LordPasture
Registered User
- Joined
- Dec 8, 2008
- Messages
- 28
- Points
- 0
A story I though of while watching "The Boondocks." I might link it with other "select individuals of characters." Please be blunt with criticism.
Just a Scratch…
By: LordPasture
The year is 1953. And the classic American family sits down for an evening dinner. You know the family right? The two story house, the white picket fence, the dog named Spot, the classic 9-5 working husband, the trophy wife that can cook anything, and little Susie with little Bobby on the way. Mr. Johnson enters the kitchen, kisses his wife and pats Susie on the head as Spot brings him the paper. “Daddy?” Mr. Johnson takes the pipe out of his mouth and looks at her. “What is it Susie?” “When am I going to have my baby brother to play with?” “That all depends on when your mother is going to get off her fat ass, finish dinner and pass that football out that black hole she calls a uterus…” As Mr. Johnson rambles on about his wife’s flaws she spits in his food. And not just a French guy spitting in distaste of America I mean biker bar lugee spit, hit’s the jar and a bell rings kind of spit. “Don’t listen to your father honey. I’m sure you’ll have your baby brother by the end of next week…”
*The end of next week*
“GOD DAMNIT! I WANT YOU TO PUMP ME WITH ALL THE SEDATIVES YOU GOT! I WANT THIS BABY TO FEEL LIKE A FART AFTER I GET PUMPED UP!” “It’s okay baby! We’re doing great just keep pushing!” “WE aren’t doing anything! I’m the one doing all the work!” “That’s good Mrs. Johnson, I can see the head just keep pushing. Everything’s just fine now one last big push…” “AAAAHHHHH!” “And here it is! Here you go Mr. Johnson, it’s a beautiful baby boy.” “Oh, did you hear that honey. He’s a boy.” “Oh, *pant* that’s great, *pant* let me hold him. Hi baby. I’m your mommy. Hi baby. What are we gonna name him?” “How about…”
*Ten years later*
The boy grew up to be healthy child. He was slightly faster and slightly stronger than the other children. He was even smarter than the other children. But he could’ve become one of the best athletes the country had ever known if it weren’t for one other tiny condition that separated him from the other children. You’ve heard of an albino right? Well the boy was almost like that. Instead he gets darker and darker as time goes on. Now it was no problem for the boy at first. He was born as he should have been. A normal white boy. But as the years slowly ticked by, the “condition” started to really show. After the child reached his third birthday the Johnsons started to notice that he was getting darker. It was then at that point they had completely cut the boy off. But for the sake of the family image they kept the kid around. But on the inside of the family it was as though he didn’t exist. They did only what they legally had to do for him. They fed him, clothed him, and gave him a bed. And that was the extent of their relationship with the boy. But the boy did not see it as a curse, he saw it as a blessing. For in his parents neglect he was able to find the traditional moral value in a mass produced version of the family. The television. The boy learned everything about family, values, and good citizenship. Yet there’s one thing they don’t tell you how to deal with in the family sitcoms of the 1950’s and 60’s… and that’s how to deal with the darker human emotions. Anger, vengeance, hatred, and resentment, wishing to ruin that which will make your life miserable. So he put common human logic to work. If it is never reviewed in the traditional T.V. shows of cable then it must be one of two options. It was either a dark menacing past that had been tabooed by society, or it was something so highly regarded that it could only be enacted in the most reasonable of circumstances.
The boy figured he wasn’t the one to make such an important choice on his own. So he let the silver screen make it for him. The boy realized early in his televised life that although the small screen offered many unique moments of a thousand lifetimes, the SILVER screen was able to give many of those moments in an hour and a half than a week’s worth of T.V. So the child decided the next movie he saw would shape his very perception of hatred. Now this is a bad time for people to take their moral values from movies because this happened in the 1950’s. A.K.A. the Cold War. A time when tensions were at a high with our “red” friends. And almost all the movies made during that time were about evil aliens invading earth and threatening our way of life. So of course the child saw, that if something was a potential threat to you, kill it before it could explain itself. And the boy then went to deliver swift and merciless justice as he saw fit. And the boy knew how he would do it… with pleasure.
