Stovohobo's Stories

The Second Dream

2008-05-13T00:30:02Z

As the gray, cold vehicle drove off, emitting a gray, cold cloud of exhaust into the gray, cold sky, the woman slumped down on her gray, cold front step. Her head was in her hands.

Quietly, she sobbed. Of the ruin this place had become. Had been. For her own child that she had now just given up, freely. Still, it was better than killing it…she hoped.

As the gray, cold clouds above started to pour gray, cold rain, she let her tears flow with it for a moment, and then went inside the door to her gray, cold apartment.

No one could know what she had done.

…

I awoke slowly, tasting the foul air of Rade, the prickly dead grass of the park rubbing against the side of my face. It was dark now; Max was gone, as was his new friend I had seen.

It was the second dream of my confused life. Sort of like a continuance of the first one. Was that how dreams worked? I closed my eyes, tried to let it go, tried to wash away the memory.

I stood. I knew where to go.

Set in Stone

2008-05-12T23:25:42Z

“So you killed him?” I asked one day as the Scarecrow and I sat on a tree stump.

It creaked its burlap sack head towards me, its eyes burning with sadness and regret, but also a fearsome intensity. Forgive, the crow cawed.

I nodded. Clayton’s body hung limply, a speck in the distance, rocking gently to the wind.

Death would come, I said, the crow croaked. Death at the hands of the Wooden Man. The name! The name! And it alighted on the blank gravestone and set to work, chipping away at the stone with its beak like a woodpecker.

I stood up, picking the lint out of my pockets.

“So what now?” I asked the Wooden Man.

It gestured to the barn, and I started to walk.

“I don’t have anyone but you now.”

The Man laid its twig hand on my shoulder.

“The farm has nothing left for me…” It was left hanging almost like a question.

The crow cawed once, and resumed pecking. Left hanging like a question.

Little Boy

2008-05-10T14:35:17Z

8/6/45
32,000 feet above Hiroshima, Japan

From inside the Enola Gay, 509th Composite Group commander Colonel Paul Tibbets took a last look at the city far below. He had qualms; there were innocents, people who didn’t deserve it. But he thought that if given the chance, Japan probably would’ve done this to them first. Besides, the Japs attacked first at Pearl Harbor.

“Safety removed?” Tibbet asked. He received a positive. “Releasing in ten…nine…eight…”

…

About an hour earlier, back in JGS , early warning radar detected American aircraft flying over Hiroshima. It was dismissed after seeing it was only three, and the air raid warning was lifted at 8:00. At 8:15, Little Boy was dropped.

…

“…One. Now let’s get the hell outta here.”

With a slight bang, the hatch flew open, ejecting the comical-looking weapon to the air down below. It’s metal casing held firm as the air rubbed against it; it’s tail fins kept it steady. It took fifty-seven seconds before it hit 1900 feet and detonated.

Death to the Innocents

2008-05-09T19:10:59Z

8/6/45
Hiroshima, Japan

The child watched as his mother raced for him from the other end of the street, her skin seared from the instantaneous wall of heat. His tears did little to soothe the agonizing flame licking at his flesh. His clothing burned off in a flash; the rest of his body followed.

…

The instructor screamed for the students to duck for cover as soon as the mushroom erupted. In the longest few seconds the children had ever known, the windows blew out, the walls collapsed, bodies instantly puffed to ash. For eight hundred of them, it was the last thing they ever saw.

…

A father roamed the scorched streets, stumbling in between the unrecognizable charred bodies. The last time he had seen his daughter was at the school, but the remains revealed nothing. He sobbed. The darker patterns on his clothing fused with his flesh, serving only to remind the dead that he was near them.

8/6/45

2008-05-07T23:17:27Z

August 6, 1945
Tokyo, Japan

The control operator suddenly leaned forward in his chair, adjusting switches and controls. His headphones were giving off…nothing. Only on one station, though.

He thought it curious and switched to another telephone line to re-establish the connection, but it didn’t come. He fiddled with the controls for several more minutes, and finally decided that nothing was working from this station.

Suddenly, a telegraph came through. “MAIN RAILROAD LINE TELEGRAPH N OF HIRO DOWN STOP .” The operator gave a frown and read it again.

He decided to send these reports off to Japanese General Staff.

One three hours later, a JGS plane was flying over the area of the rumored communications failure. The two pilots inside were silent.

“Wait…what is that?” one said suddenly. “About 160 km out…there.”

