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1
Mixed Media / Re: Last Television Show You Watched
« Last post by Mason Pierce on July 26, 2012, 09:56:56 PM »
Burn Notice.
2
General Discussion / Re: On this day, 29 years ago, my best friend was born.
« Last post by B on July 26, 2012, 09:49:53 PM »
*like*

Facebook has fucking ruined me for liking comments.
3
Sports and Fighting / Re: Last wrestling you watched
« Last post by B on July 26, 2012, 09:46:43 PM »
I watched Impact for the first time in, like, ninety years!

It was decent.
4
Mixed Media / Re: Last Television Show You Watched
« Last post by Entragian on July 26, 2012, 09:15:11 PM »
AMC's Small Town Security. I've worked in security for most of my adult life, so this shit cracks me up so bad. It's very true to life in how most security outfits run. Full of eccentric characters and lots of SHOOTing the shit.
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Mixed Media / Re: Last Television Show You Watched
« Last post by xiv on July 26, 2012, 08:38:27 PM »
Big Bang Theory
6
PPV / -The Past Given Form- [II of II]
« Last post by Entragian on July 26, 2012, 07:33:31 PM »

"I tell you the past is a bucket of ashes."
- Carl Sandburg
 





Magnus Entragian has been waiting to die for a long, long time. Sometimes the days blend into nights, and the minutes into hours, but his greatest enemy has and will always be time itself. His life was taken away from him a long time ago, and all that’s left now is existence.

He’s spent over thirty five years in Stokeworth Maximum Security Prison, serving just a taste of two life sentences. Nothing to see out of his barred window except for corn that stretches across the flat horizon. That’s always been the problem with Nebraska, not a damn thing to see but cornfield after cornfield.

He’s an old man now, pushing through his late eighties. It seems that every time he brings his withered hands up to examine them, there’s a new liver spot to be seen. Growing old is something he wouldn’t wish on his worst enemy, but growing old in the penitentiary is a hundred times worse. It’s purgatory. All the days are the same. The stale, bland prison food all tastes like cardboard. Nothing to see but walls painted in a pale puke green shade, and a window that shows nothing but corn stalks.

The only consolation he has is the fact that he was moved away from the general population a long time ago. They found the cancer in him when he was just entering his seventies, and he’s been confined to the infirmary ward ever since then. Late stage stomach cancer, terminal. He’s been getting diagnosis after diagnosis over the years, white coat after white coat telling him how many months he has left to live. He’s outlived the predictions of all of his doctors.

Not because he wants to, though. He would gladly die, and if he wasn’t such a craven he would have taken a piece of plastic from his meal tray and opened both wrists with it a long time ago. The pain is eternal, and it twists through him like a snake that’s always squirming inside of his belly. Every day it gets a little worse. They pump him full of meds to dull the pain, but it never really goes away. It just retreats down deeper inside of him, becoming a low throb that’s just waiting for the chance to burst back up to the surface.

He was always fond of his hard liquor when he was a younger man, and it seems that pouring all that poison down his throat finally caught up to him the long run. You don’t think about the long-term damage you’re doing to your body when youth is still on your side. When you’re young, you feel like you’re immortal. The world is yours for the taking, nothing can hurt you, and fuck anyone would dare tell you otherwise.

But Magnus is not young anymore. He’s feeble and weak, and sometimes he wakes up to find that he’s soiled his hospital bed. When that happens he can do nothing but just lie there in his own shit until a nurse comes around to check on him, and that’s perhaps the most humiliating thing of all.

He used to be the type of man that would turn heads when he walked into a room. Just a hair under seven feet tall, broad of chest and full of belly, with arms like slabs of concrete and eyes that would freeze a man cold with just a single glare. Those were the days. He remembers the man he once was, but no one that knew him then would recognize the wretched thing that lies here now.

His blonde hair fell out years ago, leaving his pate bald and scabby. His face is little more than a skull with skin pulled over it, gaunt to the point of emaciation. His eyes, those green, venom-filled eyes that once inspired fear now inspire nothing but pity. They water constantly, and cataracts float over the irises.

