Sunday, June 29, 2008

The Chosen Ones - Chapter 1.1 - A Family Reunion

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The Chosen Ones – Chapter 1.1

“Happy Father’s Day,” was what I said, as stood over the man that had sired me. His leg had almost been torn completely off from the bullet that had left my gun and struck his knee cap, exactly as I had wanted it to. The only concern I had at that point was that the bleeding was going to drain the life out of him too soon. I couldn’t have that, but then again I couldn’t waste time mulling over what could have been a fabulously vicious ending to the only filthy kike I had ever really known either, with plans that still need to be fulfilled.

He said nothing as he stared up at me with mingled hatred in his eyes. That was when I tossed him the cell phone I had taken off of the man I had killed less than an hour ago. I use the term “man” very loosely, but I don’t want any of you to think that I am only a foul mouthed assassin so early into my tale. “Call them, and tell them that it’s over,” I then barked at him as he tried to stop the bleeding in his leg. This part of the plan was crucial, and if he didn’t complete it, I wouldn’t be able to dissect him with the bullets left in my pistol, and that probably would have made my temper even worse. He spit at my feet.

I could care less about his pride at this point. He isn’t exactly Meyer Lansky, but his place within the family is high enough that this would be a serious black eye to the people at the top. I am here to make a statement, and I’ve been so embroiled in this crap my whole life that I know how to cause pain. He knows that I am going to kill him, and if I had my way I would have done it fourteen years ago, after that flaming wop he works for had killed my best friend and his family. It put a real damper on graduation, but I had simply decided that if ever forced to be near any of these people again I was going to take care of the blight God had ignored for hundreds of years. I am near these people again.

Giving in to his situation, he finally started punching numbers into the cell phone in his hand. I had no idea as to whether he was really talking to whom I had told him to or not, but logic would dictate that he would take this opportunity to warn them all. It was actually what I wanted. Fear from outside their little underworld is very rare, and even though I know that no warning about me is going to scare them, it is very important that it looms. The man that I want him to warn of the wrath of God descending upon him isn’t even the reason I am here, but he is a symptom of the disease. “John, listen to me because I don’t have much time,” finally came from his mouth. The fact that the guinea wop bastard didn’t even have an Italian name always pissed me off too, now that I think of it. “My son is here, and he is going to kill me.”

I actually heard the tirade of ignorant swearing and threatening coming through the phone at this point. It never failed to amuse me how stupid these people sounded when they talked, and knowing that I was probably giving that fat piece of shit heart trouble was practically making me drool. It was nothing compared to the feeling of excitement I had had earlier as his great nephew was crying on his knees in front of me, begging for his life. It practically made me horny, and when the bullet hit the back of his head, spraying what little brains he had all over the pavement in front of him I felt let down. Little boys should always play with their food. It’s all a part of growing up, and my rebirth as something almost as low as all of these creatures should be savored a bit, like that first soda pop your dad gives you as a little boy.

I couldn’t help myself as I loudly started mocking my father’s words in a whiney baby voice while I lurked over him, “Listen to me John, Listen to me JOHN,” but I was starting to feel my “self righteous” lust over flowing in me. The barking on the other end of the phone trailed off a bit, as a little bit of reality probably sunk into his fat head. I pulled the other gun out of the back of my waistband. A smaller pistol, but far more accurate, with less explosion at the end, but still my favorite after all these years. My father’s eyes went horrifically wide as I started sizing him up with the barrel of it. “Say goodbye to your friend dad.”

I guess it’s really hard to explain the wonderful feeling you get when you are doing such unspeakable acts. If you throw in the fact that I had and have no conscience issues over it all, it might make it easier to explain perhaps. In the space of about 3 seconds I had pulled the hammer back on my small .22 caliber pistol and watched with elation as my father started babbling faster into the phone. The loud bang that came from it caused my father to flinch, but not fast enough for the bullet to flee the barrel and shatter the cell phone before slicing through his hand. My aim was off a bit as I had been hoping to take his ear with it too, but the screaming that he started doing from the pain in his hand was almost as orgasmic.

