Noddy & Jet – Day XXV – NaPoWriMo 2014

There once was a squirrel named noddy
Who had a teeny tiny body
He wasn’t a threat
To anyone he met
Though his manners were a bit shoddy

Noddy didn’t have many friends
But one day that misery did end
For he met
A sparrow named jet
And their days from then did blend

The pair had a favourite spot
To chill when it was hot
In a tree by the river
A real shade giver
There they’d sit and smoke pot

Having smoked they would sit and laugh
And they’d stuff their faces till they near barfed
Till one day this man
In a big metal can
Came and cut their dear tree in half

Now this made the two quite sad
They thought of all the good times they’d had
In that tree in the shade
The home they had made
And then they got a little mad

So noddy and jet hatched a scheme
To get back at this man most mean
They set his house on fire
And sat on a wire
Laughing as he did burn and scream

Now when this story in motion I did set
This way it would go, you wouldn’t bet
But take this lesson to heart
Before we part
Don’t f*ck with noddy and jet

Advertisements

NaPoWriMo – Day XVIII – A Vicious Circle

You best dig two graves
Said a voice as he took arms to bear
For the road that you embark upon
Is a gritty, bloody affair

No man that ever revenged
Was made whole in heart or soul
Feeding a vengeful fire
Will always take its toll

Vengeance begets vengeance
An eye for an eye they say
You might be a villain tomorrow
Even if you’re a hero today

But words of wisdom seldom succeed
To calm a heart aflame
There is no balm to soothe
An inferno looking to place blame

So he took his sword and he plunged it
Into the hearts of his foes most hated
He stood bathed in their blood
But yet he was not sated

Turning from their bodies
He saw a figure frozen
A boy standing shivering
With fear and grief unspoken

He looked him in the eye
And saw tears that were once his own
He felt his anger melt
And transform into self-scorn

I have robbed you this day
Of home and heart, he said
I have stripped away your innocence
And shown you spiteful death

One day when you are stronger
You too by rage will be enslaved
But hear this boy, when you come for me
You best dig two graves

The Plot

“See,” he said as he pulled out a cigarette from the crumpled pack of Golden Highs and lit it. “You don’t want this to be just another suspense novel” he said, pausing for a puff, “you want people to see this guy and not hate him right off, cause then you’ve lost em.” “So how do we do that?” his friend asked, typing away furiously on his tiny notebook sized laptop. “Well,” he pondered as he rubbed his goatee, “the first one has to be an accident. Some chick in some European country while he was on vacation. He got drunk in some tavern in… Scotland. Met some dumb busty blonde who thought his accent was amusing. They sneak off to some hut in the middle of the night. Fool around. She likes it kinky. Asks him to choke her. He plays along, hesitantly at first, but soon he finds he can’t stop himself. He feels her blood pumping through his fingers, squeezing the last of her life from her body.” He paused, taking another drag. “Afterwards he feels nothing,” he continued “none of the shame or guilt he’s supposed to. In fact, the more he thinks about it, the better he feels. More in control.”

“Okay,” the typer said, rubbing his hands together and blowing on them to prevent his fingertips from numbing up, “what happens next?” “The next two are easy,” his friend replied “Two bit hookers in some back alley in the Red Light district.” “How does he do it? He has to evolve over the intermediary kills. Maybe piano wire? Or a rope?” the typer asked, reaching for the cigarette to take a drag. “No No!” the narrator protested, “I thought of that already. Too filmy. He has to use his bare hands. That way he feels every moment.” He paused suddenly, thinking about where the story went next. He pulled out a fresh cigarette, handing the stub to his mate. “The ending is gonna be important,” he said after a few minutes of puffing his fag silently. “He can’t just get caught or die in a shootout. He needs closure.” “So how do we give it to him?” his friend asked coughing from the disgusting taste of the last drag. “With a final kill. The important one.” “Who is she?” “The one that broke his heart. The one who started the entire cycle of pain and anger.”

He took a deep drag, sighing loudly as he exhaled. “She has long brown hair. Plump breasts. An ass that used to drive him crazy. He’ll take her out to dinner first. Pretend he wants to meet up and talk about old times. To catch up. This one’ll need a lot of detail, and don’t forget the eyes. The eyes are important.” “So where does she die?” his friend asked, trying to type fast enough to keep up with the narration, “What is she wearing? Do they do it?” “Don’t know yet” the narrator said as he stood up, crushing the cigarette butt under his all-stars, “I’m picking her up tonight.”