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Story time with happy music -jimmy-

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  • Story time with happy music -jimmy-

    SONG: www.tearsofblood.com/downloads/nontut/jimmy.zip
    STORY:
    Ten was sitting in his Father's lap. In one hand he held a can of sugary soda: his Mother hated him drinking that stuff, but she wasn't here and Jimmy liked it that way. His other hand was clinging to Dad's neck as they sat snuggled in the same black leather armchair. There was an action film blazing away on the television across the room, providing a constant reminder of the ongoing conflict in Vietname where so many of Ten's friends had seen their Fathers dragged away to. Thankfully, Dad was still there; the eerie feeling that he would have to leave often crossed Ten's mind - that was the substance of nightmares. The images flickered through his mind: seeing Dad pullong away from the house in the same sickly green truck that Four had seen once before; then he would be forced to live with Mom until he returned...if he ever returned at all. Ten shook that thought from his mind - he didn't want to dwell on that possibility, nor the possiblity of living with his Mother. "Mother," it was a joke for Ten to call her that - ever since the divorce Dad had been more of a Mother to him than She ever had. The thoughts of the Bad Thing slowly began to crawl back from the depths of his mind. Ten shivered and cried out.
    "What is it, Jimmy?" Dad's voice was soft and calm as ever.
    "The Bad Thing..." Ten trembled. Dad held his hand close to his shoulder and stood up, supporting Ten with one hand and flicking the 'off' switch on the television with the other.
    "'S okay, Jimmy," his Father hushed, "The Bad Thing's gone now. You know I won't let it come back...it's gone for good."
    Holding Ten's head still with his free hand, he took him through to his bedroom. It was late, he should've had Ten in bed an hour ago, but the thought he'd give him a treat and let him watch the late night film - that did more harm than good. He sat Ten down on his Batman quilt and took the half-empty can of soda from his hand, replacing it with a teddy bear, "Now try and get some sleep." he whispered. He threw Ten a wink before he left - Ten forced a smile...Dad always made everything alright.
    But everything was not alright. That night memories from a sunless nether haunted his sleep...memories of The Bad Thing.
    Jimmy was Five; his parents were still married, althougha t the time Dad was away "on vacation" as Mom kept telling him, but Five was confused: normally they went on vacation together and he didn't understand why he was taken away in that green truck almost a year ago...normally they only went on vacation for two weeks.
    That day Five was playing with a ball in the yard - it wasn't much fun without Dad to throw and catch it with him and there were no other kids in the neighbourhgood, so he had to make his own fun. After a few minutes of kicking the ball against the white pickett fence he soon got bored. So, Five toddled off around the yard to see if he could find anything of interest. The Florida grass beneath his sneakers was dry and harsh as his small feet traversed the lawn. Something caught his eye. It lay next to the fance, glistening in the sun; it was small and shiny and appealing to Five's young eyes. He paced over to where the object lay and picked it up: it was a lighter...Dad's good lighter. He had seen Dad use it lots of times, he was always told not to play with it, but Dad wasn't here so he didn't think he'd mind. Jimmy didn't have any of the small white sticks that Dad always lit with it [he was never allowed any of them either], but he would light it anyway. Carefully he flipped the metal lid open and, using both his chubby thumbs, forced the small wheel round. A mesmerising orange flame sprng from the bowels of the aluminium lighter, flickering slightly in the summer breeze. Five's thumbs still clung to the small metal wheel which grew ever hotter. It burned. In pain, Jimmy dropped the lighter onto the grass. He sucked his thumb - the saliva calming the firey sensation. After a few seconds the pain eased, but there was now a new senssation - a sudden warmth on his legs. Glancing at the ground Five saw that the grass at his feet was on fire, "Mom!!" he screamed - too scared to move, to naïve to react, "Mom!!" he pleaded. From the kitchen, Mom could see him standing helpless among the spreading blaze, "Maynard?!!" [that was his proper name, but Jimmy didn't like it. To Da he was always Jimmy - his middle anme, he liked that better] she hastily ran to join Five in the yard, unwinding the hose from its wall mount and directing the stream of water onto the blazing ground. Within a few moments the spotaneous inferno was extinguished. Five was still a little shaken from the suddeness of the whole oredeal. Mom dropped the garden hose and ran over to him,
    "Maynard, are you okay, honey?"
    "Yeah, I think so, Mom." blinking furiously and coming to full consciousness
    "How did it happen? Who started the fire?"
    "I dunno, Mom - it just seemed to happen..." she spotted the glint of the lighter in the grass, she picked it up and thrust it in front of Five's face.
    "THIS," she screamed, her face and tone expressing a mixture of anger ad confusion, "wouldn't have anything to do with it, would it? Have you been playing with Daddy's lighter?"
    "No, Mom...I..."
    "Fire is the Devil's toy," she screeched, a madness glazing her stare, "and only the Devil's children play wiht his toys!" she grabbed Five's arm and dragged him across the yard into the house. The carpeted floor was softer on his trailing feet: Jimmy knew this routine; Five did not. Mom threw him onto the bed in the spare room and bolted the door. Five sat on the bed: tense, nervous, tears beginning to well up in his eyes. From an old wooden cabinet, Mom pulled out a Bible and a wooden cross, "It appears we have a demon to exorcise." she said: partly to herself, partly to Five and partly to an unseen force in the heavens. Five began to cry as Mom began reading from the book she held in her hand, accenting every few words by striking his head with the crucifix. He threw his hands up, pleading her to stop, but she would not. With the beatings growing in strength and frequency, he collapsed on the floor: blood pouring from his skull.
    The memories of The Bad Thing then began to blur like interference on a television set with only the occaisional flash of an image: the ambulance siren; the masked faces; the blinding light; a strange sensation in his head; then waking up in the hospital with Dad beside him [he must have gotten back from his vacation]. Then, no sooner had he woken in his dream, he woke from his dream.
