Shorts

Script Vs. Short.

This is a word of good and evil. Sometimes it can be hard to tell them apart.

 

One.

 

1953

 

Sean lifted the baseball bat back and bought it forwards with as much speed and force as he could manage. The smash into the jawbone was as satisfying as anything he could remember. His fedora perched on his head and his tie tucked into his braces, his jacket was thrown over one of the wooden crates. He had gotten lucky a lot of the time the teeth may have flown out all over the alley but for once luck was on his side. He sat down on a crate and pushed his hand into the wet sticky mess that had once been a man's face and started to pluck the loose teeth out one by one. He placed them into his shirt pocket. He reached over for his jacket and pulled a cigar cutter from the inside pocket. It was a checkerboard patterned freshly sharpened one a gift from Laurna, a gift from her when she was still alive. He grabbed the man's right hand and slipped the thumb into the cutter. Stopping at the knuckle he pushed down. It cut with more ease than he was expecting. Not quite a knife through butter but certainly a knife through a well cooked sirloin. One down, nine to go. He made his way along the fingers of the right hand and onwards towards the left. Once he had removed the second thumb he picked up all ten digits and placed them in his top pocket with the teeth. He reached for the jacket again and this time slipped it over his shoulders, he pulled a packet of smokes from one of the pockets and put one in his mouth. The zippo click clicked as he lit it he took a long hard drag. Flicking his ash into the gaping hole that was once a face he just sat there and smoked. If he was caught now then so be it, he had done what he had planned to do. He finished the smoke and threw the remains into the face “You got what you deserved” he said. He lifted his foot up and smashed it down, crushing what little was left. He then turned and casually strolled away.

The walk back to the office was pleasant enough the sun was beaming down through the fields as he walked along the canal. He had picked the canal not because it was convenient or scenic (although it was the latter). He had picked it because it had given him an easy way to get rid of the teeth. As he walked he hummed and as he hummed he threw one tooth at a time into the water. He heard the little plops and splashes as each one hit the surface of the water and then he imagined them sinking to the bottom becoming entangled with the plants and sinking into the mud never to be seen again. He picked the final tooth out and looked at it, should I keep it he thought, nah he threw it into the water and watched this one sink. Good riddance. He left the path and continued back to the office.

He had been alone for too long now, the office was as cold and as dark as the place where his heart had once been. He walked into the office and hung his hat and jacket on the stand next to the door, he sat at the desk and poured himself a very large scotch. He necked the scotch in one hit and poured another just as large he picked up the photo on the desk and looked at it. ​​ A tear formed but he brushed it away before it could come to anything, he put the photo down and turned towards the fire. He stocked it a little and when satisfied with how it was burning he threw all the fingers and thumbs into the flames. He watched as they burnt away completely oblivious to the smell his senses once so heightened now were dead to this world. He opened a drawer on his desk and pulled out two things a bottle of pills and a notepad. Grabbing the pen from the desk his wrote ‘Laurna you may be in heaven but my being in hell will have been worth it’ he threw the pen down and grabbed the bottle. He popped the lid using only his thumb and looked inside. Half full, should be enough. He poured the contents into his mouth and started to chew. The pasty chalky mess in his mouth mixed with the scotch when he took a gulp and washed it all down, he grabbed the bottle just for good measure and swilled it around his mouth trying to get every last bit. He then leant back in his chair and tried to sleep.

It felt like he had been punched in the stomach and punched hard, a sudden rush of pain traveling at the speed of thought from his belly to his brain. He realised quickly that it was his body’s last attempts to reject the poison, he put a hand up to his mouth and could feel where he had already been sick in his sleep. He took a deep breath trying to resist the urge to vomit again, standing up his legs gave way and he found himself slumped on the floor. He clamped his hands up over his mouth trying to hold it back both mentally and physically soon the world became dark and he drifted away. His body convulsed on the floor fighting the pills and booze that was killing his body, it was a fight he would lose. The body stopped moving, the heart had given up and soon the brain would follow. The dribble from the side of his mouth slurped to the floor to join the rest and he lay their still, the room silent and the night fast approaching. The body did not stay dead for long. It started slowly at first bending straight at first, as hard and stiff as a plank and then moving onto it's back. Projectile vomiting the booze and pills and booze from the body, it flew across the room. His hairline grew back, skin on his face and body tightening up signs of aging being removed from sight. Suddenly the body sat upright, eyes open looking around the room. He pulled his arm up and wiped the vomit from his mouth. The world seemed brighter and more vivid. Like his eyes had been upgraded from a rotten old SD television camera to the latest and greatest 8K format. Colours stood out ​​ he could see details in the wooden desk he had never noticed before. He could smell the vomit but more than that he could smell the varnish in the wood. He went to stand up a little hesitant at first but his legs worked as well as they ever had.

 

 


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