The boy came home after school at 3:00 like every other day with his sister in tow. “I’ll be in my room you dumb nigger. So leave me alone.” The boy didn’t even flinch he was used to the racial injustices he was meant to suffer. And in the end, it would be her who would be begging for HIS forgiveness. He walked into her room ten minutes later eyeing the back of her head. “I told you to leave me alone you dumb nigg-” He quickly hit her in the back of the head with nothing but his bare fist. Blood started to drip from her head, yet she was still conscious. Feeling the adrenaline from the first blow he hit her again, more blood but not enough for her to die… not yet at least. His mother walked into the room and was completely mortified. “W-w-what the hell have you done?!” The boy knew this would happen. He also knew that he couldn’t knock out his mother with his bare hands without it becoming really bloody and being quite tedious. So he took the lesser of the two cons, grabbing the chair in his sister’s room and bashing against the back of his mother’s head as she ran out to try and call for help.
With two unconscious and bloody bodies, his hands covered in blood, and his father coming home in two hours, he had much to do and not much time to do it. He started to drag the bodies into the garage and propped them into chairs and tying them down. He then grabbed a washcloth and started to wipe the blood off the bodies. He realized then that if they started to scream then it would screw his whole plan over. He looked at the rags and shoved them into their mouths. They started to stir when suddenly the boy remembered the one thing he needed to really serve the justice that escaped him for o so long. He ran to his parents room and found the gun that his father kept in the nightstand drawer.
He walked back to the garage looking long fully at the gun… like the ex you wish you were still with. A painful joy you get by staring at the one you wish hadn’t got away. He waltzed into the garage and smiled at his captive family. They saw his happy disposition, and they realized just the kind of a monster they had created. They started to scream but he only put his finger on their lips in a shushing manner. He then heard a knock on a door and his so called “father” walked in through the front door. “Honey I’m home! Where’s dinner?” The boy pointed the gun at the roof of the garage and fired a single shot. Mr. Johnson ran into the garage right after he lit his pipe. “W-what’s going on here? What the hell are you doing son?” And for the first time in his life the boy spoke… “Shut up. You’re not my father and I’m not your son. A father is someone that takes the time to actually show affection and encouragement to their son. And you two aren’t any better than the sack of shit in front of me. Know the only dilemma that I shall ever have to face is the order I kill you malicious bastards. Hmmm… I know! I’ll do it like this!” The boy pointed the gun at his father and pulled the trigger and shot him in the leg. “AAAAHHHHH! OH MY GOD!” Mr. Johnson screamed as he gripped his leg, writhing with pain. “And then like this!” He shouted as he shot him in his other leg. “AAAAAAAAHHHHH! NOOO!” he screamed as he fell to the floor, blood seeping on to the cold concrete floor. The boy simply watched in malicious joy as the man who caused him pain, was now dealt everything he administered including interest. “AHAHAHA! Now this is a movie I would’ve killed to see! Get it? Killed? Oh I kill me! I mean you! AHAHAHAHAHAHA!” And his maniacal laughter was only cancelled by the gunshot that killed his father as he shot him right through the heart. “Now we’re even.” He looked solemnly at his mother who was in hysterics and pointed the gun at her forehead.
“Shh shh shh. It will all be over soon…” He said as he pushed her hair back with the butt of the gun. “Right about now.” He pulled the trigger and his mother’s brains burst onto the deathly concrete and side of his sisters head. He turned his head like an owl possessed with a stare that appeared as though it saw sin in even the holiest of men to face his hysterically crying sister. He pointed the gun and fired. And at that shot she heard not a “bang”, but a “click”. She opened her eyes and saw her brother, who was now her brother in the face of madness as he started to laugh. “You must have fate on your side my dear! Either fate or a devil, more vicious than I, can you imagine? He has cursed me with the inability to count my shots, and he has cursed you to live with the madness of pushing your brother to kill your parents. Tis a fitting punishment! You shall live whilst the rest have passed! But I will leave you with a mark, my dear.” The boy pulled out a knife and sliced across the top of her forehead. “Don’t worry my dear, it’s… just a scratch.”
*20 years later*
And the boy was never heard from again. For the boy left the house and he ran. He went from nightclub to nightclub. He learned to play the guitar and began to carve a small name for himself as a true inspiration to the black populace. Yet fearing his past life would catch up to him and ruin his image he stayed in no place for long. Fearing that he would be ambushed he acquitted his guitar with razor sharp spikes for a close range encounter, and a gun built into the section of the guitar where the strings were. One night after a gig in Jersey at a club called “The Gamble” a man came up to him and tapped him on the shoulder. “That was quite a show my boy. But I have to ask you a question. Would you like to make a bigger impact on humanity? Be something greater than a traveling roadie? Then come with me and you will be more in the eyes of the community, hell the world, than… just a scratch.”
And with the recruitment of Scratch, the first two members of the L.O.C.U.S.T. panned the country searching far and wide, looking for those worthy enough, those who were skilled and had a dark enough past, that they could afford to disappear. So Scratch and the mysterious leader scoured the country looking for sin central… they soon wound up back in New Jersey. Shocker huh?
