JakeD
10-29-02, 08:18PM
Well, here's my bi-annual visit. Actually, between school and work, there's not enough time to hang out on message boards. :P
Seriously, I just wrote this though and I'd like some feedback on it as it were.
Richie looks down the sinister, dark maw of the shotgun as he pisses his pants in the back of an old convenience store.
5 minutes, if Carlo doesn’t show up, Richie’s going to get his brains painted all over the dirt thanks to a nickel-plated custom Remington 12-gauge.
You see, he and his buddy Carlo had a deal with a certain Mr. Espinosa. Mr. Espinosa is a highly-respected, sickeningly wealthy coke dealer. Mr. Espinosa’s so fucking rich, you see, that he’s sitting at his desk in upper Beverly Hills, having his dick sucked by a maid while one of his goons gets paid $500 an hour to kill people with a large-bore projectile weapon.
The stakes aren’t in Richie’s favor right now, as if you couldn’t tell.
Anyway, Richie’s standing there, sweat pouring down his face, hot tears streaking the dirt and splashing onto his $700 jacket, piss running down the legs of his double-stitched custom silk pants, and splattering onto his $400 roach-stompers. Richie starts to have flashbacks.
Two years old, sitting point-blank to a television. He only understands a few words at a time, but the people on there are bright and do funny things. There’s a knock at the door. He jumps up from his spot and clumsily toddles over to the door. His mother, Carmen, rushes in front of him, snatches him up into her arms. They both giggle, and Carmen cradles her son in one arm and opens the door.
It’s Ruben. Ruben is a supposed “special friend” of Carmen’s. Young Richie has already learned the man’s name, and shouts it gleefully upon the man’s arrival.
“Wu-bennn!!!” Richie hollers.
“Richie!!” Ruben responds, with a beaming grin.
He kisses Carmen upon entry, and grabs Richie from her arms. He quickly tosses her a small bag during Richie’s fraternizing with Ruben. She catches it and pads over to the couch, pulling out a mirror and doing something that Ruben doesn’t particularly want Richie to bear witness to. After going to the kitchen with Ruben and getting an apple, they go back into the living room whereupon Carmen whispers something into Ruben’s ear.
Ruben strolls across the room and to the couch, while Carmen takes her son to the laundry room to fold laundry and talk to him.
She says sentence after sentence to him, and he just nods his head and says “Yeah, Mama.” Suddenly, there’s a crash in the living room, and Carmen gasps and dashes towards the noise.. Richie is worried, so he follows her intently. He runs in and sees Ruben on the floor, shaking. His mother is sobbing and rubbing Ruben’s head while babbling into the telephone.
Last thing Richie remembers is the paramedics rushing in and taking Ruben off in the loud trucks, and his mother cradling him and crying, saying in Spanish, “Lo siento, m’ijo.” After that night, he never got to see his mother again.
A quick slap to the head with the barrel of the shotgun breaks Richie from his quick vacation. “Oh yeah, back to the fuckin’ task on hand,”, he murmurs.
“Shut up, you piece of shit!”says the big guy. “You’ve got 2 ½ minutes to live, After that, you’ll just be a little grease spot on the back of the Nu-Way.”
Richie shakes his head, and closes his eyes again.
His mind starts to wander, but the sudden roar of an oncoming car breaks his moment of closure.
Thank God. It’s fucking Carlo.
Carlo comes screeching up in his nice little Cadillac, hops out and strolls up to Espinosa’s guy like he’s the epitome of cool. James Dean and shit, just a Chicano.
“Hey, fuckface!” he belts, undaunted by the idea that Richie was two and…ah…say 1 ¾ minutes away from dying.
“Having fun?”
“Yeah. It’s a lovely goddamned tea party. Get this fucking gorilla to drop his guns and let me go.”
“Afraid I can’t do that, Richie.”
A burst of fear and a twinge of adrenalin rushes to Richie’s furthest nerve endings. Kids, this truly sucks.
“<b>What</b>?”
“I didn’t stutter, Richie. I can’t do that. You see, I owe Mr. Espinosa a favor. And in this case, the favor is setting up a little rat bastard such as yourself to get whacked.”
“<b>WHAT</b>? You fucking piece of shit! You can’t do this to me!”
“I can’t?” Carlo whips out a pistol and shoots Richie in his knee.
Richie collapses like a ton of bricks, and begins to pray.
‘Ay, Dios, yo hacia muchas cosas malas,’
“Shut UP, Richie. I warned you once. Don’t make me do it once more….where it counts.”
‘Pero ya quiero que yo arrepiento a todo, y…’
Carlo shoots Richie in his other leg. “Kid, I already told you.”
Richie looks up and says , in a halted manner, “You know, I didn’t really get it last time, either. Tell me AGAIN.”
Carlo stares into Richie’s deep brown eyes, and squeezes off a round right into his forehead.
“Can’t say I didn’t warn the little fuck. Now let’s go get our money.”
The big guy laughs and slaps Carlo on the back. They both get into Carlo’s Cadillac and drive away, leaving Richie in a heap under the yellow, buzzing streetlight behind the Nu-Way Stop N’ Shop.
copyright 10-29-2002 J. Dysart
Seriously, I just wrote this though and I'd like some feedback on it as it were.
