[ThDPro]

Finish it.

Clarence Dalwin had no business being where he was. On a dark road with a single sodium lamp flickering, lie motionless with a small pool of blood forming at the end of one foot, staining his formerly white sock a deep red that you only see in art. He twitched slightly. A siren was blaring off in the distance reflecting off of hills and buildings and making their way to his ever alert ears. He knew they weren't coming for him. After all, why wood they.
Clarence Dalwin was a pessimist.
Scooted away from his left hand, a phone vibrated away against the rough pavement of the road, bouncing ever so slightly as it jiggled in inanimate frenzy. The noise was piercing against the quiet of the distant traffic and light, breathy movement of trees. Clarence's mind replaced the sound of the buzzing concrete with that of his 3rd grade school bell ringing.
"BBBBBBRRrring!!"
"BBBBBBRRrring!!"
As his head began to ache more, Clarence began to moan and writhe. With this, he attempted to sit upright. This ended badly with his foot squirting a little blood and a symphony of pain. He continued to groan. The phone continued to buzz.
"BBBBBBRRrring!!"
Pathetically, Clarence flailed his left arm about, trying to grab the cell phone. His first four attempts yielded three small rocks, something he thought felt sticky, and a dirty hand. The fifth attempt landed his hand firmly over the phone. He pulled it slowly towards him lifting very slightly, but the moment the phone buzzed in his hand, a fiery blast went through his arm and directly into his brain. He dropped the phone which first bounced off his cheek and landed inches from his ear with a "thunk."
"BBBBBBRRrring!!" said the phone.
Clarence tried looking at his hand to see what exactly had caused the pain. This was when he realized that his glasses were missing.
"Drat." he said, as if mildly annoyed.
Bringing his hand closer to his face, he could see red. Blood; definitely blood. He brought the hand as close as he could to his face. His eyes watered, mocking his attempts to see. After what seemed like hours to him, he got his eyes in focus enough to make out a small plate of broken glass; his broken glasses.
Clarence would have laughed should it not have inevitably caused excruciating pain.
"BBBBBBRRrring!!" said the phone.
Clarence wasn't sure what to make of the phone next to him. It wasn't his. He had the vaguest memories of someone... Reaching over himself with his right arm, he picked up the phone and flipped it open. A familiar voice from his childhood said, "If you would like to accept a collect call from--"
The voice changed to that of a 12-year-old boy, "Julian Foss."
"please say yes."
Clarence grunted, "What?"
"Thank you." said the automated voice. The child quickly said, "I'm sorry mommy, I'm lost."
Clarence's mind went blank for a moment and before he realized he was speaking, he had said, "I'm not your mother and you're not lost, you just don't know where you are."
"Yeowww!! GodSHITPISSAHH!!!"" Clarence continued like this over the phone for quite some time. This helped Clarence remember who's phone it was. Once there was a break between obscenities and yelps, the boy spoke again.
"But, this is my mommy's phone number. Who are you?"
Clarence had no will to lie t this moment. "I'm a friend... No..." he said through shots of pain and gasping, "I'm an associate... No... NO!! I'm a client! That's it! A client!"
There was silence on the boys end. Clarence said, "hello?" again and the boy responded, "Did you steal mommy's phone?"
"NO! No, no, no, NO! I'm a... uh... Client..."
"But--"
Clarence hadn't the stomach for dancing around the truth. "If this is your mothers phone then your mothers a whore!"
The boy was silent.
Clarence, outside of breathing like a dog, was silent as well.
The boy said, "So, she'd not there, then?"
Clarence clapped the phone shut. He knew he'd have to drag himself back to his apartment; thirty feet away, second floor. He knew in his hazy mind that he'd pass out soon.

