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Monthly Archives: August 2012

Information of a vital nature

A new flash fiction challenge from Chuck Wendig.
http://terribleminds.com/ramble/2012/07/27/flash-fiction-challenge-antagprotag/
Half Protagonist, half Antagonist equals Tagnominist! wait…no. just…no.
half the story as Protag, the other half as Antag. 1000 words.

my protag is kind of a prick. my antag is a bigger prick. just fair forewarning.

anyhoo, comments,suggestion or criticisms are all welcome.

I pull the gun from its holster and hold it loosely at my side. The tall guy stops and his smirk drains away. Loudmouth behind him doesn’t see it.
I should probably wave it around at arms length like in the movies, they might get the picture.  Fatty starts to speak, but a look from me shuts him up quick.
The Loudmouth steps forward and brandishes a knife threateningly. The stupid bastard hasn’t noticed the gun at my side. Wonderful. Loudmouth grins at me. I grin back and aim from my hip.  He sees it and continues to grin. Fatty’s grinning now too.shit, behind me-
I’m dropped like a sack of bricks.  Whoever hit me, he’s a big sumbitch. I black out long enough to lose the gun and have my hands tied with a dirty rope.
What a wonderful turn of events. dirty sack over the head and a shitty ride to the ass-end of nowhere. Great, I’m about to be executed and I haven’t even had my goddamn coffee yet.
fuck it. it’s already noon. it’s probably for the best if they just pop me now.

I’m shoved to my knees and they pull the moldy sack off my head to reveal a Junkyard and the three stooges standing there grinning like the cat who just ate the fuckin’ condor.
Next to them is what I thought a sexy water buffalo might look like,but water buffaloes don’t cross their arms. or have bright orange highlights. jeezus this is the biggest chick I’ve ever seen.  Could probably bench press me without breaking a sweat. My gaze flicks to the front of her jeans. nothin’ pokin’ out, but she could be a tucker.
Then some white suited dandy motherfucker comes sauntering up. Fedora,cane the works. Jeezus Fuckin’ Hell. Did I just get dragged into a bad gangster film?
“so, you here to whack me?” I ask in my best Cagney. Which is awful by the way. I’m ready to give my Bogey a try when he takes his hat off and looks at me.
Those eyes. He’s a killer. Not like the stooges or she-hulk over there. This guy enjoys the act of taking life. I shut up real quick. A man like this doesn’t fuck around.
He’s here for a reason. I’m not dead ’cause he needs something. I may get a bullet in the head yet, but I’ve a hunch being cooperative may buy me a few seconds.
He holds the hat in his hand gingerly as if holding a new born kitten then squats down next to me just like we’re buddy buddies. the best of fuckin’ friends.
“tell me Allard. Do you understand who I am?” He whispers.
I give nod. Fuckin psycho? Check.  Works for the guy I pissed off? Checkarooni.
He nods slightly. Approval ghosts across his face.
” Good. where is she?”

I Examine the unlucky PI. His eyes flickering back and forth. Good.
Even battered and bound, he’s weighing his options. Excellent. No wisecracks, No false machismo. We understand each other implicitly. If the would-be detective wants to live he will give up the location of the woman.
Allard clears his throat. ” Theresa , right? she’s back at her apartment.”
I sigh. I should have known better.
“Mr. Allard, that is a lie. We set fire to her apartment an hour ago. Where is the woman?”
He shakes his head. “you’re right. I’m just a little rattled. y’know  bein’ tossed around by your pet ogre and the three amigos over there.”
I give him my best look of sympathy
“The woman, Mr Allard.”
“yeah, right. she’s at my place.”
He’s digging himself deeper. He knows it. I know it.
I can see the fear in his eyes. He knows how this will end.
I retrieve my favorite scalpel from my inside pocket and hold it up between us so he can inspect it.
It’s beautiful. A sliver of perfection. The distillation of hideous intent.
The despair on his face makes all of this worth it.
His pride will break. the question being, will his body give out before his mind does?
” I hate to have to do this Allard-”
” fuck you! you fuckin’ psycho, you get off on shit like-” Beatrice ends his tirade with a left hook.
I continue. ” As I was saying: I hate to have to do this while wearing my favorite suit, But I fear these things cannot be helped.”
I hand my coat to Beatrice and begin undoing my victim’s shirt.
“oh jesus god, please no.” Allard pleads through bloody teeth.
I look him in the eye.
“there is no god here today.” I place the flat of the scalpel on his cheek. “just me.”
A heartbeat passes like a glacier.
He slumps. “fine, I’ll talk.”
I am very disappointed, but I hide it.
“very good Mr. Allard.”
I force a smile. friendly,easy going.
“Where is Theresa, Mr. Allard?”
“Close.”
My irritation smolders like a oil soaked rag in the sun. I slide the blade across his eyelid.
His scream is exquisite.
” I apologize Mr. Allard. I was under the impression that you would tell me where she is.”
” Know how I met her?”.
“Do tell, Mr. Allard. How?” I draw across his hairline with the edge.
He’s hyperventilating now, his words bubbling and bloody.
“I met her in the corps!” Blood washes down his face.
“is that so?” I position the blade in the crook of his ear.
“peace corps?” I ask politely
The barest hint of pressure causes blood to well up.
He shudders, but continues through gritted teeth.
“n-not peace. Marine Corps.”
“and what exactly did she do in the Corps?”
His grimace turns to a ghastly smile.
The sound of a watermelon being hit with a sledgehammer makes me turn in time to see the nearly headless Beatrice fall to the ground surrounded by the vestige of her cerebellum.
He looks at me with his good eye.
“First Recon Sniper.”

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Posted by on August 1, 2012 in Flash Fiction Challenges