#to hell with everything; abel loses himself in burning it all down just to get back at cain bc his hatred is *that strong*

[queen-of-bel]

despite the fact that like. overclocked is overall the better experience AND it's the version i recommend to people, i'm still always going to personally prefer the original to the remake

#amelia rambles #desu rambles #there's a few reasons for this but the biggest one is that I'm actually extremely lukewarm to yuzu and amane's eighth days #this isn't just personal bias but naoya's route needed that extra bit of fleshing out bc there was always the open question of #'but what if i genuinely want to help people in this route' #fleshing the eighth day out into subroutes was great #but for some reason that nuance wasn't extended to amane's eighth day #no matter which way you slice it desu is a very anti law game #the only person who actually believes in the law alignment gets fucking obliterated #and the actual law rep doesn't even want to do her own alignment #she just doesn't agree with what her father's doing #if you look at just the original ending the only two motivations for kazuya that actually make sense are either #1. belief in ruling through fear #2. wanting personal revenge on naoya and doing this bc he hates him #it's fine for the 8th day to retcon and paint law in a more positive light but they also should've embraced the negative #like they did with naoya's 8th day #to hell with everything; abel loses himself in burning it all down just to get back at cain bc his hatred is *that strong* #and literally do not get me started on yuzu's 8th day that was literally only made bc fans were mad that her ending was like that #'oh no look who it is it's the consequence of my own actions' #man I'm just so sad that ending got a redemption. #... this actually should have been in the main post and not the tags but uhh too lazy to transfer it now..

[curvynerdfan]

Danny Zuko would never

Hey y’all! I am so sorry I haven’t posted in so long. Life drug me down into a routine of chaos to be quite honest. I can’t remember if this was inspired by a request or not so I apologize if I have forgotten to tag you. 

Jax x Reader 

Friends to Lovers, Sandy level makeover 

Warnings: cursing, mentions of addiction

Y/N was having a blast! Her and Gemma decided to drive into San Jose to shop for new clothes. Y/N worked with a non-profit medical assistance center in the pediatrics wing. She was off for the next four days and tomorrow was the Charming Fall Festival. Gemma had been really struggling lately, with her and Clay’s breakup and worrying about Jax now that he was President. 

Y/N was so happy Gemma asked her to join in on the shopping trip. The club mom had a habit of pushing the young nurse out of her comfort zone. Y/N was almost always in scrubs, jeans and oversized clothes. Not that it was a bad wardrobe, it worked for her purposes. But Y/N wanted to be daring and dress up a bit. Honestly she just wanted to catch Jax’s eye. Maybe even have a Sandra Dee at the Summer Carnival moment. 

Gemma said that Jax and Y/N were a pair of idiots, perfect for each other. Neither one realized they were interested in each other. No matter how much the people around them pointed it out the two remained oblivious. So when Y/N told Gemma that she was ready to do something bold, Gemma was over the moon with excitement. 

Y/N had never been the one to go over the top. Especially with her looks, but at this point she didn’t know what else to do to get Jax’s attention. She had money to burn and was ready to up her wardrobe. Gemma said if she wanted to get the title of Old Lady that they were gonna go all out. 

Y/N was suddenly very grateful that Jax insisted on sending Tig and Happy with them because she was not going to want to drive after the day Gemma planned out. Tig as Gemma’s go-to bodyguard and Happy as Y/N’s, all piled up into a Teller-Morrow rental. 

Gemma said that meant Jax already thought of her as his Old Lady, “Sending an enforcer, only happens for the President’s girl.” 

“Then why doesn’t he ask me out or claim me as his, huh? If he really thought that way then he’d do something!” Y/N protested 

“He cares for you and sent Happy! Make him step up and prove himself.” Gemma lectured.

Tig chimed in, “Sorry hun, Gem is right. Sgt. at Arms never gets sent with a random chick for a girls day, no matter how good a friend she is.” 

Happy let out a resounding hum in affirmation. Y/N gawked at the first shop they pulled up to at Gemma’s demand. It was a very nice vintage clothing and accessory store.

“I’ll buy you the first ten pieces of jewelry you find that fit a president’s Old Lady.” Gemma paused to laugh at Y/N’s shocked expression, “Move it or lose it sweet cheeks, offer ends in thirty minutes!” 

Y/N squealed and grabbed Happy’s arm tugging him along. While he was a man of few words, Y/N had a knack for deciphering his gruff responses and gestures. She knew he’d be great at helping her pick out some goodies. She’d hold a pair of earrings up to her face or model a chunky bracelet and depending on Happy’s response she’d add it to her basket or throw it away. 

By the time she met Gemma and Tig at the register she had collected a skull ring, a chain belt, crow studded earrings, a crescent moon necklace, a crow skull ring, an obsidian oval faced ring, a snake necklace, a pair of silver hoops, diamond stud earrings, and black dangle earrings. Gemma pried over the basket in judgement before giving a sharp nod and motioning Y/N to hand the items to the cashier. 

Y/N was happy to see that Gemma had found a few items to purchase for herself as well. While they were checking out Y/N saw several studded belts, a new mirror for her vanity, some vintage ashtrays and a gorgeous green glass vase. Gemma demanded that the boys load the car with her new purchases and locked arms with Y/N before strutting out of the shop. 

Next was a gigantic department store. Gemma dragged her through the store and repeatedly threw clothes at Happy and Tig to carry to a dressing room. By the time Gemma was done each woman had fifty or so items to try on and there were even a few things for the men to try on as well. 

They would all try on a complete outfit, step outside of the room, do a little spin or strut(stand and pout in Happy’s case), receive critiques or hype and then repeat. The boys ran out quickly and ended up lounging on a couch and offering opinions when asked. Gemma told Y/N that the goal was sophisticated grunge. She still wasn’t sure she understood, but she did feel very hot in everything they decided to buy. 

Next was shoes.Y/N decided to only buy four pairs and let everyone have a say.  Happy found Y/N the best pair of riding boots for women, Tig picked out some dagger-like heels, Gemma picked a pair of knee high heeled boots and Y/N picked white sneakers that matched the ones she bought Jax a few years ago. 

Last stop was a nail salon. Gemma sent Y/N straight to the back room to get waxed. When Y/N gave her a look and squawked at her, Gemma just twirled her finger and said to “do what needs to be done”. When Y/N stumbled back out of the room, Gemma had a mimosa waiting for her. 

Y/N couldn’t commit to long nails or a dark color due to her job but it was still nice to be pampered after such a long and challenging day. While getting their nails done, the girls talked through what Y/N should wear the next night for the carnival. The three pros of MC life gave Y/N a few pointers on how to own being an old lady. This still made Y/N scoff and worry that everyone was wrong. 

----------------------- 

The carnival was finally here and Jax was excited for some much needed time off with his family and friends. Gemma wanted to watch Abel for the night. This meant he could really relax and let loose tonight. No worries about staying out too late for his little man or limiting his alcohol or weed. It was gonna be great. 

At least, til he saw Y/N walking up, “What the hell are you wearing?” 

Y/N looked different, that’s for sure. She knew she didn’t look bad though. She had on a tight black wrap-around long-sleeve crop top, ripped jeans with fishnets underneath and the white sneakers she picked out. She even threw on some of the goodies that Gemma bought her. She cinched her waist in with the chain belt, the crow studs and skull ring added to the alure. Her hair was curled and she did her makeup, highlighting her sparkling eyes with black eyeliner and her plump lips with a deep red lipstick. 

“What do you mean?” Y/N asked, holding back remorse for dressing up. 

“You look like a, shit, who are you dressed up for?” Jax questioned. 

“Why does it have to be for someone? Can’t I look hot without it being for someone,” Y/N put a hand on her hip, beginning to get pissed. 

“You look like you’re trying to lock a member down! Got your eyes set on one of the guys huh? You’ve been hanging around Happy a lot lately, trying to be his old lady?” He prodded. 

“Dammit Jax! I had my eyes set on you but I guess I can’t be your old lady unless I am pining desperately for you to rescue me! Maybe I need a stalker or some form of addiction for you to realize I like you” Y/N screamed, stomping off. 

Y/N knew that was uncalled for but her anger got the better of her but not even Danny Zuko would pull this kind of douche move. It definitely wasn’t going the way she thought it would. While she didn’t necessarily believe the others when they said Jax was interested, it hurt that he was so offended by her looks. Her eyes began to sting as she pondered why she even considered making a move. 

Jax lost his breath when Y/N yelled at him. He quickly got it back when a ringed had slammed into the back of his head. When he whipped his head around he saw a pissed off Gemma staring him down. 

“Remember how you sent Happy and Tig with us yesterday? She spent the entire buying stuff because she wanted to look like an old lady. She did that for you. We all encouraged her because everyone here sees how y’all feel about each other except the two of you. If you don’t wanna be with her, cut it off now and stay at the table. But if you want her to be your old lady like we know you do, you better chase after her.”, his mom said, matter-of-factly. 