“Smoke?”

The plane dropped lower, closer to the city of Hiroshima. The General Staff came in on the radio.

“What do you see?”

The first pilot muttered a prayer to himself.

Tug of War

2008-05-07T22:37:37Z

I clustered a cushion of air molecules underneath the pond and lifted at least a hundred gallons of water into the air. It sloshed and raged with the intensity of Mother Nature as it hurled towards Max. Inches before his hand, though, it stopped and curled itself into a ball, dropping back into the pond.

Max gave me an intense stare. He shook his head, as if disapproving.

I compressed the air around into a hard, blunt force and sent it whooshing towards Max. It took him by surprise and bowled him over. He immediately leaped back to his feet and raised his hands, blood streaming from his nose. A wave of energy rippled the air itself. I could see his attack coming right at me. I tried to block it back, but it pursued and sliced through me.

My breath was knocked from my lungs; I was suspended in the still, the slow, the regular, the fast, the Mach 5. My skull was pounding, reverberating, collapsing, exploding. I was dazed, unconscious, screaming in agony.

I didn’t know what I was. But it hurt.

Morning

2008-05-07T19:16:20Z

Clayton stopped as he stepped past the threshold, staring silently at me as I stared back. I had been mulling over the crow’s – my words over the past hour, before Clayton came back with an armful of vegetables.

He broke the silence and settled the raw vegetables on the small counter space by the sink. The tap turned on and he started to wash them.

“…How’d you sleep last night?” he said, at length.

“Fine,” I said. I usually slept in the barn; he knew.

“Bad dream or somethin’?” he grunted awkwardly. I could tell he wasn’t used to paternal instinct.

I shook my head. More silence. I stood up, scooted my chair back against the old wood of the floor, and swung out of the cheap screen door. Clayton didn’t object.

Back outside the crow was watching me on a tree branch. I looked at it for a second, then resumed walking.

Can’t ignore me, it cawed.

Time is On Your Side

2008-05-07T01:03:36Z

“Let me tell you about what I’ve been doing as I was gone,” I muttered just loud enough for Max to hear. I smiled, relishing this feeling of power. “I’ve been preparing. Training, if you will, to have revenge. Oh, it sounds so idiotically cliché when I say it like that, doesn’t it?”

I let him think a little, then creased my eyebrows and snapped my fingers. The grass around us rippled, the blue sky cracked with pressure that came from the laws of the world unraveling. It was exhilarating.

Max had his eyes trained on me, and yet they were unseeing. He was as helplessly still as his surroundings. I grinned at the corner of my mouth, turned, and started walking away.

Which was when his counterattack came.

Immediately, the bubble of stopped time around us shrunk in to just a cocoon, imploding in on itself until it completely wrapped itself around me. My fingers were unresponsive; I couldn’t move.

Max frowned and said, “Tyler, you’re not evil. It’s too different.”

And he punched me in the stomach.

Grim Determination + Hungry Anticipation = x [solve for x]

2008-05-06T19:09:22Z

My eyes lit up with hungry anticipation as Rade’s gray peaks faded in and out of the eternal smog that hung over the city. From the mile or so left to run, it still looked like a storm cloud – in pollution and demeanor.

And just to think: I would be the sun to pierce through that cloud, to deliver that hell-hole from its putrid existence. Because the Elders had caused it all…the Elders had… . They had ruined our buildings, our economy, our people. They had denied me a family. To rule in a “good” name.

How exhilarating it would be to end their lives.

But now, my lungs were still pumping oxygen through my system. My legs were still working to get me through the city entrance. And best of all, I had a plan. The perfect plan.

And I was only a mile away from it…

A Strange Feeling

2008-05-03T16:14:18Z

A woman complacently but sorrowfully handed over the wrapped bundle in her arms to the waiting officials. An obvious look of regret hung around her head like the cigarette smoke that whispered from one official’s mouth.

The two officials shook hands with the woman, and departed in a large, official-looking truck with the bundle. The engine roared, and it took off.

Inside the truck it was gray and cold. The vehicle jolted every time a tire struck one of the many potholes, and the doors at the back clanged together as if they were about to fly open at any time.

The bundle whimpered and struggled. The two officials paid no attention.

……

I opened my eyes. I had fallen asleep walking in the grassland; the stars and moon were showing up above. It was the first time I’d seen them – Rade had a smog that blanketed the city day and night.

This was also the first time I’d dreamed in – forever? I couldn’t remember a time when I slept with the strange feeling.