The cancer ate all of his weight away, leaving him with nothing but bones and meager flesh. His muscles are gone. His beer gut is gone too, replaced by a red, distended stomach that conceals the corruption that lies within.

Just an old inmate with one foot in death’s door, but even death doesn’t seem to want him all that much. Maybe that’s his punishment. Live and suffer while the sweet kiss of eternal sleep always hovers beyond arm’s reach. It wouldn’t surprise him. He has done….terrible, terrible things. His sin runs so dark and deep that he still worries that God won’t forgive him when his time of judgment finally comes. But through it all, he takes solace in the fact that he has remained a Godly man. He prays every night, he keeps his bible close at hand, and he sometimes dreams of pearly gates that will open softly and usher him into a warm, inviting embrace.

His eyes are closed when the guard opens his door. It takes Magnus a moment to pull himself back to reality, the morphine in his veins having lulled him down into a daydream filled with cherubic singing and the flapping of angel wings.

Guard: Your priest is here, Mag. You up for daily prayer service?


Magnus pulls himself up to a sitting position in his hospital bed, gritting his teeth against the red wave of pain that travels through his stomach when he moves.

Magnus: Never miss a prayer service, young buck. Send him on in.


The guard nod and closes the door, and Mag sits quietly with his bible held in his hands. The door opens, and just as quickly, it shuts.

There’s a man standing there before him. A dark man. A big son of a bitch if Magnus has ever seen one. He wears a long black overcoat and a black wide-brimmed hat, and the white of his priest’s collar peeks out from inside of his coat. Magnus tries to make out facial features, but the hat cast shadows over the man’s face.

The preacher that always comes to visit Magnus is a short little fat man with a sweaty face and a balding head, and this man is nothing of the sort. He’s a stranger in black, looming there like a silent monolith in heavy black boots.

Magnus: You aren’t my priest…


The stranger remains quiet for a moment, and then he speaks. That voice is deep and malevolent, but there’s also something so familiar about it…

Stranger: Not quite.


Magnus starts to think that maybe this is Death come calling at last, and despite the fact he’s waited on death for years, his wrinkly hands start to tremble.

Magnus: Who…who are you?


Stranger: You don’t recognize me? Your own blood?


Those words chill Magnus Entragian to the bone, and he can’t even formulate a response. He just stares, his eyes watering, his toothless mouth quivering.

The stranger reaches up, and he removes his hat. The face that greets Magnus is like something that crawled up out of the blackest depths of Hell. Sharp jaw line, wispy white hair, and eyes so bright and green that they pierce through you and seem to render your very soul naked and helpless.

But it’s the skin that truly gives it away, that skin as pale as milk. The taint of albinism. Magnus swallows deeply, all of the saliva in his mouth having dried up. Suddenly he wishes it WERE death that had come calling, because this man….this boy grown into a man….is so much worse.

Isaac Entragian: Hi, daddy.


Magnus's liver spotted hand reaches for the call button, but Isaac snatches it away from him easily. He brings the cord up to his mouth, and as Magnus looks on in horror, he bites through the cord. His teeth are as sharp as knives, and the tongue of a snake lies there in his mouth, wet and forked. Isaac lets the call button slip from his pallid fingers and fall to the floor, far from the old man’s reach.

Magnus: Your teeth….what have you done to your teeth…


Isaac: Oh, these?


Isaac smiles, sending a fresh shiver down Magnus’s spine.

Isaac: Just a little modification. Life brings with it so many little changes, doesn’t it? We all go through them. And it’s been such a long time, papa…there are many things you have yet to learn about me.


Magnus: I don’t wanna learn about you. I don’t wanna see you. You ain’t my son. You ain’t nothing that God would have shaped with his holy hands. You’re something that slid into this world from pitch and fire, born of a black dragon that rose up outta the sea…

The albino titters, the chuckle rising up from the depths of his barrel chest.