----------------------------------------------------

The night before Clarence found himself in the road, he was in the home with his lovely, if overbearing girlfriend, Shari. (With an 'I') They were watching an action movie wherein a school bus full of high-schoolers had just crashed into a lake that the hero just soft landed a plane in and knocked out the bridge. The tagline for this movie was, "It's going to be a bumpy ride, kids!"
It was.
There was an empty bowl of popcorn between them that they picked at occasionally for the half popped, salty kernels. They were doomed by work the next day to this being the rest of their night in summary. The school bus started to fill with water and a young actor screamed, "WHY?!"
Both Clarence and Shari (with an I) exhaled an, "Ugh."
This movie was sub-par.
"I went to the doctor today about..." started Shari. Another child screamed in the background as the couple looked at one another.
"About... that thing..." said Clarence, adding, "That smell."
"He said it's nothing serious," said Shari, "Just don't... You know... for a little while."
This moments awkwardness could only be augmented by the sound of screaming students drowning in a school bus.
"Well, that's alright." said Clarence, who proceeded to look at the screen. Shari (with an I) continued to look at him.
The movie hero was saying, "Take my hand-- -- -- If you want to LIVE."
The pause was too long.
"He also said it could be venereal." said Shari, "Have any thoughts on that?"
"NOOOOOOOOOO!!!!" shouted the movie hero as the high-schooler drowned.
"No." said Clarence.
"Well... Okay then..."
The two continued to watch the terrible movie. The last line was the hero, "Thanks, but no thanks."

[ThDPro]

Wow, there's alot more to this than I thought:

The next morning after watching the horrible action movie, Clarence awoke to the sound of the phone ringing loudly. He wiped his eyes and reached for his glasses, just behind the alarm clock, where they always were. He grabbed for the phone, just to the left of the alarm clock, where it always was. As he put the phone to his ear, he belched loudly, gagging at the smell of it. Salty, buttery, popcorn, he thought to himself as he said through scratchy grog, “Hello?”
“Clare, you unbelievable bastard! You two timing bitch! You’ll rot in hell!”
“… Shari?”
“Yeah, you piece of shit! Yeah! I have Chlamydia! I haven’t slept with anyone! HAVE YOU? Selfish fuck.” Said Shari (with and ‘I’), “Goodbye, motherfucker! If that’s you were fucking. Goddamit, Clare, Goddamit!”
Click.
Clarence kept the phone against his ear. He knew she was gone.
“Gone.”
He mouthed the word to himself. He did this for what seemed like hours to him; fifteen minutes. At the sixteenth minute, he began saying the word out loud.
“Gone…”
“Gone.”
“GONE.”
“GONE!” he screamed as he threw the bed covers away from himself and sobbed into his pillow. It was significantly more pathetic than puppies immediately after they’re born, and they are pathetic as shit. He sobbed until he was a dry, lifeless viscera of a man, a shell, a vehicle with no driver. It was then that he noticed the gargoyle on his balcony outside the sliding glass door of his apartment. It was hideous. Shari (with an ‘I’) had given it to him the previous Christmas. He liked it then. Clarence stormed out of the bed and slammed open the sliding door with a deep “thud.”
Grabbing the hideously fashioned hunk of stone, he wound up his pitch, ready to toss it at the street below with all the fury of god himself. Just as release was imminent, Clarence’s mind flashed to when it was given to him.
He liked it then.
His memory was cut short by the ringing of his phone, again. Setting the gargoyle down without looking, Clarence slowly walked back inside to find that the alarm clock was blinking the familiar time, “12:00.” He said “shit,” plainly, and picked up the phone.
“What?!” yelled Clarence, wishing he had looked at the caller ID before answering in this manner.
“Clare, it’s Brian, your brother.”
“Oh…” said Clarence feeling somewhat like an asshole now, “Look bro, can this wait, I’m having a shitty day.”
“That’s kinda what’s it about,” said his brother, “Sheri with an ‘I’ called me this morning and chewed me out fer having a part in your life.”
“She did the same to me.”
“Chewed you out fer knowing me?”
“Brian, I’m not in the mood for jokes,” said Clarence, “what do you want?”
“I’m not in Seattle right now, but I pulled some strings to make it a awesome night fer you.”
“My brother flaunts his pocket-book once again. Are you on your private jet?”
“As a matter of fact—Fuck off, Clare. Just buy a twenty-four rack of cheap been and be home by 8 o’clock.” said Brian cryptically.
“Alright. I’m probably fired anyways. My alarm clock is fucked anyways.”
Brian responded, “Dude, use your cell phone.”
“I don’t own one.”
“Oh.”
“Oh, indeed.” said Clarence, indignantly, “I’m hanging up now.”
Brian quickly said “Remember! Beer! Eight!” as Clarence dropped the phone back into the cradle. Clarence glanced through the sliding door again and caught eyes with the gargoyle.
“Ugly thing.” said Clarence as he began to put on his clothes and go to work.