Jax stared at her with his mouth open. He was still in shock. He always saw Y/N as his but didn’t think she would want to be with him. When she left for college, he thought he lost his chance. She came back and he was with Wendy. She dated some uppity guys here and there, he assumed that was her type and she was ready to settle down. So when Tara decided to stay in Charming and he saw Y/N out on another date, he chose to go back to Tara. 

To think that he and Y/N could have been together for years now was making his head run circles around his heart. The fact that she did all of this to be with him permanently seemed ridiculous to him. She could have just told him, but looking back she must have been trying for years. The dedication to him and the club wasn’t out of friendship but love. 

“Fuck”, Jax let slip from his lips as he hopped off of the table he was sitting on. 

He marched off on a mission, searching for Y/N. He stomped through the happy crowd and scanned the flashing neon lights with his eyes. He was pissed at himself. He knew his mom was right too, if he didn’t show his feelings now he and Y/N didn’t have a chance in hell. He just hoped he could find her. 

Y/N stopped at the ferris wheel. Her eyes were still stinging but she refused to cry, especially in front of all these people. She would either get up in the air and cry or calm down. She was losing it on the inside. Every single person she talked to said Jax felt the same way, but Jackson’s reaction was the opposite of what was expected. 

Y/N was at the front of the line when Jax finally tracked her down. Jax picked up his pace and managed to get to the ticketer as she got in on her own. Jax shoved a handful of cash into the operators hands when he protested and hopped in with her and shut the door behind him. 

“What the hell do you think you’re doing Jackson?” Y/N huffed

Jax flinched at the use of his full name, “I fucked up. Can we talk?” 

“It doesn’t matter, you trapped me with you. You got one loop to convince me to stay on the ride with you”, she demanded. 

Y/N was pissed. First, Jax insulted her and asked her if she was trying to nail one of his guys and now he wouldn’t even let her cry it out on her own. She was waiting for him to pull the “let her down easy” lines she knew the man had memorized. Except with Y/N it was going to be… 

“We have been friends for as long as I remember. I didn’t realize that you felt that way about me.” 

Y/N cut Jax off, “Look, we don’t have to do this. I’m trying to keep my shit together but I’d rather not do this right now.” 

Confusion graced Jax’s face, “No, I, I’m trying to explain. It’s not what you think.” 

“I’m pretty sure it is, Jax. You made your point earlier, if I want to be an old lady I should look to Happy and or another member.”, Y/N ranted, this last thing she wanted was to dig into why Jax didn’t want to be with her. 

“Dammit Y/N! I am trying to tell you that I love you, too!” Jax shouted, losing it for a moment. 

He pulled Y/N in for a kiss, one had cupped her face and the other pulled Y/N onto his lap. Y/N was shocked at Jax’s announcement and even more so at his lips on hers. 

By the time Jax and Y/N had finished a loop, she was happy to stay on the ferris wheel with him. By the time the ride had ended they had become a couple and managed to mark their claims on each other. By the time the duo made it back to the crew’s table, the group began to hoop and holler. Y/N felt her cheeks heat up and ducked her head into Jax’s arm while he received high fives and slaps on the back in congratulations. 

“Let me know when to expect another grandbaby!”, Gemma said with glee as she walked past the happy couple with a sleepy Abel in her arms. 

To say the least, Momma Gemma is the best

Taglist: @justahopelessssromantic

#Jackson Teller #Jax Teller #jax x reader #jax oneshot #sons of anarchy #sons of anarchy imagine #sons of anarchy request #soa #soa imagine #jackson teller x reader #jax teller imagine #my work

[breanime]

Here is a Jax ask for you! CHALLENGE-Angst prompts- 6, 10, 14. As for the character idk maybe the reader is a single mom. Idk whatever you want really haha.

*gif not mine*

“Get your shit and leave,” you growled

Jax sighed, his shoulders sagging

“Babe...”

“Get your shit,” you repeated, “and get the fuck out of my house.”

He shook his head, those blue eyes you loved so much full of sadness and regret

“Just--just let me explain,” he tried again

“Explain? Explain what? How your dick ended up inside your ex? Or how I walked in on it?!” You raged. “What’s to explain, Jax?”

“It was just one time–it didn’t mean anything!” He ran his hand through his hair

“You cheated!” You shouted back. “It doesn’t matter if it ‘didn’t mean anything’--you cheated on me! You asshole!”

“Wendy was just,” he took a step towards you, but stopped at the glare on your face, “she was there when I was going through shit with Clay and my mom and the club... I called you,” he pointed out, “Two times. You didn’t answer.”

“Because I was with my daughter!” You screamed back. “You knew that!”

“I needed you,” he frowned

“You are NOT my priority, Jax,” you hissed, “she is!” You plopped down on your bed and put your head in your hands. When you spoke, your voice was monotone and flat.

“You, by far, are the biggest mistake I’ve ever made in my entire life.”

Jax closed his eyes for a moment, the weight of that sentence hitting his heart like a brick

He didn’t know what to say.

He loved you

He LOVED your daughter

He thought you’d all be a family: you and your baby girl and him and Abel

Hell, he’d wanted to

He’d wanted to have a family with you so bad

But he couldn’t seem to stop himself from fucking up

And the one time--

--the ONE time--

he couldn’t reach you right when he needed you

He let himself fall into bad habits

Wendy

And now, he was going to lose you

He swallowed, trying to think of something to say to keep you from kicking him out

He knew he fucked up, he knew he deserved to lose you

But he didn’t want to

He licked his lips and spoke

“I told you not to fall in love with me,” he said, his vision blurring from unshed tears

That was the wrong thing to say

You threw a pillow at his head, which he ducked

“GET THE FUCK OUT!” You screamed

“Y/N, please, let me just--”

“GET OUT OF MY HOUSE, RIGHT NOW!”

He turned, wiping his eyes with his forearm

You followed him to the front door

And just then

Your daughter’s bus pulled up outside

He turned to you, his eyes burning and heart breaking

“Can I just say goodbye to her?” He asked weakly

You crossed your arms. “No,” you growled, “I’ll talk to her, but you have to go. Now. Before she gets off the bus,” your eyes narrowed, “Don’t push me, Jax.”

He nodded; he wouldn’t

He got on his bike, allowing himself one last glance back at you and one more at your daughter

And then he drove off

He got a few miles before he had to pull over and cry

Because he knew

He had lost you both--forever

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

Me writing Jax angst: “he ran his hand through his hair”

Thanks for reading! Please let me know what you think! And if you really enjoyed it and you can send in a tip here, I would greatly appreciate it!

Everything Taglist: @sweetybuzz25  @mrsjaxtellerfan  @rhabakoli  @encounterthepast @realduckvader   @justvnash @knowles-morgan  @ateliefloresdaprimavera @evanlys19  @nyxxnoxx @carlaangel86  @luminex3 @jigsawlover10  @gollyderek @otomefromtheheart  @lexxierave  @amethyst09 @falsehopesndreams  @a-dorky-book-keeper @witchygagirl @glimmerglittergirl @fvckthisbxtchup  @ben-c-group-therapy @felicity-x0 @amirra88 @yourfellowangel @vibranium-soul @xserenax-13  @woahitslucyylu​  @gemini0410 @ktiz90 @theoceanhathsolace @starrynite7114 @my-rosegold-soul @papa-geralt-of-cirilla​ @abbiesthings @peaches007​ @ifoundmyhappythought​ @tegggeeee​ @bisexual-space-slut

Jax Taglist:  @writingcroissant @christinawxxx  @king4thesirens @melissataggart87 @whyisgmora @whovianayesha @beardburnsupersoldiers  @thickemadame

#jax teller x reader #jax teller imagine #Jax Teller #bre's prompts list drabbles #bre's prompts list drabbles event

[stop-breaking-my-heart-telltale]

I really love how you write about James x Mitch, i never shipped them until i read your fic, what do you think each of them could bring to the relationship/why are they good for eachother? Your points of view are really interesting.

oh anon you have no idea what floodgate you’ve opened-

So, like I’ve said, it’s probably no longer a secret that jamitch is a guilty pleasure ship of mine. I’m absolutely in love with the idea of this ship. Hell, I’d go as far as to say that it’s my second favorite ship right behind clouis. I know it’s a little insane but let me start at the beginning. 

In ep2, both Mitch and James have decent amounts of screentime. 

Looking at James first, we’re shown this dude wearing another dudes face to blend in with the walkers. He’s soft-spoken, appears to be incredibly intelligent, and he comes off like he genuinely cares about Clementine and AJ’s safety.  He saves them from Lilly and Abel, and already we see just what a pacifist he is towards these walkers. He doesn’t stealth kill them; he throws rocks to make them go away. 

He mentions that he didn’t want to sacrifice as many, but he also didn’t want Clementine and AJ to be taken. He stops her from attacking a walker, suggesting she throw a rock instead like he did before, and we all know how far he goes with this way of thinking in future episodes.  

Now, keep in mind that James has no personal connections to these walkers and who they were before they turned. 

 Now, Mitch.

We’re shown that he’s incredibly angry about Marlon’s death and wants Clementine and AJ gone. He’s very harsh, trying to come off as intimidating when he pulls his knife on them and being the first to say they need to leave. 

