Fan Fiction by Noy jitat
Monday November 08, 2004. 09:31 pm
"Something I cooked up in half an hour. May or may not write more"

Part 1.

With the world drifting away, happy thoughts could run rampant. The room was dark now, peaceful, for the comforting scent of warm entrails permeated the room, and smoke finally rose from charred piles of bones. Although the screen was marred with sawed-off shotgun buckshots, a movie was still playing, its soundtrack booming through the half-busted speakers of the theatre down on 5th Street - the very theatre which would be announced sometime tommorrow in the headline of the local paper, where some gun-totin' lunatic blew his top (and the tops of several others) during the middle of the 11 o clock late showing of a generic Clint Eastwood flick.

They'd probably blame Western shootout movies for the violence, but in reality, someone's popcorn just didn't get buttered enough. They called him Caleb, long ago, in his old shape - his natural shape. That person is gone though, and he resides now in the shell of a corpse his soul salvaged from decay. He still twitches from time to time, thanks to a myriad of insects which found the cadavre before he did.

Incessant twitchings and a fist full of firepower make a lovely combination, by the way.

The abrupt sound of a shutter slowing and film flapping woke the man from his bloody slumber. 'It hurts to be alive again,' he thought. He climbed through the wreckage and walked out the swinging doors into the lobby, and then out the turnstile into the night beyond.

The streets were still, with the exception of a puking wino some ten yards away. As Caleb crossed his path, he chimed, "Whiskey... It's better the second time around, eh?"

The man jumped and looked up. His eyes attempted to fixate on something dangling from atop Caleb's hat. It was long, grey, and slimy.

"Boy..." said the drunk, "You got a snake on your head!"

"It's lower intestine," retorted Caleb, "And I'm saving it for later."

With that, and loud bang echoed through the street, and a homeless man met his final resting place, amongst a river of liquor and blood spawned forth from a gigantic hole placed in his stomach from a 12 gauge.

"You woulda puked half that up anyway," Caleb said, and disappeared into a shadow.