Isaac: How I’ve missed the old scriptures…you always add such a fantastical twist to things, don’t you, daddy? Here I was thinking I was born from a woman who left us and later committed suicide, but now I find I was born from a black dragon. I suppose tomorrow you’ll tell me I was born from the gaping vag of a zebra…


Magnus: Won’t be seeing you tomorrow. Had hoped I would never see you again at all. You should be rotting in Juniper Hill, just where you belong. If I gotta rot in here, only fair that should rot too.


Isaac: Ah, but my crimes are microscopic when compared to your own. And I did my time in Juniper Hill, daddy. The asylum burnt to the ground years ago, but I didn’t expect you to know that. Mideon is just a ghost of corn-fed Americana these days. The town is in ruins, and those that remain there are just vermin who aren’t smart enough to realize when a sinking ship should be abandoned.

Magnus: If I had the strength, I’d cut that blasphemous tongue from your mouth. Mideon is where the Entragian bloodline has lived and prospered since before your foul seed ever took root within a womb, and land like that should be appreciated. It fed us, it sustained us, and it gave us a place of worship.


Magnus turns to the side as a coughing fit tears through his body, a few droplets of saliva clinging to his bottom lip.

Entragian: You been locked up behind these walls for too long, old man. The world is much changed. Praise Mideon all you want, but the land is as sour now as it was decades ago. Not only sour, but forgotten. There are a few who still remember, though. I remember. I remember…every little thing that you did…


A look of shame passes over Magnus’s face, and he turns away from Isaac, preferring to stare at the floor.

Magnus: We all make mistakes. Ain’t no man alive perfect in the sight of God. I never meant…what I did. He was my little son. I loved him. The whiskey got into me that night…demon in a bottle…took over my hands and guided me towards bloodshed….I pray for little Saul every single night…ACKKKKKK!!!


Before this last line can leave Magnus’s lips, Entragian leans forward and presses down on his father’s stomach with the heel of his hand. A wave of sickening pain travels up through Magnus’s body…his cancerous guts throbbing with pressure.

Magnus: Please…please…stop…


Isaac: You don’t get to say my brother’s name. You lost that right when you took his life. If I hadn’t been shipped off to Juniper Hill, you would have lost your life that night too. See, I understand why you tortured me all those years. I understand why you made my life misery….because I was different in your eyes. I was unclean, ungodly…whatever you want to call it. I was damned when I took my first breath…but SAUL?


Isaac leans back, removing his hand from the old man’s stomach. Magnus gasps, sucking air back into his frail lungs. Isaac rubs a hand against his temple, his expression grave.

Isaac: He was just a little baby boy. I still remember how he used to chase butterflies in the yard when the sun was setting on the old homeplace. Innocent of all sin, and tender of heart. And he loved you, you know that? Up until the very end, he loved you. All I ever felt for you…was hatred. And each time you hit me, burned me….or threw me into that closet…my hatred grew. But Saul…he would always forgive you. Even after you’d beat the blood out of his little body, he’d still crawl back into your arms on the couch after you’d pass out.


Isaac shakes his head, and Magnus just stares, his mouth quivering.

Isaac: He just wanted to be loved. I think he believed that you’d change. He thought one day he’d wake up from the nightmare and it would all be different. We’d find you cooking breakfast in the kitchen, smiling, and we’d all sit and eat together…like a real family. I knew you’d never change though. Once a monster…always a monster. But I could never tell Saul that…because that thought…that one little shred of HOPE was all that kept him going. Who was I to take that away from him?


Isaac leans forward, his eyes poisonous daggers directed at his father’s face.

Isaac: You probably didn’t know this, but I promised to take him away from you. I promised him we’d run away and find a new life together…someplace that would make us both happy. He deserved that. But he didn’t get what he deserved, did he, daddy? Remind me what he got. REMIND ME WHAT THE FUCK HE GOT!