-------<*>-------

Scraping his dilapidated body across the pavement and onto the parking strip, Clarence wondered why he didn’t call the police or an ambulance. That’s when he recalled, “Beer! Eight!”
“Dirty… Dirty little…” grumbled Clarence as the anger rose up in him and replaced his ever present pain.
“The blastard grot me derunk from five-hundred milezaway.”
Clarence was beginning to realize his situation was significantly less dire than it had seemed when he came to in the middle of the road, but his thoughts were more focused on the unspeakable things he would say to his brother once he was in range of a phone.
Clarence was now sliding his way across the sidewalk which was leaving his pants full of rocks and sidewalk debris, as well as, he thought, the wound in his dragging foot. Another rock, larger than the others, slowly slipped into his jeans and worked its way painstakingly down his leg. My brothers’ fault, he thought continually. The rock was halfway down his leg, scraping and bruising as it went. As it reached the end of his of his pants, he looked back to see exactly what the rock that was larger than the others looked like. The words “Shattered obsidian” came to Clarence’s mind. He grimaced at the amount of blood and flesh attached to the rock, continuing the journey to the apartment, and of course, the phone, which so far had brought him to the first floor entrance.
“Thank god for the elevator.” said Clarence. He felt triumphant for a moment. The familiar “ding” came immediately after pressing the up button. The doors opened as if they were Clarence’s pearly gates. He tried to keep from weeping with joy as he dragged the useless rag of his body onto the elevator. So close!
His bleeding foot was the leg furthest from his head, so it fallows that it was the last thing to get on the elevator, and elevator doors close automatically. Clarence heard another ding and the world slowed down for him for just a moment. A moment long enough for him to say in slow motion, “NOOOoooOOOOooooOOOO!!” as he watched the elevator doors close.
3 feet
2 feet
10 inches
Clarence was trying to scream, but there wasn’t enough time.
3 inches
1 inch
CLANK.

-------<*>-------

Brian meant well, or so Clarence always believed. If the man says to be home at eight you don't show up because you're expecting a thoughtful gift, you show up to watch an expensive spectacle unfold. He wanted desperately to be useful to his brother, but lacked certain finesse. Being a shoulder on which to cry was completely outside of his personality so he wielded his wealth like a runaway fire hose.
Money.
Once the world knows you're wealthy, bigger better gifts and handouts become silently obligatory. Brian was born for such obligations. Elaborate stratagems, ridiculous sculptures, obscure and altogether useless inventions; these were the omens of his affection. If they didn't inspire a sense that he possessed a caring, thoughtful soul; they certainly inspired a sense of awe or at least a spectacle.
In this case, his consolation spectacle was relatively understated. His once great and, at times, even jealous affection for his brother's girlfriend was tainted and scarred. The one thing he hadn't commanded his wealth to purchase was leisure.
Leisure...
Brian could never remain stationary for long, which had in many ways contributed to earning his fortune. He hated leisure and believed the term to be an offensive misnomer. He owned a private jet, as the great and good sometimes do to ware their wallet on their sleeve, but chiefly instead to avoid ever waiting in an airport again. So with his leisure he entertained every saturnine whimsy he could organize on short notice. It was in the course of such a whimsy that Clarence and Shari had met.
Brian had hired two of the most beautiful exotic dancers, one of each gender of course, he could find (that process was the subject of another whimsy) to screen attractive, interesting, single people from all over the city and thrown a party in his brother's house. After several hours of heavy alcohol consumption, he bored of the strange guests, threw the lot of them to the curb, and passed out on the couch.
He awakened the following afternoon to an unfamiliar, but lovely woman nursing a beer, half a cigarette hanging out of her mouth, standing over him. He was about to say "didn't I tell you to leave?," but she beat him to extroversion.
"Anyone for breakfast?" she inquired, as if to address the entire apartment.
He had considered making his move until his toxin-addled mind assembled the puzzle.
"You bagged my bro, didn't you?"
She giggled.
"You're all right."
Best gift ever, he had thought. Over time, after involving Clarence in several subsequent such boozed-soaked-drug-laden-extravaganzas, she began attempting to distance them from each other. Clarence always accepted Brian’s invitations with some trepidation and by no means accepted all of them, but Brian began to feel her controlling eyes on him as he made excuses for blowing him off. He detested her for that and never forgave her.
Feeling relieved after his angry, one-sided phone conversation with Shari (with an ‘I’), he opted for an understated show of consolation.
"Brunet... with some meat on 'er... tall... ok... ok... bill it to me."
Everything Shari was not. He gave them his brother’s address and disengaged the phone.
Having concluded his conversation with his favorite escort service he resumed playing his favorite guitar. His fingers danced up the fretboard, pausing only for emphasis. Plugged into nothing, the instrument sang Purple Haze in a thin and almost inaudible voice.
"Finally, something fun..."

