This is the first chapter in a novel that I am presently working on. Come this July I will be graduating high school and have decided spending my time writing a novel. The novel is a revenge / redemption novel. Now I must warn that the contents might be a good deal graphic, but that is only because I'm attempting to give the main character a real reason to seek revenge but in the end ultimately figures out his redemption. Its a little hard to understand but will make sense later on in the book.
A Trail of Vice and Virtue: Working Title
Chapter 1: To judge a man
???????? As people we are all a set of dormant wicks waiting for that one partner who will beget a spark of beautiful illuminating warmth we call love. We bath and bask in its array of glistening sunshine that draws out the best in our world and us. This undying desire that burns in the pit of our soul that almost beckons us to be with that individual for almost all of eternity. Yet ... is this undying desire truly undying? Like every candle does the flame not lose its potency and the core of wax grow cold till once again it is dormant and once again we are alone.
???????? In the thick of the brush that I sit, I do nothing but ponder these thoughts. My back leaned heavy against the mighty stature of pine as once more my bitter sulking thirst is quenched again by the contents within this Jack Daniel's bottle. It is amazing how easily one can find comfort it what he drinks. With each sip I become even more intoxicated, every more bit inebriated to the point where I doubt that I could even stand if I wanted to.
???????? My head falls backward as my eyes dance across a sky losing its color and cascaded in a blanket of stars. I should be returning home, I should be going back to a town where I am the law, but in this sky I find serenity. In this sky I find one moment of peace in a life that's threads are slowly being severed to the point where you have nothing left to love and nothing left to lose.
???I can feel myself drifting further and further from the shore of consciousness, drug out by the undertow of alcohol that churns in my stomach. These eyes of mine becoming heavier each instant to the point where as much as I would love to look, looking no longer becomes something that I love. Dazzled by the dizziness that consumes me I feel that it serves me best if I give in to these feelings and allow myself to be overtaken by slumber.
???While my eyes adjust themselves to my waking state my nose catches wind the potent and under normal circumstances foreign smell that fills itself into my nasal passages. The smell of a thick, heavy, smoke fills the aroma around me. At any normal time any other sent would be overcome by that Christmas inspiring sent of pine. A panic is sent racing through my heart as I scramble to my feet, the first attempt at standing faulted by a few fumbles as I tumble to the ground. That bottle that was clenched in my left hand now finds itself hurled against the side of a tree as it shatters into a million pieces.
???Around the base of a tree my arms quickly lock, using its sturdy nature to force myself upward to a balanced state. The effects of my choice of drink still remain in my system as I struggle to find my horse, Brimstone, that faithful companion of mine almost dear to me as my wife and son. The woods are so shadowed in darkness that I can barely spot his dark coat of jet black bristled hair that blends almost perfectly with the thick wood. If not for the glistening of his deep saddened animal eyes I would have had no luck making him out.
???Using all the strength and equilibrium that I have remained in my body at the moment I force myself to prop up upon the magnificent animal. My hands taking hold of the reins as my feet find there way their stirrups. In an instant I force my foot backward, driving that sharp spur on the end of my boots right in side of that powerful animal. Quickly the animal makes haste as we are sent speeding through the woods.
???????? A trip that normally would seem like no passage of time at all now seems to be more of an eternity as each familiar stone, bush, and trench which would normally navigate one home by just being landmarks, now becomes frightening obstacles that at any second could propel a man hurling to his death.
???????? It is absolutely amazing how at night the world seems to take on a different life. Almost as if the world has crossed over to a different plain of existing and the world we are part of no longer is the world we are on. Each hard leap that my steed makes becomes more and more frightening that if it does not sense that gully coming we shall surely topple over.
???????? My eyes are slightly dizzied by the quick speed of Brimstone as he gallops harder and harder until we finally reach the end of the forest. I am not sure if it is the alcohol in my system, or if it's the hellfire of Lucifer himself but the intense bright light of the towers of fire engulfing the church and Michael's General Store seems almost unrealistic. Could this truly be a dream? The curding horrific belting screams of the town, my friends, my family, the people I am supposed to protect feel in my gut to be all too real.
