the reprobate.
Jo, hier wäre eine kleine Kurzgeschichte, die ich vor ca. einem halben Jahr mal für den Englischunterricht schreiben musste. Habe sie leider nie zu ende geschrieben, geplant war irgendwas zwischen 10 und 15 chapters. Je nachdem, wie die Geschichte so ankommt, schreibe ich sie eventuell zu ende.
the reprobate.
reprobate, noun: a person without moral scruples. synonym: miscreant. related words: offender, degenerate, scapegrace, wretch.
chapter 01: dead cows lying in the summer sun (prolog).
have you ever been in a place you've never seen before and didn't even know how you've gotten there? one thing's for sure, this isn't a nice experience to make, like eating your first hamburger, going to the cinema or whatever, it's more like being hit by a big bully or being sticked into a dirty and musty garbage can. well, maybe I deserve this - I knew that they would catch me some time or other, you can't do the things I have done and get away without them hunting you. I guess this is the way life is and I don't feel fury 'cause of this. oh, sorry, I forgot to introduce myself. I'm bruce, at least this is the name my parents gave me. actually I'm called "the boogeyman", but that's not one of those stupid nicknames little kids give each other, this is the name that a dumb, underpaid reporter gave me in his newspaper articles. I do not really like this name, I think it sounds a little bit too kitschy.
so, what do we have here? I am sitting in some kind of padded room, I would say it has a footpoint of twenty cubic feet and it's at least nine feet high. god, they even gave me a straitjacket. cute, but what should it be good for? I can't even see a door, so how should I get out off here, even if I would be able to use my arms?
it seems that the only thing that I can do now is breathing in this disgusting air. it smells like dead cows, which lie rotten under the warm summer sun in your neighbours backyard while you're trying to chill out next to it. I never used to have neighbours - lucky me, huh? - but, shit, now I have to smell it. it stinks so much that not even using my mouth for breathing helps – maybe this makes that smell even worse. I should try to stop thinking about the air, but to remember how I've got in here. the last thing I can remember is opening my houses frontdoor. and then? nothing. waking up in this room.
I can not understand how the police or the F.B.I. was able to find me. I was brilliant in what I did and never gave them any clues for finding me.
maybe I really was improvident, nevertheless - this situation is remarkable. why didn't they catch me the normal way - two fat officers eating donuts and shouting "freeze!"? why did they hit me on the back of my head while I was trying to open my front door? and why the fuck's nobody coming and talking to me about a confession or somethin'?
chapter 02: playing with bugs.
if you don't know what to do with yourself, the solution can be to torture some flies or some other bugs to death with some of your friends. most people don't think this is funny, but when you are a ten year old boy and kill bugs with your friends, no one will find it too weird. I guess that everybody likes to torture flys now and then anyway.
tom - he's some kind of brother for me - and me are standing now in this forest right behind the place I call home. but if you ask me, living in a place isn't enough to call it home, especially if it's a dilapidated like ours. tom's parents adopted me years and years ago. it's even so long ago that I can't remember my real parents. but this doesn't count anyway - if your parents would expose you in a fucked up place like these shitty forest, you would think like me - that's for sure.
"robert, i found a nice one! this bug’s so damn big, dude!"
yeah, looks like it's time to play now. away with the wings, away with the legs – bugs don't need them at all.
when I look at tom while tortureing the little bug, I've got to start smiling.
it's so much fun to kill bugs, maybe I should have a talk with tom about frank, the old dog of his parents.
torturing bugs starts getting boring.
chapter 03: the latch.
one. two. three.
I am counting this nice little ravens on my way home from shopping. but hey, I don't mean this kind of shopping where you are runnin' around like a chicken and don't even know what you want to buy at all. in fact I mean the suggestive way of shopping, where you buy stuff to eat, bread, meat and so on.
four. five. six.
the saleswoman in this supermarket could be the next one I am going to visit. she's got blonde, curly hair and I really do think that she rolled her eyes on me. the way she looked at me somehow reminded me on one of these black and white movies I've seen in my childhood - in fact it was no black and white movie, my family just never used to have a gogglebox, that was able to show colours. like it matters. damn, I can't remember the movie's name. well, if i remember its name later, I will tell you, ok?
seven. eight. nine. ten.
when I see the tenth raven, I arive home, a multiple dwelling unit in the middle of hell's kitchen. I put my provisions-filled cotton carrier bag down to the ground, therewith I can use my hand to take the front door key out of my trousers.
suddenly I feel something bashing against my head. I lose consciousness and fall down to the ground.
ouch.
... have you ever been in a place you've never seen before and didn't even know how you've gotten there? one thing's for sure, this isn't a nice experiences to make, ...
Chapter 04: Radio X.
4th of June, 1996.
"Hey guys out there, here's Jonathan Smith from Radio X, here to tell you something about Boogeyman's number seven. Yeah, that's right, number seven. Some of you might not know it yet, but he has murdered another woman. Like the ones before, she had blond, curly hair and blue eyes. Her name was Claire Summers, her body height was almost six feet and she was exactly twentyfive years old - exactly the same like the other women.
It seems like this nutcase only rapes and kills women of this special kind."
Jonathan takes out a packet of cigarettes, sticks one cig in his mouth and inflames it. Within a few secs the room‘s full of fume.
"The only problem is that this guy never makes any mistakes, so the police hasn't the faintest idea who could be the Boogeyman. So, if you got a clue, just phone us; 555-658.
... And now it's time for some music. 'The Stone Roses' with their hit 'Fools Gold'!
You are listening to Radio X."
chapter 05: alice in wonderland.
you can try to wait for a really long time. but it may be that never ever anything's going to happen. I am starting jumping back and forth. it's not too nice, because it really hurts after some time - yes, even if you are in a padded room like I am. somehow this room has to open, but how?
not counting the time I slept, I think I am in this room for almost four or actually five hours.
Blackout.
blackouts. to be honest, I really hate them. every now and then I have a blackout. after one I feel like alice. you know, this girl falling into the rabbit burrow. and what do I see now? I'd say that this is impossible, but... the padded room somehow opened itself. and what I see is anything but a psychiatric ward. well, I never saw one of those buildings from the inside, but this place looks more like a cellar or something.
now I know where this disgusting smell was coming from. looks like the person who owns this place doesn't really give a fuck about it. and hey, I really DO understand this. I guess it is the shit of some rats, gathering for years and years. if I wouldn't concentrate the way I actually do, I think I'd have to throw up. you could present me this place, I wouldn't take it. i wonder what's the padded room good for - it couldn't be build only for me, could it?
now I'm marveling even more who has brought me here. this place is sickening. the only light sources are some antiquated ceiling lamps. cobwebs with spieders and a whole lot of dust everywhere. damn, no one cleaned this cellar for at least twenty years.
yeah, that is the moment when you realise that there's no reason to stay. so - goodbye spiders.
over there - it looks like the door leading to the outside. slowly the doorknob's turning and the door finally opens. I made it out of this hell.
of course I didn't.
I jumped out of the frying pan into the fire.
it wasn't a cellar. it wasn't even a fucking house I woke up in.
I am coming out of a bunker, that stands right in the middle of nowhere. what's going on here?
