A Story That I Wouldn't Bother Reading

A Bitter Tale Of Deception

I

There he was again, he was always there. Mary's muffled screams continued to haunt him, he stepped away from the window, he turned gracefully like a middle aged ballet dancer regretting his choices in life. He glanced at the bed, Mary was there.

Mary was bleeding alot now, "I really think you should call a doctor, Jim" she said through gritted teeth. Jim shook his head, forcing his eyes away from her tearful glare. Why had he done it? it wasn't the first time the potion hadn't worked, he told himself there was no need to concern himself with guilt, she was a whore, they both knew it.

Jim and Mary never used to be in this situation. There was a time when Mary wasn't chained to a bed, suffering her final agonsing moments, Jim would often sing to her, songs about love, songs about joy. Neither of these seemed appropriate at the time.

Moving back to the dusty window, Jim tried to conceal the look upon his face, the look of a man who had just killed his wife. A single tear fell down his face, as the tear descended it changed course, from left to right, stopping every so often to cling to his fading ginger beard. The mess of a man wiped his eyes, "Its better you don't see me like this" proclaimed Jim, with the voice of a man who did not believe his own words.

BANG!!!!! The door flew open, there was Dante, broken and bloody. A shotgun in his hand, a monkey around his waist. Instinctively Jim lept from the dark, damp wooden room, falling from the window he landed on the soft freshly laid concrete on the street below. The street was dark, a single street light beamed from above him, gazing up Jim saw Dante standing at the window, the monkey had now taken the shape of a giant heart. Jim hadn't seen London like this for a long time. He rose like a donkey chewing a mouse. He was lost, a man lost 5 minutes from his home. "This is not London" said the deep voice in his head. The voice was slowly becoming a cry for help, the screaming was getting louder, his heart racing, he couldn't breathe, everything around his was getting lighter, faster, then POP!

II

Jim tried to open his eyes, he couldn't. He could hear two muffled voices coming from a nearby room. Jim knew that he was tied to a table, this wasn't the first time Jim had encountered a table, he was no stranger to household objects, he was a man who owned no less than four chairs and a futon. "We've got to act now" pleaded a deep and desperate voice.
“How can I trust your judgment at a time like this?” This time it was a woman’s voice “What do you think Max would say if he new about the Tonbridge Fiasco?”
“Fine” said the man “If you’re not prepared to do what must be done, then I cannot stay here”. Jim heard heavy footsteps followed by a door slamming.
Jim's eyes felt lighter now, as if a young and restless golden retriever was licking freshly made honey from his already sticky eyebrows. His eyes were fully open. He glanced around the room, but it wasn't a room, it wasn't anything. Enter Flashback.

Two kids, children or youths were playing on the swings, real swings that is, not the metaphorical ones you will often find in dreams. A boy and a girl, like a cat and a dog. They were laughing like maniacs on fire; neither could know of the suffering Jim and Mary were going through. The girl had a beauty about her, a heart-stopping glow that made any man feel uncomfortable in the presence of one so young. But she wasn't a child anymore, on closer inspection she was 16, it said so on her passport. In fact they weren't playing on the swings at all. The boy wasn't a child either, he was an elderly man, he carried a cane and bought Old Spice by the gallon. If they weren't playing in the park, what were they doing? Money exchanged hands, a cockerel crowed and the couple danced forever.

This was the past, Jim knew it. Why was he in the past? Or were they in the future? Jim’s chest became tighter, it felt like a two storey piano was sitting on his lungs, he couldn't breathe anymore, this proved to be a problem because he then died.
The room that wasn't a room became a room to make things easier to comprehend. It was whiter than snow and colder than ice. The woman walked slowly towards the table. Her eyes were red, she looked like she hadn’t slept in days. Her long brown hair clashed horribly with Jims beard. She pulled up a chair and sat next to the body, with her head in her hands, she began to cry.
“Is it done?” She looked up; there was a man in the doorway.
“Not yet” she replied.
“That’s not like you Catherine. Well come along then, Max will be waiting.”
Catherine got to her feet, brought her hands to her chest and unbuttoned her blouse. After removing all of her clothes, she climbed on top of Jim, pulled back her hair and began to kiss him.

