GrimNorth

Here's this months offering - Old Wounds 1319 words Elements used: Theme: Obsessions Character: The Monster Location: Railroad TracksLine: 'In walked an one eyed stranger...' Enjoy!

Fire from the crash licked up towards the night sky, raging despite the downpour. Wet debris that was once a train littered the Badlands, forming a jagged maze of twisted metal and wood amongst the dunes. Men both dead and stirring were scattered like worms in the earth. One man awoke with grim purpose. The Guild Marshal groggily pushed upwards, the flaming plank on his back slid off onto the ground. His men were all dead, probably, but that did not matter. Surveying the wreckage with his one good eye he reached for his hat and his firearm, the only two important things he had left, but before he could take hold of the hilt and brim a noise caused him to stop. A sickly laugh rose above the flames. ‘Blow me down, boy. You is obsessed’ a man with too much swagger for someone bleeding from the head walked into view. ‘Last time I saw you was falling off that ravine. How the hell did you survive that? I thought you was dead for sure that time’ He was ragged with a wiry moustache that twisted off at odd angles. His cheek had been branded with the mark of the guild. ‘All these years you been chasin’ little old me. All those times you came so close, hell you even bombed the damn train’ the outlaw slowly brought up a stolen peacebringer ‘For it to end like this, wit you staring down the barrel of your own gun’ Staring back the Marshal’s eyes narrowed and his teeth clenched. He showed no fear; only rage. The laugh came again, this time with a screech. ‘But I don’t wanna kill you, boy. You wanna know why? Cus you just so damn entertainin’ After a failed arrest attempt on Jack ‘The Coyote’ Hanson the Marshal’s life had become a twisted mire of murder and folly. Brutal revenge had been sought on both sides over the years. The vendetta had taken everything from him; his morals, his family, his eye. ‘Don’t forget your lovely wife’ Jack’s tongue brushed against matted hair as he licked his lips. She gives me a look that I will never forget; a look that tells me we will always be together. This wild woman that I share my life with crawls under the sheets. In a whisper so faint it almost shatters she tells me that we will always be together, and I believe her. Gunshots began to sound in the darkness. ‘Listen to that. That’s my men killing your men. Or your men killing my men. But that don’t make much difference now does it? No, what matters is this. What matters is the two of us’ Jack bent down, gun still trained on the seething Marshal. Picking up the hat Jack placed it on his own head. ‘This here a mighty fine hat, boy. Fits me like a glove; isn’t the first thing of yours that does.’ A confused memory of rage flashed through the Marshal’s waking mind; the memory of coming home and finding his wife rent asunder. If he could still produce tears they would surely flow now. Jack looked down on the fallen gun and with a snort he kicked it over to him. ‘No fun killing an unarmed man’ Jack snarled. The Marshal slowly picked up the gun and with a firm grip steadied himself to his feet. A rallying call sounded in the darkness and guild rifles blasted through flesh and sand; some of the Marshal’s men had survived at least. The thought of his men at his side strengthened the Marshal’s resolve. ‘How long’s it been, boy? Two, three years?’ every time Jack called him boy his anger spiked like a hot needle to the skull. It had been five years that the hunt had endured and it was going to end this day one way or another, under the pouring sky. A man wearing ex-con stripes charged from the darkness and aimed a six shooter at the Marshal. Rolling forward the Marshal let off a shot at the convict, felling him instantly. Steadying in a crouching position the Marshal grabbed a fist full of wet sand and heaved it towards Jack. Distracted by deflecting the projectile with both hands Jack was too slow to react as the Marshal called out to his men. A trio of bullets whipped from the darkness towards Jack, one bullet finding a mark and embedding in his arm. The Marshal followed up with another shot, this one sundering Jack’s shoulder and felling him to the ground. Muscles tensed and mad eye glaring he began to approach Jack, a terrible violence within him that longed to be let free. I hate it when we argue; we don’t do it often, but when we do its bad. Spit flies from her mouth as she screams at me, telling me it’s none of my business. Of course it’s my business, if she is found out I would be fired at best, hanged at worst. But that is not what bothers me, it’s what they would do to her. I grab the cursed book out of her hands and storm out of the door. The screams of guild guardsmen rose and fell. The Marshal stood, arm shaking but aim still true. ‘I admire you, you know’ Jack shuffled in the dirt and uneasily leaned on his elbow ‘You just keep hittin’ back don’tcha?’ Jack spat on the floor. ‘But you ain’t never gonna win’. The guardsmen in the darkness had fallen silent. Several convicts stepped out from the darkness, not a Guild Guard in sight. Jack gave the nod from the ground and the gunslingers drew. Shots hammered into the Marshal’s gut doubling him over. Before he could right himself the brigands were on top of him, punching and kicking him to the ground. Grunting, Jack got up and waved his brigands away. The battered marshal lay still. Jack picked up an arm and dragged him through the dirt. ‘The Vultures will eat well tonight’ Jack pulled the Marshal along to the train tracks, his men following. ‘This is gonna end now, as entertaining as you are, I just feel sorry for you’ Yanking him up Jack used his foot to position his head on one of the cold iron tracks. Rust rubbed off onto the marshal’s cheek and teeth. ‘When an animal is a damaged as you the best thing to do is put it out of its misery. It’s cruel to keep it alive’, Jack raised his boot ‘And I aint no monster’ his boot smashed into the back of the marshals neck, dislocating his jaw and spine. The lifeless body of the Marshal slumped to the ground. I open my eyes to see her standing over me. The bed is soft but it affords no comfort. The last I remember is the gunshot and the sucking pain in my chest. There is no pain anymore, I feel absolutely nothing. She turns another page of the book whispers something I do not catch. I move my arm, is it my arm? It feels different somehow. Stroking my head she says we will always be together, and I believe her. Jack holstered his gun and walked away with his men. They did not notice the dead marshal twitch, stir and slowly bring himself to his feet. With a sickly crack he righted his jaw. ‘Jack’ He got his attention without shouting. Wide eyed, Jack turned around; for once he was speechless. It made sense almost immediately as Jack was sure he killed the marshal on so many occasions. Jack’s men, seeing the dead man rise, fled into the Badlands. ‘You’re right, Jack. You are not the monster’ the undead Marshal with no name stood to his full height. ‘I am’ Guns holstered the two figures stood facing each other. With a crack of thunder they drew.