When Clementine and AJ come back, he’s willing to put those feelings aside because the fate of the school depends on their teamwork, whether he likes it or not. And, again, he tries to intimidate Clementine with “If we survive this, you and I are gonna have words." and "Make her go. We send the one we don’t mind losing." 

However, at this point, it’s pretty clear that he’s all huff and puff without any blow. The more Clementine talks with him, the more he calms down and shares about his past in bomb-making. 

Now, let’s talk about Ms. Martin. 

She’s a walker now, but she was someone Mitch knew. As Ruby said, Ms. Martin stayed when all the other adults left and that has to mean something, right? But what does Mitch want to do with her body?

He wants to burn her because it’s not Ms. Martin, it’s a walker. 

“It’s better, you know. To get it over with. You get all caught up in who people used to be and you can’t deal with what’s in front of you.”

vs.

“It was hard to send the herd in. To help you…. I didn’t want them to die.”

Do you see where I’m going with this? 

Already we’ve got these two boys who are on completely different viewpoints of walkers and seemingly have opposite personalities. 

To James, walkers still hold something more, something peaceful and human. To Mitch, they’re just dead. They’re not people, they’re walkers. 

Now imagine these boys meeting.

One thing that I will always be a salty bitch about is the fact that both James and Mitch have plenty of screen time in ep2 but never get the opportunity to meet. 

Because if they had? 

How fascinating would it be to watch these two go from strangers with seemingly nothing in common to tolerable acquaintances to eventual friends to lovers?

When you look past their views on walkers, they actually have a few things in common, and I’m not just talking about them both getting murdered by Lilly c’mon

They’re both incredibly stubborn and set in their ways. The odds of you changing their minds on certain topics are slim, but not impossible. I actually think when James says, “I may be stubborn, but I’m not heartless,” actually summarizes both of them in many ways.

Both aren’t afraid to try and protect someone younger and weaker than them. 

This is what gets Mitch killed in canon when he goes after Lilly trying to save Tenn [as infuriating and stupid as it is] and we know how much he cared for and looked after Willy.  

We see James save Tenn at least twice; on the boat when he wrestles a gun away from the raider who was going to shoot Tenn and when he straight up punches the walker that grabs him in the cave. Not to mention him helping AJ when he was shot. 

They both use knives as weapons when fighting. Shit, James uses two knives! You can’t tell me that Mitch wouldn’t be impressed as shit seeing James take down a herd of walkers while duel-wielding knives. He wouldn’t say it out loud, though. He’d just be like, “Yeah, you’re not bad with those, I guess…” but he’s fucking screaming on the inside. 

When I think of these two, I think of them coming to an agreement: We keep the walkers alive because it’s beneficial to us so long as they’re contained and in no way endanger us. 

In my own writings, James and the Ericson squad have an arrangement. James scouts the areas around the schools and collects the walkers. He secures them in his barn and because of this, their hunting grounds are almost always free of stray walkers, making it easier and safer to hunt and travel. In exchange, James has a room at the school to stay in whenever he wants. 

He’s apart of the group after everything that went down at the delta. 

Mitch still doesn’t see walkers the way James does, but that’s okay. It’s not something that they constantly argue about because it’s not really an issue anymore. 

And you know what it makes room for?

James bonding with Willy [because the kid still things he’s a badass] which in turn makes Mitch try harder to get along with him. 

Eventually, Mitch doesn’t have to try, it just happens. 

James teaches Mitch all kinds of amazing blade techniques, and Mitch helps James with his archery skills. Can’t you see these two fighting together, side by side? See them hunting and scouting together?

James helps Mitch will all of his building and repairing projects, and they actually get to talk with one another about all kinds of shit. 

Mitch giving James emergency firecrackers to distract walkers with if things ever got ugly?

Mitch trying not to show he’s worried when James spends some nights out in the woods and being unable to wrap his head around it? Them getting into petty arguments about it but eventually making up when James finally opens up about his time with the Whisperers and all the horrible things he’s done? Mitch initially being freaked out about such a past but realizing that that’s not who James is anymore? 

These two dingdongs dancing around each other and their feelings for several personal reasons? To the point where everyone’s just fucking done with it?

Mitch refusing to subject himself to the potential pain of losing someone he cares about romantically? Causing him to suppress and downright ignore everything he feels when they’re together?

James having his doubts because of how sour his previous relationship went? Especially when he starts to realize that Charlie and Mitch actually have their fair share of similarities? 

Mitch going out of his way to do things for James then turning around and acting like it isn’t a big deal? 

Mitch just…. being so goddamn soft for him??? 

James’ feelings growing so strong that he begins to avoid Mitch and spend more nights out in the woods?

….I’m going to stop there because I actually have a whole scenario of how they actually get together planned and I don’t want to completely spoil it. 

Anyway.

 In conclusion. 

Mitch and James are a combination of characters who shouldn’t work based on their opposite views, but they do. 

In my silly little head, Mitch and James as a couple makes sense and I almost hate it? 

Because of course I would ship these two together. They literally never meet in canon! There’s no canonical evidence to back these two as a potential couple! 

Nothing about them should make any sense!

But I fucking love them anyway

I’m gonna die holding jamitch in one hand and clouis in the other. 

#asks #twdg mitch #twdg james #twdg jamitch #jamitch #this became so long that i had to force myself to stop #oh boy

[julesdelorme]

faller

Chapter 8

Suckers

There’s a sucker born every minute.

Every single fucking minute.

The wife doesn’t like it when I swear. She keeps a swear jar at home.

I put money in it every day even though we’re never going to have kids to give the money to.

She’s a good woman.

She’s entitled to her delusions after all I put her through. I never mention that the jar doesn’t really have a point. Every day I put money in and it just stays there. It just sits there. There’s a bunch of them now and they don’t do anything but sit there full of money. I don’t touch them. She doesn’t touch them. We go to church every Sunday and she holds my hand, and I’m just glad that she stayed with me all these years.

She knows who I am. She knows the kinds of things that I do. She knows all about me. I never lie to her. I don’t talk about the things that I do and she never asks, but I never lie to her. She knows. And still she stays. Still she loves me.

So let her have her swear jar that gets so full of money that neither one of us will ever touch, that gets so full of money that I keep having to buy bigger and bigger swear jars, and we laugh about that.

She’s a good woman.

I guess she’s a sucker for loving me, but she’s my sucker.

All those other suckers though. All those other suckers with their stupid vacant grins and their pathetic excuses for why their lives have gone to shit or why their lives have always been shit.

Two more for the swear jar.

You’re either the sucker or the guy taking the sucker. And I decided a long time ago that I was going to be the guy taking the sucker.

I’m definitely going to find a way to take this particular sucker. Even if he is in jail again. His kid is still there. Just the kid and that dirty goat. I can find a way to leverage that situation. Give a man a lever and he can move the world. Not quite sure how just yet, but I’ll figure something out when I get there. I always do.

This way to the Egress, folks.

All those suckers lying to themselves all the time, telling themselves some story about god or the way the world is supposed to work, but in the end the world works the way it works whether they like it or not. Predator or prey. The one that eats or the one that gets eaten. That’s the world. That’s the real world.

You don’t need to grow up on this piece of shit Rez to know that.

Another one for the jar.

I tried arguing once with her once that shit shouldn’t be considered a swear word. It’s just describing a normal bodily function that we all have to do pretty much every single day. We don’t think of sweat or scratch as swear words. They’re just things that we do but don’t like to talk about. Lots of things like that. More that we don’t want to talk about than we do. But I guess that a swear word is whatever we say it is, because we’re the ones that get to decide what offends us or doesn’t. No matter if it’s all phoney and the words people get offended by are the things that they do every day or think about every day but just don’t want to talk about.

Let her have that. Sometimes you’ve got to play by the rules of the game, even if they don’t make any sense. And sometimes you just make up the rules as you go. Sometimes you find a way to use the rules or bend the rules a little, and you’re a fool if you don’t, because someone else will, and you’ll end up being the sucker. Someone else will get to feed on the broken corpses of your stupid rules.

My job, in theory, is to make sure that those rules don’t get broken or bent too far. But my job in the real world is to figure out how far those rules can be bent and to make use of this badge that they were fool enough to pin on me so that me and mine get the most out of this life, and that we’re not the suckers, we’re not the prey.

Not like this drunk and his messed up kid.

All that council money now. All the casino money. And these suckers got themselves some free land, a nice house, a boat, and then they go to blowing all the money they got and the money they get every year. It doesn’t take a genius to talk them out of that land and that house.

They can keep their boats. But that land is worth something to people who know how to take advantage, and it doesn’t matter that those are the people who aren’t even allowed to own this land. There’s always someone who is. There’s always someone who is willing to take the money just to have their name on a piece of paper, and that someone is me. It it wasn’t me, it would be someone else.

It was good enough for Joseph Brant, it’s sure good enough for me.

This idiot doesn’t even have the boat and he burned most of his house down, almost killed that creepy kid. Himself. And even that dirty goat. He doesn’t deserve that land. He never earned it.

