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FistsofFury · 06-09-2012, 11:16 PM

I just wrote this one for a short story competition. The limit was 1500 words.
--------------------------------
Stomp by R.E. Bearlee

The night air felt cool and fresh as I stomped the cracked cement. When I’m out in the street my eyes are scanning. I can see the problems clear in front of me. The rusted out city is my home and the vacant space still looked like opportunity. I had my leather jacket I’ve built into something that perpetuates the symbols of my subculture. I lot of people don’t like it. I heard a kid whisper ‘Swastika Man’ once. Like he knew me. Yeah I’m in the same places. Its my domain, my turf ya know? As I walked alone I thought about some people I knew. People obsessed with getting out, moving to some burg where the sun always shines and they make tons of money. Someplace where the right kind of people are and the life they’re meant to live is just waiting for them. Either they want to go to New York, California or Hawaii. They disgust me those folks. I know there’s no escape. I hate illusions. I gotta destroy all of them.

With my way of dressing I looked different. Got stares, no one really started anything though. A few ‘fuck you man’s…whatever. Life of a true skinhead right? Proclaiming one’s beliefs and all that….having pride in your people.

I was walking and I saw this guy. Beard, old grey suit with a ‘Repent Sinners’ sign held high. I felt blessed by the night. I had to check it out. He had a nice corner spot, where burnouts usually strum acoustics or lackeys just stand around starting at screens held up to their faces. I walked over there and he looked me up and down. He took in the boots with the red laces and beat up jeans. He’s looking at my red suspenders over a plain white shirt. He saw the jacket through those beady black eyes of his.

“So you’re the authority huh?” We were a few feet away from each other. His face was tight and expectant. His jaw was strong underneath a neat salt and pepper beard. His nose was wide and his lips full. Couldn’t figure out what race the old guy was, his short grey curlies were covered with a bowler hat.

“I’m not the authority, the holy book is. Are you interested in saving your soul skinhead? Yeah I know what you claim to be. I wasn’t born yesterday.” His voice was low and full, you could tell he was trying to be nice.

“What I claim to be?” I was getting ticked but I was all sugar on the outside, grins and upbeat voices. I needed more ammunition.

“What do you claim to be? Sent from heaven to clean up? Made to be a hero to the scum?” We were downtown wedged between bars and restaurants, clothing stores and properties for rent. The sidewalk was well lit and busy. People just moved around us. The man’s brow wrinkled as he calmly set his sign down next to a bench a few feet away.

“I am a servant of the Lord. I do His work out of a personal obligation. There is room for you too in the kingdom of God if you submit and obey.” It was the way he said it that made me mad. He had this smug smile when he talked, like he knew all about me and was sure I was doomed. Offering me salvation as some kind of favor to pay forward.

“That shit isn’t real. I can’t obey someone that was never existed.” My voice had gotten low and flat. Only then did I notice the few people standing around watching. Pathetic spectators.

“You obey Lucifer…but you don’t think he exists?”

“No one commands me old man! I think I’d know if the devil was whispering into my ear. Don’t you want to drop the illusions!?” I was shouting and waving my hands around. There was no breeze and the summer night was still fresh.

“Like your delusion of belonging?” The preacher pointed to the ‘SS’ patch on the breast of my jacket.

“The war ended a long time ago and your team lost. Are you even German at all?”

“The purity of the white race will always need protection. Of course you wouldn’t understand. I don’t know what you are but you ain’t white, not white enough to count at least.” The man burst into laughter. I balled my fists and quickly looked around to see if any cops were around.

“I told you. I am a servant of the Lord. I don’t need useless symbols or poisonous ideology to belong. We all have a part in His plan, so belonging is natural.”

“I never agreed to anybody’s fucking plan!” I’ll admit officer…that’s when I lost it. He was just so sure about that shit. I felt that guys like him were part of the problem ya know? So I lost it, I shoved the guy to the ground. A couple people in the crowd gasped or yelped or something I wasn’t paying attention. My eyes were on the preacher in the grey suit, getting back up way too fast for an old man. He was back on his feet in a flash and he lunged toward me. I got a look at his face and it was calm. It was a quick look. I didn’t see him pull his fist back to throw the punch. I just saw his grey sleeve coming at me and then the right hook hit. I woulda fell over if it wasn’t for the trashcan. It was the kind of punch that makes you crazy. Fuels the frenzy and really kicks off the fight. Not the kind of punch that makes you come to your senses and say sorry. I was leaning against the trashcan feeling the burn in my cheek and jaw and coming alive.

“Someone has to punish the wicked.” He stated flatly as I eased off the can and cracked my knuckles. His face was still so sure. I had to knock his smug teeth out. I came at him and swung hard but he dipped to the side and slapped the back of my head. I turned around and nailed him in the stomach but before I could hit him again he decked me in the mouth. My teeth clicked and for some reason my tongue started hurting. I reached out to grab him but he was too fast, out of range with a skip. I looked around and the group of spectators had gotten bigger. Teenagers had their phones out taking video. I heard loud whispers but as usual no one did anything. We just stood there for a bit and I looked him up and down. He didn’t look mad or sad or anything! A blank face like he was washing dishes or folding clothes or something. I heard a high pitched voice in the crowd holler something about the police so I rushed him again. I tried some UFC grapple shit but it didn’t work. A punch to the nose and an elbow in the back got me knocked to the ground face on the cement.

I jumped back up but I was still dizzy. I couldn’t avoid another right hook. I was knocked on my back and I remember hearing laughter. Spots and sparkles in my vision. Then nothing. When I woke up he was gone and so was the crowd. And you were standing over me. I know its stupid but that’s what happened officer.

