Procedures For Being Kidnapped

Karl is going to be kidnapped today. He is unaware of this inevitable fact as his hand groggily reached out to turn off the increasingly annoying sound blaring from his alarm clock.
Recently, every noise seems to be on a mission to piss off Karl to the point of madness. He sat up and sat there for a bit as he tried to stop the urge of going back to sleep while reviewing how deep in the gutter his life had gone after the recent events of the past month. One of the contributing factors for this existential hangover was the fact that his then girlfriend had driven out of his life – with his car – and presumably with the mailman or a yoga instructor; whoever people cheat on other people with nowadays. This was of course, pretty devastating for him since that car got him to work everyday – he worked across the city at a construction site for a grand strip club paid with drug money - and he had to commute to work for a few weeks now. He could care less about his ex since he knew she was some sort of skank, he just didn’t know she was the sort of skank who took her ex-boyfriend’s car.
When he finally got up, he went over to brew himself a cup of tea. While rubbing his bloodshot eyes, he caught a glimpse of a dirty white van through his shabby window. It was the sort of van that hippies used to drive back in the 70’s, just without the colours of a tie-dye shirt and the peace sign painted on the side sliding door. Who knows? Maybe it did, and the new non-hippie owner just painted over it with white.
‘Oh bugger,’ he muttered as he stopped stirring his tea. He had forgotten to buy more milk and he absolutely couldn’t drink his tea without milk in it. It would be utterly pointless otherwise. So he called the foreman at the site, who promptly told him that he “didn’t bloody give a fuck” whether if he had an STI or some rare blood disease, he had better get his arse down to the site or they would miss their deadline and the triads would be at their doorstep.
Naturally, no one wants triads on their doorsteps. Just last week on the news, a poor bugger was first brutally tortured and then mercifully murdered; the police wouldn’t have suspect the triads at all if it wasn’t for the tiny little evidence of having their gang sign carved on the bloke’s forehead.
He wistfully drained his milk-less tea down the sink, got on his trousers, adjusted his hard hat, and locked the door behind him before a bag was unexpectedly placed over his head. This is about the time Karl got kidnapped. By no means was the bag covering his head immediately, as the hard hat made his head considerably larger. He was still confused why a bag was being struggled onto his head when some rough arms manhandled him around and after a pause, got punched very hard in the gut. He panicked and wondered how the triad got a whiff of his incompetence so quickly.
‘I swear I’m heading off to work! If you let me live and give me another chance, I will go to work everyday of my life now! If you chaps would like one of my kidneys to sell, I’d be totally fine, honestly, I won’t struggle at all, promise!’
Of course, he was lying his strawberry tart out to the men, even if he didn’t need a second kidney, he was sure illegal extractions of organs didn’t come with morphine benefits and on top of that, he might be losing a bit more than just a kidney. He was hoping he could make a break for it when they placed him on the operation table. He sure as hell wasn’t going to go to work everyday either.
His assailants, who were dragging him, stopped dragging him for a bit.
‘We dun care, a’ight? We’re just ‘ere to kidnap you, you twat,’ said one of the triads who sounded awfully Russian, which struck Karl as peculiar. When did the triads start to accept applications for thugs with Russian accents? Karl pondered about this for a bit before he heard a sliding door open and was thrown in, but not very successfully since he hit his head on the top lining of the entrance.
The car immediately started to veer off.
‘So… uhm… why am I being kidnapped?’
