(no subject)
John was walking home, whistling a Riverdance tune, carefree and oblivious to the world around him, when they attacked. There were only three of them, but each one alone could have fought him and leave the fight uninjured. Like wolves hunting their prey, they surrounded John before he knew what was going on.
“Hey Four-Eyes! What’s up?” That was their leader, Vince. He was tan, from either ethnicity, time spent outside, or both; John never asked. Vince was well muscled, but only compared to the rest of their high school; a bouncer didn’t need to worry about losing a fight to Vince. “Now that you’re done playing your little nerd games, I’ve got a game for you. Here’re the rules: you give me your wallet, or you kiss the pavement. How about it, huh?”
John knew that resistance would involve both outcomes or worse, but he still felt outraged. Bitter thoughts rose from recesses rarely called-upon. Blood rushed to his face and his hands shook when he gave the wallet to Vince. Vince only had eyes for the wallet; he did not see the rage in John’s eyes. Laughing, he tossed the emptied wallet back at John and turned to leave. One of the stooges thanked John on behalf of the sidewalk, which, according to the stooge, was very glad that it did not have to accept a kiss from John’s lips. This set them all into fits of laughter. Their thirst to pick on someone satiated, they turned to leave. One of them, hoping to get more of a rush, pushed John hard enough to stumble and fall.
John lay there for a few minutes, too enraged to move. Half-formed fantasies of beating all three with his bare fists flew through his mind and dissipated with equal speed. Eventually, rational thought took over. This kind of thinking was useless; the best he could hope for was that karma would catch up to Vince and his stooges: he certainly could not fight all three by himself. Finally standing up, he brushed himself off and headed home, silent.
* * *
He lay in bed, obsessing, as he always did, about what he could have done when the bullies surrounded him. Instead of the overwhelming rage that had rendered him speechless earlier that day, a slow, boiling malcontent settled in John’s mind and followed him into unconsciousness.
For a while, he did not dream. He was only aware that time had passed when he did begin to dream. He was walking through a forest full of oak. They seemed old, and somehow aware of his presence. But he was not afraid: he was not aware of anything other than the urge to keep walking, to find what he was looking for. Ahead and to the right he saw a clearing, and turned to walk towards it.
Suddenly, a woman stepped gracefully from a tree. No, from behind a tree, he corrected himself. She was garbed in a flowing robe of greenish hues that seemed to change with her every movement. John stared, entranced. He knew this was a dream, had to be a dream, but even that thought was brushed away like mist in the wind when he looked into her eyes. Her eyes held neither malice nor benevolence, but a will that could not be denied. No words came from her lips, but this did not hinder communication.
“You seek justice for the misdeeds of others. Tell me, John, what would you wish of Justice?”
His response was immediate: “Vince, and everyone else, would be hunting a victim. But instead of finding defenseless prey, they would find themselves the defenseless ones. Then they would know how it feels to be powerless, they would know how it feels to be weak.”
Her only response was a nod, and John slipped back into dreamless sleep.
* * *
He woke with a start. What a strange dream, he thought, before realizing he didn’t remember it. Whoa. I know I dreamt last night. I know it was a weird dream. But there’s nothing there. Just, strangeness. How odd. He thought no more of it and got ready to go to school.
* * *
John decided to take a different route home. Instead of walking out the main door of school and down 8th Street for five blocks, he decided to go out the back and cut across the football field before taking a more roundabout route.
He was almost to the corner where he would make a left and be home free when a door slammed behind him.
“Hey, Four-Eyes, long time no see.” John turned around to see Vince strolling out of the apartment building he had just walked past. “I was going to take it easy on you since you were so generous yesterday, but you’re walking on my ground, so you have to pay the toll. Twenty bucks, and I promise the guys won’t have to rough you up. Isn’t that right, guys?”
John felt a hand clamp on to each shoulder to prevent him from running. He could feel the rage beginning to build, and another emotion: fear. He had no money to give them. “Vince, you took it all yesterday. Can’t you just let me go, for once?”