Just a Scratch…
By: LordPasture
The year is 1953. And the classic American family sits down for an evening dinner. You know the family right? The two story house, the white picket fence, the dog named Spot, the classic 9-5 working husband, the trophy wife that can cook anything, and little Susie with little Bobby on the way. Mr. Johnson enters the kitchen, kisses his wife and pats Susie on the head as Spot brings him the paper. “Daddy?” Mr. Johnson takes the pipe out of his mouth and looks at her. “What is it Susie?” “When am I going to have my baby brother to play with?” “That all depends on when your mother is going to get off her fat ass, finish dinner and pass that football out that black hole she calls a uterus…” As Mr. Johnson rambles on about his wife’s flaws she spits in his food. And not just a French guy spitting in distaste of America I mean biker bar lugee spit, hit’s the jar and a bell rings kind of spit. “Don’t listen to your father honey. I’m sure you’ll have your baby brother by the end of next week…”
*The end of next week*
“GOD DAMNIT! I WANT YOU TO PUMP ME WITH ALL THE SEDATIVES YOU GOT! I WANT THIS BABY TO FEEL LIKE A FART AFTER I GET PUMPED UP!” “It’s okay baby! We’re doing great just keep pushing!” “WE aren’t doing anything! I’m the one doing all the work!” “That’s good Mrs. Johnson, I can see the head just keep pushing. Everything’s just fine now one last big push…” “AAAAHHHHH!” “And here it is! Here you go Mr. Johnson, it’s a beautiful baby boy.” “Oh, did you hear that honey. He’s a boy.” “Oh, *pant* that’s great, *pant* let me hold him. Hi baby. I’m your mommy. Hi baby. What are we gonna name him?” “How about…”
*Ten years later*
The boy grew up to be healthy child. He was slightly faster and slightly stronger than the other children. He was even smarter than the other children. But he could’ve become one of the best athletes the country had ever known if it weren’t for one other tiny condition that separated him from the other children. You’ve heard of an albino right? Well the boy was almost like that. Instead he gets darker and darker as time goes on. Now it was no problem for the boy at first. He was born as he should have been. A normal white boy. But as the years slowly ticked by, the “condition” started to really show. After the child reached his third birthday the Johnsons started to notice that he was getting darker. It was then at that point they had completely cut the boy off. But for the sake of the family image they kept the kid around. But on the inside of the family it was as though he didn’t exist. They did only what they legally had to do for him. They fed him, clothed him, and gave him a bed. And that was the extent of their relationship with the boy. But the boy did not see it as a curse, he saw it as a blessing. For in his parents neglect he was able to find the traditional moral value in a mass produced version of the family. The television. The boy learned everything about family, values, and good citizenship. Yet there’s one thing they don’t tell you how to deal with in the family sitcoms of the 1950’s and 60’s… and that’s how to deal with the darker human emotions. Anger, vengeance, hatred, and resentment, wishing to ruin that which will make your life miserable. So he put common human logic to work. If it is never reviewed in the traditional T.V. shows of cable then it must be one of two options. It was either a dark menacing past that had been tabooed by society, or it was something so highly regarded that it could only be enacted in the most reasonable of circumstances.
The boy figured he wasn’t the one to make such an important choice on his own. So he let the silver screen make it for him. The boy realized early in his televised life that although the small screen offered many unique moments of a thousand lifetimes, the SILVER screen was able to give many of those moments in an hour and a half than a week’s worth of T.V. So the child decided the next movie he saw would shape his very perception of hatred. Now this is a bad time for people to take their moral values from movies because this happened in the 1950’s. A.K.A. the Cold War. A time when tensions were at a high with our “red” friends. And almost all the movies made during that time were about evil aliens invading earth and threatening our way of life. So of course the child saw, that if something was a potential threat to you, kill it before it could explain itself. And the boy then went to deliver swift and merciless justice as he saw fit. And the boy knew how he would do it… with pleasure.
The boy came home after school at 3:00 like every other day with his sister in tow. “I’ll be in my room you dumb nigger. So leave me alone.” The boy didn’t even flinch he was used to the racial injustices he was meant to suffer. And in the end, it would be her who would be begging for HIS forgiveness. He walked into her room ten minutes later eyeing the back of her head. “I told you to leave me alone you dumb nigg-” He quickly hit her in the back of the head with nothing but his bare fist. Blood started to drip from her head, yet she was still conscious. Feeling the adrenaline from the first blow he hit her again, more blood but not enough for her to die… not yet at least. His mother walked into the room and was completely mortified. “W-w-what the hell have you done?!” The boy knew this would happen. He also knew that he couldn’t knock out his mother with his bare hands without it becoming really bloody and being quite tedious. So he took the lesser of the two cons, grabbing the chair in his sister’s room and bashing against the back of his mother’s head as she ran out to try and call for help.
