Monday, December 24, 2012

Icky Abe Part 1 of 2

Icky Abe was born July 16th, 1889 as Abram Willis Durk.  At the fine age of eight his name became Icky Abe given him unceremoniously by the seven students of Grace Harbor School.

The Durk family consisted of Ruth Ann his mother and Buck a dirty and under fed Collie that scratched constantly from the many fleas he entertained.  Abram’s father Jeremiah died shortly after performing the act that brought Abram to this world; Abram the baby came to too this world exactly nine months later.  A weak heart is what the Medical Examiner said, he made a better part time well digger than a Medical Examiner but he’d won the position fair and square in the election two years prior and it never entered his head to think any different.  Ruth Ann knew better.  Rape is rape; no matter if they had spoken a few times and even held hands once.  Ruth Ann was a seamstress with protégé skills as Jeremiah found out.  She deftly stabbed a rather large needle into the back of Jeremiah’s neck just below his skull  a mere second after he finished his business raping her.  

Ruth Ann cleaned up herself, and dragged Jeremiah  into the parlor.  She set the table and made tea as if she and he had just finished a nice friendly visit.  No one suspected a thing and she even went to the funeral.  Faking a tear at just the right moment during the proceedings.

The Durk family grew by one in July as Ruth Ann came to full term.  People of Bishop Creek, Washington; a small, very small community some distance from the bulging sea port of Seattle, talked behind handkerchiefs’ and curtained windows as Ruth Ann would walk by.  Not one word was dared spoken to Ruth Ann about her mysterious pregnancy and giving birth to a baby boy.  No one wanted to confront the woman that many said was crazier than a pet raccoon and twice as mean.  Ruth Ann had a very well deserved reputation as a woman you didn’t want to cross.  This had been shown on more than one occasion and a couple local gents with less than pure thoughts about Ruth Ann found out what she was capable of, they were lucky to live to tell about it and they both very well knew it.  Word passes quickly in a town with only sixty three souls living within its boundaries.  Don’t mess with Ruth Ann Durk.

Abram started off as a normal boy, happy, giggly and all around good natured.  Around the age of five hard times came upon the Durk family as Ruth Ann’s arthritis ended her only means of an income.  Abram was sent out three times a day to search through the towns trash cans for anything that could be eaten or of value.  Ruth Ann went from a demanding scolding mother to right out abusive soon after the meager family savings ran out.  On nights that Abram returned home empty handed neighbors could hear the beatings from a hundred yards away. Abrams screams bounced off windows and barn walls, entering homes that knew nothing of insulation.  The crack of the belt came at regular intervals, crack scream, crack scream, crack crack crack.

The town’s people were very aware of the Durk family’s plight, Mr. Nix the owner of Nix’s Mercantile, the only grocery store in town give the boy a gift of bread and sliced ham to take home.  It was like a lighting strike to the ass of Ruth Ann and she made it abundantly clear at the top of her lungs and with a few store items broken that handouts were not welcome or tolerated.  Abram always a skinny boy lost more weight, always sickly with snot running down his pinched face.  His classmates withdrew from Abram, distancing themselves from the sickly boy.  Soon one of the older kids caught Abram going through the school’s garbage and the name Icky Abe was then and there forever his name.

On July 16th, 1903 at 4:00am in the early morning of his fourteenth Birthday; Icky Abe became a free young man.  It was the best Birthday gift he could ever remembered receiving.  Bishop Creek didn’t have a fire department and those that came to watch the Durk home burn watched until only ashes blew in the wind.  Icky watched along with them, not a tear was shed.  The once beautiful home built by his Grandfather now lay in ruins.  Icky Abe now had a little secret he called his own just like his now burned to death Mother once had.

There were no monies for a funeral, so the burnt down house became the final resting place for Ruth Ann and the smoldering memories of Icky Abe’s childhood.  There were a few, very few words of condolences to Icky and no one thought more than a split second before dismissing any thought of putting the teenager up in their homes.  Icky Abe was left on his own, liberated by fire and free in this world.  Mr. Nix the store owner the only one to ask Icky if he had any plans, asked if he possessed any usable skills.  Icky Abe‘s only answer was no.  Mr. Nix’s questions and concerns about the boy’s well being were silenced and he dismissed them from his thoughts a second later.

