The Light

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Post by Orwell Fri Apr 24, 2015 7:01 am

No time for smiling, laddie. Get on wih it! Mad

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Post by bungobaggins Mon Apr 27, 2015 2:00 am

Will probably be at least a few days until the next installment. I kind of cranked out the last couple of parts and wasn't too thrilled with how they turned out.

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Post by Mrs Figg Mon Apr 27, 2015 11:14 pm

cheers bounce this is intriguing
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Post by Orwell Sat May 02, 2015 10:08 am

When nothing happens, you get intrigued? scratch

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Post by Pettytyrant101 Sat May 02, 2015 10:26 am

{{{{How do you think I keep Figg's attention Orwell?}}}

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Post by azriel Sat May 02, 2015 12:19 pm

Oh me gawd ! Shocked

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Post by Mrs Figg Sat May 02, 2015 6:24 pm

I thought it was the smell? Very Happy
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Post by bungobaggins Sat May 02, 2015 9:58 pm

I'm too busy. Mad

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Post by Eldorion Sun May 03, 2015 5:22 pm

I just caught up on the last few parts. I'm enjoying this and am curious to see where it goes. I hope you have the chance to develop the story further. Smile

Appreciated the link to "Blinded by the Light" too. Very Happy
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Post by bungobaggins Sat May 16, 2015 6:15 am

Interlude

---------

Guess I've got that old travelin' bone
'Cause this feeling won't leave alone.
But I won't, won't
Be losin' my way
Long as I can see the light.


Dust billowed up as Robert Faraday’s 1958 Ford Galaxie roared down County Road 166. It was a personal sandstorm, the kind a fella could proudly point to and say, “I caused that trouble!” Although, in Faraday’s mind he never caused trouble. According to his old man (God rest his soul. Can you say Amen, brothers and sisters?), he seized opportunities. “If life gives ya lemons, make lemonade! Then grab life by the collar, turn it upside down, an’ shake the pocket change outta it; also wouldn’t hurt to give ‘em a good shiner too while yer at it.” This bit of wisdom was dispensed after little Bobby had come home one fall afternoon, tears streaming down his face; a victim of the neighborhood bully.

All children will eventually fall off their bicycle; few will ever be pushed off it, kicked in the stomach, and have dirt shoved in their mouths. Poor Bobby was one of the few. Scott Wilkerson was 13 years old, tall, thin, pimply faced, and loved to hurt younger kids. Six year old Bobby was at the mercy, or lack thereof, of a psychopath.

Bobby knew he wouldn’t return to an understanding father who would comfort him. No, he would get the same old lecture, “Stand up for yourself. The American way. Fight back. Be a man!” Oh, but this lemon bit was different. New, but essentially the same; Bobby liked lemonade so it had, at the least, got his attention. Maybe it was time to fight back. Maybe next time Scott Wilkerson bullied him, brave little Bobby would put up his fists. No, it would be today. Bobby wouldn’t be a victim anymore, he would create the world he wanted to live in. It was time to fight fire with fire. Bobby had never made lemonade before, but he would try.

Bobby, the budding opportunist, stole a pair of wire cutters from his father’s work bench and cut the brakes on Scott Wilkerson’s bicycle. Wilkerson was such an imbecile he would never notice, hardly ever used his brakes anyway, always coasted to a stop and skidded right in front of you, kicking up mud, water, or whatever happened to be in the way. But that same day Scott would have used his brakes as he was coasting down Franklin Avenue towards a busy intersection.

The sounds of ambulances and emergency vehicles filled the cool autumn air. On that day Scott Wilkerson died, and Robert Faraday was born.

Back on County Road 166 Robert had just conned half an entire podunk Alabama town out of exactly $67.82. Not a bad couple days if you asked Faraday, not at all. An easy gig, really; one he had done twice before and was getting good at. Drive into town, head straight for the church, talk to the pastor: “Oh, you’ve never heard of Worldwide Ministries International? Why, brother in Christ, today is your lucky day! Can you say Amen?” The main goal of Worldwide Ministries was to “convert the communist heathens in Asia and Europe,” and “to cure the gays.” Faraday had brochures, leaflets, fridge magnets, buttons. It all, as he liked to say, “looked real professional like.”