???????? In plain sight before me there are already ten bodies: Thomas Gump, Andrew MacDuff, Andrea Dixon, Henry Schmid, Bobby Hudden, William Herst, Brandon O'Mally, Christopher Adams, and two children who's faces are so mutilated, they are completely unrecognizable. These are not bodies, but friends dampening the dry earth with the crimson pools of their essence.
???????? I squint my eyes just a tad to make out at least ten white suited figures in the distance. Placed against the backdrop of the pitch-black carpet, night, and the pyre, these foreign white clothed figures stand out like blood in the snow, sinister angels from the days of old out seeking vengeance for the almighty. In the middle of all this horror I stand, watching, attempting to make sense of it all until in a huge crack and sudden pain stream into the back of my skull and with that it goes completely black.
???The first thing I take note of is the pounding headache that has consumed my mind. It pressure sending a heaving sensation to certain points of my body. The throbbing is so striking it almost hinders my ability to open my eyes. But slowly I manage as I awaken and with a glance realize the cause of that bodily pressure. I now find myself with my arms outstretched, bound by the forearms, feet, and chest by a thick rope. Looking around I notice that I have been taken to the town square, strapped to large cross that once hung in the church, fragments of Christ riddling the dirt. The cross now seemingly propped up, sitting in a well that had recently begun construction.
???????? As my eyes adjust from their dazed blur, they become fixated on a vision of a man who's presented before me. He appears a bit taller and slender then most men. Dressed in a finely tailored white suit and a thick white veil that conceals his face to me.? While stepping closer forward, those arms make their ascent up towards his head as his reedy fingers begin making short work of the knot that holds that powdered colored handkerchief to his face. Leisurely he drops it; by his relaxed will allowing it to flutter gracefully like a cleaved dove's wing to the blood soaked soil beneath his feet.
???????? Upon closer inspection, with help from the fa?ade that has been lifted, I am now able to make out the strong details upon his being. The most noticeable to my eyes when the fire before him cracks and the sparks illuminate his face is that of the boyish allure to his face. He has to be no older then that of 19 just by the looks of him, with those deep blue eyes, that soft smile, and that fair blonde hair. It amazes me that someone as gentle in appearance as this could possibly complete the heinous crimes that he has committed.
???????? Then again we are always taught at a young age to not believe everything we see. For appearances can be deceiving as we are not completely in control of the fate of our faces. In the womb we have no choice or power as what to we will look like. To judge a man by his face is to judge yourself by the measure of your own ignorance.
???????? He peers almost through my soul with a stare that would come from an animal in a deadlock of eye contact in which to show his dominance as the alpha male. His full lips casually begin to move as he speaks in a cocky but almost soft-spoken tone. "John Wyatt."
???????? Puzzled I look at him, slightly confused by the fact that he knew my name. Under normal circumstances I would have attributed that knowledge to the golden sheriff badge which usually graces my name upon it, but at the moment that is concealed by my long brown coat. Quickly I snap back at him becoming more angry and irritated. "Why?"
???????? "Why what?"
???????? "What do you mean "Why?" Why have you done this?"
???????? "I have my reasons."
???????? "What reasons?"
???????? "Your own blatant ignorance is the reason for your downfall. This entire situation could have easily been avoided, never created, but you screwed up didn't you? It's your fault. All of this, every single death in this God damn miserable town is your entire fault. Why? For your failure to perform your duty, your obligations in life and now you will witness another tragedy that will be your fault."
???????? Baffling, frustrating, those are only the expressions that force themselves onto my face to what this stranger has said. Just as I cannot place the man, neither can I truly place what he is saying. Is it this dizzied drunken state, or am I far to emotionally charge for any form of rational thought to blaze a path through my consciousness grasp that concept which he trying put forth.
