The Five Trials of Peru: Trial 2

The two survivors crawled onto shore and collapsed from exhaustion and hunger. When he awoke the prince found himself in a cave, dim and damp, locked in a cage built into the wall with his crewman. Looking to his right he saw several other men locked up in similar fashion. To his left was a pen housing sheep and piles of various treasures. Peru called out to the other men, asking the who’s and what’s.

A man from the next cage answered. “My name is Lothar, captain of a ship sailing east. This is my crew, or what remains of them. Months ago we wrecked upon this island where a terrible cyclops captured us. He keeps us as slaves and food, picking whichever pikes his tastes to roast over a fire at random. He sustains himself on sheep all other times. There is no hope for us; many have tried escaping but none have succeeded.”    

Just then the cyclops returned; walking through the entrance of the cave he blocked out the light with his mass. Five stories high and four wide his single eye fell upon his newest hostages. The prince heard a low chuckle as the cyclops went about his business, stoking a roaring fire in the middle of the cave before approaching the cages. Looking Peru up and down he found him lacking much substance so moved to the other, the prince’s one remaining countryman, who he found to be more fatted around the middle. Taking him from the cage he gave one great heave and slammed the man against a nearby rock, cracking his skull. Cooking and eating the human the cyclops threw the scraps to the sheep and rolled over, falling into a deep slumber.

“See?” Lothar whispered to Peru. “There is no escape or hope.”

The prince was wroth with wrath at the death of his man and swore vengeance against the giant. The next morn the cyclops released the men and herded them to a nearby field full of crop, indicating they should tend the field. Peru followed the other men’s lead and set to work, knowing it best. Many months passed in such fashion.

Gradually Peru befriended the other prisoners and told them of his unfortunate account. One bitter night when the giant felt particularly hungry and ate two men Lothar bargained with him: “Should you kill the beast and free my men I swear to do all in my power to help you reach your destination.” 

Pleased with such a proposal the prince thought of ways to kill the cyclops. A week later night fell and the men were led back to the cave from a hard day in the fields. A sheep was on the menu and after eating his fill the cyclops rolled over and fell to sleep.

Once assured the monster slept the prince brought out a sharp rock he picked up when the cyclops had his back to him and began sawing the ropes binding his cage door shut. Gradually the ropes broke and the cage door swung open. Inching his way out, begging the others looking on to remain silent, he crept to the pile of treasure, the pillage of any ship wrecked upon the island shore, hoping to find what once belonged to him before the giant enslaved him. At last he happened upon his sword, a gift from his father for the journey across the ocean. Creeping back the prince raised the blade and stabbed the cyclops in the eye, blinding him.

Roaring awake the giant raged about the cave, grabbing for the prince. But swift of feet the boy dashed left and right, slashing at his ankles until the cyclops collapsed to the ground in despair for his life. In one fell swoop the prince took his head clean off.

The men cheered, praising the prince for his strength and bravery. He quickly untied the others and they rejoiced in their freedom. Exploring the cave and treasure the giant had hoarded the men took back what was theirs. After some they left the cave behind and set about exploring the island, wishing to walk from one end to the other in hopes of finding some means by which to sail on the sea once more.

The Five Trials of Peru: Trial 1 Part 2

Peru’s heart swelled at the thought of what little time remained separating him from the girl he loved. True, that little time was measured in months, but every breath he took shortened those months to moments; he could only view the coming days as a time he would look back on as a split second in his life.

With the sky clear and the wind at their backs the crew worked the ship in a pleasant mood. None would admit it, but secretly they were all hopeless romantics. Leaving their homes and families behind felt burdensome, but to see such a strong desire in the prince to gain what they already had left them feeling eager to see his heart fulfill its greatest desire.   

A few days into the journey dark clouds gathered on the horizon and a storm swept the seas in a turbulent riot. The men fought hard to steady the ship but with one great gust the boat overturned and all were cast into the sea. The storm raged on for many more hours and only those God saw fit survived, catching hold of debris to cling to for survival. Peru was one so lucky, and save two more all others perished. Staying close to each other the men drifted at sea for many days, hunger and thirst biting at their throats.

“We are all going to die,” one man called to the two others, seated on a plank of wood from the ship. “We will perish and it is because of the young prince and his foolish whimsies.”

“Bite your tongue.” The other man said. “The cause of our demise is the sea and nothing more. Do not blame a hapless boy for fate.”

“Because of you,” the sailor said to the prince. “I will never see my wife and children again. I will die and they will become beggars on the streets eating rats from the gutters to survive!” He continued  raving until all sense fled him and he fell into the sea in a fit, drowning.