‘We’re holdin’ ya up for ransom, now shut yer bleedin’ mouth or I’ll fuckin’ sock ya konk,’ said a triad with Scottish accents – Karl seriously started to doubt they were triads now - who promptly gave Karl a good fist to his nose anyway.
‘Ohww!’ yelled Karl, who held his nose tenderly.
‘Och, bleedin’ ‘ell, yeh forgot to tie dis un up, Ivon! Shite, das’ ‘ow da last un got away, ya smart “basterd”!’ The way the low-life said “basterd” was a dead giveaway to Karl that he wasn’t dealing with triads, which really didn’t make the situation any better.
One of the thugs groaned and rustled about.
Karl’s hands suddenly had some rope binding them together quite tightly. His bloody nose was flowing freely now.
‘Christ! Did you cunts really have to dislocate my nose? Aw geez, you guys aren’t the triads are you?’ queried a bloody, blind Karl.
‘Wot? We de chinks? Do I look like a bleedin’ chink to you?’ laughed the Scot uproariously. The Russian chuckled in a vehement way. It was like “Heh-HEH-Heh” and it made him sound like a dunce oaf.
‘Can’t really say, my eyes are covered,’
Quite abruptly, the bag was ripped off his head and the hard hat went with it. Karl noticed how no one was Chinese, except for the driver, who coincidentally came with a bowl cut. He drove on calmly, seemingly oblivious to the events going on. The Russian looked like the generic bouncer type who didn’t talk and the Scot looked like he had just left an IRA recruiting centre. They all had ski masks on except for the Chinese, whom Karl presumed didn’t need one since he looked like the typical Chinese guy. Going to Chinatown would allow him to perfectly camouflage in with the crowd.
The Scot jabbed his finger at Karl and leered at him, ‘Feelin’ cocky today, aren’t chya?’
‘Well, it’s just that I don’t really have anyone to pay off the ransom. Don’t kidnappers do their homework before actually kidnapping? Like background checks or at least ask around or something. I’m sure my idiot pub buddies wouldn’t mind giving you that kind of information and we wouldn’t be in this bit of a hassle now, wouldn’t we? God, my nose fucking hurts.’
The Scot paused for a bit, thinking.
‘Och, yer bloody ‘ight,’ He said after rubbing his stubble for a while, ‘Wot do you reckon we do wit ya then?’
‘I suppose you could drop me off at work? And I suggest you kidnap my foreman, he’s a straight up wanker, no one likes him, and plus, his father is loaded. His old man is the head of the construction company, so getting his family to cough up wouldn’t be a problem.’
‘Eh? ‘Ow will we be gettin’ ‘im out den? It’s not like we can just fuckin’ march ‘ight in ‘n’ grab da lil fucker.’
‘Oh, don’t worry about that I got that covered.’
Karl paused for a bit, and then asked, ‘by the way, how come the Chinese guy is so quite the whole time? He’s so damn calm.’
‘Oh, Xiang Xiao? Lil fucker is deaf as- as- well, he’s just fuckin’ deaf, but he’s de only un who has a driver’s card. Used to be a ricer, yeh? Fuckin’ ace of a driver.’ Then he added, ‘And he doesn’t speak Brit, not dat he diddin learn it or nothin’, mind you, he just got un of those concussion dat render ‘im useless wit English… ‘E speaks Icelandic now, God knows why, he nev’r been to da bloody place.’
*****************
‘Hey Keith, some blokes are outside waiting to see you.’
‘The shite happen to your nose, Karl? Yeh, I really don’t fucking mind that you’re getting my carpet bloody, eh? Fucking twat, you’re cleaning that up with your tongue since I doubt you could buy this sort of good shite with your payroll.’
‘They say they got a surprise for you.’
The bloody carpet forgotten, Keith suddenly noticed Karl had something to say.
‘Eh? What kind of surprise?’ He asked, suddenly standing up and edging towards the door.
‘Well, it’s a bloody surprise, innit? I can’t tell you, it would ruin the whole fucking surprise, wouldn’t it?’
‘Don’t you give me attitude, you fucker, I’ll teach you who’s the boss around here, you little cunt. You’re fucked in the arse when I get back.’ Keith did a throat-slitting motion and then shuffled off greedily towards the door.
Karl heard a muffled scream a few seconds afterwards and that was the last he ever saw Keith again.