???????? While attempting to contemplate all that he has forced forth onto my plate, behind the fixed position that has me in bondage I can hear a familiar scream, the scream of my wife, Jessica. Two similarly dressed behemoth sized figures slowly drag her out into my field of vision as they hold onto the shackles attached to her arms. Her toes ravaging the soil in a vein attempt that she might stop moving, but nevertheless they drag her so that she is directly in front of me. Beautiful blue orbs reduced to streaming painful rivers of salted turmoil, which instill in me almost every thought and emotion racing through her frame. With just the sight of her I myself find that I begin to cry. Never before have I ever felt our bond as husband and wife so strongly as the torment on her face feeds my discomfort.
???????? Before I can even realize it two more men bring out my five-year-old son Jonathan. He is shackled similarly to Jessica, but instead of draped in chains his arms adorn long strands of thick rope. The best son a father could ever hope for. Innocence so young and fragile his pleas for help curdle the bottom of my stomach so greatly that I accidentally vomit all over myself.
???????? "You disgust me." He blurts out after watching me throw up half that Jack Daniel's all over that blue cotton buttoned up shirt. "How could anyone ever love such a disgusting vermin as you John Wyatt?" the fair haired stranger says as he approaches Jessica crouching down a bit so that he is in direct eye contact with her, that left hand of his snapping sharply to slap her across the cheek like that of a spur driving into a steed. The right grabbing between the middle of her dress, yanking it with one forceful tear so that those full breasts of hers are completely exposed.? She tries her hardest to resist his touch but the two large men at her sides grab her by the arms so that she has no chance at foiling his advances. With each passing minute more and more of her dress is removed as he just laughs hysterically, manically-a man gone mad. His hands going at his waist to release that manhood of his as he drives it into my wife, turning her into an adulterer. What normally is an act of love, shared between two caring partners and which results in the ultimate conception of beauty becomes nothing but misery. Plagued with agony she screams out for help, my son watching in what must destroying his mental capacity to function and I am nothing but helpless.
???????? Harder and harder I attempt to free myself from my prison. At the moment of what would be his ejaculation he takes the pistol from his side and brings it level to the forehead of my caring Jessica. Outstretching that arm, forcing that barrel to be buried into the flesh of her head. In an instant, no thought, no hesitation, no compassion, nothing but primal disgusting instinct and wicked nature engraved into his being he pulls the trigger. My eyes growing even more blinded by my own liquid sadness and I and my son watch the evil true that is my wife's brain exploding out the back of her skull.
???????? Using my own weight I throw myself back and forth, attempting to topple this cross over in hopes that it should fracture and hopefully I may stop this horror. But as I am doing so he motions his hand over to the men by my son with a gesture. They begin to tie the ropes attached to Jonathan's forearms to the saddle of their horses. With each one of their actions, anger, adrenaline, vengeance pump through out my entire body as I swing faster and faster in hopes to throw myself over. The closer and closer I get to pitching onto the earth the faster they move as they head onto their horses.
???????? In one final action that would take all essences of humanity away from my existence forever they kick into their steeds, driving those beasts to trudge faster and faster. The faster they move the shorter the rope becomes before in one foul swoop that will forever be burned into my mind all most as vividly as the rape and execution of my wife, they drag the line into separate directions with my son in the middle. Jonathan's small five-year-old arms popping as delicately as a butterfly in May between the instant strain of the two lies as he is raised into the air and plummets like a rock, his now armless frame slumps to ground. Like a call from a banshee his young screeches fill the sky for a thousand miles as he gets nothing but louder in his hurt. The black hearts of the men seem to show no remorse as one of them simply turns around and runs his horse over Jonathan's skull like it were a mere apple.
to throw myself over onto the ground forward, the wind being knocked right out of me as I land directly on my stomach. My hopes of attempting to shatter the cross become shattered themselves as it rings true that I have done no damage to nothing but myself. The two men who helped the fair haired stranger rape my wife take each arm of the cross and flip it over until I am on my back, once more gazing out onto the sky above for the second time this night. Where I once found peace and serenity I find nothing but restlessness and a feeling of prevention to my escape.
???????? The fair-haired white suited man makes his way on top of me. Standing up, his legs straddle me, my legs between him as his pistol is exposed to my chest at a distance. With all the words racing through my head it seems that I can not hear his, only figure out the movements of his mouth which appear to compose of "Goodnight" as that index finger plucks that trigger like harp playing a soothing lullaby with my eyes growing dark and a burning sensation in my chest-I slip into a world of forever ending rest.