All these idiots would just sit there in their new houses, the same people that they were when there was no council money and casino money, and do nothing with all that land, with all this valuable border land. They don’t know what they’ve got. They don’t know what they’ve been given. They just know how to lose it.

Suckers.

They see a badge and a uniform, that most of them didn’t even bother to vote to give me and they believe anything that I tell them, or they’re too scared of the uniform to say no. Either way.

Suckers.

Somebody’s going to take their money. Somebody’s going to take their land. Might as well be me as anybody else. Suckers are born to be suckered. Prey is born to be eaten. It’s not the wolf’s fault that the pigs didn’t know how to build a house.

I watched my old man drink and piss away everything he ever got. Blamed it all on the white man. Blamed it all on the system. Blamed it all on my mother. Never once looked in the mirror and saw that he was the sucker and it wasn’t anyone’s fault that he didn’t have the backbone or the brains to make something out of himself. It wasn’t the Residential Schools or the Church or the Government’s fault that he stood there and took it and did nothing but feel sorry for himself.

Wasn’t anybody’s fault that he was a waste of space. That was on him. He was the sucker. And my mother was the sucker for staying and taking all his shit.

Not me.

Not me.

No, I joined the army just to get off this shitty reserve, off this shitty island. Came back and made something out of myself. Got myself a degree and when they wanted to put me on the council, I took it. When they wanted to put the badge on me I took that too. I’ll take more than that the first chance I get. I keep the peace. I can’t stop every single asshole from being an asshole, but I do what I can.

Another two for the jar.

Three.

Four.

Keep the laws that matter and bend other ones any way that I can bend them. Law of the jungle.

Stupid people shouldn’t be alive anyway. They’re out there having babies by the bushel with no money that they earned, and no brains and their kids end up as stupid as them, like cows that don’t even know that they’re being fattened up for slaughter.

Fuck them.

One more for the jar.

Fuck them twice.

Two for the jar.

They talk about fairness and how the world was a paradise before the white man showed up, but half us were killing the other half, and half of us are still killing the other half. Booze and drugs and shooting each other when they’re drunk or wasted. Running each other down on the road or the river. I’ve seen it. I’ve seen the wrecks. I’ve seen the bodies. The suicides. Some people are just too stupid to be alive, or too weak to be alive, and back in the old days if that was you, you were the one that ended up dead. Now you get to to do stupid things to hurt other people. Kill other people.

We had wars. Our ancestors killed other people’s ancestors. Ate some of them. Parts of them. That’s what our own stories say. When the priests came here we did the same thing to them. They chose the wrong side so we killed them and we tortured them and cut their skin off and ate their hearts. Cut off Brebeuf’s lips and stuck a burning stick down his throat.

Paradise my ass.

Wasn’t one then and it sure as hell isn’t one now. Maybe a paradise for the winners. Maybe a paradise for the hunters and the killers. Paradise is what you make. Paradise is what you can take. Paradise is for the ones strong enough and smart enough not to be the prey.

Cain killed Abel because Abel was too stupid and too weak to be alive.

Survival of the fittest. Sucker born every minute.

Fuck them.

One for the jar.

If we had a kid he’d be one rich motherfucker.

Fuck.

Two.

Better off than this poor kid. His father would sign anything you put in front of him once you get him drunk. Sooner or later he’s just going to kill himself and that kid. Too stupid to be alive. Dumb motherfucker.

Fuck.

Two more.

Just another mean drunk. Just another sucker. And that kid. That kid gives me the creeps. Hardly ever talks. Stands there staring off into space like he’s in some kind of trance. Talking to that kid’s like talking to that stupid goat of his. Just stares at you and stares like he sees you but like he sees past you too. You just can’t tell what the hell is going on inside that kid’s head. Gives me the creeps.

Hell is not a swear word.

Not anymore.

I’ve seen hell. I know what it looks like.

Definitely not a swear word.

Kid gives me the creeps. Damn goat gives me the creeps too.

Damn’s not a swear work either. They say it on TV all the time. They say all kinds of shit on TV nowadays.

Fuck.

Two more.

Best thing that ever happened to that kid if I took him in, put him in the system. Living in that burned out house all alone. Not my fault his father’s an asshole. That prick sober and locked up is meaner than any rattlesnake and more disagreeable too. But maybe the boy could give me some leverage. Maybe that kid could be useful for something at least.

Prick.

That’s a swear word.

Yeah.

It’s a swear word.

Fuck.

That jar’s going to be full. Our kid would be a billionaire, if we could have one.

Going to have to buy another jar. Put it beside all the other ones.

Kid really gives me the creeps. Probably retarded or something. Be better off in the system.

Car in the driveway. There’s a fucking car in their driveway.

Probably that girl. Pretty one. Seen her here before. Heard she’s trying to take care of the kid. Not sure why. What her angle is. Don’t think she’s a social worker or a teacher. Kind of looks like she could be part Indian or maybe Oriental. Hard to tell sometimes. Could be related to the kid somehow. Except she doesn’t look like she’s from this place. Not sure what her angle is and I don’t like people who are up to things I can’t figure out.

Going to have to dig into that. Find out who the hell she is and if she’s going to be a problem.

What the hell is she doing?

She’s just standing in the driveway. Staring at something. Behind the house. Maybe the field. She’s just standing there. Bag of groceries spilled out all over the driveway. Can’t see what she’s looking at.  Must be something that matters. She should have heard my car. She hasn’t looked back even once, and she’s not taking notice of all that mess in the driveway.

What the hell is she doing?

I don’t like complications. I fucking hate complications.

One more for the jar.

Two more. Losing count.

I can’t see the boy. I can’t see anything behind that burned up house. Maybe something happened to the kid. Out here all alone, something bad was bound to happen. Not sure how that breaks down for me. Might be hard to reason with that prick after something like that. Or if maybe something like this’d leave him open to be manipulated.

I don’t like complications.

Just stop the car. Sit here for a moment. Try to figure out the situation before I go jumping in.

Fuck. She’s looking back at me now. She sees me.

The look on her face. What is that look on her face? Fear? Relief?

Guess I’m going to have to find out.

If I wasn’t married I’d fuck the hell out of her.

Shit.

Going to need a whole new swear jar.

Okay.

Hate complications. I really fucking hate complications.

Don’t like not knowing what I’m walking into. Only one way to find out, I guess. One way to find out who the sucker’s going to be.

This way to the Egress, folks. This way to the fucking Egress.

Going to need a whole new jar.

Going to need some way bigger fucking jars.

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#fiction #writing #writers #authors #author #novels #novelnovels #newnovels #julesdelorme #julesfdelorme #faller #delormewriting #scarboroughwritersfightclub #story #bear #native #nativestories #metis #metisstories

#fiction writing writers authors author novels novelnovels newnovels julesdelorme julesfdelorme faller delormewriting scarboroughwritersfight

[legrandepapillon]

lovebirds; too on the nose

Summary: behind every door is a fall

Author's Note: loosely based off the song 'No One's Here To Sleep' by Bastille

She couldn’t do it.

The key was right there in her hands, the door was right in front of her face, but she couldn’t do it. She knew what lay on the other side of that door, the promises and prospects. Her grandchildren, her son, her daughter… this door could bring them to her, rekindle their want to be her family. An old life, long not-so-forgotten. Seventeen years of marriage. Years of laughter and life but not quite light. The man she’d promised her life to, until death did them part. The man she thought she loved… no, the man she had loved. The man that had helped her commit sin after sin, cover up lie after lie…

The man that had taken his fists to her face.

Gemma takes a step away from the door at the thought, her breath being caught in her throat. A hand that was raised to knock draws away, falling limply at her side. That was right. The other thing that lay on the other side of the perfectly carved mahogany was deceit, and pain, and misery, and keeping her mouth shut for fear of pissing him off, and…. and, and, and, there was always an and. Never an end. She’d loved this man, and he’d hurt her. Of course, he’d loved her too. But never enough, never enough to keep from cheating or lying or hitting. There was never enough love between them, just enough to get them by. Keep that precious crown on her head and keep that patch on his back.

She couldn’t do it.

She knows she needs to. If she doesn’t, she’ll never see Abel get big. Never hear about his first A in school or see his graduation. She’ll never hear baby Thomas’ -- so similar to her own baby Thomas, so small and innocent and calm and sweet -- first words or witness his first steps. Never see his first tooth fall out, or know the feeling of him running into her arms after his first day of Kindergarten. She’ll never witness Jax’s first grey hair, never be able to tease him about climbing into old age. She will never hold him in her arms after Abel brings home his first girlfriend, teasing him about being too overprotective. And oh god, she’ll never see Tara become her. See the fierce mother inside of her have her flames fanned. She’ll never listen to the contempt she has for the bitch of a girl Abel’s fallen in love with, sipping coffee and reminiscing about how familiar that sounds.

She loved them so much. She couldn’t stand to lose them.