-------<*>-------

The tall woman with the medium build and the brown hair was late, an entire half-hour late. Clarence didn't know she was coming yet, but 8:00 o'clock had come and gone with no event. Presently, he stared at the gargoyle letting it drill a guilty chasm in his soul. The beer was long gone and he had mislaid the cork stopper for the fiery bottle of Scotch which he consumed precisely as fast as his stomach would allow, all in an effort to simply feel better. He didn't feel better, but it was becoming increasingly difficult to remember what he felt bad about.
The bedside alarm-clock still read noon-midnight and except for the city lights it remained the only light source in the room. Every time those mocking numbers blinked on, they illuminated the gargoyle's grotesque visage. Like a sadistic demon it puckishly alternated between smugly sneering at him and glaring at him. Feeling he'd earned this punishment he made no move to activate an ancillary light. If it wasn't that impish thing on the balcony, those glares and sneers would stare streamers of fire into his heart from inside his own head anyway.
DING
The familiar sound of the elevator across the hall arriving at his floor yanked his attention away from the lurid staring contest with the statue. Then the sound of footsteps-- loud, but effeminate, these were the feet that spent most of their lives in high-heeled shoes. Closer, and closer they were now too close to be a guest of the neighbors. Clarence awaited the doorbells prompt, thinking, "3...2...1...," but then nothing. Instead a long pause followed by a brief clicking, and then unmistakable sound of his door opening.
Intruder?
A momentary panic ensued in which Clarence employed his body to move into a defensive position, or maybe a hiding place. Instead of answering this simple call-to-duty, he lurched into a position that left him no option but to tumble face-first off of the bed. The should-have-been surge of adrenaline materialized only after he managed to break his fall with one fist against the floor. His other hand, having forgotten its previous assignment, found the floor simultaneously but shattered the liquor bottle on impact. His reflexes finally engaged and his injured hand instinctively withdrew. Having inadequate support to manage the weight now committed to one arm he somersaulted onto his back.
"I bet that hurt," he mumbled.
He found his feet and then staggered to the bathroom sink. His good hand grabbed hand-fulls of the wall, eventually finding the light switch. His pupils screamed as it clicked on. As soon as he could force his eyes open, he beheld the glittery sanguine carnage. It certainly looked worse than it felt. So far. He was about to start fumbling with the slippery shards when he caught eyes with the intruder behind his reflection in the bathroom mirror.
Oh yeah...
The fact it was a woman disarmed his panic which was busy puking in the corner of his head anyway.

[burstroc]

Too long, didn't read.

[Lachesis]

***CHAPTER 11***

"RODSTAR theres some thing I'd watn like to show you," whisperedr oton into RODSTAR's eare. "It this happened when, we last upgraded together."

"What 1011100x is this 100111?" beeped RODSTAR, hes now mallfunctuning out of disbelief.

"A pegnancy test. I'm pegnant, RODSTAR"