuckno Wars TFW CH 30 In Darkness, Apart


It connected them, and it separated them.

It caused each their own downfall,

and in the end, their redemption.


Torment can heal.


Sometimes.





A Perfect Day     by The Constellations











IN


DARKNESS


APART










We stood behind the mansion under the red moon.  She paid us no mind.  She looked to the south.

Away from us.

We were ants to her.


Alone.



Our blue friends were gone, and in their absence a cold frost covered the remnants of our footprints in the dark.


I looked over the rest of the horizon and all of the lights in the huge cityscape were gone.

And yet, a soft orange glow flickered here and there.


I helped Big Bryan get to his feet, and he looked over the bodies of them Purple Robes.

He whispered, “Who the fuck are those bastards anyways?”


I whispered back, although there was no need to do so.  “Those are the bad guys.”


Bryan rubbed his jaw and looked me right in the eyes.  He said, “Well, yeah, Will.  No shit.  But who are they?”


I had to respect him at that moment.  He’d just run back and defended us, no questions asked. 


Risked his life.


Without knowing why.


Or, perhaps he knew something that I didn’t.  Maybe he had a clue about things that I was only beginning to understand.


Looking back, it is obvious that he held a loyalty to me and our friends that I didn’t even hold for myself.


Huh.


I said, “Bryan.  Welcome back.  We missed you.”



And then he got all mushy and gave me a bear hug.  Blecch.  Bastard was turning soft.  Blecch.



Tellesco felt a shiver in his bones.  The image of a blue face seared across his vision for  a brief moment, and then there was only the afterimage.  It hung in the air before him like a ghost.


It was the face of his beloved, his friend Sean.

Sean looked different in the image.  He had a weird nose stuck on his face, and his eyes seemed hollow.   But it was him.


There was something else, however.


It was an insatiable hunger that was left behind as the image dissipated.


It was the hunger for human flesh.


Tellesco felt like he was going to vomit.  That feeling ebbed as the image did.


He searched the image for clues, as it faded away.


Why had he seen this?  Was Sean in trouble?







Sweet Sour    by Band Of Skulls






Seen’s belly rumbled.  He felt like he had not eaten in a week. The lights in the city were out, all of them.  A huge power surge had blown all of the other power stations out, and it had been so strong, it had blown out thousands of transformers and battery packs for the streetlights.

Only the lights from buildings that contained operable electrical generators emitted light, as well as a few remaining traffic lights far and wide.


These glowed and blinked like tiny stars, lost in the far off reaches of eternity.


There were other lights, however, and these were from the vehicles that continued to make their way to their homes, or to the workplaces of those who were called to attention in order to restore power and order.


And to rescue.



Seen searched for a place that might offer food and rest, in peace.


He thought of a menu.

It would have ham and eggs, maybe waffles, maybe an omelet with toes and fingers in it, and perhaps a nice tall glass of hot human blood?


The lights ahead flashed blue in the windshield.


(The sound of the keys hitting the floor echoed down the hallway)


The dust on the windshield blurred the blue lights and he blinked


(A mutter of a swear, echoing across walls that held no family pictures)


The blue lights flashed in his eyes as they grew brighter


(There were tiny holes in the walls where the pictures once hung, and larger ones beneath them where the pictures had been punched through)


The lights flashed in his eyes now, off-on. Off-on.  Off-On.  OFF-ON.  OFFONOFFON


(A door opened, squeaking from hinges forgotten, ignored, neglected, abused)



The sirens passed Seen and he swung off the road and slammed his brakes.


His heart pounded.  He could hear the rush of each beat in his ears, and his head hurt with each throb.


Hunger called from his belly, but in the black space before him, he could see only one image.


The afterimage of the flashing blue lights, burned upon his retinas, was this;


A small boy in a bed, unprotected, with a large shadow looming over him. 


It had claws.


He looked down at his hands.


They were covered with the skins of a dead man.


Sean/Seen cowered back from the atrocities he had committed.


His hands looked like feral claws.


What had he done? 


What was he doing?


He felt the world slip away, blue light in the vast eternity of black,


Out


out


out,


…tiny light.








The Walkin Seen climbed back into the driver seat.

He said, "It is quite apparent that you need to keep still."





+   +   +   +   +   +   +


"Hello, this is Trish Tocker for KFUK-TV, which is now being aired on the excellent all-news CUN cable channel.  Unfortunately, no one in our lovely city of Fuckno will be able to see this news report.

Allegedly, the power has gone out.  Only places that have electrical generators have power, such as our KFUK Television transmitter, and the van that feeds my microphone.

Oh, wait, hello!  Excuse me sir, are you a resident of this neighborhood?"


(Soft murmur of words off screen.)


"Sir, what do you mean by that?"


(Brightly-lit face of our friend Seen appears on screen, and then screams of fright and also laughter occur...)
















God Help You.


God Help Us All.


---willies out.
















Move Love   by Robert Glasper