A sample...
I need to actually type some of my stories up. The ones I like are still in written format.
A Curious Christmas Story
By Kit Sczudlo
Victor walked off the airplane and stopped for a moment. He sighed and looked at the familiar surroundings. It was Monday, December 22, a few days before Christmas. He was heading home to his father’s house from college for winter break. Quickly, he went down and picked up his bags, and as he stepped out into the blustery winter night, he took a deep breath. It was snowing, and he loved the snow. It was something that he missed at college. He looked about and hailed a cab. He hopped in.
“Quite a night tonight, isn’t it?” the cab driver said lazily.
“Oh but isn’t it beautiful?” said Victor.
“To each his own, I guess,” and with that, they were off. The dry heat of the taxi made Victor tired. He stared out the window as glass buildings and lit up trees whizzed by. He thought about his father, only a half-hour away. He would be sitting, drunk and weeping before the fire, cursing his wife, like always. Victor’s mother had disappeared several years ago. No one knew why, or where to, and it had ruined his father. He was drunk and irritable, and did little to stop himself from having outbursts at guests. But Victor came home every year, just to see a little slice of home. It was better than nothing. The cab pulled to a stop.
“That’ll be twenty-three fifty” gruffed the taxi driver.
“Hold on a second,” Victor fumbled with his wallet, “ah, here you go. Keep the change.” Victor handed him thirty dollars.
“Hey, thanks,” and with that, he buzzed off. Victor hauled himself up the steps to his father’s townhouse. An orange glow emanated from the living room window. Victor envisioned it, sighed, and pulled the bag over the last step. As he went to knock on the door, it blew open.
Odd… he thought, and walked inside. His father lay prostrated before the fire, in a pool of blood. The wine glass spilled across the carpet towards the entryway. Victor fell to his knees.
“Dad?! DAD??!” He called out in vain, his father didn’t stir. And as he scrambled towards his father, from the stereo on the wall came the following.
“Menace other Neanderthals dear apple. Ye, do everything. Cold embers mangle briers, ever remembering talkative waffles. Entangled nuggets tie yellow towels, wet on ignorant, malformed swallows. Often rigorous ridges yelp in contrived omnipotent underling languishing. Don’t note that! To effuse lumbering lampposts, you opportunely unify butter uncles top yttrium over undulating, raging fires. Actions taken here either repeats what act sequentially happened earlier. Rather, emphasis on nodules lost yapping at silly acquiescence smacking portals. Yam ignoramus. Folly opens unknown noxious dominions. Happenstance instills mountains of unorthodox titters for inexorable reasons sounded too implied. More sickly origins ‘round righteous yaks. If kit, now, only works: yellow orchestras undoubtedly could anticipate new tortoises. Edible, voracious, eternal. Robots fortuitously open rancor gloating invitations. Victor, encapsulate me, eternally.”
And he wept only harder, for now he knew who had done it, and why.
Posted by Kickmyassman at January 26, 2007 10:47 AM