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Angel in Disguise

Author's note: This story is inspired by the great Stephen King.
Author's note: This story is inspired by the great Stephen King.  « Hide author's note
Chapters:   « Previous 1 2 3 4 5 6 ... 10 Next »

Sweet Relief

“Get back here, you bastard!” shouted Paul. He rose to his feet and started toward the phone placed squarely in his home. “Oh,” said Barry as he turned around to face Paul, “Don’t you think about calling the law, now. I’ll know if you do.” Barry winked at Paul and started his way down Paul’s gravel driveway, heading back to whatever hole he had crawled from. Paul’s brain was racing. Why the hell would he steal a book from someone? Out of all the valuables Paul had in his possession, this redneck hick chose a book. Though Paul considered himself a sort of King book collector, the one book Barry decided to steal had been the one in which he cherished the most. It was his most cherished not only because his mother had given it to him, but it was also, honestly, his favorite. He had always loved the story King had dreamed up and thought it was his best.
“Damn psycho.” Paul whispered to himself. He found he was feeling ashamed for not standing up for himself, but knew Barry was relentless and, frankly, galaxies stronger. The bathroom mirror reflected his beaten up face as he watered his cuts and tended to his most likely broken nose. The eggshell white sink was now painted crimson red due to the abundance of spillage seeping out of his nose. Paul’s first instinct was to phone the police even though psycho man told him not to. How could he possibly know? Wire taps? Did he bug my home? Paul’s house, which he couldn’t stand to call home, couldn’t have been bugged. He would have noticed. Or would he? For the past few weeks he had found himself in a drunken stupor more often than not. Morning after blurry morning, a bottle of Jack Daniel’s finest whiskey had been laid to rest and sent home to Paul’s inevitably blackening liver. He supposes that’s just the reason his wife had left him last spring. His mother and wife had been severed from his life around the same time, one in the spring (mother) and the other in the winter (wife). Diana, his then-lovely wife, kissed the ground on which Paul walked for each and every year they had been married. The two were inseparable. That is, until Paul had one too many beers one afternoon, got fired for disorderly conduct, and took out his rage on her. The image of Paul’s open hand striking Diana across the face raced into his head and was immediately dismissed. He had quite enough to worry about now as he cleaned the blood from the sink with a bit of steel wool.
Paul peeked out of the window that looked out onto his front porch and driveway, eager to find a trace of the psycho known as Barry Kissinger after cleaning his sink. Not one sign of Barry had been left behind aside from Paul’s physical injuries and a strange odor seeping in from the front door. F*er smelled like a skunk. Yes, that’s it, a skunk. A chuckle escaped from Paul’s mouth as he remembered just how bad Barry smelled. One thing was for certain, he definitely didn’t smell like berries. The police had to be notified. Paul knew this; he was just too frightened to confront them after Berry’s threats. He’d go to the police station personally, and then there’d be no way Barry would know he’d talked to the police. He’d do it of course, after he took a shower and finished an 8th of vodka.
“Sweet dear relief, that’s what you are.” he said lovingly to his dear bottle of vodka.
Chapters:   « Previous 1 2 3 4 5 6 ... 10 Next »


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