A Trail of Vice and Virtue: Working Title
Chapter 1: To judge a man
???????? As people we are all a set of dormant wicks waiting for that one partner who will beget a spark of beautiful illuminating warmth we call love. We bath and bask in its array of glistening sunshine that draws out the best in our world and us. This undying desire that burns in the pit of our soul that almost beckons us to be with that individual for almost all of eternity. Yet ... is this undying desire truly undying? Like every candle does the flame not lose its potency and the core of wax grow cold till once again it is dormant and once again we are alone.
???????? In the thick of the brush that I sit, I do nothing but ponder these thoughts. My back leaned heavy against the mighty stature of pine as once more my bitter sulking thirst is quenched again by the contents within this Jack Daniel's bottle. It is amazing how easily one can find comfort it what he drinks. With each sip I become even more intoxicated, every more bit inebriated to the point where I doubt that I could even stand if I wanted to.
???????? My head falls backward as my eyes dance across a sky losing its color and cascaded in a blanket of stars. I should be returning home, I should be going back to a town where I am the law, but in this sky I find serenity. In this sky I find one moment of peace in a life that's threads are slowly being severed to the point where you have nothing left to love and nothing left to lose.
???I can feel myself drifting further and further from the shore of consciousness, drug out by the undertow of alcohol that churns in my stomach. These eyes of mine becoming heavier each instant to the point where as much as I would love to look, looking no longer becomes something that I love. Dazzled by the dizziness that consumes me I feel that it serves me best if I give in to these feelings and allow myself to be overtaken by slumber.
???While my eyes adjust themselves to my waking state my nose catches wind the potent and under normal circumstances foreign smell that fills itself into my nasal passages. The smell of a thick, heavy, smoke fills the aroma around me. At any normal time any other sent would be overcome by that Christmas inspiring sent of pine. A panic is sent racing through my heart as I scramble to my feet, the first attempt at standing faulted by a few fumbles as I tumble to the ground. That bottle that was clenched in my left hand now finds itself hurled against the side of a tree as it shatters into a million pieces.
???Around the base of a tree my arms quickly lock, using its sturdy nature to force myself upward to a balanced state. The effects of my choice of drink still remain in my system as I struggle to find my horse, Brimstone, that faithful companion of mine almost dear to me as my wife and son. The woods are so shadowed in darkness that I can barely spot his dark coat of jet black bristled hair that blends almost perfectly with the thick wood. If not for the glistening of his deep saddened animal eyes I would have had no luck making him out.
???Using all the strength and equilibrium that I have remained in my body at the moment I force myself to prop up upon the magnificent animal. My hands taking hold of the reins as my feet find there way their stirrups. In an instant I force my foot backward, driving that sharp spur on the end of my boots right in side of that powerful animal. Quickly the animal makes haste as we are sent speeding through the woods.
???????? A trip that normally would seem like no passage of time at all now seems to be more of an eternity as each familiar stone, bush, and trench which would normally navigate one home by just being landmarks, now becomes frightening obstacles that at any second could propel a man hurling to his death.
???????? It is absolutely amazing how at night the world seems to take on a different life. Almost as if the world has crossed over to a different plain of existing and the world we are part of no longer is the world we are on. Each hard leap that my steed makes becomes more and more frightening that if it does not sense that gully coming we shall surely topple over.
???????? My eyes are slightly dizzied by the quick speed of Brimstone as he gallops harder and harder until we finally reach the end of the forest. I am not sure if it is the alcohol in my system, or if it's the hellfire of Lucifer himself but the intense bright light of the towers of fire engulfing the church and Michael's General Store seems almost unrealistic. Could this truly be a dream? The curding horrific belting screams of the town, my friends, my family, the people I am supposed to protect feel in my gut to be all too real.
