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Russian Roulette With Paintball Guns

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posted on Mar, 1 2004 @ 06:47 PM
ok, not quite sure if im doing this collaborative fiction right, butill take a swing at it!


Three years had passed since my graduation from Florida State University, my choice pick of colleges ever since I realized that Florida is a much better state than Texas, and believe me, I know Texas. Texas was as good to me as I was to it (which wasn't very good), and being from Texas, I was quick to ignore the "don't Mess With Texas" signs posted on every corner. So I messed with Texas on every occasion, and she always messed with me back.

So on my first opportunity, I packed up my Ford F-150 (maroon, lik every single other 18 year old Texas male) with all of my necessary belongings, including toothbrush,toothpaste,change of clothing, shaving kit, and Frequent Buyers Card to Boot City, and drove as quickly as I could across the States to Florida.

I flicked off the "Welcome To Texas" sign on my way out. It was the happiest moment of my life.

But like I said, three years had passed since my graduation and I was the cockiest kid any o ya'll will ever see. Fresh out of school with a big fat diploma I was ready to rule the world. So I went out and got me a high paying job, 9-5, suit and tie, briefcase in hand. I rode the subway to work every day. I was proud. I was on top. I was not a failure.

But then one day I found an old photo of me back when I was 16. And something very strange happened, something involving me, a paintball gun, a maroon Ford F-150, and of course...Texas.

[Edited on 3-2-04 by Scat]

posted on Mar, 2 2004 @ 06:12 PM
I felt like I got hit square in the face. All the old memories of my youth had come swirling back to me like a rabbit in a riptide. Drinkin' beers behind the football field, waiting for kickoff, gettin' to second base with my first girlfriend, the first fistfight I had ever become a part of.

It was that memory of the fistfight that really brought it all back. I got drunk at a party, and started mouthing off to the wrong people. They waited 'till I was good and toasted, and then took me out back, punching me in turn.

My fault, but I was still pissed. I wanted to do something, and that's where the paintball gun, and the picture, came in.

posted on Mar, 2 2004 @ 09:13 PM
So there I was, 3 years after graduating, happier than ever that Texas was out of my life, and it just had to come rushing back in. But I wasn't going back, no no no. I was not going to let one little thing I accidentaly left back in Texas take me back. No way. No chance. There's no way that a stupid picture of me at 16 with the paintball gun that saved my life was going to bring me back to Texas. I was not going to let the stupid memory of me, thinking that a 9-5 job was the end of the universe, cursing anyone out who owned a cellular phone, and constantly screwing up anything coorporate, no, those memories weren't bringing me back. Because I was on top. I was not a failure.

I ran to throw the photo in the trash, stumbling through the dark in my 2 bedroom, 1 full size bath and fully functional kitchen apartment. Then, with my foot stuck on the step leading out of the living area into the hallway (split level), I plumeted to the wooden floor.

Getting to my feet, I flipped the light switch and looked around the room. The photo fell from my hand in slow motion, like in a movie when the protagonist realizes that they've got along jounrey ahead of them, they have to save the world, or they have cancer.

I was on top. I was not a failure.
I was on top. I was not a failure.
I was on top. I was not a failure.

But looking around at my Ikea furniture, my suit, jacket, tie wardrobe, my cellular phone, laptp, and Palm Pilot trio, I realized I had become everything I once was against.

I was on top. And I was a failure.

Tossing aside the Comfortable Living and Technology Today magazines I lifted up the lid on my old trunk from high school. Inside I found photo upon photo of me, ready to take over the world and crush American society. I was going to change the world. I found countless photos of me and my old friends at the football games, always protesting by not watching and standing under the bleachers. There was that photo of me and Diane that Tommy and Marcus had taken just as we were getting somehwere. Those little pricks.

Every memory brought back by the photo of me with that stupid paintball gun were all documented. I had newspaper clippings of all of our vandalism. I still had the bandages I wore after that fight.

This was it. That one picture was not going to bring me back to Texas. Realizing how "content" I was, understanding that I was not a high-ranking employee, I was middle management, frequent-flyer, watch wearing crap.

I was on top. And I was a failure.

When I came to this epiphany, I was already on my way back to Texas.

posted on Mar, 3 2004 @ 02:20 AM
The drive to texas seemed like eternity. Sure, I had the most expensive lexus the dealer had, but I never get the same feeling I used to get when driving in my Ford F-150. It was lunch time so I decided to take the next exit. Most people would just stop and get fast food but not me. I used to love eating at fast food places when I was young but now I go to the fanciest place I can find. I found a restaraunt called Sushi Palace. I never liked sushi when i was a kid, but now that I am older I love it. I had spicy yellow fin tuna and an octopus salad. I ate way too much food and had to use the men's room. As I enter I am amazed at how the bathroom looks. I do not know what about the bathroom intrigues me but there is something. I feel much better and go pay the bill. I get back into my car and drive to the nearest five star hotel.

