Blindshot

Been a while. Whole lot of life going on around here. I’m done car shopping and the kids are settled back into school, so I should have more free time. I’ve got to get some momentum going if I’m going to make it through NaNoWriMo.

I’ve been trying to think up some lame super-heroes and see what would happen if they were taken serious. For a better explanation of what I mean, have a look at today’s post.

* * * * *

He tore off the last sheet of paper from the tablet. There had been eighty. This time from the farthest corner of his office, Glen crumbled the paper in to a tight ball and faced the wall. He pictured his coffee cup in his mind as it sat on the desk across the room. He whipped the paper ball over his left shoulder. It landed into the cup with a splash.

Glen turned around to face his office: the waste basket overflowed with crumpled paper, his water glass contained three of them, all swollen and limp, his trophy buck mounted above the bookcase had them jammed into both ears. Even the filing cabinet handles had paper wads lodged behind them. “How about Blindshot?” Glenn asked.

“Blindshot? Does the name Alan Moore sound familiar? He already used that name in a comic book years ago. Bob ‘Blindshot’ Booker. A cabbie or something.” Dave wasn’t an expert on many things, but he was a guru when it came to comics. “You’re gonna get sued if you go calling yourself Blindshot.” Dave drained his beer and tossed the can at the overflowing wastebasket. He missed.

“Ok, no Blindshot. But I’ve got to come up with something.”

“Why? Since when is throwing things into other things a super power? You wouldn’t last a day out there with the real bad—” A paper wad landed in Dave’s mouth. He spat it onto the floor. “What the hell!”

“If that was a marble,” Glenn said with a satisfied grin, “you’d have choked.”

∞

What happens at the Pine Grove, stays at the Pine Grove

Been a busy week. I’ve done some overtime at work, went car shopping nearly 5 days in a row (and I’m still not finished) and it was the kids first day back to school yesterday. Here’s a scene though. I’ve got another almost done as well, so it shouldn’t be too long between posts this time.

* * * * *

All he could do was watch and wait his turn while the wolf slaughtered his friends and dogs right in front of him. He was the last of the hunting party. Davidson, Greene, and Buckley all dead. Their throats torn open before they could mutter a word. Buckley had screamed though. He screamed a lot. Trapped between a long oak table and the wall Josh saw everything. The wolf had Buckley pinned down on the floorboards, taking bites into his face. It swallowed mouthfuls of skin and hair until Buckley’s screams were reduced to a wet gurgle; at last falling silent.

Satisfied, the wolf had turned to a paralyzed Josh and fixed its blue eye on him. While the red one twitched with feral insanity, the blue one was cool and steady. The wolf knew what it was doing. Somehow, it knew him.

Its gaze had snapped to a desk in the corner. In an instant, it rammed the desk, spilling the contents onto the floor. The wolf approached a chipped plaque amid the mess that read Pine Grove Lodge. Under the title read the following:

If We Can’t Shoot The Deer

At Least We’ll Have Our Beer

Ron Davidson

Josh Tyndall

George Greene

Ed Buckley

Simon Marks

What happens at the Pine Grove, stays at the Pine Grove…

The wolf looked up at Josh, waiting for eye contact before lifting its leg and releasing a stream of hot urine onto the plaque.

The wolf began what Josh first thought as a sneezing or coughing fit. Drool and blood flecked spittle sprayed from its snout, until he noticed the slightly upturned mouth and the lunatic gleam in both eyes. The wolf was laughing at him. It was at this moment that Josh first realized that the wolf was Simon Marks. It had come in here and slaughtered everyone and now it would take its time and savor the last kill.

∞