Created & Written By Jebus Black
Carver /n/ (plural: Carvers): 1. Somebody who carves meat. 2. A dinning chair with arms, designed to stand at the head of the table. 3. A(n) underground group of contracted killers used to eliminate others.
Rules of the Colony:
None one is allowed t’ leave the colony & escape god’s caring hands.
None one is allowed t’ enter, they’ll taint this sacred land we stand on.
None one is allowed t’ enter into the state of exploring thoughts.
Evil thoughts are the devil’s way of enterin’ your mind ’n’ soul.
No one is allowed t’ think, we do it for ya.
“Hello Pasquel.” Said Dr. Spinelli in his dimly lit office, then proceeded to hand him a very thin envelope across his desk. “He’s back from the Philippines & he thinks he’s off the hook. Ruin his parade Pasquel.”
Pasquel nods in agreement, taking the envelope & putting it in his Technicolor trench coat.
“Will I get paid in full this time?” asked Pasquel.
“Of course you will, don‘t I always keep my promise?” replied Spinelli with a small hint of sincerity.
Pasquel walks through the crowded & claustrophobic streets full of suit wearing stockholders, rusty panhandlers & errand boys running through the bright LED lights that light the streets. The smog of cars passing by covered the skies above like an opaque tarp that has covered the whole city like the nation’s hidden secret. Though everyone has called New York ‘The oil stain of America,’ Pasquel had no shame with that; he had pride for New York, just like any dissident would.
“Hi Pasquel!!!” cried the short girl from behind the shop counter.
“Hey, Texie. How’s business?” said Pasquel as he scanned through the shelf of bagged & boarded magazines hurdled inside wooden long boxes.
“Slower than before, especially after the tax increase.” replied Texie. “Here Pasquel, I’ve got something you might be interested in.” She proceeds to pull out various copies of flimsy magazine issues printed in stapled Xerox sheets. “They were written by this straight edge guy, but he writes like a toker.”
“Great.”
“Say, Pasq?” asked Texie in her shaky, nervous state. “I don’t know if you’re going to do something later on in the week & so I was wondering if you’d like to, you know, see if you would like to go out to dinner?”
“Sure.” replied Pasquel in an unsurprised tone.
“Really? Wow, I, uhh. My goodness.” She didn’t expect a response so quickly. “I….I’ll be ready by Saturday. I’ll see you then.”
Pasquel then paid for his magazines & left the store with a big smile on his face.
He walked away from the crowds & neon lights to sit on the sand of the calm deserted playground. Pasquel grabs a handful of sand, then watched the grains fall from the gaps in between his fingers.
***
The full moon gives the land it’s dim light, Pasquel runs through the acre of growing corn, trying desperately hard not to trip on anything. He can hear the armed men behind as they organize their party.
“He went into the corn patch, haul his ass out!!” yelled Salomon Brooks, inhaling his cigar. “If ya can’t catch that tiger by the toe, shoot it.”
Pasquel brushed through the leaves & stems of corn, trying to avoid Solomon’s men & making it to the barbed wire fence.
“Alright, fire!”
Pasquel then heard the firing of their rifles as the stray bullets zipped passed him, tearing his left earlobe into a small piece of bloody skin hanging under his ear. That didn’t stop Pasquel from running, instead it gave him an unbearable ringing.
Pasquel snapped out of his flashback & noticed that he had been distracted by the same flashback, he had a bad notion of being distracted by his past.
‘I best better get home.’
He grabbed his bags & took the easiest route to his home, a narrow alleyway between an apartment backlot & the back doors of businesses. The look of the place was just as average as any other alleyway, wet, grimy, trashy & smelling like day old trash.
“Ey, foo!! Gimme all yo mint, fast!!” Shouted a short man in a white hoodie as he pressed the gun onto Pasquel’s back. This was not the first time Pasquel dealt with muggers, nor will it be his last.
“You know I got all this pent up anger inside me, growing & growing & growi….”
“Shut the hell up foo, gimmie the money.” interrupted the thug.
“& growing… I’m calm to calm people, but when people get pissy on me, the beast is unlea….”