I'm in. Should be able to get it done for deadline.

Thanks I did have a good feeling about the ending. I had a few spare moments so i've given it a quick edit before deadline.

Here's my story; Family Ties 1320 Words Ingredients used Theme - Six Line - Did you ever truly love me Item - Monkeys Paw Let me know what you think!

Family Ties “Did you ever truly love me?” She screamed, the violence in her voice cracking with rage. Leather straps bound her to the chair no matter how much she struggled. The man stood over her with a scalpel in his hand. He paced around her with urgency. “Well?” She begged for an answer. She received none from the man who ran a blood stained hand through his hair. Hastily he grabbed a syringe from the table looked up and down her body for a suitable entry point. Unceremoniously he jabbed it into her neck and plunged. She shrieked a terrible scream that spooked the gator in the metal tank across the room. The beast thrashed about and sloshed water over the edge and onto the concrete floor. With a slapping sound that was more satisfying than it should be Dr. Malcom smacked his hand over her mouth. He put his finger to his lips, hand visibly shaking. “Shh, you have to let me work…please be quiet” His voice was calm, contrary to his flustered demeanor. Tears of pain ran down her cheek onto his hand as she tried to shake her head under his firm grip. She just wanted it to be over. “Don’t you want to let me work?” She shook her head again. “You have no choice I’m afraid” Wide eyed she bit deep into the palm of his hand. With a flash of pain he withdrew. She had never bitten him before and he was very disappointed in her, a disappointment that was hard to hide. She did not care, breathing deep she stared at him and licked his blood from her lips. Dr. Malcom outstretched his none-bitten hand and shouted. “Anesthetic” The command was received and understood as a monkey with a stitched-on beaver tail and over-sized human teeth jumped onto the doctor’s shoulder. It held a wrench in its paw. “Thank-you Mr. Widdle” he clasped the wrench and swiftly bashed her round the face with it. Head low she fell unconscious. “Finally. Now I can hear myself think” Mr. Widdle the monkey remained on his shoulder and straightened up his miniature waistcoat. The doctor handed the wrench back to his companion who grabbed it with both paws. The water in the tank sloshed over the side again as the Gator pulled itself up at the edge, revealing its muscular, clawed arms covered in dripping wet fur. “Not now, Thomas” Dr. Malcom was not a patient man, least of all with his children. Thomas the Gator sank back to the depths, still smiling. The Leg was bad. Now she was out he could inspect it properly, sticky and green with blue veins raised and throbbing. He caressed it, even though infected it still had her warmth. He ran his finger up towards her thigh. You can’t save her. “Yes I can, Mr. Widdle” He would show them, he would show all of them. Up on his feet and walking with purpose he slammed the door as he left the room. --- A few steps and he was outside. The musty cabin smell gave way to the fresh air, which hit him and instantly began to re-focus the doctor’s mind. Catching his gaze the moon shone through the trees and onto his cabin. How he had come to live in the woods was far beyond him now; only his disturbed dreams gave him glimpses into his life before. But what had gone before did not matter– he was going to make the best of what is. The moon was particularly beautiful tonight, he couldn’t remember a more beautiful one. Standing completely still he gazed upwards, wondering if anything gazed back. Mr. Widdle stood at the door and made a monkey noise that demanded the Doctor’s attention. “What do you want, Mr. Widdle? I’m looking at the