The remaining crew member floated hopelessly across from the prince, who felt the sailor’s words deeply and could not shake the debt he felt he now owed. Impossibly the picture of Florette survived the wreck but was smudged by dampness. Peru took it from his pocket to dry and swore by her to honor the men who had perished and their families should he survive.

The next morning the pair washed ashore an island, green and wild.    

Bitches Be Jealous

I saw them. I saw them together.

 

There is he was, perfect in every way. I’d had my eye on him for over a year; I just hadn’t made my move yet. His hair, his fashion sense, his smile, his humor, everything about him suited me just fine. I dreamed of this boy every night, and the mere thought of him made me shiver. He was my everything.    

 

And there she was, all over him. Flipping her hair and smiling. Flawless skin and nails just begging for close-ups. She had the perfect proportions to drive anyone crazy. Popular beyond reason, she was looked upon by many as a shining example of what a woman should be. Slut. Slut slut slut!

 

I stood across the hall watching that girl, that girl!, flirt with my crush. How dare she? Didn’t she know that he was already, sort of, practically mine? Even though we weren’t officially dating or anything, he was still mine! Why couldn’t she see that? I watched as she laughed, leaning in close. She placed a hand on his shoulder and slowly traced his upper arm. I boiled over. Just because I’d never touched him like that, she thought it was ok? Everyone knew that I liked him!

 

That’s it. Shits going down. We both couldn’t chase after the same prey. Someone was going to have to die.  

 

“Jen?” Ashley walked up next to me, completely ignored in the heat of the moment. She followed my gaze and gasped. “Hey, isn’t that… and isn’t that…?”

 

“Shut up.” I said. Grabbing her face, I shoved her out of the way and walked towards the seemingly happy couple.

 

She saw me first and smirked. I bet she thought she was pretty clever. He hardly knew I existed after all; what would he know he’d missed out on if he dated her? A yard, a foot, an inch. Pulling back, I formed a fist and threw it, breaking that bitch’s perfect little nose effortlessly. She fell back against the lockers and slid down, holding her gushing mess of a face.

 

Shock crossed his face before I leaned in and kissed it, pouring in all the passion I felt for him into that one action. I enjoyed it for a moment or two. Pulling back, smiling, I licked my lips. “Call me,” I perked up and walked away, satisfied with the girl’s cries and the boy’s gasps.

 

My mother always told me to go after what I wanted wholeheartedly. I’m sure this is what she meant.   

Cell Fight

As a man openly pissed in a corner Mark sighed sadly. He did not belong here. Loneliness engulfed those thoughts along with his mind. He would not cry though. He would never cry.

Mark could do nothing of the past. It was of no use to him now. Now he must focus on the present. What was Mark going to do? He sat on the dirty wooden bench in the holding cell. One knee supported his chin as he bit his nail.

A harmless bump. That’s all it was. A man, infested by a drunken stupor most his life, stumbled as an octopus would into the very edge of Mark’s vision. Tripping over his own feet he bumped against Mark’s shoulder.

“Sorry brother,” The man stood and looked down at him through filmed eyes. “Didn’t see you there,”

“It’s alright.” Mark looked the man up and down before returning to his musing. The man continued to look down at him however.

“What’s wrong brother?” The man reached forward to grip the same shoulder he’d assaulted. “Ain’t I said sorry?” He gripped Mark’s shoulder tighter. “Why you want to ignore me like that? Think you’re too good to rise when a man such as I speaks to you?”  

Mark looked at the man with serious confusion and contempt. Why was he doing this? Any other man would have risen up and punched the offending man square in the jaw. Mark had hardly even noticed him. Why would purposefully pick a fight with someone who didn’t mean any harm? He thought he’d given him what he wanted. Apparently he wanted the opposite.

He wore a smirk on his face as he grabbed Mark by the shirt collar and hauled him to his feet. Mark didn’t fight against the pull. He really didn’t like to fight. But he supposed that, while he was here, he would have to put that personal distaste aside if he wanted to stay alive and with a shred of pride intact.

“What you going to do brother?” The waft of deprivation engulfed Mark’s senses as the man whispered closely. He glanced around. His other cell mates were not looking, not listening, but were very much paying attention. In this small of a place nothing goes unnoticed. No one rose to aid either man in their conquest. This suited both just fine.         

Without another word the man swung back to hit. Quickly, as one who has done the move before, Mark ducked out of the way, feeling the breeze over his head as a fist parted the air where his nose had been, and lurched forward, knocking the man off balance. Training kicked in and before the blink of an eye could be finished Mark had the man in a choke hold. Moments later he passed out.

A minute later a guard passed by. “What’s wrong with him?” He asked, motioning to the motionless body left lying in the middle of the floor.