“Shut the fuck up crackah!! Gimmie ya money.”
“Cracker?.. Haven’t heard that one. Look, I’ve had a tiring day, can’t you just get someone else to rob besides me? I promise you, you won’t have hell to…”
The short man faced Pasqual & slammed his fist onto Pasquel‘s gut, leaving him to fall into the wet floor, coughing the pain away.
“Quit bullshiting me man, punk ass dough boy can’t do shit to me. Now gimme your cash man.”
Pasquel’s temper grew it’s peak, he promised himself today he wouldn’t get into scuffles, seems to him that ‘that’ promise has to be broken. Pasquel rose from the ground & began to head butt the short man, then pulled out his blade.
“How can I give a man cash if he has no hands?” replied Pasquel.
The mugger looked confused, then noticed a trail of blood dropping into his white sports shoes. He cried hysterically, falling to his knees & trying hard to ‘attach’ his severed right hand to his arm. Pasquel walked away, leaving the mugger to deal with his punishment.
Pasquel enters his apartment room exhausted; a long day of errands & teaching muggers can tire anyone. He then hears the looping loud music being played in another room.
‘Damn, I forgot.’
He walks down to the other room to see the person he caught beforehand, tied up in a chair surrounded by newspaper to absorb his urine. The music stops.
“Oh,Ohhhh thank god.” cried Mr. Caldomine. “Please!!! Get me out of here!!!”
“Well, looks like I was right to nab you in the Philipines Mr. Caldomine, but it seems I’m going to let the tension drag on for a couple of days just to mess with you even more.”
“No no NOOOO!!! Get mee off of here!!!”
“I’m tired, had a long day. You wouldn’t believe the scum that still live in this city. But that’s not to say I’m forgetting about your little forays into child torture. Yanking their teeth out for your own jollies, laughing your ass off while kids, babies cry their guts off as you jerk it to their teeth. You deserve what’s coming. And also there is no chance I’ll be turning off this music. I once went days listening nothing but this track, feeling a sense of hope. A shame you don‘t feel the same. This is your purgatory.”
*******************************************************************
Carver /n/ (plural: Carvers): 1. Somebody who carves meat. 2. A dinning chair with arms, designed to stand at the head of the table. 3. A(n) underground group of contracted killers used to eliminate others.
Rules of the Colony:
None one is allowed t’ leave the colony & escape god’s caring hands.
None one is allowed t’ enter, they’ll taint this sacred land we stand on.
None one is allowed t’ enter into the state of exploring thoughts.
Evil thoughts are the devil’s way of enterin’ your mind ’n’ soul.
No one is allowed t’ think, we do it for ya.
“Hello Pasquel.” Said Dr. Spinelli in his dimly lit office, then proceeded to hand him a very thin envelope across his desk. “He’s back from the Philippines & he thinks he’s off the hook. Ruin his parade Pasquel.”
Pasquel nods in agreement, taking the envelope & putting it in his Technicolor trench coat.
“Will I get paid in full this time?” asked Pasquel.
“Of course you will, don‘t I always keep my promise?” replied Spinelli with a small hint of sincerity.
Pasquel walks through the crowded & claustrophobic streets full of suit wearing stockholders, rusty panhandlers & errand boys running through the bright LED lights that light the streets. The smog of cars passing by covered the skies above like an opaque tarp that has covered the whole city like the nation’s hidden secret. Though everyone has called New York ‘The oil stain of America,’ Pasquel had no shame with that; he had pride for New York, just like any dissident would.
“Hi Pasquel!!!” cried the short girl from behind the shop counter.
“Hey, Texie. How’s business?” said Pasquel as he scanned through the shelf of bagged & boarded magazines hurdled inside wooden long boxes.
“Slower than before, especially after the tax increase.” replied Texie. “Here Pasquel, I’ve got something you might be interested in.” She proceeds to pull out various copies of flimsy magazine issues printed in stapled Xerox sheets. “They were written by this straight edge guy, but he writes like a toker.”
“Great.”
“Say, Pasq?” asked Texie in her shaky, nervous state. “I don’t know if you’re going to do something later on in the week & so I was wondering if you’d like to, you know, see if you would like to go out to dinner?”