Richie looks down the sinister, dark maw of the shotgun as he pisses his pants in the back of an old convenience store.
5 minutes, if Carlo doesn’t show up, Richie’s going to get his brains painted all over the dirt thanks to a nickel-plated custom Remington 12-gauge.
You see, he and his buddy Carlo had a deal with a certain Mr. Espinosa. Mr. Espinosa is a highly-respected, sickeningly wealthy coke dealer. Mr. Espinosa’s so fucking rich, you see, that he’s sitting at his desk in upper Beverly Hills, having his dick sucked by a maid while one of his goons gets paid $500 an hour to kill people with a large-bore projectile weapon.
The stakes aren’t in Richie’s favor right now, as if you couldn’t tell.
Anyway, Richie’s standing there, sweat pouring down his face, hot tears streaking the dirt and splashing onto his $700 jacket, piss running down the legs of his double-stitched custom silk pants, and splattering onto his $400 roach-stompers. Richie starts to have flashbacks.
Two years old, sitting point-blank to a television. He only understands a few words at a time, but the people on there are bright and do funny things. There’s a knock at the door. He jumps up from his spot and clumsily toddles over to the door. His mother, Carmen, rushes in front of him, snatches him up into her arms. They both giggle, and Carmen cradles her son in one arm and opens the door.
It’s Ruben. Ruben is a supposed “special friend” of Carmen’s. Young Richie has already learned the man’s name, and shouts it gleefully upon the man’s arrival.
“Wu-bennn!!!” Richie hollers.
“Richie!!” Ruben responds, with a beaming grin.
He kisses Carmen upon entry, and grabs Richie from her arms. He quickly tosses her a small bag during Richie’s fraternizing with Ruben. She catches it and pads over to the couch, pulling out a mirror and doing something that Ruben doesn’t particularly want Richie to bear witness to. After going to the kitchen with Ruben and getting an apple, they go back into the living room whereupon Carmen whispers something into Ruben’s ear.
Ruben strolls across the room and to the couch, while Carmen takes her son to the laundry room to fold laundry and talk to him.
She says sentence after sentence to him, and he just nods his head and says “Yeah, Mama.” Suddenly, there’s a crash in the living room, and Carmen gasps and dashes towards the noise.. Richie is worried, so he follows her intently. He runs in and sees Ruben on the floor, shaking. His mother is sobbing and rubbing Ruben’s head while babbling into the telephone.
Last thing Richie remembers is the paramedics rushing in and taking Ruben off in the loud trucks, and his mother cradling him and crying, saying in Spanish, “Lo siento, m’ijo.” After that night, he never got to see his mother again.
A quick slap to the head with the barrel of the shotgun breaks Richie from his quick vacation. “Oh yeah, back to the fuckin’ task on hand,”, he murmurs.
“Shut up, you piece of shit!”says the big guy. “You’ve got 2 ½ minutes to live, After that, you’ll just be a little grease spot on the back of the Nu-Way.”
Richie shakes his head, and closes his eyes again.
His mind starts to wander, but the sudden roar of an oncoming car breaks his moment of closure.
Thank God. It’s fucking Carlo.
Carlo comes screeching up in his nice little Cadillac, hops out and strolls up to Espinosa’s guy like he’s the epitome of cool. James Dean and shit, just a Chicano.
“Hey, fuckface!” he belts, undaunted by the idea that Richie was two and…ah…say 1 ¾ minutes away from dying.
“Having fun?”
“Yeah. It’s a lovely goddamned tea party. Get this fucking gorilla to drop his guns and let me go.”
“Afraid I can’t do that, Richie.”
A burst of fear and a twinge of adrenalin rushes to Richie’s furthest nerve endings. Kids, this truly sucks.
“<b>What</b>?”
“I didn’t stutter, Richie. I can’t do that. You see, I owe Mr. Espinosa a favor. And in this case, the favor is setting up a little rat bastard such as yourself to get whacked.”
“<b>WHAT</b>? You fucking piece of shit! You can’t do this to me!”
“I can’t?” Carlo whips out a pistol and shoots Richie in his knee.
Richie collapses like a ton of bricks, and begins to pray.
‘Ay, Dios, yo hacia muchas cosas malas,’
“Shut UP, Richie. I warned you once. Don’t make me do it once more….where it counts.”
‘Pero ya quiero que yo arrepiento a todo, y…’
Carlo shoots Richie in his other leg. “Kid, I already told you.”
Richie looks up and says , in a halted manner, “You know, I didn’t really get it last time, either. Tell me AGAIN.”
Carlo stares into Richie’s deep brown eyes, and squeezes off a round right into his forehead.
“Can’t say I didn’t warn the little fuck. Now let’s go get our money.”
The big guy laughs and slaps Carlo on the back. They both get into Carlo’s Cadillac and drive away, leaving Richie in a heap under the yellow, buzzing streetlight behind the Nu-Way Stop N’ Shop.
copyright 10-29-2002 J. Dysart