The emotion burns through Isaac’s voice, turning it into the roar of a caged lion. Magnus can only stare, shocked into silence and unable to vocalize any sort of response.

Isaac: He got his little head busted open with a rock. For dropping a plate…..you took a rock to his face, and you smashed the brains right out of his skull. They leaked out onto the ground, and they soaked into Mideon’s soil. His last words were “please stop, daddy. I love you.” Even as you stood over him, KILLING HIM….he told you how much he loved you. Do you remember that? DO YOU?

Magnus is weeping now, the tears running down his gaunt, wrinkled face. His voice is nothing more than a dry whisper.

Magnus: It was…the booze…I didn’t know what I was doing….it was an accident….I pay for it every day….please…


Isaac’s face remains unforgiving, his features hard and stony.

Isaac: No tears. They don’t suit you. You made me break my promise to him. I gave him my word that I’d take him away, but instead…you took him away. You took his life away. He was the best of us….he could have left that worthless town and made something of his life….but instead his blood stains the dirt of that place and his soul remains there still. He died in a miserable place, and he was never even given a chance. Your son….my brother….


Isaac pauses to smooth back his white hair, his thoughts continuing to pour forth with a stream of consciousness.

Isaac: Torturing me was one thing. I was strong, and I learned to endure. Saul was just a tiny little thing, and he needed me to protect him. I tried. I tried so hard. I guess we both failed him in the end…


Isaac leans back, and he just studies Magnus for a moment. After a few seconds, Isaac begins to laugh. A deep, throaty belly laugh that fills the room with noise.

Magnus: What are you laughing at? Just what in the hell are you laughing at, freak??


Isaac finally composes himself, his eyes shiny with mirth.

Isaac: You, father. I’m laughing at you. I used to be terrified of you, ya know? Just the sound of your footsteps would send shivers down my spine. I’d hide under the covers and hope that for just one night I’d be spared the beating of my life. I came to associate the smell of alcohol and sweat with fear, because it was your scent, and pain always accompanied that smell.

Isaac grins, shaking his head from side to side.

Isaac: I was never afraid of Mideon. Mideon is just a town. It was Mideon’s monster that always terrified me. YOU were that monster. But looking at you now….I realize what a fool I was. You’re just a shriveled up old man dying in prison, and just seeing you like this….purges all of that old fear out of my system. You lost your ability to hurt me a long time ago. You can’t hurt anyone now. All you can do is lie here and rot, and I’m SO glad I decided to visit. So glad I had the opportunity to see you like this. It helps me more than you know, father…


Entragian rises up to his feet, looking down at the pathetic, broken form of Magnus Entragian.

Magnus: Wait, boy….where are you going? You came here to kill me, didn’t you? After all I’ve done to you? Isn’t that…what you want?

Isaac can only grin. A mocking, waspish grin.

Entragian: Kill you? Oh no. That would be…FAR too merciful. The cancer is doing a better job of that than I ever could, father. It’s killing you slowly. It’s killing you painfully. It’s burning you up from the inside out….and maybe….just maybe…that’s a little preview of the hellfire you got coming your way.


Isaac offers his father a wink, and his father closes his eyes in response. The old man begins to mumble prayers beneath his breath, whispering “I shall fear no evil” over and over again to himself.

Isaac leaves him like that. He dons his black hat, and he stalks out through the door and down the hallway.

He’s surefooted. His gait no longer shambled, but freshly confident.

Even his eyes are different.

The desperation…the weakness…gone.

What shines there now is like hellfire that has been doused with gasoline, and for the first time in weeks, those eyes are burning bright again.

FIN.
7
And you know this MAAAAAAANNNNN!!
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Mixed Media / Re: Last Television Show You Watched
« Last post by Tanya Black on July 26, 2012, 01:41:03 PM »
Dragon Ball Z (on DVD)
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Mixed Media / Re: Last Television Show You Watched
« Last post by B on July 26, 2012, 12:27:48 PM »
Titanoboa
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