III

The alarm clock rang and Dante rolled over. 6.30 a.m. His dream soon forgotten, Dante got to his feet and put on his slippers. Today was his first day at his new school.
"Breakfasts ready" screeched Dante's mother, a hideous woman with purple skin and a hairy lip. Dante flew down the stairs (Dante had inherited his father’s ability to glide through the air). Dante's paper father was at the kitchen table reading the paper, his arms often folding under the weight. Dante sat at the table and poured himself some orange juice.
“You know we can’t give you a lift today, don’t you?” said his father.
“Yes dad. I wasn’t expecting one” replied Dante, knowing that his father wasn’t in a good mood. He got up and went back to his bedroom.

Soon without the need to explain, Dante was at school. A tall building with red walls and dirty windows, it reminded Dante of the windmill his grandparents lived in, but Dante had not seen it in many years because his father could never get close. The church like building was surrounded by all sorts of trees, big ones, small ones and even a comically small one. When Dante caught sight of this he chuckled to himself viciously. Dante knew deep down that it was a tree that had caused his fathers condition, his grandmother had touched one as a child and her unborn son was left to pay the price. The sight of this pathetic excuse for a plant amused Dante for a moment, and then he walked on.

The bell sounded, a mass of students flooded to the main door, they looked like cattle chasing beavers in a sunny April shower, particularly the girl who really did have the appearance of a cow. Dante could see in her eyes that she was more alone than a Chinese man at an orgy. SARS was not a concern to Dante, he knew that his immune system was that of a tree and could withstand almost all brand name diseases

Dante trotted slowly into the building, expecting to see puberty stricken mongrels standing at their lockers, talking of parties, boys and Mariah Carey’s latest record. The sight of slaughtered chickens knocked the paper based boy back a step, his dark brown eyes rolled to the top of his beautiful head, "How did they know?" he asked himself, he felt himself falling backwards through time, space and hope.

When Dante finally awoke he knew that he was in the headmaster’s office, the sign on the door told a thousand stories, "Mr. Sprinkler, Head Master's Office". “Finally we meet my dear boy. I hope that the chickens didn’t cause you too much distress. We had to be certain you see." Immediately Dante felt connected with this man, he was made of paper.


IV

Dante felt his insides boil, being here with another man of paper reminded him of the stories his father would tell him as a child. Sprinkler continued, "I suppose your father has told you all about the forgotten Paper Wars when he was just a young man?”
"But my dad wasn't involved" snapped Dante "he choose to fight alongside the Caerwens, he knew what Kidwellen was planning" said the teenager proudly.

"Your father was a fool, yes we were defeated then, but we still fight on, they could never wipe us all out." snarled Sprinkler, "the power we possess is undeniable, do you think it to be a mere coincidence that you came here today, today of all days?"
"I speak freely about the chickens." exclaimed Dante, with an air of nervousness in his voice. Sprinkler rose from his chair with a bottle in his hand. Dante sneezed.

"CUT!" yelled the director. The actor playing Sprinkle threw down the bottle. "That’s the third fucking time!" he screeched.
“I’m sorry” said Chaz; the actor playing Dante. He left the three walled office and went back to his trailer.

V

Once in his trailer, Chaz fell asleep on the one foot wide bed. He found himself lost in a world made of clouds where the rain sang like rainbows and people danced in the moonlight. There came a knock at the door, and in barged the director, he was clutching a bat in his hand. “What the fuck are you doing?” asked Chaz.
“This time you gonna pay fool. Aint no way in Sunday that I’m gonna let you tear me up again” roared the director
“I don’t understand what you’re saying Pete. We’ll have the scene finished by tonight, take it easy, for gods sake.”

Pete began to swing the bat at Chaz’s head, but it spread its youthful wings and flew out of the window like a bird composed of shadows. The director look stunned for a second. Suddenly Chaz leapt at him with him eyes full of fire and rage. Sadly, Pete was too fast for Chaz and before Chaz had even begun to fall from the air, Pete had pulled out his shotgun and fired fourteen times. Not a single round missed, and Chaz lay shredded on the floor like a battery in June.

Game Over filled the screen. Anthony sat back from the pc. Johnny was right, there was no way that Anthony was going to finish this game, he’d been playing "A Bitter Tale of Deception" for fourteen hours and he still couldn’t get passed the trailer level. The sun began to set and his room became stained in darkness.