“I don’t know about that. If word got out that I let you pass without paying, well, everyone would try to wiggle out of it. What d’ya think, should we let ‘im go?”
The witty one spoke up. “I think he should pay. But since he’s got no money, he should pay some other way. Like punches, or something. One for each dollar. How about it, Vince?”
Vince tried to look thoughtful for second, but John knew the decision was made. The other two bullies grabbed his wrists. Vince motioned for the bullies to follow him into the little alley between the apartment building and the Italian delicatessen.
“Let’s take those glasses off. Wouldn’t want those to get hurt.” He took John’s glasses and tossed them away. When they landed, one of the lenses audibly cracked. “Oops. My bad.” Vince smirked, then walked up to John and looked him in the eye.
“Dollar number 1…” Vince spoke, and punched him hard in the stomach, knocking the wind out of him. He would have doubled over if the bullies hadn’t been holding him up.
“Dollar number 2…” this time to his chest.
“Dollar number …”
John was becoming aware of nothing but the pain, each blow merely bringing more. Suddenly all the rage and fear that had been building up in him burned through him. Another blow landed, but John didn’t feel it. He looked up at Vince, who had been preparing another blow. The look in John’s eyes froze Vince mid-wind up. The alley darkened as storm clouds crowded into the previously serene sky.
The bullies were still holding onto John’s arms, staring dumbfounded at the fear in their leader’s eyes. They were still not aware that a change had overcome their intended victim. But when John spoke, they knew things had changed.
“Release me.” Those two words, command dripping from every syllable, caused the two bullies to back away, staring at a person they did not recognize. John had changed: no longer was he the weak little nerd they had been beating. It was still his body standing there, but nothing else was recognizable. His posture was that of a man with no self-doubt. But the most compelling difference was his eyes: his eyes held power, now, and anger. He looked each one in the eye, and grinned as they shrank back. They had good reason to be afraid.
“You three prey on those weaker than you for nothing more than your perverse pleasure. However, I will be merciful: you may go, unhurt, if you give back all the money you have taken.” John watched, grinning, as Vince turned white. He had guessed they had already spent the money on whatever entertained them. “Oh, no money? Well, I guess you’ll have to pay some other way. Hmmm, let me think. Well, let’s start with one-to-one reciprocation. How does it feel?”
John watched the three bullies writhe on the ground, having just received in an instant what Vince had dealt him mere moments before. When they were done, he looked them each in the eye. “Do you promise to not prey on anyone ever again?” They each nodded. They had learned their lesson, and were not going to forget it.
John, however, was not satisfied. “If that’s true, you won’t mind a little more of your victim’s pain, just to make sure the memory sticks with you.” They watched in horror as his hands began to glow, and prepared themselves for the impending agony.
A scream rent the brief silence that had followed John’s pronouncement. They looked on, astounded, as John fell writhing to the ground, mouth still open, trying to scream. This was too much for them; terrified, they ran from the alley as John fell unconscious.
* * *
He was walking through a dense forest filled with oak trees. They seemed angry, for some reason. Wait, trees don’t feel angry. They don’t have emotions.
“They are angry because I am angry.”
John stopped, startled and a little scared by the sourceless voice. “Who said that?”
“Do you not remember?” said the voice again, as She stepped from a tree. Suddenly, everything from the strange dream came flooding back. The trees, the acceptance, Her offer. “But why am I here again?”
“I gave you the power of Justice, yet you yourself were unjust. You tried to use your power to inflict pain on those who took an oath to be just. Instead that pain was inflicted on you.”
“But I was only doing to them what they did to me!”
“That is not Justice, that is revenge. Worse, you took joy in it!” As she said this, here eyes grew angrier and her hands began to glow. “Now, begone! You are not welcome here!”
John knew no more.