???????? In plain sight before me there are already ten bodies: Thomas Gump, Andrew MacDuff, Andrea Dixon, Henry Schmid, Bobby Hudden, William Herst, Brandon O'Mally, Christopher Adams, and two children who's faces are so mutilated, they are completely unrecognizable. These are not bodies, but friends dampening the dry earth with the crimson pools of their essence.
???????? I squint my eyes just a tad to make out at least ten white suited figures in the distance. Placed against the backdrop of the pitch-black carpet, night, and the pyre, these foreign white clothed figures stand out like blood in the snow, sinister angels from the days of old out seeking vengeance for the almighty. In the middle of all this horror I stand, watching, attempting to make sense of it all until in a huge crack and sudden pain stream into the back of my skull and with that it goes completely black.
???The first thing I take note of is the pounding headache that has consumed my mind. It pressure sending a heaving sensation to certain points of my body. The throbbing is so striking it almost hinders my ability to open my eyes. But slowly I manage as I awaken and with a glance realize the cause of that bodily pressure. I now find myself with my arms outstretched, bound by the forearms, feet, and chest by a thick rope. Looking around I notice that I have been taken to the town square, strapped to large cross that once hung in the church, fragments of Christ riddling the dirt. The cross now seemingly propped up, sitting in a well that had recently begun construction.
???????? As my eyes adjust from their dazed blur, they become fixated on a vision of a man who's presented before me. He appears a bit taller and slender then most men. Dressed in a finely tailored white suit and a thick white veil that conceals his face to me.? While stepping closer forward, those arms make their ascent up towards his head as his reedy fingers begin making short work of the knot that holds that powdered colored handkerchief to his face. Leisurely he drops it; by his relaxed will allowing it to flutter gracefully like a cleaved dove's wing to the blood soaked soil beneath his feet.
???????? Upon closer inspection, with help from the fa?ade that has been lifted, I am now able to make out the strong details upon his being. The most noticeable to my eyes when the fire before him cracks and the sparks illuminate his face is that of the boyish allure to his face. He has to be no older then that of 19 just by the looks of him, with those deep blue eyes, that soft smile, and that fair blonde hair. It amazes me that someone as gentle in appearance as this could possibly complete the heinous crimes that he has committed.
???????? Then again we are always taught at a young age to not believe everything we see. For appearances can be deceiving as we are not completely in control of the fate of our faces. In the womb we have no choice or power as what to we will look like. To judge a man by his face is to judge yourself by the measure of your own ignorance.
???????? He peers almost through my soul with a stare that would come from an animal in a deadlock of eye contact in which to show his dominance as the alpha male. His full lips casually begin to move as he speaks in a cocky but almost soft-spoken tone. "John Wyatt."
???????? Puzzled I look at him, slightly confused by the fact that he knew my name. Under normal circumstances I would have attributed that knowledge to the golden sheriff badge which usually graces my name upon it, but at the moment that is concealed by my long brown coat. Quickly I snap back at him becoming more angry and irritated. "Why?"
???????? "Why what?"
???????? "What do you mean "Why?" Why have you done this?"
???????? "I have my reasons."
???????? "What reasons?"
???????? "Your own blatant ignorance is the reason for your downfall. This entire situation could have easily been avoided, never created, but you screwed up didn't you? It's your fault. All of this, every single death in this God damn miserable town is your entire fault. Why? For your failure to perform your duty, your obligations in life and now you will witness another tragedy that will be your fault."
???????? Baffling, frustrating, those are only the expressions that force themselves onto my face to what this stranger has said. Just as I cannot place the man, neither can I truly place what he is saying. Is it this dizzied drunken state, or am I far to emotionally charge for any form of rational thought to blaze a path through my consciousness grasp that concept which he trying put forth.
???????? While attempting to contemplate all that he has forced forth onto my plate, behind the fixed position that has me in bondage I can hear a familiar scream, the scream of my wife, Jessica. Two similarly dressed behemoth sized figures slowly drag her out into my field of vision as they hold onto the shackles attached to her arms. Her toes ravaging the soil in a vein attempt that she might stop moving, but nevertheless they drag her so that she is directly in front of me. Beautiful blue orbs reduced to streaming painful rivers of salted turmoil, which instill in me almost every thought and emotion racing through her frame. With just the sight of her I myself find that I begin to cry. Never before have I ever felt our bond as husband and wife so strongly as the torment on her face feeds my discomfort.
