Friday, May 20, 2011

Prologue pt. 2

Part 2 of my prologue for Saint. Someone asked me shortly after the first part if there would be a christian theme involved, so to answer, without giving to much away, yes, the entire story will be laced with christian themes. My three biggest influences being J.R.R. Tolkien, C.S. Lewis, and Charles Williams, not to mention being a follower of Christ myself, I must create everything I do to glorify God, and further his Kingdom, including lacing Christian themes into a story accessible to all audiences. That being said, one of my favorite quotes is: "It is always the darkest before the dawn." As is the case here. Things are going to be pretty bleak here at the beginnings of the story, but please keep in mind that there is a light at the end of the tunnel and things will eventually start to look up.

Johnny was woken up by a smack to the face. He sat in a wooden chair that reclined back. His legs tied tightly to the legs of the chair. His wrists tied behind his back, his chest also tied down to the chair. He could barely move his neck without any pain. Blood mixed with the sweat soaking his face. How could I be so stupid. He thought. He wasn’t a superhero. He couldn’t catch a bullet, or swing from buildings. He had so many dreams of being that one man. That one individual who would stop at nothing to see that the wicked were punished and the good received justice. It was all moot now though. Just a dream. A fantasy. Hell, it didn’t even work in real books, only comics.
Johnny fell into a hard depressive state, not even bothering to view his surroundings. He knew what was coming. Death. The room was dark. An abandoned garage used for much less reputable reasons. Three men formed a semi-circle around the chair. Johnny just laid with his head back and his eyes closed. The man in the middle stepped forward. He was small and spoke in a high voice Johnny knew all to well.
“I’m supposed to be dead now, right?”
Johnny just laid. His eyes open now, staring at the ceiling.
“I don’t think I have to tell how disrespectful you’ve been. Did you really think I’d just let you walk in and threaten me?”
“Just kill me.” Johnny’s voice barely broke above a whisper.
“I’m sorry I couldn’t hear you?”
“Just kill me and get it over with.”
“You think you deserve to die? After all this you’re just ready to give up and go to Hell?”
“At least I‘ll know when you‘re gone.”
The small man walked over to the head of the chair bending his head closer to Johnny.
“I doubt that. You may be in deep, but I’m beyond killing you.”
The man walked back to where here came from. Johnny heard a click and a small hiss. He looked up and saw the man to his right held a propane torch, its hungry blue
tongue licking the air. The other man came forward with a leather strap between his hands. The little man turned to leave.
Guttural screaming could be heard outside of the garage clearly as day. The garage was located in a rural area far outside of town. It was pitch black when Clarence walked outside. Waiting by the door was a large man over twice his size. Clarence turned and faced him. He looked up at him for a few seconds before throwing a hard punch straight into the mans left shoulder. The man grunted in pain. Clarence removed the heavy gold ring from his finger. The once white bandage on the bodyguards shoulder quickly turned to red as blood began to drip from beneath it.
“What I want to know,” said Clarence. “Is why he wasn’t dead before I was staring down two barrels!”
“I’m sorry Mr. Wetherby.”
“What are you sorry for. I’m the idiot that hired you.”
Without skipping a single beat Clarence removed a Colt Python from his inside jacket pocket raised his arm and shot the bodyguard. Twice in the chest, and a third smacked in his head spraying blood onto the wall behind him. One of the two from the garage stuck his head out from behind the door surveying the corpse on the ground by the door.
“What’s your name again?” Clarence asked
The other from the garage stepped out and spoke for him.
“He doesn’t speak much. We think he’s a mute. we just call him Demon cuz he’s so sick.”
Clarence surveyed him for a moment. Demon was large, no doubt of that. Nearly 7 feet in height. He was bald, his face completely scarred. Arms that looked like they could crush steel. Clarence noticed something off about him. It was set deep in the mans eyes. Something dark. Something evil. It was as if looking into his eyes was like staring into the soul of the depths of hell where murder and malice were games meant for recess.
“Congratulations Demon,” he said. “You’re my new head bodyguard. Now, is everything finished?”
Demon simply nodded with a glint of blood lust in his eyes. Clarence liked it.
“Good. Have some fun with him. Make sure he stays alive though, and dump him off somewhere. I don’t care where.”
Demon again nodded and went back into the garage with the other. The door shut and Clarence heard the screaming begin again.

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