Give me your honest opinion. I wrote this in the matter of two days at a college where time is of very limited quantity. So I can understand if this is tripe, but if it's salvageable, I want to salvage it. So if there was actually something you liked about it I could focus on that in the re-write or later writings.
“Hey Four-Eyes! What’s up?” That was their leader, Vince. He was tan, from either ethnicity, time spent outside, or both; John never asked. Vince was well muscled, but only compared to the rest of their high school; a bouncer didn’t need to worry about losing a fight to Vince. “Now that you’re done playing your little nerd games, I’ve got a game for you. Here’re the rules: you give me your wallet, or you kiss the pavement. How about it, huh?”
John knew that resistance would involve both outcomes or worse, but he still felt outraged. Bitter thoughts rose from recesses rarely called-upon. Blood rushed to his face and his hands shook when he gave the wallet to Vince. Vince only had eyes for the wallet; he did not see the rage in John’s eyes. Laughing, he tossed the emptied wallet back at John and turned to leave. One of the stooges thanked John on behalf of the sidewalk, which, according to the stooge, was very glad that it did not have to accept a kiss from John’s lips. This set them all into fits of laughter. Their thirst to pick on someone satiated, they turned to leave. One of them, hoping to get more of a rush, pushed John hard enough to stumble and fall.
John lay there for a few minutes, too enraged to move. Half-formed fantasies of beating all three with his bare fists flew through his mind and dissipated with equal speed. Eventually, rational thought took over. This kind of thinking was useless; the best he could hope for was that karma would catch up to Vince and his stooges: he certainly could not fight all three by himself. Finally standing up, he brushed himself off and headed home, silent.
* * *
He lay in bed, obsessing, as he always did, about what he could have done when the bullies surrounded him. Instead of the overwhelming rage that had rendered him speechless earlier that day, a slow, boiling malcontent settled in John’s mind and followed him into unconsciousness.
For a while, he did not dream. He was only aware that time had passed when he did begin to dream. He was walking through a forest full of oak. They seemed old, and somehow aware of his presence. But he was not afraid: he was not aware of anything other than the urge to keep walking, to find what he was looking for. Ahead and to the right he saw a clearing, and turned to walk towards it.
Suddenly, a woman stepped gracefully from a tree. No, from behind a tree, he corrected himself. She was garbed in a flowing robe of greenish hues that seemed to change with her every movement. John stared, entranced. He knew this was a dream, had to be a dream, but even that thought was brushed away like mist in the wind when he looked into her eyes. Her eyes held neither malice nor benevolence, but a will that could not be denied. No words came from her lips, but this did not hinder communication.
“You seek justice for the misdeeds of others. Tell me, John, what would you wish of Justice?”
His response was immediate: “Vince, and everyone else, would be hunting a victim. But instead of finding defenseless prey, they would find themselves the defenseless ones. Then they would know how it feels to be powerless, they would know how it feels to be weak.”
Her only response was a nod, and John slipped back into dreamless sleep.
* * *
He woke with a start. What a strange dream, he thought, before realizing he didn’t remember it. Whoa. I know I dreamt last night. I know it was a weird dream. But there’s nothing there. Just, strangeness. How odd. He thought no more of it and got ready to go to school.
* * *
John decided to take a different route home. Instead of walking out the main door of school and down 8th Street for five blocks, he decided to go out the back and cut across the football field before taking a more roundabout route.
He was almost to the corner where he would make a left and be home free when a door slammed behind him.
“Hey, Four-Eyes, long time no see.” John turned around to see Vince strolling out of the apartment building he had just walked past. “I was going to take it easy on you since you were so generous yesterday, but you’re walking on my ground, so you have to pay the toll. Twenty bucks, and I promise the guys won’t have to rough you up. Isn’t that right, guys?”
John felt a hand clamp on to each shoulder to prevent him from running. He could feel the rage beginning to build, and another emotion: fear. He had no money to give them. “Vince, you took it all yesterday. Can’t you just let me go, for once?”