But she loves Nero, too. More than anything on this entire planet, more than anything she’s ever felt with a man. It’s a different kind of love than she’s used to. Something she’s never felt before. When she’s with him, everything around her fades to background noise. He makes her smile so hard that her cheeks burn, laugh so hard that her sides ache, love so hard that she’s not sure if any love she’s ever felt before has been real. When her eyes fell closed, and she was drifting into dreamless sleep, it was him she found plaguing her thoughts. He never wanted to hurt her, ever. And she never, never, never wanted to hurt him. Nero was the oxygen that keeps her alive and she needs him. She needs him, she needs him, she needs him, she loves him.

This will hurt him, more than it will hurt her. And that terrifies her.

To no end. She doesn’t think she’s ever been so scared before. When he almost left her, she’d felt a pain like no other. The idea of losing him sends her careening off a cliff, falling, falling, falling, into an abyss. This man had saved her when she thought she was unsaveable. He’d brought her back, gave her another life to live. He’d seen her sadness and her tire, and he’d showed her happiness and energy. He’d been there when her own son hadn’t. Held her through her pain, loved her. And not because she could give him anything, or because she was young, fresh pussy. But because he saw her. He saw her, and her tainted heart that had the purest intentions -- mostly -- and he saw her strength and heard her stories and he loved her wholly, and purely. Loved her imperfections, kissed her scars, and held her broken, beaten heart in his palm.

He didn’t need to take her clothes off to see her naked.

Thus, Gemma couldn’t betray him. And by stepping through that threshold, she would be. Laying down in bed with that man again, after everything he’d done… and with Nero waiting for her, thinking that she was only at home, when in reality she was in bed with her ex-husband? What Jax was asking her to do was wrong, and she knew this. Everything her son had been doing to and with her lately had been wrong, but he was her son. Not to mention that he held all the trump cards -- her grandkids, her daughter-in-law… hell, himself. She could never tell him these things, for fear that he may not see the truth to her words and he’d pull further away from her.

It didn’t change the fact that she couldn’t, simply couldn’t, do this.

What could she illicit from Clay that everybody else hadn’t anyway? She was just an ol’ lady, as everyone so liked to remind her. All she had to do was love her man, and love him honestly -- and Nero was her man. Why did everyone keep asking her to do things when they were the same men to remind her she was nothing but pussy a step higher than a croweater? She didn’t understand. Gemma didn’t understand a lot of things about this Club, with the men that bore its patches, with the men she called her family. An entire life of being with them, and it was still a mysterious enigma. Why they relied on women they so liked to degrade, why they asked things of them that they knew they couldn’t do… why, why, why. So many questions, never enough answers.

Answers were what got her back to her grandchildren. But they were also what took the one great love of her life away from her.

Eyes find the mahogany door again. The man that lied behind it. The man she was supposed to sleep with, the man that she was supposed to be with to aid the child she loved and the Club she lived by. Then they flit to her hands. Hands that held her lover’s face between her hands, hands that stroked the prickly stubble on his cheeks, hands that curled around the lapels of his jacket when he kissed her dizzy.

You did this for me? Well, Lyla picked them out… lovebirds… too on the nose, huh? No. They’re beautiful. Thank you.

Gemma takes a deep breath, turns on her heel, and heads back to her car to drive home. Home to the man she’d love, the man that would love her.

Her lovebird.

#gemma teller morrow #gemma teller #nero padilla #clay morrow #sons of anarchy #sons of anarchy one-shot #soa #soa one-shot #season 5 #romance #angst #teen and up audiences #nero x gemma #nero padilla x gemma teller #nero padilla/gemma teller #nero/gemma #fanfiction #jax teller

[parabellum-rpg-archive]

Congratulations, Courtney! You’ve been accepted to play Salma Carrillo. Please make your page and send it in within 24 hours.

Admin note: This was an extremely hard decision because both applicants wrote an amazing application. Courtney, your writing and attention to detail really won me over. I think you did an amazing job writing Salma! - Admin V

CHARACTER DESIRED

Salma Gabriella Carrillo

DESCRIBE THE CHARACTER IN YOUR OWN WORDS

Positive character traits; determined, passionate, captivating, vivacious

Negative character traits; selfish, greedy, obsessive, hedonistic

There was a time when Carmen Carrillo and his men would have laughed at the idea of a girl being the heiress to a cartel. But that was before Salma was born. From the time that she was born, Salma was determined and she knew what she wanted. And she wanted the power and wealth that came from running a cartel like her father. For a time, she had all the wealth in the world, there was no shortage of money or drugs or beautiful things that Salma was spoiled with. And despite his initial doubts, by the time Salma was eleven, Carmen named her as his eventual heiress to the cartel and to his fortune. Her life didn’t really change all that much, truth be told, she was still spoiled and given access to anything that she could want, but her father started to include her in some things as she got older and became more involved. As a teenager, Salma was wild with booze and boys and parties, but she managed to get into UC Berkeley and she did surprisingly well considering her high school performance. Life was good.

But then it wasn’t. Her father hid his troubles from her for as long as he could, and it wasn’t until she graduated from university that she realized the extent of her dad’s troubles. It started with a declined credit card during a shopping spree. That had never happened before. Salma had had to put the pretty things she was buying back, to her embarrassment, and she went home to confront her father. It was then that he realized how much trouble he was in. How could this have happened? All of a sudden the hero that was her father fell from the pedestal. She attempted to save the family, but she wasn’t the head of the cartel, and there was little she could do. She helplessly watched her lifestyle dissolve before her eyes, the wealth and power that she had dreamed of from the time that she was a little girl was gone.

And it came to a head the night of her father’s murder. She was devastated by the loss of her father, but she knew that she would have to soldier on. In her despair of losing everything, Abel Costello was a light, and like a moth to a flame, Salma knew that she needed him. He was everything that she wanted in a man, he was strong and charming and handsome and best of all, a powerful man. Together, they could do anything. She was sure of it. But the only problem was, was that he wanted nothing to do with her. And Salma wasn’t used to rejection or the word no. She was determined to change Abel’s mind and to rise in rank, however she could.

To summarize; Salma has always been a spoiled girl who never learned to take no for an answer. She is incredibly determined and ambitious but she frequently puts on the show of being dumb to lull people into a false sense of security. She doesn’t want people to know what kind of move she’s going to make until she makes it. She is a bit of a contradiction. She’s a stripper, but she has a business degree from UC Berkeley. She’s working for the family that killed her father. She doesn’t attend church regularly but she prays when things get hard. She wants people to take her seriously and yet she puts on airs. Salma herself doesn’t know why she behaves the way that she does. Growing up in California, Salma is a total Cali girl. She loves In and Out, loves going to the beach, and she loves the hot weather, so it’s been a big adjustment, living in Chicago. But she is sure that this is all worth it. She is optimistic that she will get Abel Costello’s attention at some point, and he’s going to realize what he’s missing in her. She is certain that she can make it to the top of the Costello family one way or another, and honor her father’s legacy that he left behind when he was murdered.

WRITING SAMPLE

The Funeral

Salma stood towards the back of the church, her hair pulled back in a respectable bun and her black dress wrinkle free, her nose crinkled in distaste as she took the scene in. There should have been lines of people coming to see her father. Salma should be throwing a party, not too lavish of a party of course because that would be gauche, but a respectable party honoring Carmen Carrillo’s legacy and celebrating her rise to fortune. She should be inheriting her father’s empire. But instead, the funeral was a quiet affair with the few members that were still loyal to her father to the end.

Gunshots pulled Salma from her sleep. It was disorientating, the loud pop pop pop sound from down the hallway. It took her a moment to realize what it was that she was hearing. For a moment, she froze, afraid. But the next moment she was rushing out of her bed, grabbing her silk robe and pulling it on as she quietly walked through the halls of her manor, the furnishings bare. Her father had been selling things off for years, trying to get them out of debt and you could still see where some of the paintings used to hang. She paused outside of her father’s bedroom, hearing shuffling and muffled voices coming from inside.

High heels clicked on the floor of the church and all eyes turned towards her. Salma kept her head held high, she was still an heiress and she demanded respect. Eyes went downcast as she walked. She knew that all eyes had been on her, from the police that questioned her to the nosy neighbors that wanted to know what happened inside their mansion that night. She was used to the way that eyes followed her wherever she went. Salma would keep her head held high, just as her father would have wanted it.

Salma gasped as someone was suddenly behind her. “What the hell are you doin’?” a voice said behind her. She didn’t need to look to know that a gun was pointed at her head as the door was opened and she was pushed into the room. Her heart was pounding. This couldn’t be how her life ended. She knew that she had more to do in life, that she was meant to be something. She refused to look at her father’s body. She didn’t want to see her father like that. Tears burned in her eyes. At that moment, she met eyes with a handsome man a few feet away, by the foot of her father’s bed.

When she reached the altar where her father’s coffin was, she crossed herself. Salma wasn’t religious anymore, but Catholic habits were ingrained in her from many years of attending with her father and grandmother. Salma was afraid to look into the coffin and to see her father’s body. But she somehow found the courage and peered into it. He looked like he was sleeping; they did a good job making him look okay. She felt tears fall down her cheeks. Salma had picked out his favorite suit, knowing that it was what he would want.