With the house being a burnt hole in the ground, the only standing building left on the property was the dilapidated little barn.  Icky had two years earlier burnt down the tool shed; and the garden shed went up in flames that same fall.  He had discovered he had a talent, a talent to burn even the most stubborn of things.  Icky Abe could look at a brush pile, building or just about anything and see the exact spot where a few well placed tenders would work their magic.  He’d check the wind, knew the dryness of the air just by a quick sniff a taste of the breeze.  He knew the perfect way to take a fire from just a baby flickering flame to a roaring inferno in just minutes.  He was a natural arsonist; like a duck takes to water, Icky was to fire.

He’d been torching trash cans around town since he first became their constant companion by order of Ruth Ann many years ago.  He then played with bigger and better things; that being the Johnson’s barn when he was six.  Next the Black Smiths building became his biggest accomplishment to date at seven.  Never missing an opportunity to practice his growing skills, he burnt the outhouse at the rear of the school to punish his class mates for their ill treatment of him.  Jacob the boy that coined Abram’s nick name; house was the first to burn to the ground.  Like a true arsonist Icky loved his work; you could tell immediately if one cared to look at the front of his bulging pants. His first house fire over whelmed him as the house turned into an inferno.  Icky danced, pranced and yelled in his excitement at the flames and billowing smoke.  He went crazy when Isaac the youngest of the Newman family was the last from the burning house, engulfed in flame.

It was clear to the people of Bishop Creek who was starting the fires and with the town’s population reduced by  two; the arson deaths of Ruth Ann and Isaac it was time for Icky Abe to move on to greener pastures.  Icky burnt the family barn and then the towns Postal Office for good measures as he left town at midnight; just minutes before the Sheriff from Seattle arrived to take him into custody.

Icky Abe changed his name to “Torcher” a man’s name that night as a reward for his skills at evening up the score in town before having to make a fast dash for his newly found freedom.  Icky was a kids name, made up by a kid; a kid without a house now.   So “Torcher” it will forever be.

Friday, December 21, 2012

The Bunker

The Bunker

My name is Vince Westin Wolf and I built this bunker with my own hands.  

I’m leaving my bunker my safe house tomorrow morning; four years, seven months and twenty three days from the day I sealed the hatches.  I’m writing this note so whoever finds it will know I survived when all others may have perished.  My supplies have run out, water has been recycled hundreds of times and of no use now.  I must leave and take my chances on the surface or die here.  I pray there is a livable world above my head.

I started construction shortly after it was obvious that we were heading for the third world war.  War was already raging in the Middle East and Country after Country we’re falling to the new order.  They called it the “brotherhood” a funny name for people that care only to kill everyone that isn’t of their sect. 

It took me two years and eight months to finish it; just before Israel went down under the hooves of the hordes.  Israel held on to the very end before launching everything they had.  Ex-President Jimmy Carter made a slip to a reporter in the eighties and said that Israel had 100 nuclear weapons.  They let go quite a few more than that by the reports coming out of what’s left of the Middle East.  

It was clear to everyone that we were gearing up to defend the last survivors of freedom and that would bring us into the horror of full out war and more than likely nuclear war in the Western Hemisphere.  Our troops from outposts all over the world had been called home to defend America from the encroaching mobs from South America.  They swept in mass destroying city after city from the South tip of Argentina, North to within two hundred miles of our Southern border.  It was a tsunami of bodies, left over’s of armies from all over the South American as Countries dissolved and the masses headed north.  President Ryan ordered around the clock bombing to slow the advance while the States along the border built barriers and fortifications as fast as could be built.  Mexico was squeezed into just a swath two hundred miles deep and the width of our Southern borders.  The Mexican Army was being over whelmed and total collapse was reported to be within just a few days. 

Canada was weakening from constant attacks by armed Russian Solders escaping the fall out in the Far East.  The new North Sea land bridge caused by global warming making it no more than a difficult walk to reach Canadian shores from Russia.  Our President sent thousands of additional troops to help stem the tide from the Russians.