“I don’t know about that. If word got out that I let you pass without paying, well, everyone would try to wiggle out of it. What d’ya think, should we let ‘im go?”
The witty one spoke up. “I think he should pay. But since he’s got no money, he should pay some other way. Like punches, or something. One for each dollar. How about it, Vince?”
Vince tried to look thoughtful for second, but John knew the decision was made. The other two bullies grabbed his wrists. Vince motioned for the bullies to follow him into the little alley between the apartment building and the Italian delicatessen.
“Let’s take those glasses off. Wouldn’t want those to get hurt.” He took John’s glasses and tossed them away. When they landed, one of the lenses audibly cracked. “Oops. My bad.” Vince smirked, then walked up to John and looked him in the eye.
“Dollar number 1…” Vince spoke, and punched him hard in the stomach, knocking the wind out of him. He would have doubled over if the bullies hadn’t been holding him up.
“Dollar number 2…” this time to his chest.
“Dollar number …”
John was becoming aware of nothing but the pain, each blow merely bringing more. Suddenly all the rage and fear that had been building up in him burned through him. Another blow landed, but John didn’t feel it. He looked up at Vince, who had been preparing another blow. The look in John’s eyes froze Vince mid-wind up. The alley darkened as storm clouds crowded into the previously serene sky.
The bullies were still holding onto John’s arms, staring dumbfounded at the fear in their leader’s eyes. They were still not aware that a change had overcome their intended victim. But when John spoke, they knew things had changed.
“Release me.” Those two words, command dripping from every syllable, caused the two bullies to back away, staring at a person they did not recognize. John had changed: no longer was he the weak little nerd they had been beating. It was still his body standing there, but nothing else was recognizable. His posture was that of a man with no self-doubt. But the most compelling difference was his eyes: his eyes held power, now, and anger. He looked each one in the eye, and grinned as they shrank back. They had good reason to be afraid.
“You three prey on those weaker than you for nothing more than your perverse pleasure. However, I will be merciful: you may go, unhurt, if you give back all the money you have taken.” John watched, grinning, as Vince turned white. He had guessed they had already spent the money on whatever entertained them. “Oh, no money? Well, I guess you’ll have to pay some other way. Hmmm, let me think. Well, let’s start with one-to-one reciprocation. How does it feel?”
John watched the three bullies writhe on the ground, having just received in an instant what Vince had dealt him mere moments before. When they were done, he looked them each in the eye. “Do you promise to not prey on anyone ever again?” They each nodded. They had learned their lesson, and were not going to forget it.
John, however, was not satisfied. “If that’s true, you won’t mind a little more of your victim’s pain, just to make sure the memory sticks with you.” They watched in horror as his hands began to glow, and prepared themselves for the impending agony.
A scream rent the brief silence that had followed John’s pronouncement. They looked on, astounded, as John fell writhing to the ground, mouth still open, trying to scream. This was too much for them; terrified, they ran from the alley as John fell unconscious.
* * *
He was walking through a dense forest filled with oak trees. They seemed angry, for some reason. Wait, trees don’t feel angry. They don’t have emotions.
“They are angry because I am angry.”
John stopped, startled and a little scared by the sourceless voice. “Who said that?”
“Do you not remember?” said the voice again, as She stepped from a tree. Suddenly, everything from the strange dream came flooding back. The trees, the acceptance, Her offer. “But why am I here again?”
“I gave you the power of Justice, yet you yourself were unjust. You tried to use your power to inflict pain on those who took an oath to be just. Instead that pain was inflicted on you.”
“But I was only doing to them what they did to me!”
“That is not Justice, that is revenge. Worse, you took joy in it!” As she said this, here eyes grew angrier and her hands began to glow. “Now, begone! You are not welcome here!”
John knew no more.
Give me your honest opinion. I wrote this in the matter of two days at a college where time is of very limited quantity. So I can understand if this is tripe, but if it's salvageable, I want to salvage it. So if there was actually something you liked about it I could focus on that in the re-write or later writings.