With two unconscious and bloody bodies, his hands covered in blood, and his father coming home in two hours, he had much to do and not much time to do it. He started to drag the bodies into the garage and propped them into chairs and tying them down. He then grabbed a washcloth and started to wipe the blood off the bodies. He realized then that if they started to scream then it would screw his whole plan over. He looked at the rags and shoved them into their mouths. They started to stir when suddenly the boy remembered the one thing he needed to really serve the justice that escaped him for o so long. He ran to his parents room and found the gun that his father kept in the nightstand drawer.
He walked back to the garage looking long fully at the gun… like the ex you wish you were still with. A painful joy you get by staring at the one you wish hadn’t got away. He waltzed into the garage and smiled at his captive family. They saw his happy disposition, and they realized just the kind of a monster they had created. They started to scream but he only put his finger on their lips in a shushing manner. He then heard a knock on a door and his so called “father” walked in through the front door. “Honey I’m home! Where’s dinner?” The boy pointed the gun at the roof of the garage and fired a single shot. Mr. Johnson ran into the garage right after he lit his pipe. “W-what’s going on here? What the hell are you doing son?” And for the first time in his life the boy spoke… “Shut up. You’re not my father and I’m not your son. A father is someone that takes the time to actually show affection and encouragement to their son. And you two aren’t any better than the sack of shit in front of me. Know the only dilemma that I shall ever have to face is the order I kill you malicious bastards. Hmmm… I know! I’ll do it like this!” The boy pointed the gun at his father and pulled the trigger and shot him in the leg. “AAAAHHHHH! OH MY GOD!” Mr. Johnson screamed as he gripped his leg, writhing with pain. “And then like this!” He shouted as he shot him in his other leg. “AAAAAAAAHHHHH! NOOO!” he screamed as he fell to the floor, blood seeping on to the cold concrete floor. The boy simply watched in malicious joy as the man who caused him pain, was now dealt everything he administered including interest. “AHAHAHA! Now this is a movie I would’ve killed to see! Get it? Killed? Oh I kill me! I mean you! AHAHAHAHAHAHA!” And his maniacal laughter was only cancelled by the gunshot that killed his father as he shot him right through the heart. “Now we’re even.” He looked solemnly at his mother who was in hysterics and pointed the gun at her forehead.
“Shh shh shh. It will all be over soon…” He said as he pushed her hair back with the butt of the gun. “Right about now.” He pulled the trigger and his mother’s brains burst onto the deathly concrete and side of his sisters head. He turned his head like an owl possessed with a stare that appeared as though it saw sin in even the holiest of men to face his hysterically crying sister. He pointed the gun and fired. And at that shot she heard not a “bang”, but a “click”. She opened her eyes and saw her brother, who was now her brother in the face of madness as he started to laugh. “You must have fate on your side my dear! Either fate or a devil, more vicious than I, can you imagine? He has cursed me with the inability to count my shots, and he has cursed you to live with the madness of pushing your brother to kill your parents. Tis a fitting punishment! You shall live whilst the rest have passed! But I will leave you with a mark, my dear.” The boy pulled out a knife and sliced across the top of her forehead. “Don’t worry my dear, it’s… just a scratch.”
*20 years later*
And the boy was never heard from again. For the boy left the house and he ran. He went from nightclub to nightclub. He learned to play the guitar and began to carve a small name for himself as a true inspiration to the black populace. Yet fearing his past life would catch up to him and ruin his image he stayed in no place for long. Fearing that he would be ambushed he acquitted his guitar with razor sharp spikes for a close range encounter, and a gun built into the section of the guitar where the strings were. One night after a gig in Jersey at a club called “The Gamble” a man came up to him and tapped him on the shoulder. “That was quite a show my boy. But I have to ask you a question. Would you like to make a bigger impact on humanity? Be something greater than a traveling roadie? Then come with me and you will be more in the eyes of the community, hell the world, than… just a scratch.”
And with the recruitment of Scratch, the first two members of the L.O.C.U.S.T. panned the country searching far and wide, looking for those worthy enough, those who were skilled and had a dark enough past, that they could afford to disappear. So Scratch and the mysterious leader scoured the country looking for sin central… they soon wound up back in New Jersey. Shocker huh?