I get a room for three nights. There was so much to think about I decided to get a hotel room. I did not know what was happening to my life. A week ago I was completly happy but now I am not sure who I really am. I started to watch some T.V. and fell asleep. I must have slept for a couple of hours because it was dark out when I woke up. I took a shower and then laied back in bed. I was thinking about all the wonderful times I had as a kid. I miss being able to have no worries. I am an adult now I tell my self. I need to act like one and go back to Florida. I know I should go back to Florida but there is something pulling me back to Texas. I wish I could fight the urge to go back to Texas but I just can not. I order in some room service. I had a cheeseburger and fires. I have not had fries since I left Texas. Eating the fries seemed like I gained a part of my old Texas life back. When I got done eating I turned on the T.V. There was a couple of action movies on and some shows that were way to Beverly Hills 90201-ish for me. I turned the T.V. off and went to bed. I hoped I would figure this all out tomorrow.

posted on Mar, 3 2004 @ 03:42 AM
The first morning

Morning broke and I was awoken by a slow trickling of light that reached through a small gap in the lavish curtains. I rolled over at looked at the ceiling, butterflies flooding my stomach as I realised where I was. That indescribable feeling of fear and uncertain excitement hit me, drenching me in a feeling of self awareness and paranoia. It was the same paranoia I felt when looking back into my past, back in Florida those pictures of me in my youth had triggered an emotional reaction, I felt it again.

Peeling back the heavy curtains, I squinted as I looked out into the sprawling Dallas cityscape. The radio in the hotle room sprung to life, the distorted, blabbering news reporter startling me out of my daze,

"Welcome to Dallas News! Top story today,Dallas police reopen murder investigation as new evidence is brought to light about the as of yet unsolved 'paintball murders' that accoured in the city a number of years ago...."

I couldn't stop the vomit leaving my mouth, spreading out onto the window, the foul mess running down the clear glass surface. Murder? My brain refused to compute what I was hearing. So many memories flooded back into my mind, thoughts of what happened that night so long ago. I fell to my knees, defeated by this unimaginable revelation. I had to clear my name.

[Edited on 3/3/2004 by earthtone]

posted on Mar, 3 2004 @ 07:38 AM
After the nausea passed and I cleaned up a bit, I looked around the room. The five star hotel had horribly uncomfortable beds and the lighting was to dim for my tastes. Wait a second, what?!?! I was standing there covered in the smell of vomit and was complaining about a hotel room. What happened to the days when sleeping on the streets and trainhoppping was the way to travel? I was never the kid inside the hotel, I was the kid outside at 3 in the morning, writing on the walls. Not only did I have a huge emotional downfall, but I also had another bone to pick. The paintball incident down on Choffrey Road. That was genius, absolutely genius. Until Jerry came. Jerry was now a doctor, getting paid a billion kajillion dollars every year and lived in the biggest house with the trophiest trophy wife he could buy. He had it all. But then again he was in the line of inheritance from some big coorporation that made alot of money. It's funny how things switch like that. I've always hated him for his money, but when I was a kid it was pity that he would never really live, he'd always be trapped in his fancy house with his fancy car. And now, Ihated him for his money because I was jealous. What happened?

I had to find him. He knew what happened. And he also knew that I should never have been a suspect. I aws an innocent. A careless innocent, seeing how I did leave the paintball gun lying around, but an innocent nonetheless.

I left the lexus in the parking lot.

Hopefully the train schedule was the same.

posted on Mar, 12 2004 @ 06:14 PM

Hey you freggin punk ass! Live it up, don't let it down!never settle, never stop, remember that old buddy? Have a great time in Florida, I still can't believe you're going to college though, you freggin nerd. Wasting away 4 years of your life for stupid stuff youll never use? Call me up after you graduate so we can go f*** stuff up over the country!

That's what was written on the back of the photo. Diane had kept it and gave it back to me at high school graduation.

I never called her up.

We never f***** s*** up.

And I had failed her and myself entirely.

There was no way Diane would ever be going to college, she was the cray starving artist type. But not one of those sickly, dark eyed looking starving artists that freak you out. Nah, she was beautiful. Long black hair and the most gorgeous wonder I always got in trouble for kissing her. She wasn't your super-model corporate beautiful either. She was short, strong, and didn't have those multi colored fake contact eyes. They were just brown. Or black. I couldnt remember.

I never understood why jerry wanted her so bad. Jerry, being Mr. Rich pretty boy could have gotten any girl in the school, the tall skinny blonde ones. But he wanted Diane...maybe thats why...because he couldnt have her. Diane despised Jerry's self indulgence and attitude, but was always kind to him. Sure, she had a sharp tounge and great wit, and sure she could have blown up every building in the city, but to individuals she never showed anything less than love.