Don't Joke

‘Do you hear that?’

‘Hear what?’

‘Shhhhh, listen!’

The two men stopped their stroll through the shady neighbourhood and listened to the night air. The fatter of the two, Jim, froze and listened intently to the summer night air. Stan - they call him Stan the Man - nonchalantly flexed his arm, rushing the blood into the mosquito’s body, exploding the poor insect.

‘I don't hear anything,’ Jim said, after only hearing a few crickets chirp and a noise that sounded like a married couple in the nearby house arguing over a piss stain on the husband's underwear.

‘No, no,’ hissed Stan, ’ that other noise!’ and then cupped his ear to listen with sonar-like abilities, hearing something from what seemed to be nothing at all.

‘What other noise-’

‘Holy SHIT! I think they're on to us!’ Stan suddenly whispered very loudly; so loudly that it probably would not be considered whispering to anyone in a sane society.

Stan yelled in a non-whispering manner, ‘RUN! SHIT! RUN! They're following us!’ And he broke into a fast sprint towards the direction of nowhere in particular but probably away from whatever he was running away from. Jim, the blubbery man, glanced about, left and right and up and down with his chin fat flubbing after the direction a moment after, suddenly feared for his life, and tumbled after his slimmer friend.

‘Hey! Wait! Wait, the fuck up!’ huffed Jim as he pursued more than followed Stan in a rapid but soon to be short-lived burst of speed.

‘FASTER JIMBO! FASTER! They’re right behind you! QUICK! Follow me over the fences!’ hollered Stan who was easily lifting himself over the fence, and seemed to be getting farther and harder to hear for Jim.

Jim did not hear anyone chasing them, nor did he decide to look back for fear for his life. He was too frightened and out of breath to even consider the notion. He did not want to look back or else he might see some breathtaking thing chasing him. It was inevitable that he will be breathlessly dead if he looked back.

Stan had cleared the fence and was already urging Jim to hurry suit.

‘Quickly! OH FUCKING SHIT, I SEE HIM RIGHT BEHIND YOU,’ screamed Stan.

Jim was too busy spluttering and sucking in precious air to reply.

Jim, who was scared shitless, attempted to leap over the somewhat tall fence. Since, who knows? Amazing feats have been accomplished under stress, or when, as Jim was undoubtedly, scared shitless.

He leaped.

Time stopped momentarily and relatively for the two men as one of them was in midair.

And then the giant dough man crashed down on the fence.

Stan had a fleeting amused thought; did his friend actually think he could hop over a four-foot fence?

Either way, he quickly helped Jim to his feet, with quite a few levels of difficulty - Stan would add, if ever questioned - and encouraged the gasping Jim to continue the escape.

‘Come on! We almost lost them! Just through the clearing and- SHIT, SHIT, SHIT I can see them!’ panicked Stan loudly and suddenly off he went.

Jim, gasped and gasped and gasped as he picked himself up with great speed for an obese man of his size, and started to run/jog/roll towards the direction of Stan.

So he ran.

He ran harder than ever before.

Harder than that time when, back in grade six, his - possibly pedophile - gym teacher, had made him run for fear of after school - possibly sexual - punishments. Harder than the fence he relentlessly crushed some meters behind, and the fence was pretty hard; the wooden fence was reinforced more wooden planks for some unholy reason. He thought he might have scraped a knee but that hardly mattered since the pursuer sounded like he would do more then simply scrape Jim’s other knee. Like perhaps, scrape him away entirely.

And so he ran and ran as he could feel the safety getting closer and closer. So close, that he gasped one short, victorious - it seemed victorious to him - gasp and leaped through, or more precisely fell and rolled, into the clearing and everything was suddenly clear and safe but there was no air! So he gasped and gasped like a fish out of water.

He laid there gasping and felt his lung exploding and imploding over and over.

‘Hey, Jimbo, I was only joking, there wasn't actually anyone chasing us, haha. I sure got you, oh, I sure did,‘ laughed the slimmer man.

‘Gasp.’

‘Well, while I was waiting for you to get here, I got you a bottle of water, man you totally totalled that fence! Haha, I mean, sure, it was just a scrawny, wood fence but it got annihilated!’ Stan tossed the furiously, gasping sweaty blob on the ground a tightly screwed bottle of water.

‘Gasp, gasp, GASP,’ gasped Jim.

‘Haha, you should have seen the look on your face, man you were... Hey Jimbo? Hey, you alright?’

Jim, who abruptly stopped breathing, was not the least alright.

Not even mildly alright.

He was quite dead from a massive heart attack; the kind of heart attack that doctors would threaten their overweight patients with if they ever decided to brave a strenuous activity.

He was not alright at all.

huh, was i suppose to introduce myself first?

Right-o, mild-mannered kid right here. My name is Jessy, currently residing in Smaller America, Canada. So, you may know me, may not, but realize this: I'm simply here to publish some pieces and hopefully receive some constructive criticism *wink wink nudge nudge* on my short stories.

Maybe write a memoir, too.

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Haha kidding, frightened you there huh? You thought I was another one of those bloggers with their emo-esque complaints on life, eh? Well, I'm not familiar with the blogger stereotype so I wouldn't know.

Like.. seriously the stories are short. It's more short than story.

Still, I hope you enjoy it more than I pretend I don't.

Worst Day Scenario

I slammed my fists down on the roof of the worn Volkswagen and moaned for a period of time. I could hear some clanking inside the car, a sure sign of my car being broken beyond repair.

‘Worst day ever,’ I promised myself as I wiped bird excrement off my sore hand.