Mark shrugged and the guard moved on, little concern on his face. Mark leaned back and rested his chin on his knee again. His father had always told him to make the best of any situation he found himself in.

Mark would try.  

I Need You

“Come home. I need you. Now.”

Male Version:

“Who is it Steven?” His co-worker asked. The two men sat in Steven’s office going over the schedule for the week.

Steven looked up from his phone. “It’s my wife. She just texted me.” He smiled. “She says she needs me.”

His co-worker smiled a sly smile. “You dog,” The two burst into laughter.

“Oh, you know how it is. I really am lucky she still loves a guy like me. Honestly, she can hardly keep her hands off me!” His co-worker nodded in understanding. “When I walk through the door at night I have to practically fight her off me. It’s like “Jesus woman, let me at least get my shoes off!” You know?” The two laughed again.

Sighing, he shut his phone and put it away, content to know his wife could wait until his work was done.

“Silly women.”

Female Version:

Abigail cured her husband. Why didn’t he answer her text? Hadn’t he read it? Didn’t he understand her urgency? Her need?

A robber pressed the gun harder against the back of her head. What misery. There she’d been, going about her day as usual; she’d stopped at home on her lunch to pick up some things. Standing in the bedroom she’d heard a quiet commotion downstairs. Instinctively, innocently, she’d gone to investigate. She saw the robbers before they saw her, thankfully, and she’d dashed back into the room. Shutting the door, she quickly hid in the closet. The robbers must have heard something however, for no sooner had she crouched amongst some clothes than she heard the bedroom door open.

She couldn’t call 911, they would hear her voice. Panicked, she did the next thing that came to her mind; she texted her husband. Fighting back pants of hysterics, she waited. Suddenly the closet door swung open. Looking up into the cold eyes of a man she didn’t recognize, Abigail screamed. He reached out and grabbed her by the hair. Fighting hard, she was drug out of the closet and down the stairs to the living room. Told to keep quiet, a gun was drawn.

This is about the time Abigail began to curse her husband. She watched as men stole everything. Car keys, TVs, clocks, watches, the new crock pot they’d received for Christmas, even their daughter’s piggybank. All gone. Finally, ten minutes later, she was thanked kindly for her cooperation and knocked unconscious.

A few hours later, Steven would come home to this scene, left completely surprised. Once she came to, Abigail would set about berating, both emotionally and physically, her husband for his ego. Then, much later, they would finally call the police.     

“Stupid men.”

A Day in the Life

Amber sat on the couch feeling somewhat lonesome. She watched TV and munched on some fruit flavored cereal, but wasn’t really paying attention to either. She was waiting.

Bang, bang, thud. “Good morning John,” Amber said, trying to not sound too excited at the first sign of life in the morning.

“If she asks, I’m not here.” John said urgently. Amber looked over her shoulder just in time to see John duck into a nearby storage closet, clothed in nothing but a pair of checkered boxers.

“Uh,” She managed to get out just before she heard more bangs and thuds coming down the stairs. A girl of beautiful proportions, but terrible hair and makeup, appeared.

She fixed her cross eyes on Amber. “Who are you?”

“I’m Amber,” She answered honestly. “I live here.”

“You live here…” The girl huffed and nodded. “If you see that slim ball excuse of a man who goes by the name “Bill” anytime soon, tell him he can keep it.” With that she threw her rather oversized purse over her shoulder and, head held high, exited stage right through the front door.

A moment later, after he made sure it was safe, John emerged from the closet. “Who was that?” Amber asked, amused at John’s endless antics. It kept the house interesting. “And what is it you can keep? And who’s Bill?”

“Don’t worry your little pretty brain about it.” John patted her bed head as he walked by. “Good morning Tiff,” He said distantly.

“Good morning Stud.” Amber heard Tiffany clink delicately down the steps. “It sounds like you had a good night.”

“Always.” John chuckled and headed upstairs, noisy as ever.

“Hmm,” Tiffany spotted Amber still in her pajamas and smiled. Tiffany was a peculiar sort of woman, mature well beyond her years. She took care of everyone in the house without overbearing anyone into submission. “Good morning love,” Amber felt the smile in her voice.

“Good morning Tiff,” She said back. “Do you know…?”

Tiffany sighed. “I try to stay out of that boy’s business. Honestly, it’s more of a bother that anything to concern yourself.”    

“Yeah,” Amber said absentmindedly. She’d focused in on the TV now, comforted by the movement of others in the big house. Upstairs, she heard John ram, what she could only assume, his foot into his dresser (again) and cuss loudly.

The news was on. Tiffany, serving herself her usual grapefruit, sat next to Amber on the couch to catch up on the daily grind. A new news reporter, a young boy straight from school, lectured them on the safety hazards of sink plugs.