    It was the morning, the scent of frying bacon drifted from the kitchen. Ten got out of bed, his pyjamas slightly damb from sweat. Sleepily, he wandered through to the kitchen - it was Thursday, Dad normally only cooked breakfast at weekends. As he passed through the hall, a crumpled brown envelope lay on the floor, Ten kicked it, hitting the centre of the front door - he would make the soccer team this year. When he entered the kitchen, it wasn't just Dad who stood there, but Mom too. Jimmy hadn't seen her since he and Dad moved to Ohio when he was Six.
    "Hello Maynard." she said, a grovelling tone to her words.
    "He prefers to be called Jimmy, Sue," Dad said, correcting her.
    "I don't care what he PREFERS to be called. WE called him Maynard - that is his name!" There was still tensin betwenn them that had been pent up over so many years apart. Ten noticed for the first time that Dad was wearing his green suit. Usually that meant...
    "Jimmy," Dad held his shoulders and knealt down in front of him, "I have to go away on vacation for awhile and I don't know when I'll be back. So, while I'm gone, Mom's gonna look after you. Okay, champ?" Ten rubbed the scar on his forehead - the eternal reminder of The Bad Thing. He stared at Dad with pleading eyes. Dad shook his head in apology, "I'm sorry, sport: it's the only thing I can do." There was the sound of a car's horn and the steady rumble of an engline outside. Dad brushed aside the kitchen curtains. Outside Ten could see the image that had ahunted so many dream: deformed and hideous, some unearthly serpent preying on the innocent. The green truck sounded its horn once again. Dad picked up his satchel from the linoleum and walked towards the back door. Ten grabbed his arm, turning his gaze towards him, he handed Dad a small, plastic toy soldier that had been lying on the floor. Dad forced a smile to hide the anguish: Jimmy knew what was happening. Witht hat final re-assuring smile, Dad vanished out of the door. Ten swallowed the lump in his throat and turned around to face his Mother, his near-killer, "Come on, Maynard, sit down and eat your breakfast." she sighed, behind a calm façade. JImmy walked over to the table and spat on the plate she put before him, then stormed back thorugh to his bedroom: slamming the door behind him...and that was the beginning of the end.
    Over the months Ten grew to Eleven and Eleven grew in hatred of his Mother. There was much raising of voices between them and very few civil words were passed between them. Every day was an uphill struggle for Eleven, his only hope lay in the media. Every day he read the paper and watched the television news bulletins, praying that the war would somehow end...he wanted Dad back...
    ****
    The rain drummed its eerie syncopated rhythm on Eleven's bedroom window. It comforted him as he lay on his bed, staring at the ceiling. His face was still blotchy from the tears brought on by a particularly heated argument with his Mother. In the distance he could hear the thunder buffalo stampeding through the clouds: they were heading this way. There was a clatter at the front door and a bandit of cold air raided the house. Eleven shivered, he heard voices: one was his Mother's and the other seemed ghostly. He listened closer, it was slightly grizzled, but there was no mistaking it: it was Dad. He leapt from his bed, threw open his door and ran into the hall to greet his father. However, what stood in front of him was not Dad: it was hideous. Its head was almost blank: shaven scalp; swollen features laced with scabs and blisters; ears bandgaed over, hiding God-knows-what. And there it stood, motionless in a torn green uniform, soaking wet from the rain, its booted feet leaving a trail of slime behind them. Suddenly it moved, outstretching its arms to him, "Jimmy," its twisted mouth contorted the words from its throat, "Dad's home, son." It tooka few steps towards him.
    "No....he's not!" cried Eleven, tears streaming down his afce, unable to accept that what stoof in front of him was the Father whom he loved so dearly...it couldn't be - that was a monster. His mind and emotions tearing apart, he ran abck through ti his badroom, lay face-down on the bed and wept.
    After what seemed like an eternity, Eleven rose from his bed. Outside the rain had ceased as dusk unfurled her wings over the sky, He stepped through into the hall: there was no sign of the beast that had stood there earlier. He walked on through to the kitchen: he needed a drink. On the way, Jimmy spotted a pistol lying on the table - it was still in its holster, all shiny and new-looking: it was so appealing. A thought crept into Jimmy's mind, Eleven tried to shake it free, but Jimmy's thoughts were too strong: he romoved the gun from the holster and cocked the weapon. It seemed to carry a supernatural power with it, as all ogf a sudden Jiimy felt stronger. He walked through to the lounge and there, asleep in front of the television was the thing. In its hand, it held a picture of Dad and Nine: how dare it - trying to take the place of their Father. Eleven had to agree with Jimmy, they could not let this monstrosity take the palce of Dad, it sickening for either of him to look at: something had to be done. Mercilessly, Jimmy pointed the firearm at the beast's head. His finger didn't even twitch as he pulled the trigger: there was a small twanging noise as the bullet left the gun and a dull crunch as it flew into the creature's skull. They thought it would make a louder noise than that - perhaps it was due to the attachment on the barrel, but neither Eleven nor Jimmy knew much about guns. Jimmy was about to drop the gun and return to bed when something caught Eleven's eye. Around its neck, the creature wore a chain with a plastic toy soldier on the end of it: the very same soldier that Ten had given to Dad before he left. He couldn't believe what had happened: it was Dad after all...and Jimmy had killed him. The pain was too great: the anguish cut like a dagger through his soul. Through his grief, the thoughts in his head became clearer. He could never let anything like this ever happen again: the buck stops here.
    Overpowering Jimmy, Eleven stormed out of the house and into the night. He could not bear to see Dad's corspe any longer. There he stood, under a dead Ohio sky, too grief stricken to act, to shocked to grieve: emotional stalemate. His mind, however, was still very much active - he was contemplating the best course of action to take. Jimmy had to be stopped - every terrible thing that had ever happened to him: Jimmy had been there...even The Bad Thing had been all Jimmy's fault. Eleven took the gun, still warm from its alst firing and palced it to his head, pointing the barrel at different places, "Where are you hiding? Eh, Jimmy...where are you? I know you're in here somewhere." JImmy tried to put down the gun, but Eleven was stronger: stronger than Ten and Five; he knew he ahd found him. Eleven knew that by killing Jimmy he would kill himself, but he didn't care, at least then he would be with dad, for even though his face was scarred, his soul was still the one that Eleven loved. He drew a breath and counted:
    1...
    2...
    3...
    4...
    5...
    6...
    7...
    8...
    9...
    10...
    Eleven,
    and he was gone.



