Chad Wright's Stories

I love that boot

2008-04-19T04:53:05Z

“Here’s the thing,” I said, “I love that boot.”

The man across from me glared. “What?” he asked.

“I love that boot.”

He brandished a machete as long as his fore arm. “You came back here for a boot?”

“I say we just kill him,” his partner blurted out around his bushy mustache.

“You tried once,” I said eyeing him, “Didn’t work out so well.”

They each took a step forward.

“But I do want my boot back.”

“Because you love it?”

“Because I love it.”

They each let out a low guttural growl as they charged.

Is the boot really worth this? I thought as I met them half way across the cabin floor.

I love that boot I reassured myself, ducking under a quick slash of the blade.

Another missed my ear by millimeters.

The mustache man’s nose shattered under my fist. He fell to the ground, holding his bloody face.

I gave ground as machete man took another swing.

And that was when it went wrong.

I tripped over the chair I’d been tied to just hours earlier and tumbled to the wooden floor.

I love that boot.

Dying in the crowd

2008-04-01T03:26:53Z

The crowd surged around him as if it had a life of it’s own. As if it wasn’t a group of thousands of people but was one huge, pulsing life form.

It pushed him from side to side. He let the flow carry him from cart to cart through the market.

So this is where I’ll die.

He tried to look interested in the fish being offered.

Will these same people be back tomorrow? Will they know I died here?

Probably workers would come by and wash his blood from the cobblestones below. A squad would interview witnesses and in a few days no one would know what transpired here.

At least that’s the plan.

Then he saw them.

A dozen meters away, two men stared at him through the roiling crowd. He looked at them with resolve, accepting his fate.

He barely heard the gun shot before the white hot pain erupted from his chest. As he fell to the ground, the white pain wrapped itself around his mind.

I hope this works.

And then the white pain swallowed him completely.

He lay still, rivulets of blood slowly flowing away.

Release

2008-02-02T06:45:44Z

“Come on boy,” Harry said, holding his hand out in Buster’s direction, “What’s wrong?”

Buster rested his head between his paws, sorrowful eyes staring up at the men.

“Is it because of your master?”

Buster’s head shot up. Master? What’s wrong with Master?

Harry glanced over at his partner. “What are we going to do with him?”

Do with me? No, Master will be right back. He went out Buster’s thoughts stopped. He stared at the door to the balcony, there.

Something felt wrong. He tentatively sniffed the air.

Buster glanced back at the men. Can’t move.

Buster stood up and made his way to the door. He knew we was being bad. You don’t move until you hear release.

He made it outside to the edge of the balcony, worry gripping him.

Release.

Another step and his head was staring out over the void to the street below.

Release.

In the middle of a car was Master. Something was very wrong. Master didn’t move.

Release.

Master just stared back up at him with cold, lifeless eyes.

Release.