Creative Commons License
This work is licenced under a Creative Commons Licence.

Friday, September 12, 2014

The Middle Section

Creative Commons License
This work is licenced under a Creative Commons Licence.

 Last week I had to write the first 500 words of a story.
This week I'm writing the middle section, another 500 words, to somebody else's story.
I'm following on with Ryanjamesblack's story 'The End of the World according to Bill, Gus and Harry.'
If this is confusing you, head over to and all will become clear.

I should add that Ryan's story is very different to my usual stuff, so it's been quite a challenge to try and do it justice:

The End of the World According to Bill, Gus, and Harry


Three men stand around a table.
They were seated a moment ago, but sit no longer because each of their chairs toppled as they leapt up and pulled out their guns.
Gus’s gun is a Heckler & Koch HK45 semi-automatic pistol that he scavenged out of a pawn shop display case. He has no idea how to use it. It’s pointing in the general direction of Bill’s head.
Bill’s gun is a .357 Magnum that in actuality is not a gun at all. It’s a movie prop. A replica. A rather poor one at that. Regardless of its realness, it’s pointing dead center at Harry’s chest.
Harry’s gun is not a gun at all. Not even a replica. It’s a hand grenade he dug out of the WWII display at his local history museum. It’s a real grenade, but unbeknownst to Harry, a dud. He’s waving it at Gus, the way a Priest might brandish a crucifix towards a vampire.
What’s got these three a-holes wound so tightly? Ready to kill?
Each of them blame the other for the end of the World.
Actually, the end of the human race, I suppose, is more accurate. The World remains. The Starbucks, the Wal-marts, the McDonalds, they’re all still there. Mossy, rank with rotten food, and chalked full of wildlife, but still there. It’s the people that are gone. POOF! All of them. All except for Bill, Gus, and Harry.
I know this because I did it.
I did it, but don’t misunderstand. I’m not responsible. No. One of them is responsible. Bill, Gus, or Harry. One of them summoned me.
Who am I? Well, I have lots of names. Leviathan the Dimension Devourer, the Merciless Void, the Infinite Gaping Pustule, the Fathomless Grotesque. The list goes on and on. You can just call me Levi.
Like the jeans.
Before I take us back to the Gassy Narwhal Pub & Eatery, to the Mexican stand-off between these giant turd sandwiches, let me explain, how in the big empty world, they managed to find each other.
Bill, Gus, and Harry each checked their email…

This is an automated message from Sir/Madam, your profile indicates that you are seeking a female, ages 21 – 45 as a friend/hook-up/mate. Regrettably, all 3,742,567 Soulmatch profiles save the following 3 have expired due to dormancy:
Gus, age 23 – “Whassup ladies? I don’t wanna brag, but a chick once told me if you fed George Clooney, Brad Pitt, some hair gel, and a can of orange paint through a wood chipper, I’d be what comes out the other end. She maced me, but it was totally a flirty kinda macing. Interested?”
Bill, age 37 – “My Mother’s making me do this”
Harry, age 52 – “Hello. I am a recent divorcee who is anxious to climb back up on the horse. Not that I’m saying you’re a horse. Whoever you are. I’m sure you’re extremely un-horse-like. Also, I didn’t mean to imply I’d be climbing up on you. Unless you want me to. Ha ha ha. Please inbox me. Please?”
Would you like to adjust your sexual preference?

That awkward email led to some awkward online chatter, which eventually led to their face-to- face-to-face sit down/stand up, which led to their weapons being shoved in said faces.
I’m not getting involved here.
I may be an all-powerful, interstellar deity, but I don’t actually know who’s responsible for summoning me any more than you. All I know, is one instant I was slumbering soundly outside space and time, the next I was gorging myself on an all you can eat buffet of human life force.
One of them did it. Ended the World.
Which means, strangely enough, that two of them are completely innocent. How did those two avoid my intergalactic digestive tract? Well, that’s a bit of a noodle scratcher also.
Bill, Gus, or Harry?
One of them did it. The question is, which one?
Let’s return to the Gassy Narwhal.
Harry’s finger just wormed its way into the grenade pin.
Gus has five and a half pounds of finger pressure on a six pound trigger, and he’s about to sneeze.
Bill has had to pee for the last four hours. He’s about to say something stupid.
Let’s see how this plays out.

------------------------------------------------------ Now for my bit--------------------------------------

Gus sneezes, he has an explosive sneeze, the kind that makes dogs bark and cats yowl. His finger pulls the trigger and absolutely nothing happens. It seems like Gus doesn't know you need to put bullets in first. The other two have dived to the floor but now they're embarrassed and get slowly to their feet. Bill speaks.
'Now I definitely gotta pee. Stay right there.'

He heads for the door, but it opens before he reaches it as the most incredible piece of Gorgeousness sashays into the bar. I can't imagine what the gormless trio think but this girl is a red-head, my favourite kind. Her hair cascades down over her shoulders, her breasts are capable of independent motion; she has a waist so small it's hardly there at all and hips that cry out for hands to grab hold of and pull towards you.

I'm generally sleepy after a meal but suddenly blood is racing through every vein in my body and every artery too, my heart is skipping around my chest and my hands tingle and shake.

The guys must be feeling something similar because they're transfixed apart from the drool running down Harry's chin.
'Hi fellas. Y'all got my email then?
She smiles then turns her gaze on me.
I don't recall invitin' you Sweetie, but you're welcome to the party. My name is Lilith. Now if any of you boys read your Bible lessons, that name'll mean something to you. Does it?'
Lilith's eyes pierce each man in turn.

'You were Adam's wife, weren't you?' Harry mumbles.

'Correction! That worthless piece of trash thought he was my husband.'
Her eyes turn molten gold.
'He was utterly contemptible and it was an insult to try and mate him to me.'

'You're awful pretty' says Bill, his eyes on stalks
'Have you come to meet me?'

'I certainly have Sugar.'
Lilith purrs and I can see a leopard's tail swaying below her skirt.
'And you other two Precious boys, of course.'

Harry and Gus preen and glare at Bill.

'Now why don't we go upstairs where we can be comfortable....and away from the big Slob by the bar.'
I know she means me and I'm stung by her dislike. I move to reproach her gently, but I'm frozen to the spot. I can only watch as Lilith shoos her pets up to the first floor.

Once she's left the room I try to follow, I can move now but only in real slow motion. It takes me ten minutes to make it to the upturned chairs. My progress is accompanied by the sound of creaking bed-springs and cries that may be blissful but sound more like agony. I start sweating. I realise Lilith is killing those poor guys. I don't know why I feel protective but I want to save them, although she certainly has a body worth dying for.

Now it's gone quiet. Are Gus, Bill and Harry dead? I can hear Lilith padding across the room overhead. She's headed for the stairs. I think she's coming for me.

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