“He’s decent.” Amber commented first.

“Talent wise or…?” Tiffany asked, coy.

“It’s too early to say talent wise, but look wise…”

“I would eat cheesecake with him.” Tiffany confessed.

Amber gasped. “Really?” She couldn’t help but pry.

“Oh yes, I think so.” She said.

“What are we talking about?” John’s head poked between the two women’s.

“Tiffany said she would eat cheesecake with him!” Amber pointed with her spoon.

“Really?” John asked, surprised.

“Well, don’t all sound the alarm at once.” Tiffany smiled and stood, exiting stage left into the kitchen.

Reaching over, John stole Amber’s half eaten bowl of cereal and drained it, following Tiffany into the kitchen. “Well,” Amber said, more to herself than anyone else. “I guess I should get dressed now.”    

Mortician

Lately, the world had been in quiet the commotion because of some very peculiar news. From somewhere deep in the south it came, and sent chills down the spines of anyone who heard it.

 

“Have you heard about the incident? Has is really begun?”

 

The incident in question was rather a strange thing. A man had been murdered, but not in any typical sense. Hardly even in an atypical sense was this man’s end. He had been eaten. Partially. Though I find it hard to believe he cared either way. The man who had done the eating was found and shot on sight by a local neighborhood watch. Illegal, maybe, but I don’t find it hard to believe no one bid for his case.    

 

What could cause a perfectly fine human being to turn towards cannibalism? While the world reeled in their fantasies and horror flicks, this possible future held little appeal to the man who dealt with the supposed “zombie”. 

 

The victim’s body was completely repulsive to behold, resulting in his family wanting a cremation. That was that. The attacker, however, apparently had no family, so was instead destined for an unmarked plot on the edge of town. But first, of course, had to come the autopsy. The Police Department was interested in what the man had “been on” when he perpetrated the act.

 

This is where our main character comes in. Daniel is his name, but from hence forth shall be referred to as Mortician, for that was after all his occupation, and the most relevant piece of information about him you will ever need to know. Put in charge of the autopsy, the Mortician felt little interest in the dead man’s case.

 

His body, dirty and riddled with bullet holes, felt like every other body to his expert hands. He operated out of sheer ritual, slicing the man clean straight up the middle. This is where things start to become interesting. The man’s internal organs had begun to decompose. But the body had only been dead a day, hadn’t it? The smell was overwhelming. Backing away the Mortician took off his mask and breathed deeply. It puzzled him. Grabbing another scalpel, he turned to face an empty examination table.

 

He blinked as his mind went blank. Next thing he was hit upside the head with a ton of bricks. Inhuman snarls filled his ears as he struggled to glimpse his attacker. It was the man, but he wasn’t a man at all.

 

His eyes turned milky white, no longer seeing, rolled around as hot moans escaped his throat. His chest, still cut open, poured out all he had to offer in terms of organ donation. Ripping at his coat, the dead man gnashed his teeth with vivaciousness until one fell out and plopped against the Mortician’s cheek.

 

The Mortician yelled and struggled, disbelief clouding his judgment. The zombie fought on however and with surprising strength broke through his victim’s defenses and bit his shoulder. Roaring in pain the Mortician took at better grip on the scalpel he still held and lashed out, planting it deep within the zombie’s jugular.

 

The creature went limp. Seizing moment the Mortician shot out from under the monster. Now, this Mortician just happened to have an axe stashed in a cabinet behind his desk. Flying to it now, he ripped open the cabinet and took the sharpened blade in hand. Behind him, he heard the zombie struggle to its feet. Turning to face his foe, the Mortician steeled himself for the kill.

 

The zombie limped closer, uttering such noises that, I can assure you, a dying moose wouldn’t dream of making. Bursting forth a war cry, the likes of which have never been heard and shall never be matched, the Mortician bravely flew forward, striking out.

 

He hit the zombie square in the face, splitting it clean in two. For good measure he struck again and again until all that was left was a scattered assortment of body parts.

 

“Oh Mr.—” Just then his assistant, a lovely young woman writing notes on a clip board, walked into the room. Before she could finish her sentence she slipped on the blood now effectively covering the majority of the floor and fell flat onto her face. Confused, she glanced up to see her boss.

 

Cover in blood and various other body fluids, the Mortician looked quite the ghastly sight. Feeling a throb in his shoulder, he looked to see it already turning a sickly grey-green around the edges of the very noticeable teeth marks.

 

“Ms. Dill,” He said, looking at his assistant. “I’m going to need you—”

 

“Need me what?” She looked wide eyes as the figure of the Mortician slowly came closer. She glimpsed his face as he shuffled under the light and screamed.