I went to the bunker shortly after it was filled to capacity with food and water.  When the Southern border broke and threw us into a full out retreat to the center of America, I slammed the lid. I had it figured I could make four years; I’ve made it most of five years.  I’m ready for the new world up there or the end.  I’ve survived boredom, starvation rations for well over the last year.  Tomorrow morning is the new beginning or death for me.

Wish me luck today’s the day.  I’ve finish my meager breakfast, my bug out bag is ready with emergency food to last a month if I can keep on short rations.  I’ve unlocked and opened the two air tight doors and I’m almost ready to crack the top hatch.  One more check of my bags, weapons and my Radiation/Bio suit.  If you see a guy running around in a baggy camo suit it’s me; three layers of very thin lead and the outside Bio containment plastic in camo.  Hahahaha looks stylish…… 

Everything’s good, so this is good bye.  If you’re reading this congratulations of surviving, anything you can find to use; have at it, it’s yours to take.  

Good bye, see you on the other side…………..

I’m back………………….  I opened the top hatch and its night outside, pitch black.  That makes it a no go. I’m not going out after nearly five years and rip my Bio suit on a black berry bush.  So it’s going to be a long night before the sun comes up.  My calculations were that it should have been morning.  Something must have gone wrong with my clocks.  Another few hours aren’t going to make much difference and I have to be as safe as I can be, so I’m with you for a few more lines writing on the paper tonight.  

I nearly panicked when I opened the hatch just a couple inches and realized it was dark outside and had to slam the lid and go back into the bunker.  I didn’t shut the air tight doors behind me when I went up to the surface; I didn’t think I’d be coming back.  The bunker was exposed to the outside air for a few seconds and I don’t want to use any more time than is necessary on the air scrubbers in the Bio suit.  

Trying to write with this suit on is not easy, the face mask is fogging up; I’m going to pull it off and get a few more things down on paper that I thought of and then get ready for tomorrow.

Air smells funny; (cough) kind of metallic, (cough)

From the Ramblings

Saturday, December 1, 2012

Your Cries

Your Cries

I hear your cries at night; they no longer pierce my heart. They dissever me not, my soul is no longer yours, you’ve lost what was. 

Pursue me not, I’m no longer for you, our souls walk different paths.  I float on hope of what maybe……….. Floating, a future of freedom from the pain. 

Free, free at last.

From the Ramblings.

Wednesday, November 28, 2012

Little Friends

Little Friends

I woke in my bed, soiled with sweat, piss and shit.  I must have been out for quite awhile, days. I puked; empty as a bag of Fritos with a fat kid around.   Haven’t puked like that since I stopped drinking, what a week the last time.  I need a shower, no freaking water, god I stink.  My mouth feels like it’s full of god damn dust and cat litter, used cat litter.

What the hell happened?  Where is everyone?  Everything is in ruins, nothing works, not the water, electricity, my damn phone.  Burnt out buildings; cars, shit.  My house is only one of two or so in the whole neighborhood that isn’t flat to the ground.  The sky has a funny orange tint to it, darker in places, swirling, but diffidently orange.  I wonder if it was from the fires.  Smells weird out here, you can kind of taste it.  A little metallic, like biting on an ol’ penny, coppery like.

It’s funny; I have no idea what day it is, maybe Sunday.  I’d watch football all day if there was football, end my one week of sobriety in a big way.  

I’ve decided to keep a record of my days.  If anyone finds these writings they’ll have a good laugh.  It would be nice to hear a little giggle.  I think it’s going to be a long time before anyone makes a little chuckle, a little snort.  I think seven days since I woke to this new world.  Oh fucking lucky me.

