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[m4dd0g]

-Just some bored, drunken pulp fiction for ewes -

Red then green, light smears through the fogged choked night.
He guns the throttle, twisting that rubber with a white knuckle grip. The bike -already vibrating hard between his thighs- bites down greedily on the extra fuel. With a throaty howl it slingshots the rider up the black asphalt.
City lights flash past with a trailing blue afterimage and the blurred scene gives way to thought:
The bitch had no right, how dare she!
Me!
Two blocks. Shutter speed friday night revelry, a hollow siren - not important.
Fuck her!
Choking back fat tears
Fuck her. Not working? Who the fuck is she to think that bullshit is going to fly?
Fuck ... HER!!
Ego crumbling, pain digging to white, then the inevitable release.
With the tears comes an ethereal calm.
He urges the beast onwards. The scene flits by. When he burns past the red a yellow monster lurches out of the gloom with an angry horn screaming his name. Shock kicks instinct in the ass and wipes the riders mind clean. Heart beating wildly he twists to see the taxi pulling to a halt.
The driver glares, safe behind in his righteous anger.
The riders mind stills, turns over and flares red like a match to unspent gas
You ... soft ... foreign ... cunt.
How dare you, either of you!
Anger and power flows over his body like hot magma. He wrenches hard on the brake. The bike skips and pulls up and around like a spanish dancer. A foot kicks out the stand and the rider arrogantly steps off the bike drawing a 12" blade from the custom leather sheath hidden beneath the clawing leopard on the tank.
He takes his time, smugly strolling to the cab like every olympian god is cheering his name, making sure the driver gets a good fucking eyeful of his hard steel. Awash with adrenaline the worlds sins against him are his to avenge.
Fuck you! Dont you dare tread on my domain!
The cabbys face drains to grey. Johnny -his name is Johnny- taps on the glass, the steel thirsty but content to draw out the tasty kill. The window reluctantly hums and lowers.
"Fuck head, you wanna a piece of..."
The .45 cannon explodes in the petrified cabbies hand. At one meter range Johnys head flies apart like confetti. A lonely chunk of brain traces a perfect arc up behind him and thunks to the ground - Not like it was busy anyway.

Goodnight Johnny, another punk bites the dust.

- Sorry (Wordy) i wanted to write somthin funny for you, but i dont really control these things -

 

[Along For The Ride]

Waste

Staring a the clock, as the wall begins to bend, she wonders, what is time?
Life, cold and dark, silently squeeze innocence from her once golden mind.
Struggling, she lets love bleed from her eyes, lets hatred into her heart.
Knowing she can no longer win, wished away her chances from the start.
Then she sees the light beginning to fade, and knows she's in store
For the things she has feared up to now, but she can't feel anymore.
Taking a journey to a place where wrong and right are all erased
Getting a taste of the great fate she wished he could make.
Then gets abolished, everything crumbles, everything's all demolished.
Hate in her brain, she can't contain, the pain she's turned to knowledge.
Falling..
Praying...
Slaughtered reminents of a broken dream surround her every sight.
Finally hit the bottem now she hopes she'll be alright.
Can't see anymore, Can't Breathe anymore...
How can it be she can't be anymore?
Well she fights just to lose, and then turns love to bruise.
Her whole concept of perfect misconstrued, misconstrued.
Looking back she remembers times, thrown in the blender.
A sorrow life lives buying hate from the vendor.
Staring a the clock, as the wall begins to bend, she wonders, what is time?
Realizing it's nothing since we all live to die. Time, is just a waste.

 

[Samadhi]

Like i've said to you in person, m4dd0g, i really enjoyed this. I get a real sense of atmosphere as i read it, i can almost taste the pollution in the air and feel the grit of the city on my skin. It reminds me of the narration in the novel "Crash".

 

[(Wordy)]

Yeah this is some tight writing, m4dd0g - I enjoyed reading it. You've got a command of scene-building and metaphor, and most of the stylistic flourishes seem effortless.

I can see the Crash comparison, but like you say this is pure pulp fiction. Maybe it's derivative, but it's vivid and relentless. You've definitely given me a taste... if you expand on this (and I think you should), then I'd love to read the results.

 

[Mary Poppins]

this was fantastic....i pulp fiction

as others have said, you have a great gift for mis-en-scene. your placement of words do create images is really fantastic!

and what's your obsession with the name johnny?

 

[Samadhi]

I can see the Crash comparison, but like you say this is pure pulp fiction. Maybe it's derivative, but it's vivid and relentless. You've definitely given me a taste... if you expand on this (and I think you should), then I'd love to read the results.

i guess i should have clarified...the imagery that this piece creates, and some of the phrasing, to me, is reminiscent of Crash. I was almost expecting, as i read it, to read about dried semen on the bike or dashboard of the car.

I

Crash.

 

[m4dd0g]

^ i'll have to check crash

Cheers for the feedback. Inspired by Sin City (like my previous one)
Another chalked up to the silly tired & drunk.

I saw how much love you're giving the words forum (wordy) and wanted to lighten the mood - without too much luck
There are a couple of light hearted ones floating around here someplace tho