06-09-2012, 11:16 PM	#17
FistsofFury Join Date: Jan 2012 Location: Detroit, Michigan USA Posts: 102	New one I just wrote this one for a short story competition. The limit was 1500 words. -------------------------------- Stomp by R.E. Bearlee The night air felt cool and fresh as I stomped the cracked cement. When I’m out in the street my eyes are scanning. I can see the problems clear in front of me. The rusted out city is my home and the vacant space still looked like opportunity. I had my leather jacket I’ve built into something that perpetuates the symbols of my subculture. I lot of people don’t like it. I heard a kid whisper ‘Swastika Man’ once. Like he knew me. Yeah I’m in the same places. Its my domain, my turf ya know? As I walked alone I thought about some people I knew. People obsessed with getting out, moving to some burg where the sun always shines and they make tons of money. Someplace where the right kind of people are and the life they’re meant to live is just waiting for them. Either they want to go to New York, California or Hawaii. They disgust me those folks. I know there’s no escape. I hate illusions. I gotta destroy all of them. With my way of dressing I looked different. Got stares, no one really started anything though. A few ‘fuck you man’s…whatever. Life of a true skinhead right? Proclaiming one’s beliefs and all that….having pride in your people. I was walking and I saw this guy. Beard, old grey suit with a ‘Repent Sinners’ sign held high. I felt blessed by the night. I had to check it out. He had a nice corner spot, where burnouts usually strum acoustics or lackeys just stand around starting at screens held up to their faces. I walked over there and he looked me up and down. He took in the boots with the red laces and beat up jeans. He’s looking at my red suspenders over a plain white shirt. He saw the jacket through those beady black eyes of his. “So you’re the authority huh?” We were a few feet away from each other. His face was tight and expectant. His jaw was strong underneath a neat salt and pepper beard. His nose was wide and his lips full. Couldn’t figure out what race the old guy was, his short grey curlies were covered with a bowler hat. “I’m not the authority, the holy book is. Are you interested in saving your soul skinhead? Yeah I know what you claim to be. I wasn’t born yesterday.” His voice was low and full, you could tell he was trying to be nice. “What I claim to be?” I was getting ticked but I was all sugar on the outside, grins and upbeat voices. I needed more ammunition. “What do you claim to be? Sent from heaven to clean up? Made to be a hero to the scum?” We were downtown wedged between bars and restaurants, clothing stores and properties for rent. The sidewalk was well lit and busy. People just moved around us. The man’s brow wrinkled as he calmly set his sign down next to a bench a few feet away. “I am a servant of the Lord. I do His work out of a personal obligation. There is room for you too in the kingdom of God if you submit and obey.” It was the way he said it that made me mad. He had this smug smile when he talked, like he knew all about me and was sure I was doomed. Offering me salvation as some kind of favor to pay forward. “That shit isn’t real. I can’t obey someone that was never existed.” My voice had gotten low and flat. Only then did I notice the few people standing around watching. Pathetic spectators. “You obey Lucifer…but you don’t think he exists?” “No one commands me old man! I think I’d know if the devil was whispering into my ear. Don’t you want to drop the illusions!?” I was shouting and waving my hands around. There was no breeze and the summer night was still fresh. “Like your delusion of belonging?” The preacher pointed to the ‘SS’ patch on the breast of my jacket. “The war ended a long time ago and your team lost. Are you even German at all?” “The purity of the white race will always need protection. Of course you wouldn’t understand. I don’t know what you are but you ain’t white, not white enough to count at least.” The man burst into laughter. I balled my fists and quickly looked around to see if any cops were around. “I told you. I am a servant of the Lord. I don’t need useless symbols or poisonous ideology to belong. We all have a part in His plan, so belonging is natural.” “I never agreed to anybody’s fucking plan!” I’ll admit officer…that’s when I lost it. He was just so sure about that shit. I felt that guys like him were part of the problem ya know? So I lost it, I shoved the guy to the ground. A couple people in the crowd gasped or yelped or something I wasn’t paying attention. My eyes were on the preacher in the grey suit, getting back up way too fast for an old man. He was back on his feet in a flash and he lunged toward me. I got a look at his face and it was calm. It was a quick look. I didn’t see him pull his fist back to throw the punch. I just saw his grey sleeve coming at me and then the right hook hit. I woulda fell over if it wasn’t for the trashcan. It was the kind of punch that makes you crazy. Fuels the frenzy and really kicks off the fight. Not the kind of punch that makes you come to your senses and say sorry. I was leaning against the trashcan feeling the burn in my cheek and jaw and coming alive. “Someone has to punish the wicked.” He stated flatly as I eased off the can and cracked my knuckles. His face was still so sure. I had to knock his smug teeth out. I came at him and swung hard but he dipped to the side and slapped the back of my head. I turned around and nailed him in the stomach but before I could hit him again he decked me in the mouth. My teeth clicked and for some reason my tongue started hurting. I reached out to grab him but he was too fast, out of range with a skip. I looked around and the group of spectators had gotten bigger. Teenagers had their phones out taking video. I heard loud whispers but as usual no one did anything. We just stood there for a bit and I looked him up and down. He didn’t look mad or sad or anything! A blank face like he was washing dishes or folding clothes or something. I heard a high pitched voice in the crowd holler something about the police so I rushed him again. I tried some UFC grapple shit but it didn’t work. A punch to the nose and an elbow in the back got me knocked to the ground face on the cement. I jumped back up but I was still dizzy. I couldn’t avoid another right hook. I was knocked on my back and I remember hearing laughter. Spots and sparkles in my vision. Then nothing. When I woke up he was gone and so was the crowd. And you were standing over me. I know its stupid but that’s what happened officer.