DEMON DE2020

Writer


Enjoy.


DEMON


Why does it always seem to be so damned wet, and cold?
And these shoes, who the hell invented the dress shoe anyway’s?

Slipping and sliding through the mud, I’m attempting to run.
Useless damn shoes.

I slide to a stop and grab desperately at the air with lungs scarce used to such labor.
I haven’t run like this since, well, since before I put on this god awful weight, but there it is again. That ear-piercing howl, that sound like many engines grinding their way inexorably in an singular direction.

I stand up and run, run, a running fat man whose sweat is as cold as the incessant rain.
A running fat man as out of place as a clown wearing a burka.
How the hell does the mind come up with such a mix of disparate imagery, seamlessly stitching clown and burka together as if nature demanded. All in the space of an singular breath, the span of an singular moment that transfixed oxygen starvation to the side stitch.

I’m laying on my largeness, face down in a spray of mud, an award winning skid mark from where the stumble initially started and it’s fail army finale, as I raise my ungainly head from the furrow I’d just face plowed. No doubt a perfect match for the skid mark in my...never mind. Thank god for two left feet, as the sound of grisly pursuit fades off to the left.

I shiver, more from fear, than cold, even my fear seems wet, wrung from a desperate mind adrift in flight, not fight.

A great while later the muddy path returns to street, the street to familiarity, the familiar to hopes itty bitty glimmer, a rather smallish speck buried beneath all those chili dogs and cheeseburgers.

There it is again, that agonizing screaming howl, interspersed with flash and grind, as I finally splat to a stop, a veritable golem risen from the bog, or at least that’s what my mud covered visage seemed to reflect as I opened the door to sanctuary.

But sanctuary was fled, there in the main room the furniture was smashed and become detritus, become one with the broken lamps and the long smear of blood, a veritable snails trail of crimson that started from where the divan used to be, to a broken and torn body.

As I crawled closer, movement, a stir of cloth and cleaved flesh. Was this? Was this Ganja?
Dread poses as courage and beckons me closer and I bend to roll the body over. A choking gargle of a scream whimpers it’s way from the battered face of my friend. Scurries into my ear and scrapes it’s nails along my soul.

Tears mix with the wet of rain and cold sweat, it is, it’s Ganja, my Rastafarian friend.
As his cries subside, he opens his eyes and I brush his dreads aside and lean close.

DEMON a surprisingly loud noise from one so broken, I tole you demon was coming for you bra.

And he spoke no more, and he breathed no more,

Through the tears, and the blood smear, I close the eyes of my friend, my lawyer, my criminal co-conspirator.

Yes, as Ganja would wisely state DEMON was indeed coming as my mind naturally translated accent.

The distant howling wail soon found me.

I stood there shivering, as huge pounding footsteps sound, and the door explodes inward.

Yes, Ganja, my friend, my lawyer, DE-MON was here.

Or, rather, THE MAN.

“You have the right to remain silent, anything you say can be used against you...




The end









YouSir

That twist gave me a good chuckle

Immediately had to think of a song...

And if you continue to burn down di herbs we gonna burn down your corn fields...

Who is ganja in all of this or is it a well placed typo

Sincerely NC

originally posted by: NoConspiracy
That twist gave me a good chuckle

Immediately had to think of a song...

And if you continue to burn down di herbs we gonna burn down your corn fields...

Who is ganja in all of this or is it a well placed typo

Sincerely NC

Ummm...about a third of the way up from the bottom is this sentence about the identity of “Ganja”

“Through the tears, and the blood smear, I close the eyes of my friend, my lawyer, my criminal co-conspirator”


Tanks Mon...










YouSir

a reply to: YouSir

I love reading what you write.

Although for some odd reason I thought it was DBC you were writing about...

originally posted by: Lumenari
a reply to: YouSir

I love reading what you write.

Although for some odd reason I thought it was DBC you were writing about...

Ummm...well...it’s funny you mention that...

You see...it was DBC and His mass affect claim that came to mind when I was writing this...I even kind of chuckled out loud...

Somehow though...I get the sneaking suspicion that DBC is probably only 138 lbs soaking wet...







YouSir

a reply to: YouSir

Oh!

I meant the dress shoes part of it.

THAT obsession...

Also funny is that you left an easter egg in the form of another poster's name in the story.

Inadvertently?

~hhmm~

originally posted by: Lumenari
a reply to: YouSir

Oh!

I meant the dress shoes part of it.

THAT obsession...

Also funny is that you left an easter egg in the form of another poster's name in the story.

Inadvertently?

~hhmm~

Ummm...yes...it seems that Skid...left his mark in the story...

Totally inadvertent...

And funny...

Great response BTW...





YouSir

a reply to: YouSir

That was cool as

a reply to: YouSir


This was very visual and I enjoyed this very much.

Hope you’re still writing