It just couldn’t get any worse. First thing this morning, I found out my girlfriend had broken up with me without notice. She just upped and left my life. Well, to be more precise, shut me out of the flat that we bought together but was in her name. It had seriously occurred to me as a good idea at the time. How was I supposed to know her dog was allergic to doggy treats? They’re for dogs for heaven’s sake. The only thing she left me were the clothes on my back and a crappy car. I didn’t include the maxed out credit card for obvious reasons.

So I drove. Drove far away to… okay, so I got lost. I also ran out of gas, so I pushed my car to a curb in a rather lifeless neighbourhood of duplexes. Naturally, I sat there moaning for quite some time before I got out and decided to go look for a gas station. I didn’t have anything to put the gas in so I ‘borrowed’ a watering bucket from some house and started to walk towards a major intersection. As I walked on, a pitiless officer gave my car a ticket. I swore out loud and started to run back before I thought better of it. The car was in her name anyways. So I continued to look for a gas station.

How I was going to pay for the gas, I had thought while filling up the bucket was beyond me since I didn’t have much on me except for a hundred dollar bill, but who wants to break a hundred? So I resorted to the only thing a person who didn’t want to break a hundred would do. I finished gassing the bucket and smoothly walked inside and punched the cashier unconscious. Then I ran, tripping along the way, out of the door and grabbed the bucket while spilling a fair amount onto my shoes.

So I ran the whole way back to my car, feeling the lactic acid building up in my muscles the whole way, and paused next to my car, taking a breather while looking down at a quarter full bucket of gas. It smelled like gas stations. Then I looked up, to which I yelled, ‘fuck!’

Some car was double parked and the catch was that it’s double parked next to me, promptly blocking my way out.

So here was where my story started, cursing and punching my car, when a really, ugly old man saw my pathetic figure sitting next to a bucket of gas. As I said, things couldn’t get any worse.

‘You, you smell like gas, sonny. Kids like you are the reason for ghettos,’ smirked the wrinkled bag of skin.

‘Yeah, well look, someone double parked me,’ I say as I point at my car. ‘Did you, by any chance, see the driver?’

‘Are you going to commit grand theft auto, son? I’m watching you, boy. I’m watching.’

‘No, I just need to get home.’

‘Eh? If I see you doing anything to that car… I’ll tell on you,’ he threatened.

‘Tell who?’

‘Mr. Johnson,’ he pointed at the duplex behind me, while continuing to leer at me.

‘Right.’ I flipped him off and went to knock on Johnson’s door.

I hear some shouting behind the door, and soon enough, a short, gruff man appeared and firmly told me to state what the fuck my business was.

I was tired by now. Too tired to bother with anyone’s bullshit.

‘Your car is double parking mine. It’s blocking my car.’

He glanced at it casually and gave me the same smirk the old man gave me, and then said, ‘So?’

‘So could you park elsewhere?’ I pointed at my wrist for added effect but for some reason I wasn’t wearing my watch today, so it invariably lessened the effect.

‘Yeah well, you can’t do much about it can you?’

This struck me as strange since he was smaller than me but it soon became clear a second after he struck me in the stomach quite hard. Then he kicked me down the steps and slammed the door shut.

I groaned and said, ‘fuck…’ to summarize my mental and physical pain to who ever was watching my painful day.

I rubbed my eyes open and felt the bump on my head.

Apparently I was out for quite some time because it was dark now.

Or some sort of eclipse was occurring.

Then I realized it wasn’t some eclipse.

It was a giant piece of cosmological rock, experiencing gravity for the first time on Earth, and coincidentally aimed directly at me.

‘My fucked up day just crapped on my face,’ I said aloud for anyone who was listening.

Things did get worse. A lot worse.

********************

‘And that’s how I got here.’ I say to Peter, the gatekeeper of heaven.

‘Hey buddy, don’t lie, I got your records here.’ He raises an eyebrow. ‘Hello? This is my line of work, buddy, figuring out how you died and what you did wrong is my business. I know you died of strangulation by your girlfriend because you fed her dog a shoe. Like seriously? A shoe? You’re lucky I’m going send you back to Earth because you’re so stupid. Go to school or something.’

I stare at him then decide to give a final effort to get into heaven.

‘C’mon!’

‘Sorry, you should know by now you don’t get pity points for lying.’

Then he ejected my soul into space, where I floated a millennium to Earth where I found out it became a volcanic world due to global warming.