“What do you want us to do with the girl?” A voice asked as the barrel of a gun pressed into the back of her head. The man walked towards her, and Salma could sense his power. It was in the way that he walked and held himself and the way that the other men seemed to defer to him. Salma knew that they expected her to be afraid, but she wasn’t. She didn’t want to die, but she wasn’t going to debase herself and beg him to keep her alive. And besides, she knew that if they wanted her dead, well, she was dead. “Abel? Should we shoot her?”

It still didn’t feel real. Even with her father in a coffin mere feet away, Salma wanted to believe that her dad wasn’t gone, that she would never go to him again for advice. She longed for the days when things were simpler, when they hadn’t lost everything. She longed for the life that she should have had. Her father should be there to walk her down the aisle on her wedding day and to spoil his grandkids.

“No,” the man said. So these were the infamous Costello’s. Salma recognized his name, her father had spoken of him before, had spoken of the Costello family that he owed money to. Salma felt the gun pull away, but she still didn’t move. “You would do well to forget this ever happened, you hear me?��� Abel questioned. Salma nodded her head. “Yes,” she said quietly, her eyes never leaving his. It was the moment that she realized that she needed Abel, that she needed to get to him to be someone. Even with her father’s body a few feet away, Salma was already thinking of what she needed to do to survive; because she was going to survive.

“I’m going to Chicago,” she whispered to her father’s coffin. Leaning over the coffin, she carefully pulled her favorite necklace from her pockets. It was a beautiful necklace, her father had given it on her fifteenth birthday and she had cherished it ever since. She placed it in his hand and carefully closed his fingers around the necklace.  Even gone, he was still her number one confidante. “To find Abel Costello. I’m going to be somebody, Papa, like you raised me to be. All of this wasn’t in vain.” She placed her hand on the coffin. “I love you, Papa, I’ll miss you every day. We will see each other again, someday,” she promised him, before she stood up and wiped a few tears from her eyes. She turned and walked back to her pew, and bowed her head.

#accepted

[julesdelorme]

faller

Chapter 8

Suckers

There’s a sucker born every minute.

Every single fucking minute.

The wife doesn’t like it when I swear. She keeps a swear jar at home. 

I put money in it every day even though we’re never going to have kids to give the money to. 

She’s a good woman.

She’s entitled to her delusions after all I put her through. I never mention that the jar doesn’t really have a point. Every day I put money in and it just stays there. It just sits there. There’s a bunch of them now and they don’t do anything but sit there full of money. I don’t touch them. She doesn’t touch them. We go to church every Sunday and she holds my hand, and I’m just glad that she stayed with me all these years.

She knows who I am. She knows the kinds of things that I do. She knows all about me. I never lie to her. I don’t talk about the things that I do and she never asks, but I never lie to her. She knows. And still she stays. Still she loves me.

So let her have her swear jar that gets so full of money that neither one of us will ever touch, that gets so full of money that I keep having to buy bigger and bigger swear jars, and we laugh about that.

She’s a good woman.

I guess she’s a sucker for loving me, but she’s my sucker.

All those other suckers though. All those other suckers with their stupid vacant grins and their pathetic excuses for why their lives have gone to shit or why their lives have always been shit.

Two more for the swear jar.

You’re either the sucker or the guy taking the sucker. And I decided a long time ago that I was going to be the guy taking the sucker. 

I’m definitely going to find a way to take this particular sucker. Even if he is in jail again. His kid is still there. Just the kid and that dirty goat. I can find a way to leverage that situation. Give a man a lever and he can move the world. Not quite sure how just yet, but I’ll figure something out when I get there. I always do.

This way to the Egress, folks.

All those suckers lying to themselves all the time, telling themselves some story about god or the way the world is supposed to work, but in the end the world works the way it works whether they like it or not. Predator or prey. The one that eats or the one that gets eaten. That’s the world. That’s the real world.

You don’t need to grow up on this piece of shit Rez to know that.

Another one for the jar.

I tried arguing once with her once that shit shouldn’t be considered a swear word. It’s just describing a normal bodily function that we all have to do pretty much every single day. We don’t think of sweat or scratch as swear words. They’re just things that we do but don’t like to talk about. Lots of things like that. More that we don’t want to talk about than we do. But I guess that a swear word is whatever we say it is, because we’re the ones that get to decide what offends us or doesn’t. No matter if it’s all phoney and the words people get offended by are the things that they do every day or think about every day but just don’t want to talk about.

Let her have that. Sometimes you’ve got to play by the rules of the game, even if they don’t make any sense. And sometimes you just make up the rules as you go. Sometimes you find a way to use the rules or bend the rules a little, and you’re a fool if you don’t, because someone else will, and you’ll end up being the sucker. Someone else will get to feed on the broken corpses of your stupid rules. 

My job, in theory, is to make sure that those rules don’t get broken or bent too far. But my job in the real world is to figure out how far those rules can be bent and to make use of this badge that they were fool enough to pin on me so that me and mine get the most out of this life, and that we’re not the suckers, we’re not the prey.

Not like this drunk and his messed up kid.

All that council money now. All the casino money. And these suckers got themselves some free land, a nice house, a boat, and then they go to blowing all the money they got and the money they get every year. It doesn’t take a genius to talk them out of that land and that house. 

They can keep their boats. But that land is worth something to people who know how to take advantage, and it doesn’t matter that those are the people who aren’t even allowed to own this land. There’s always someone who is. There’s always someone who is willing to take the money just to have their name on a piece of paper, and that someone is me. It it wasn’t me, it would be someone else.

It was good enough for Joseph Brant, it’s sure good enough for me.

This idiot doesn’t even have the boat and he burned most of his house down, almost killed that creepy kid. Himself. And even that dirty goat. He doesn’t deserve that land. He never earned it.

All these idiots would just sit there in their new houses, the same people that they were when there was no council money and casino money, and do nothing with all that land, with all this valuable border land. They don’t know what they’ve got. They don’t know what they’ve been given. They just know how to lose it.

Suckers.

They see a badge and a uniform, that most of them didn’t even bother to vote to give me and they believe anything that I tell them, or they’re too scared of the uniform to say no. Either way.

Suckers.

Somebody’s going to take their money. Somebody’s going to take their land. Might as well be me as anybody else. Suckers are born to be suckered. Prey is born to be eaten. It’s not the wolf’s fault that the pigs didn’t know how to build a house.

I watched my old man drink and piss away everything he ever got. Blamed it all on the white man. Blamed it all on the system. Blamed it all on my mother. Never once looked in the mirror and saw that he was the sucker and it wasn’t anyone’s fault that he didn’t have the backbone or the brains to make something out of himself. It wasn’t the Residential Schools or the Church or the Government’s fault that he stood there and took it and did nothing but feel sorry for himself.

Wasn’t anybody’s fault that he was a waste of space. That was on him. He was the sucker. And my mother was the sucker for staying and taking all his shit.

Not me. 

Not me.

No, I joined the army just to get off this shitty reserve, off this shitty island. Came back and made something out of myself. Got myself a degree and when they wanted to put me on the council, I took it. When they wanted to put the badge on me I took that too. I’ll take more than that the first chance I get. I keep the peace. I can’t stop every single asshole from being an asshole, but I do what I can.

Another two for the jar.

Three.

Four.

Keep the laws that matter and bend other ones any way that I can bend them. Law of the jungle.

Stupid people shouldn’t be alive anyway. They’re out there having babies by the bushel with no money that they earned, and no brains and their kids end up as stupid as them, like cows that don’t even know that they’re being fattened up for slaughter.

Fuck them.

One more for the jar.

Fuck them twice.

Two for the jar.

They talk about fairness and how the world was a paradise before the white man showed up, but half us were killing the other half, and half of us are still killing the other half. Booze and drugs and shooting each other when they’re drunk or wasted. Running each other down on the road or the river. I’ve seen it. I’ve seen the wrecks. I’ve seen the bodies. The suicides. Some people are just too stupid to be alive, or too weak to be alive, and back in the old days if that was you, you were the one that ended up dead. Now you get to to do stupid things to hurt other people. Kill other people.

We had wars. Our ancestors killed other people’s ancestors. Ate some of them. Parts of them. That’s what our own stories say. When the priests came here we did the same thing to them. They chose the wrong side so we killed them and we tortured them and cut their skin off and ate their hearts. Cut off Brebeuf’s lips and stuck a burning stick down his throat.

Paradise my ass.

Wasn’t one then and it sure as hell isn’t one now. Maybe a paradise for the winners. Maybe a paradise for the hunters and the killers. Paradise is what you make. Paradise is what you can take. Paradise is for the ones strong enough and smart enough not to be the prey.

Cain killed Abel because Abel was too stupid and too weak to be alive.

Survival of the fittest. Sucker born every minute.

Fuck them.

One for the jar.

If we had a kid he’d be one rich motherfucker.

Fuck.

Two.

Better off than this poor kid. His father would sign anything you put in front of him once you get him drunk. Sooner or later he’s just going to kill himself and that kid. Too stupid to be alive. Dumb motherfucker.

Fuck.

Two more.