“Sure.” replied Pasquel in an unsurprised tone.
“Really? Wow, I, uhh. My goodness.” She didn’t expect a response so quickly. “I….I’ll be ready by Saturday. I’ll see you then.”
Pasquel then paid for his magazines & left the store with a big smile on his face.
He walked away from the crowds & neon lights to sit on the sand of the calm deserted playground. Pasquel grabs a handful of sand, then watched the grains fall from the gaps in between his fingers.
***
The full moon gives the land it’s dim light, Pasquel runs through the acre of growing corn, trying desperately hard not to trip on anything. He can hear the armed men behind as they organize their party.
“He went into the corn patch, haul his ass out!!” yelled Salomon Brooks, inhaling his cigar. “If ya can’t catch that tiger by the toe, shoot it.”
Pasquel brushed through the leaves & stems of corn, trying to avoid Solomon’s men & making it to the barbed wire fence.
“Alright, fire!”
Pasquel then heard the firing of their rifles as the stray bullets zipped passed him, tearing his left earlobe into a small piece of bloody skin hanging under his ear. That didn’t stop Pasquel from running, instead it gave him an unbearable ringing.
Pasquel snapped out of his flashback & noticed that he had been distracted by the same flashback, he had a bad notion of being distracted by his past.
‘I best better get home.’
He grabbed his bags & took the easiest route to his home, a narrow alleyway between an apartment backlot & the back doors of businesses. The look of the place was just as average as any other alleyway, wet, grimy, trashy & smelling like day old trash.
“Ey, foo!! Gimme all yo mint, fast!!” Shouted a short man in a white hoodie as he pressed the gun onto Pasquel’s back. This was not the first time Pasquel dealt with muggers, nor will it be his last.
“You know I got all this pent up anger inside me, growing & growing & growi….”
“Shut the hell up foo, gimmie the money.” interrupted the thug.
“& growing… I’m calm to calm people, but when people get pissy on me, the beast is unlea….”
“Shut the fuck up crackah!! Gimmie ya money.”
“Cracker?.. Haven’t heard that one. Look, I’ve had a tiring day, can’t you just get someone else to rob besides me? I promise you, you won’t have hell to…”
The short man faced Pasqual & slammed his fist onto Pasquel‘s gut, leaving him to fall into the wet floor, coughing the pain away.
“Quit bullshiting me man, punk ass dough boy can’t do shit to me. Now gimme your cash man.”
Pasquel’s temper grew it’s peak, he promised himself today he wouldn’t get into scuffles, seems to him that ‘that’ promise has to be broken. Pasquel rose from the ground & began to head butt the short man, then pulled out his blade.
“How can I give a man cash if he has no hands?” replied Pasquel.
The mugger looked confused, then noticed a trail of blood dropping into his white sports shoes. He cried hysterically, falling to his knees & trying hard to ‘attach’ his severed right hand to his arm. Pasquel walked away, leaving the mugger to deal with his punishment.
Pasquel enters his apartment room exhausted; a long day of errands & teaching muggers can tire anyone. He then hears the looping loud music being played in another room.
‘Damn, I forgot.’
He walks down to the other room to see the person he caught beforehand, tied up in a chair surrounded by newspaper to absorb his urine. The music stops.
“Oh,Ohhhh thank god.” cried Mr. Caldomine. “Please!!! Get me out of here!!!”
“Well, looks like I was right to nab you in the Philipines Mr. Caldomine, but it seems I’m going to let the tension drag on for a couple of days just to mess with you even more.”
“No no NOOOO!!! Get mee off of here!!!”
“I’m tired, had a long day. You wouldn’t believe the scum that still live in this city. But that’s not to say I’m forgetting about your little forays into child torture. Yanking their teeth out for your own jollies, laughing your ass off while kids, babies cry their guts off as you jerk it to their teeth. You deserve what’s coming. And also there is no chance I’ll be turning off this music. I once went days listening nothing but this track, feeling a sense of hope. A shame you don‘t feel the same. This is your purgatory.”
*******************************************************************
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