???????? Before I can even realize it two more men bring out my five-year-old son Jonathan. He is shackled similarly to Jessica, but instead of draped in chains his arms adorn long strands of thick rope. The best son a father could ever hope for. Innocence so young and fragile his pleas for help curdle the bottom of my stomach so greatly that I accidentally vomit all over myself.
???????? "You disgust me." He blurts out after watching me throw up half that Jack Daniel's all over that blue cotton buttoned up shirt. "How could anyone ever love such a disgusting vermin as you John Wyatt?" the fair haired stranger says as he approaches Jessica crouching down a bit so that he is in direct eye contact with her, that left hand of his snapping sharply to slap her across the cheek like that of a spur driving into a steed. The right grabbing between the middle of her dress, yanking it with one forceful tear so that those full breasts of hers are completely exposed.? She tries her hardest to resist his touch but the two large men at her sides grab her by the arms so that she has no chance at foiling his advances. With each passing minute more and more of her dress is removed as he just laughs hysterically, manically-a man gone mad. His hands going at his waist to release that manhood of his as he drives it into my wife, turning her into an adulterer. What normally is an act of love, shared between two caring partners and which results in the ultimate conception of beauty becomes nothing but misery. Plagued with agony she screams out for help, my son watching in what must destroying his mental capacity to function and I am nothing but helpless.
???????? Harder and harder I attempt to free myself from my prison. At the moment of what would be his ejaculation he takes the pistol from his side and brings it level to the forehead of my caring Jessica. Outstretching that arm, forcing that barrel to be buried into the flesh of her head. In an instant, no thought, no hesitation, no compassion, nothing but primal disgusting instinct and wicked nature engraved into his being he pulls the trigger. My eyes growing even more blinded by my own liquid sadness and I and my son watch the evil true that is my wife's brain exploding out the back of her skull.
???????? Using my own weight I throw myself back and forth, attempting to topple this cross over in hopes that it should fracture and hopefully I may stop this horror. But as I am doing so he motions his hand over to the men by my son with a gesture. They begin to tie the ropes attached to Jonathan's forearms to the saddle of their horses. With each one of their actions, anger, adrenaline, vengeance pump through out my entire body as I swing faster and faster in hopes to throw myself over. The closer and closer I get to pitching onto the earth the faster they move as they head onto their horses.
???????? In one final action that would take all essences of humanity away from my existence forever they kick into their steeds, driving those beasts to trudge faster and faster. The faster they move the shorter the rope becomes before in one foul swoop that will forever be burned into my mind all most as vividly as the rape and execution of my wife, they drag the line into separate directions with my son in the middle. Jonathan's small five-year-old arms popping as delicately as a butterfly in May between the instant strain of the two lies as he is raised into the air and plummets like a rock, his now armless frame slumps to ground. Like a call from a banshee his young screeches fill the sky for a thousand miles as he gets nothing but louder in his hurt. The black hearts of the men seem to show no remorse as one of them simply turns around and runs his horse over Jonathan's skull like it were a mere apple.
to throw myself over onto the ground forward, the wind being knocked right out of me as I land directly on my stomach. My hopes of attempting to shatter the cross become shattered themselves as it rings true that I have done no damage to nothing but myself. The two men who helped the fair haired stranger rape my wife take each arm of the cross and flip it over until I am on my back, once more gazing out onto the sky above for the second time this night. Where I once found peace and serenity I find nothing but restlessness and a feeling of prevention to my escape.
???????? The fair-haired white suited man makes his way on top of me. Standing up, his legs straddle me, my legs between him as his pistol is exposed to my chest at a distance. With all the words racing through my head it seems that I can not hear his, only figure out the movements of his mouth which appear to compose of "Goodnight" as that index finger plucks that trigger like harp playing a soothing lullaby with my eyes growing dark and a burning sensation in my chest-I slip into a world of forever ending rest.