Just another mean drunk. Just another sucker. And that kid. That kid gives me the creeps. Hardly ever talks. Stands there staring off into space like he’s in some kind of trance. Talking to that kid’s like talking to that stupid goat of his. Just stares at you and stares like he sees you but like he sees past you too. You just can’t tell what the hell is going on inside that kid’s head. Gives me the creeps.

Hell is not a swear word.

Not anymore. 

I’ve seen hell. I know what it looks like. 

Definitely not a swear word.

Kid gives me the creeps. Damn goat gives me the creeps too.

Damn’s not a swear work either. They say it on TV all the time. They say all kinds of shit on TV nowadays.

Fuck.

Two more.

Best thing that ever happened to that kid if I took him in, put him in the system. Living in that burned out house all alone. Not my fault his father’s an asshole. That prick sober and locked up is meaner than any rattlesnake and more disagreeable too. But maybe the boy could give me some leverage. Maybe that kid could be useful for something at least.

Prick.

That’s a swear word.

Yeah. 

It’s a swear word.

Fuck.

That jar’s going to be full. Our kid would be a billionaire, if we could have one.

Going to have to buy another jar. Put it beside all the other ones.

Kid really gives me the creeps. Probably retarded or something. Be better off in the system.

Car in the driveway. There’s a fucking car in their driveway.

Probably that girl. Pretty one. Seen her here before. Heard she’s trying to take care of the kid. Not sure why. What her angle is. Don’t think she’s a social worker or a teacher. Kind of looks like she could be part Indian or maybe Oriental. Hard to tell sometimes. Could be related to the kid somehow. Except she doesn’t look like she’s from this place. Not sure what her angle is and I don’t like people who are up to things I can’t figure out. 

Going to have to dig into that. Find out who the hell she is and if she’s going to be a problem.

What the hell is she doing?

She’s just standing in the driveway. Staring at something. Behind the house. Maybe the field. She’s just standing there. Bag of groceries spilled out all over the driveway. Can’t see what she’s looking at.  Must be something that matters. She should have heard my car. She hasn’t looked back even once, and she’s not taking notice of all that mess in the driveway.

What the hell is she doing?

I don’t like complications. I fucking hate complications.

One more for the jar.

Two more. Losing count.

I can’t see the boy. I can’t see anything behind that burned up house. Maybe something happened to the kid. Out here all alone, something bad was bound to happen. Not sure how that breaks down for me. Might be hard to reason with that prick after something like that. Or if maybe something like this’d leave him open to be manipulated.

I don’t like complications.

Just stop the car. Sit here for a moment. Try to figure out the situation before I go jumping in.

Fuck. She’s looking back at me now. She sees me.

The look on her face. What is that look on her face? Fear? Relief?

Guess I’m going to have to find out.

If I wasn’t married I’d fuck the hell out of her.

Shit.

Going to need a whole new swear jar.

Okay.

Hate complications. I really fucking hate complications.

Don’t like not knowing what I’m walking into. Only one way to find out, I guess. One way to find out who the sucker’s going to be.

This way to the Egress, folks. This way to the fucking Egress.

Going to need a whole new jar. 

Going to need some way bigger fucking jars. 

#fiction #writing #writers #authors #author #novels #novelnovels #newnovels #julesdelorme #julesfdelorme #faller #delormewriting #scarboroughwritersfightclub #story #bear #native #nativestories #metis #metisstories

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[julesdelorme]

faller

Chapter 8

Suckers

There’s a sucker born every minute.

Every single fucking minute.

The wife doesn’t like it when I swear. She keeps a swear jar at home. 

I put money in it every day even though we’re never going to have kids to give the money to. 

She’s a good woman.

She’s entitled to her delusions after all I put her through. I never mention that the jar doesn’t really have a point. Every day I put money in and it just stays there. It just sits there. There’s a bunch of them now and they don’t do anything but sit there full of money. I don’t touch them. She doesn’t touch them. We go to church every Sunday and she holds my hand, and I’m just glad that she stayed with me all these years.

She knows who I am. She knows the kinds of things that I do. She knows all about me. I never lie to her. I don’t talk about the things that I do and she never asks, but I never lie to her. She knows. And still she stays. Still she loves me.

So let her have her swear jar that gets so full of money that neither one of us will ever touch, that gets so full of money that I keep having to buy bigger and bigger swear jars, and we laugh about that.

She’s a good woman.

I guess she’s a sucker for loving me, but she’s my sucker.

All those other suckers though. All those other suckers with their stupid vacant grins and their pathetic excuses for why their lives have gone to shit or why their lives have always been shit.

Two more for the swear jar.

You’re either the sucker or the guy taking the sucker. And I decided a long time ago that I was going to be the guy taking the sucker. 

I’m definitely going to find a way to take this particular sucker. Even if he is in jail again. His kid is still there. Just the kid and that dirty goat. I can find a way to leverage that situation. Give a man a lever and he can move the world. Not quite sure how just yet, but I’ll figure something out when I get there. I always do.

This way to the Egress, folks.

All those suckers lying to themselves all the time, telling themselves some story about god or the way the world is supposed to work, but in the end the world works the way it works whether they like it or not. Predator or prey. The one that eats or the one that gets eaten. That’s the world. That’s the real world.

You don’t need to grow up on this piece of shit Rez to know that.

Another one for the jar.

I tried arguing once with her once that shit shouldn’t be considered a swear word. It’s just describing a normal bodily function that we all have to do pretty much every single day. We don’t think of sweat or scratch as swear words. They’re just things that we do but don’t like to talk about. Lots of things like that. More that we don’t want to talk about than we do. But I guess that a swear word is whatever we say it is, because we’re the ones that get to decide what offends us or doesn’t. No matter if it’s all phoney and the words people get offended by are the things that they do every day or think about every day but just don’t want to talk about.

Let her have that. Sometimes you’ve got to play by the rules of the game, even if they don’t make any sense. And sometimes you just make up the rules as you go. Sometimes you find a way to use the rules or bend the rules a little, and you’re a fool if you don’t, because someone else will, and you’ll end up being the sucker. Someone else will get to feed on the broken corpses of your stupid rules. 

My job, in theory, is to make sure that those rules don’t get broken or bent too far. But my job in the real world is to figure out how far those rules can be bent and to make use of this badge that they were fool enough to pin on me so that me and mine get the most out of this life, and that we’re not the suckers, we’re not the prey.

Not like this drunk and his messed up kid.

All that council money now. All the casino money. And these suckers got themselves some free land, a nice house, a boat, and then they go to blowing all the money they got and the money they get every year. It doesn’t take a genius to talk them out of that land and that house. 

They can keep their boats. But that land is worth something to people who know how to take advantage, and it doesn’t matter that those are the people who aren’t even allowed to own this land. There’s always someone who is. There’s always someone who is willing to take the money just to have their name on a piece of paper, and that someone is me. It it wasn’t me, it would be someone else.

It was good enough for Joseph Brant, it’s sure good enough for me.

This idiot doesn’t even have the boat and he burned most of his house down, almost killed that creepy kid. Himself. And even that dirty goat. He doesn’t deserve that land. He never earned it.

All these idiots would just sit there in their new houses, the same people that they were when there was no council money and casino money, and do nothing with all that land, with all this valuable border land. They don’t know what they’ve got. They don’t know what they’ve been given. They just know how to lose it.

Suckers.

They see a badge and a uniform, that most of them didn’t even bother to vote to give me and they believe anything that I tell them, or they’re too scared of the uniform to say no. Either way.

Suckers.

Somebody’s going to take their money. Somebody’s going to take their land. Might as well be me as anybody else. Suckers are born to be suckered. Prey is born to be eaten. It’s not the wolf’s fault that the pigs didn’t know how to build a house.

I watched my old man drink and piss away everything he ever got. Blamed it all on the white man. Blamed it all on the system. Blamed it all on my mother. Never once looked in the mirror and saw that he was the sucker and it wasn’t anyone’s fault that he didn’t have the backbone or the brains to make something out of himself. It wasn’t the Residential Schools or the Church or the Government’s fault that he stood there and took it and did nothing but feel sorry for himself.

Wasn’t anybody’s fault that he was a waste of space. That was on him. He was the sucker. And my mother was the sucker for staying and taking all his shit.

Not me. 

Not me.

No, I joined the army just to get off this shitty reserve, off this shitty island. Came back and made something out of myself. Got myself a degree and when they wanted to put me on the council, I took it. When they wanted to put the badge on me I took that too. I’ll take more than that the first chance I get. I keep the peace. I can’t stop every single asshole from being an asshole, but I do what I can.

Another two for the jar.

Three.

Four.

Keep the laws that matter and bend other ones any way that I can bend them. Law of the jungle.

Stupid people shouldn’t be alive anyway. They’re out there having babies by the bushel with no money that they earned, and no brains and their kids end up as stupid as them, like cows that don’t even know that they’re being fattened up for slaughter.

Fuck them.

One more for the jar.

Fuck them twice.

Two for the jar.