He would hang around for a couple days, going door to door and then give a talk at Sunday’s church service about how God (Gawd) will reign hellfire down upon our Christian brothers and sisters in the poorest nations of the world if we don’t convert their un-Godly leaders and convert their governments into American style democracies; oh yeah, and he’d throw in something about curing the gays for good measure. “Oh yes, we are acceptin’ donations. Cash only please. Can I get an Amen?” Then it was out the door, into the Galaxie, and down the road before a jackrabbit could blink.

At 12:35 PM Faraday crossed the Alabama/Georgia Border. He heard it was hot in Atlanta, the city was frying. People would be desperate, exhausted, they would have their guard down. The perfect time to sell some ice cold lemonade.

----------

To be continued.

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Post by Amarië Sat May 16, 2015 10:31 am

Sad

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Post by azriel Sat May 16, 2015 12:03 pm

Bloody brilliant like ! Smile

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Post by Mrs Figg Sun May 17, 2015 4:43 pm

Cool its cool cheers
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Post by bungobaggins Mon May 18, 2015 3:31 am

Embarassed

I'm glad you guys are reading this and enjoying it so far. I've never written a story like this before, let alone one this long (as it's turning out to be). I do plan to see this through to the end, and I have a rough idea of where it's going. And, yes, things will eventually happen, so be patient. Mad

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Post by David H Mon May 18, 2015 6:18 am

bungobaggins wrote: so be patient. Mad


{{{ bounce }}}

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Post by azriel Mon May 18, 2015 9:22 am

bounce

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Post by Mrs Figg Mon May 18, 2015 1:50 pm

Thumbs Up ok
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Post by Orwell Tue May 19, 2015 12:07 pm

I hate being told be patient... Suspect

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Post by bungobaggins Sun May 31, 2015 12:05 am


I never cared much for moonlight skies
Never winked back at fireflies
But now that the stars are in your eyes
I'm beginning to see the light

----------

The knocking continued. Aggressive.

“James Arrington, open this door! I know you’re in there!” A shrill voice pierced the hot air.

Knock, knock. Knock, knock, knock. James looked at Dickey, hopeless, sweat beginning to bead at his hairline. The apartment had cooled, but not enough to quell the volcanic explosion that was about to occur.

James knew he would eventually have to open the door. It was the inevitability that bothered him most. The in-between state. The limbo of the situation. As much as he didn’t want to open the door, it would be best to do it now rather than wait, or hide. As a child, James was all too guilty of hiding from his problems. Mother’s broken vase, the failed classes on his report card, borrowing his father’s car without asking. It was practically cliche. Was that was James life had turned into: a set of cliches? No, definitely not. There was a light source emanating from his bedroom wall, for chrissakes. Not something that happened to everyone, not something that happened to anyone. In that moment, James felt chosen.

Bang, bang, bang! The knocking was over. And when the devil bangs on your door, you let him in, no matter how much you don’t want to.

“Uh, who is it?” James’ voice reeked of hesitation.

“You know damn well who it is! Now open this door!”

James took two large strides to the door and swung it open in one swift movement. Standing there was an older woman, around 65 years old, though she would never tell anyone. Face as red as the sun, jowls trembling, sweat drenched, teeth clenched, white knuckled, and measuring in at just five foot, three inches: Mrs. Shirley Bell.

James could rest assured, here was the real cliche. Widowed, lonely, angry at the world, a religious zealot, and filled to the brim with righteous indignation. Without a doubt, the angriest person on Cogdon Lane, and she lived right below James.

James already knew why she was here.