moon” The monkey clicked at him to get him to look over and then gestured to his leg. “Oh yes, of course” The doctor quickly dropped to the ground and searched the grass. He ran his hands through the moist earth leaving a trail of red and after a moment or two of searching he found what he was looking for fixed to the root of a rotting tree. Grabbing a handful of oozing mushrooms he dashed back inside, Mr. Widdle close behind. --- Mumbling she was still unconscious. The doctor burst through the door and grabbed hold of her. Tilting her head and pinching her nose the doctor thrust one of the mushrooms into her mouth. Gagging she awoke, swallowing half of the mushroom, the rest falling down her chin. The doctor looked into her eyes which were beautiful as ever; one green and the other violet. He touched her cheek and playfully traced the stitched seam that ran from the edge of her mouth to her neck with his finger. A quivering smile played on his lips as he recalled making the stitches, it was definitely the best work he had done. She was the best one. Her eyes began to close again so he gave her a few little slaps to keep her conscious. The leg looked no better; in fact it began to throb worse than before. Another shift of pain brought her back into the moment. “What’s happening?” the quiver in her voice betrayed her fear. “You are going to be fine, my sweet. Right as rain” He did not believe what he said, but tried to comfort her. He looked her up and down with genuine affection. Her clothes were the best he could find, once elegant and white, now soiled. “I know about downstairs” She confessed. The words stuck in her gullet “I know about the others” “Shh, there are no others” He told her for her own good. “I wish” Her head lowered dozily “I wish I was the only one” Her voice died down to a whisper. Those were the last words she ever said. Her breathing slowed and she quietly drifted away. He touched her face, but she did not feel it. She was gone. “No” Quietly he uttered. He grabbed a handful of her hair and clasped it, as if holding on would mean she could stay. Her head swayed lifelessly. Anger built up and burst out “No!” Grabbing the infected leg that killed her he pulled it free at the stump with a sickly crack, stitching frayed as he launched it towards the water tank. The leg bounced off of the edge and plopped into the water. Thomas was straight onto it and began to rip off chunks of dead flesh with his teeth. His fists relaxed. Dr. Malcom stood deathly still. With a solemn calm he undid the straps that bound her to the chair. Picking up her limp body he slung it over his shoulder and made his way downstairs, Mr. Widdle scuttling behind him. When he got to the bottom he rested his head on the rusted door at the end of the stairwell. Using his free hand he unlocked the door. --- He passed tables littered with parts; animal and human alike. At the head of the lab stood several human-sized cylinders filled with liquid. He walked past five of them, each occupied by woman shaped forms suspended and preserved. Each one was different and beautiful and silently awaited the new arrival. As he passed number three he stopped. A hodgepodge of limbs stitched into a pleasing female shape floated lifelessly, a wedding dress loosely clinging to it. Approaching the sixth cylinder he hoisted her onto his shoulder. With a heave and a splash she was inside. As the liquid settled she floated in the center. She asked if he ever loved her. Looking into her mis-matched eyes he lay a finger on the glass leaving a bloody fingerprint. Of course he did. A single tear rolled down his cheek. He loved them all.

Your skin-tones in general are great. I particularly like Pandora. The pumpkins are a nice touch. Spooky!

I'm in. Looking forward to the challenge