He started shouting, “You rotten little bastard ..” but stopped when my foot hit the side of his head. I knew what he was going to start yelling before he had even started. The predictable old fool hadn’t changed his lines in all these years, and even here at the end, he was going to start by calling ME rotten. I guess it beat being called a nigger like he had thrown at all of the people he had stolen from and then killed in his miserable life. It was the first real rebellion I had had when I told him that I didn’t want to hear him using that word anymore, and the lashing he had given me for being an “ungrateful bastard” was my first badge of honor, that asshole had applied upon me. As far as I was concerned I was a bastard after all and had actually appreciated the use of that word when talking to me.

“A bastard has no father, you fucking stupid little man,” I sneered at him as he writhed around on the floor. “I happen to be without a mother, which I am pretty sure has something to do with you,” I added in a bit of a mock. Something about explaining his sins to him, made me feel better because I wanted him to know that he was on his way to hell. I think it must be horrifying to know that it is your own son sending you to hell, but this godless fuck lying on the floor in front of me would have been the first to joke that Jews don’t believe in hell after all. It was something I vividly remember him telling Jerome Washington before he killed him in the alley out back of his recording studio, an hour before he was telling the police that a gang of “niggers” had killed him right after he finished his platinum album. Gangs of “niggers” always seemed to kill his recording stars, and the corrupt system always bought it. I’m sure that the newspapers will report this as being the same.

“I’ve lived a pretty full life,” he wheezed out at me after he adjusted his body to look into my face again, “I’m happy to say that you won’t do the same ..” he started before the gun in my hand fired again, searing right through his shoulder. After a loud gasp he spat at me and then yelled out with what he had left, “John’s on his way here you bastard, and he won’t be alone!”

I could actually feel my lips curl in what probably from his viewpoint was a very sick grin. It’s what I wanted after all, that John and his crew should show up to find his mutilated body. Unfortunately I wouldn’t be here to see the looks on their faces when they do, but I can fanaticize about the pain and confusion. “You miss the point father dear,” I started in a very calm voice despite my jubilation, “All they can do is kill me, since I have nothing,” his eyes rolled around which made me a bit worried that I was losing the source of my fun. “My only living relative will be dead when they get here, so they have nothing to scare me with,” I pulled the hammer back on my pistol, and slowly aimed it at his forehead, “they probably won’t realize any of this until after they bury your body, and see no family there to use against me.”

Again, unfortunately it didn’t feel as good as it should have when the bullet hit him right between the eyes. It was a beautiful vision to see my father there with that terrified look on his face, and a bullet hole between his eyes, and I will save that vision in my memory for the rest of my days, but I really would have liked a lot more anguish along the way. I vowed to myself at that moment that I will continue to work on playing with my food as I go, because I should have a lot of practice. Checking my watch I noted that it was 12:18 which means that at top speed with no traffic, John and his crew will be here in about thirteen minutes, which is plenty of time.

My father’s .38 wasn’t in the top drawer of his desk, but there was a nice Sig in its place. There was also a box of ammo, and an open pack of cigarettes. My own sense of humor caused me to say aloud, “Those things will kill you dad,” before I lit one up for myself, and pocketed his gun and ammo. My stockpile of weaponry is quite massive, but there is nothing wrong with adding to it. As surgical as I would like to believe I am, I will start running out of such necessities after all. I took another long pull off of the cigarette before I tossed it into a pile of magazines. I didn’t actually think it would start a fire, but the thought of a small fire in the place for those fucking wops, humored me, as I walked out the back terrace that I had come in through. The boat I had come in on was still running on the river, and after checking my watch again, I saw that eight minutes would be plenty of time for my wake to be gone by the time those assholes got here. Thank God they are all pretty stupid … to be continued

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