“James Arrington you will turn off that air conditioner this instant! I prayed an’ prayed for that machine to break, and the Lawd answered my prayers. Now you’ve gone against Him, and that blasted devil machine is drivin’ me up the walls!” Shirley continued for several minutes about the “devil machine,” the chemicals it “shoved down her throat,” and how it was sending her to an early grave.

During this tirade, Dickey silently excused himself to the kitchen and stared at the refrigerator, and thought about pouring himself a glass of iced tea. James stood at the entrance of his apartment staring at the shrieking old maid, arms crossed, shifting his weight from one foot to the other like an impatient husband who has been dragged to the department store too many times by a wife whose only real passion was for shopping.

Shirley’s ranting and raving subsided to a series of heavy breathes. “Well?!”

“Get out!” James raised his voice defiantly pointing an outstretched arm and index finger towards the hallway.

Mrs. Bell had managed a few feet into James’ apartment and wasn’t about to concede. It was her Holy Duty to put an end to that machine once and for all.

In one swift movement, Shirley ducked James’ ill-timed attempt at a block and bounded further into the living room, hanging a left in the bedroom. Dickey looked on, astounded; he involuntarily spat, iced tea spilled all over his front and the kitchen floor.

“Shit,” James whispered under his breath.

Dickey mouthed the words “what if she sees it?”

James leaped towards the bedroom door, and caught the door just as it was about to be shut and locked.

“You ain’t gonna stop the will of the Lawd! He’s sent me as a tool of his righteous vengeance!” Shirley was already pounding on the air conditioner. It sputtered, silenced for a moment, then screamed back to life.

James grabbed Shirley’s boney arms and pulled them behind her back.

“Help! Help! Police! Police!” (Po-lease)

“Get outta my apartment, ya old bag!”

“You do not understand, it is by His will that I was sent here, to do His work, to end that devil machine! The Lawd and Sonny Jesus have prepared a place for me!” Shirley began to weep and wail.

James escorted her out of the bedroom. Well, if you can call being dragged out against your will (against His will) with heels scraping the floor an escort. James glanced behind him, afraid of what would inevitably happen. Shirley would see it, then she’d go even more nuts. If she was currently off her rocker at the moment, once she saw that thing she’d be in orbit.

But there standing in front of the light, sipping iced tea, was Dickey.

Dickey winked, James gave an exhausted smile. Shirley’s wailing subsided to pitiful blubbering.

----------

To be continued.

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Post by azriel Sun May 31, 2015 10:48 am

Hot diggidy dang ! bounce

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Post by Mrs Figg Sun May 31, 2015 1:17 pm

cheers Thumbs Up I like your style, it sucks you in to the story. keep it up. Very Happy
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Post by Eldorion Sun May 31, 2015 5:14 pm

I'm not sure where this is heading, but that's definitely better than the events being totally predictable. I find myself wondering how much of it is based on exorcising your own feelings/demons since a lot of it hits pretty hard, emotionally speaking. You don't have to answer that of course since it's sort of prying on my part, and obviously if you've managed to capture those feelings without them being your own that's if anything more impressive.

I hope you find the writing process rewarding and will continue posting your stuff on here! Smile
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Post by bungobaggins Sun May 31, 2015 10:22 pm

Hmmm I don't think a lot of it stems directly from my experiences. I mean we've all disappointed people/let down our friends and family/seen some bat shit crazy stuff/been hurt by others. So id like to think of it more as stemming from shared experiences, but take the emotions from those experiences and multiply it by ten. I'm glad you seem to be enjoying it so far. It is, however turning out a lot longer than I had originally thought.

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Post by azriel Sun May 31, 2015 10:55 pm

you keep writing & IL keep reading Smile

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"There are far, far, better things ahead than any we can leave behind"
If you always do what you have always done, you will always get what you always got

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Post by bungobaggins Sun May 31, 2015 11:16 pm

Eldorion wrote:I hope you find the writing process rewarding and will continue posting your stuff on here!

I am enjoying writing this story. I also like looking for songs to go along with each installment.

azriel wrote:you keep writing & IL keep reading

Thanks Az. Smile

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