Ghosts.  I thought a saw a figure of a man dizzy in the over hot stagnate air of summer.  I might just be seeing things, hoping for company, anyone, even a nut with a top hat and a lit candle coming out his ass would be welcome at this point.  Haven’t seen a soul.  I like to be alone, but this is a completely different kind alone.  I don’t like it and it makes me feel all creeped out, jumpy I’d call it.   Come to think of it, there are no birds either.  Hadn’t really thought of that?  I’ve been so wrapped up in moving, looking for something to eat, a drink of cool water.  No dogs, cats, people.  Now the birds.  I use to like birds, fed them in my yard.  Seems like an eternity ago, has it only been a few days?  Fuck. 

How time flies when you’re alone, filthy, slick with sweat, and sick with the shits.  It feels like the endings of the flu.  Is that where everyone went, Super flu.  I’d just like to have a few answers.  Where the hell is everyone?  Silence but for the wind in the trees.  Wait a minute, there’s no bodies either.  You’d think there’d be bodies everywhere; this town has fifty five thousand and a few people in it.  Oh and I haven’t swatted a single fly, mosquito or any bug for that matter.  Nope nothing but orange sky, that funny smell.

I really have to work to keep my shit together, my mind is wandering.  I think it’s the silence.  It’s just not right, no sounds of trucks, cars, airplanes going over, not even a fucking fly buzzing around your head.  A week or so and I’m starting to notice all the little things that are wrong.  I’m getting real close to freaking the hell out.

Day Eleven
What a night.  The nightmares are getting bad. They started slow but now they’re a freight train running through my head every time I sleep or try to take a nap.  Fuck, I’m dreading trying to sleep, but it’s what I really need right now, just some good sleep.  I’m facing another day of walking, looking, trying to find where the world went.  I’m tired and dehydrated, Fuck me.

Day Fourteen
Up at the crack of dawn.  Reminds me of a joke I use to know.  I’d die for a cup of coffee; die the death of a happy man.  I just don’t think it’s gonna happen.  I think I’m depressed.  Fuck it, I’m depressed, dehydrated and I’m starving I gotta find something to eat…….. hahahaha, now that reminds me of a joke I use to know.  Hahahhahah I’m drifting.  Off I go, hip pity hop………….

Day Sixteen
Ahhhhh  Seven Eleven, an oasis in the sun.  Here I sit in desperation, tried to shit and only farted.  God I can’t even remember the stupid jokes of my youth.  Well at least I’ve got a bottle of nice hot coke.  Most left in a soaring fountain of fuzz, but hell it’s wet and stale crackers are damn good.  hahahahhaha.  

Day Twenty
I know I saw something; fleeting but something, bird, person or a damn ghost.  God damn heat is so bad.  I haven’t pissed in hours.  Should have jacked a backpack, blanket, something to carry shit in.  I could have had another hot, hot off the shelf coke.

Day Twenty Three  (I think)
I’m not thinking straight anymore, I’m sick again my pants are caked with dried shit, can’t even smell the shit anymore, now that’s nice.  Hahahahaha I found a good thing!
I think I’ve lost weight, the wife would like that.  I wonder what happened to her. 
Ditched the belt, to damn long, found me a nice little length of rope, now fall down you fucking pants.  Shorts, now that’s an idea.  Shitty shorts, perfect.  Find shitty shorts, check.

Day Unknown  (I have no idea, two three days, I think, more?)
I don’t think I can keep up with the writings, who fucking cares, who’s gonna read them?  

I’m done.  I can’t go any further………………. This is shit, why fight it, I’m just so tired.  The shade here feels so good.  I’ll just sit here a little longer.  Enjoy the view, pencil a few thoughts, lay my head down rest a while.

I got me a friend.  No gobs and gobs of little friends.  Did I tell you…….. No I don’t think I did, I found the flies!   There is life in them there hills………..hahahahah.  I cut my leg a while back, fucking metal, thought I was gonna bleed to death.  Yesterday?  Two three days ago, a week no, oh it doesn’t matter much.  Its nice having friends again, they buzz; crawl in-en out.  Sometimes they land on my face, my nose.  I can smell them.  I can hear each and every one of them, little friends.  Talk talk………. I cry, my tears are gone too, just like everything, gone.  It’s time to sleep, I promise to write tomorrow, but I’m just so tired.  Little friends, so nice, little friends………….. talk, talk, buzz, buzz.