    =====

    anyway the real song is actually about maynard's mother and how she died or left him or somethign when he was eleven but i read that story and thought it was pretty clever :-/

    for more info on the song: http://www.songmeanings.net/lyric.php?lid=2504
    story from: http://easyweb.easynet.co.uk/~gavlees/jimmy.txt

    =====

    i just like music with deep meanings i guess
    http://profiles.myspace.com/users/7360475
    -=:ToB:=- / :]eDe[: Site: www.endarkend.net
    -=:ToB:=-Forums: www.endarkend.net/phpbb/
    -=:ToB:=-PayingSins (TUT MAP)- http://www.endarkend.net/downloads/m...oB_Payback.zip

  • #2
    WEIRD!
    Really, shouldnt you be playing TUT like everyone else DP?
    Feel the power of the

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    • #3
      Originally posted by Antero90
      WEIRD!
      Really, shouldnt you be playing TUT like everyone else DP?
      maybe but i chose to sit back and get drunk today....my g/f saind she'll bring her camera so ic an finally get a pic of the real me and my room and stuff
      http://profiles.myspace.com/users/7360475
      -=:ToB:=- / :]eDe[: Site: www.endarkend.net
      -=:ToB:=-Forums: www.endarkend.net/phpbb/
      -=:ToB:=-PayingSins (TUT MAP)- http://www.endarkend.net/downloads/m...oB_Payback.zip

      Comment


      • #4
        OMG
        Some Skulls are born to be heroes

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        • #5
          Can I get that book on tape?
          Genius is a blink before a moment of insanity.
          "Dream is Destiny"
          Waking Life

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