Except when she was fighting.

She was a bada**. God, I'd give anything to see her again.

It was at that moment that I realized I was sitting on a train in the dark...I had given everything for her...and I still had along way to go.

I clenched that photo in my hands. The writing, already smeared by Diane's tears, was now smeared again by my own.

posted on May, 29 2004 @ 02:03 PM
I needed to clear my mind a bit. What am I doing? Clear my name? they didnt even say i was a suspect. and Diane..."i had given everything for her".

No i hadnt...i cant tell myself that...even though i know its true.

She was the first person i ever really loved.

I should call her up...see how she is doing. After weighing the consiquences, i pulled out my cell phone and called the number committed to memory from so many years of dialing.

*ring ring.....ring ring*

"Hello?", an older woman's voice came on the line.

"hi, this is Charlie Belkin, is Diane there?"

"oh...she doesnt live here anymore. This is her mother. I can give you the number though, if you'd like"

"yea, that would be great"

"its 555-7371"

"alright, thank you"

"no problem Charlie, nice to hear from you again"


I hung up. About to dial the other number, i stopped. There was too much stress still on me from getting up the nerve to try the first time. I would try again after i got off the train.

Only 2 more hours on this stupid train and i'd be there.

posted on Aug, 6 2004 @ 09:25 PM

Good God! What's happening? The train's brakes are locked.

My heart is racing. I can't speak.

Good God! I haven't been this scared since the paintball incident. What's happening?

Screaming. Everyone's screaming. I'm getting sick. Oh, God! I'm throwing up. Oh, God.

What's that sound? It's the train crashing, but we're still moving. I can't speak. Everyone's screaming. What's happening? It's so dark in here.

There's an explosion and I'm thrown into the seat in front of me and to the floor.

My heart is pounding. I can't catch my breath. There's blood. I don't feel any pain. I can't move. What's happening? It's so dark. Everyone is screaming. I can't make a sound. This weight, it's so heavy. I can feel my own breath blasting me in the face.

Finally, I can move my arms. There's a woman on top of me. She feels like she weighs a ton--two tons. There's blood. My head is pounding, now. There's screaming and people yelling names. This woman. She's crushing me. All this blood. Why isn't she moving, screaming. She's dead. I'm trapped between these seats, pinned to the floor and there's a corpse--an obese corpse--on top of me. Oh, God!

Lights! I see lights. Streaking, piercing lights. And yelling. Water!. Cold water. It's rising from the floor. We're in water and we're sinking. I can't die like this. I need help. Oh, God. I've never asked for anything, God. Help me. Help me to speak. I need a voice. I need strength. I need my legs, God.


My voice, that was me. Thank you, God. That was me. My legs. My legs are moving. I need to push this mushy mass up and try to slide out.


My ankle, something's got a hold of my ankle. A voice. A man's voice. Light. A flashlight. My eyes. That light is bright. My eyes ache. Get it out of my eyes. Pulling. Something's pulling my legs.

"Push!" the man screams.

I push. He pulls.


I push. He pulls

My head! I can't breathe. My head is locked between the breasts of this gargantuan corpse. I can't breathe! God, help me.


I push. He pulls.

My other ankle. There are two men.


I push. They pull.

I'm free! No more weight. My arms. They're pulling me by my arms. My ankles. There're three men. They're carrying me. Smoke! I smell smoke. Screaming. I hear screaming. It's horrible. That smell. What in God's name is that smell? That screaming. I've never heard such screaming. That smell. What is that smell?

We're outside! Fresh air! The men are running. I hear water splashing. Lights. Bright lights. In my eyes. Not in my eyes, please. They put me down. The ground is damp, but solid.

'What happened?" I say to no one.

"You're hurt."

It's a woman. A live woman. She takes my arm. She's taking my pulse.

"What's your name?"

It's a man. He's putting a sphygmomanometer on my arm.

"Belkin. Charlie Belkin. I was on top!"

"On top of what?"

"Everything. I was on top of everything."

"I'm glad to hear that, Charlie. I want you to relax. Your train isn't going to make El Paso tonight. We've got a gurney here and we're taking you to the hospital. Your vitals look fine. I think your going to make it. Relax. Your going to feel a little sting. Sweet dreams, Charlie."

[edit on 2005/7/8 by GradyPhilpott]

posted on Apr, 7 2005 @ 09:40 PM
I enjoyed that PhilpotGrady--But I just read a Christmas poen you contributed to another thread and I thought it was great, I love a rhym that goes beyond rose are red violets are blue--real substance with real timing. I'd lke to read more of your rhym.

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