I shook my head and resumed walking.

Frozen in Time

2008-05-01T21:03:25Z

Still.

Quiet.

Peace.

My hands crunched along the crisp grass as I slunk around for any source of food, any little chink of hope that would ease the hunger pangs that would set in when time would start moving again.

Because as long as time was frozen – sure, my hunger was gone, but it would come back worse once time started up.

I found a small (most likely) edible root in the ground and gnawed on it, in relative comfort. But then, my grip on time loosened, and the birds in the sky started moving, the leaves started shaking, and the endless fields of grassland all around me started swaying. But my stomach. My stupid, human stomach had to twist and writhe with pain, with no nourishment.

But still – for every centimeter farther that my ribs poked out, that was a sign of being further away from my past. From the Elders that expelled me of life in that miserable existence.

But I was almost ready now. Almost ready to confront them. To take revenge.

To return to the city of Rade.

Those Who Trespass Against Us

2008-04-30T00:27:56Z

“Our Father who art in heaven…”

The raucous cries of the crowd blended in with her frenzied muttering to herself.

“…hallowed be Thy name…”

She heaved a sudden dry sob, but continued on.

“…Thy kingdom come…”

A hooded man, all rolls of sweaty fat and hair trudged up to the mound, holding a lever.

“…Thy will be done…”

The man shouted, “What shall we do wi’ her?”

“…on earth as it is in heaven…”

Her fearful, unabated crying dropped salty tears into her mouth, giving a bitter taste of what was to come.

“…Gi – Give us this day our daily bread…”

The hooded man shook his fists. The crowd roared.

“…And forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us!”

She heaved the line out, body racked with terror.

“…And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil…”

The man suddenly understood what she was saying. He laughed and repeated it to the crowd.

“And lead us not into temptation but deliver us from evil!”

The lever was pulled, and her feet hung motionless above the ground.

Scarecrow Says

2008-04-28T21:16:28Z

Act.

…The worn handle of the blade feels contoured to my hand…

Do.

…The man’s heartbeat is only a physical symptom of the disease of his existence upon this earth…

Do not fail.

…This fragile string can be cut; it would be so easy…

Do not hesitate.

…This man before me is a murderer, a thief, an adulterer, a stain on the soil he stole…

Do not fear.

…His gun is not an even opponent against the determination of rightful justice…

The blade.

…Yes…Yes, it must, I must…

Do it!

“Die!”

Child's Play

2008-04-28T20:37:48Z

“All right, Mr. Worth, we’re going to outline this to make it as simple as possible for you.”

We’re? Worth thought for a second. He cursed vividly.

“Listen closely to what I say, Mr. Worth. My associates and I have piggybacked a satellite hovering over the Earth. Yes, we know how. This means we can intercept your calls – you’ve experienced that one, Mr. Satellite Phone. We can also track you and your entire family with GPS , and also gain access to aerial photos to any place at any time. For instance, right now, your wife is out grilling in the backyard. Now just think, Mr. Worth: if a group of teenagers – children, to you – can hack a NASA -registered, three billion dollar machine from our own hideaway, what do you think we can do to you?”

Samuel Worth was left speechless. He suddenly reached for the glove compartment where he kept his gun, whatever he was going to do with it.

“I wouldn’t do that, Mr. Worth. Not when the person in the car behind you has a .45 caliber pistol aimed at your skull.”

078-05-1120

2008-04-28T00:43:16Z

Samuel Worth’s 2003 Saturn Ion wound its way through the tunnels and bridges of external Chicago. The clouds above were so glutted with rain that they threatened to break and pour down on the helpless humans below.

Samuel Worth’s mood reflected the darkening sky. He was an average middle-class American. Worked as an attorney for the Chicago Caritas Juvenile Court. Dealt with punk, surly adolescents all the time. And still couldn’t handle his own.

Suddenly, his phone gave an annoying little monotonic ring tone.

“Sam Worth,” he said, keeping his eyes on the road.

“Ah, then this phone number is correct.” Worth narrowed his eyes – the voice sounded almost like a smug teenager. “As is, I take it, your date of birth, credit card, and social security number.”

“Who is this?” Worth snapped.

“078-05-1120, Mr. Worth.”

Worth’s eyes widened, then narrowed as he clapped the phone shut with sudden force. He re-opened it and dialed 9-1-1.

“Ah, ah, ah, Mr. Worth. None of that, now,” the same voice chided him.