They talk about fairness and how the world was a paradise before the white man showed up, but half us were killing the other half, and half of us are still killing the other half. Booze and drugs and shooting each other when they’re drunk or wasted. Running each other down on the road or the river. I’ve seen it. I’ve seen the wrecks. I’ve seen the bodies. The suicides. Some people are just too stupid to be alive, or too weak to be alive, and back in the old days if that was you, you were the one that ended up dead. Now you get to to do stupid things to hurt other people. Kill other people.

We had wars. Our ancestors killed other people’s ancestors. Ate some of them. Parts of them. That’s what our own stories say. When the priests came here we did the same thing to them. They chose the wrong side so we killed them and we tortured them and cut their skin off and ate their hearts. Cut off Brebeuf’s lips and stuck a burning stick down his throat.

Paradise my ass.

Wasn’t one then and it sure as hell isn’t one now. Maybe a paradise for the winners. Maybe a paradise for the hunters and the killers. Paradise is what you make. Paradise is what you can take. Paradise is for the ones strong enough and smart enough not to be the prey.

Cain killed Abel because Abel was too stupid and too weak to be alive.

Survival of the fittest. Sucker born every minute.

Fuck them.

One for the jar.

If we had a kid he’d be one rich motherfucker.

Fuck.

Two.

Better off than this poor kid. His father would sign anything you put in front of him once you get him drunk. Sooner or later he’s just going to kill himself and that kid. Too stupid to be alive. Dumb motherfucker.

Fuck.

Two more.

Just another mean drunk. Just another sucker. And that kid. That kid gives me the creeps. Hardly ever talks. Stands there staring off into space like he’s in some kind of trance. Talking to that kid’s like talking to that stupid goat of his. Just stares at you and stares like he sees you but like he sees past you too. You just can’t tell what the hell is going on inside that kid’s head. Gives me the creeps.

Hell is not a swear word.

Not anymore. 

I’ve seen hell. I know what it looks like. 

Definitely not a swear word.

Kid gives me the creeps. Damn goat gives me the creeps too.

Damn’s not a swear work either. They say it on TV all the time. They say all kinds of shit on TV nowadays.

Fuck.

Two more.

Best thing that ever happened to that kid if I took him in, put him in the system. Living in that burned out house all alone. Not my fault his father’s an asshole. That prick sober and locked up is meaner than any rattlesnake and more disagreeable too. But maybe the boy could give me some leverage. Maybe that kid could be useful for something at least.

Prick.

That’s a swear word.

Yeah. 

It’s a swear word.

Fuck.

That jar’s going to be full. Our kid would be a billionaire, if we could have one.

Going to have to buy another jar. Put it beside all the other ones.

Kid really gives me the creeps. Probably retarded or something. Be better off in the system.

Car in the driveway. There’s a fucking car in their driveway.

Probably that girl. Pretty one. Seen her here before. Heard she’s trying to take care of the kid. Not sure why. What her angle is. Don’t think she’s a social worker or a teacher. Kind of looks like she could be part Indian or maybe Oriental. Hard to tell sometimes. Could be related to the kid somehow. Except she doesn’t look like she’s from this place. Not sure what her angle is and I don’t like people who are up to things I can’t figure out. 

Going to have to dig into that. Find out who the hell she is and if she’s going to be a problem.

What the hell is she doing?

She’s just standing in the driveway. Staring at something. Behind the house. Maybe the field. She’s just standing there. Bag of groceries spilled out all over the driveway. Can’t see what she’s looking at.  Must be something that matters. She should have heard my car. She hasn’t looked back even once, and she’s not taking notice of all that mess in the driveway.

What the hell is she doing?

I don’t like complications. I fucking hate complications.

One more for the jar.

Two more. Losing count.

I can’t see the boy. I can’t see anything behind that burned up house. Maybe something happened to the kid. Out here all alone, something bad was bound to happen. Not sure how that breaks down for me. Might be hard to reason with that prick after something like that. Or if maybe something like this’d leave him open to be manipulated.

I don’t like complications.

Just stop the car. Sit here for a moment. Try to figure out the situation before I go jumping in.

Fuck. She’s looking back at me now. She sees me.

The look on her face. What is that look on her face? Fear? Relief?

Guess I’m going to have to find out.

If I wasn’t married I’d fuck the hell out of her.

Shit.

Going to need a whole new swear jar.

Okay.

Hate complications. I really fucking hate complications.

Don’t like not knowing what I’m walking into. Only one way to find out, I guess. One way to find out who the sucker’s going to be.

This way to the Egress, folks. This way to the fucking Egress.

Going to need a whole new jar. 

Going to need some way bigger fucking jars. 

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[julesdelorme]

faller

Chapter 8

Suckers

There’s a sucker born every minute.

Every single fucking minute.

The wife doesn’t like it when I swear. She keeps a swear jar at home. 

I put money in it every day even though we’re never going to have kids to give the money to. 

She’s a good woman.

She’s entitled to her delusions after all I put her through. I never mention that the jar doesn’t really have a point. Every day I put money in and it just stays there. It just sits there. There’s a bunch of them now and they don’t do anything but sit there full of money. I don’t touch them. She doesn’t touch them. We go to church every Sunday and she holds my hand, and I’m just glad that she stayed with me all these years.

She knows who I am. She knows the kinds of things that I do. She knows all about me. I never lie to her. I don’t talk about the things that I do and she never asks, but I never lie to her. She knows. And still she stays. Still she loves me.

So let her have her swear jar that gets so full of money that neither one of us will ever touch, that gets so full of money that I keep having to buy bigger and bigger swear jars, and we laugh about that.

She’s a good woman.

I guess she’s a sucker for loving me, but she’s my sucker.

All those other suckers though. All those other suckers with their stupid vacant grins and their pathetic excuses for why their lives have gone to shit or why their lives have always been shit.

Two more for the swear jar.

You’re either the sucker or the guy taking the sucker. And I decided a long time ago that I was going to be the guy taking the sucker. 

I’m definitely going to find a way to take this particular sucker. Even if he is in jail again. His kid is still there. Just the kid and that dirty goat. I can find a way to leverage that situation. Give a man a lever and he can move the world. Not quite sure how just yet, but I’ll figure something out when I get there. I always do.

This way to the Egress, folks.

All those suckers lying to themselves all the time, telling themselves some story about god or the way the world is supposed to work, but in the end the world works the way it works whether they like it or not. Predator or prey. The one that eats or the one that gets eaten. That’s the world. That’s the real world.

You don’t need to grow up on this piece of shit Rez to know that.

Another one for the jar.

I tried arguing once with her once that shit shouldn’t be considered a swear word. It’s just describing a normal bodily function that we all have to do pretty much every single day. We don’t think of sweat or scratch as swear words. They’re just things that we do but don’t like to talk about. Lots of things like that. More that we don’t want to talk about than we do. But I guess that a swear word is whatever we say it is, because we’re the ones that get to decide what offends us or doesn’t. No matter if it’s all phoney and the words people get offended by are the things that they do every day or think about every day but just don’t want to talk about.

Let her have that. Sometimes you’ve got to play by the rules of the game, even if they don’t make any sense. And sometimes you just make up the rules as you go. Sometimes you find a way to use the rules or bend the rules a little, and you’re a fool if you don’t, because someone else will, and you’ll end up being the sucker. Someone else will get to feed on the broken corpses of your stupid rules. 

My job, in theory, is to make sure that those rules don’t get broken or bent too far. But my job in the real world is to figure out how far those rules can be bent and to make use of this badge that they were fool enough to pin on me so that me and mine get the most out of this life, and that we’re not the suckers, we’re not the prey.

Not like this drunk and his messed up kid.

All that council money now. All the casino money. And these suckers got themselves some free land, a nice house, a boat, and then they go to blowing all the money they got and the money they get every year. It doesn’t take a genius to talk them out of that land and that house. 

They can keep their boats. But that land is worth something to people who know how to take advantage, and it doesn’t matter that those are the people who aren’t even allowed to own this land. There’s always someone who is. There’s always someone who is willing to take the money just to have their name on a piece of paper, and that someone is me. It it wasn’t me, it would be someone else.

It was good enough for Joseph Brant, it’s sure good enough for me.

This idiot doesn’t even have the boat and he burned most of his house down, almost killed that creepy kid. Himself. And even that dirty goat. He doesn’t deserve that land. He never earned it.

All these idiots would just sit there in their new houses, the same people that they were when there was no council money and casino money, and do nothing with all that land, with all this valuable border land. They don’t know what they’ve got. They don’t know what they’ve been given. They just know how to lose it.

Suckers.

They see a badge and a uniform, that most of them didn’t even bother to vote to give me and they believe anything that I tell them, or they’re too scared of the uniform to say no. Either way.

Suckers.

Somebody’s going to take their money. Somebody’s going to take their land. Might as well be me as anybody else. Suckers are born to be suckered. Prey is born to be eaten. It’s not the wolf’s fault that the pigs didn’t know how to build a house.

I watched my old man drink and piss away everything he ever got. Blamed it all on the white man. Blamed it all on the system. Blamed it all on my mother. Never once looked in the mirror and saw that he was the sucker and it wasn’t anyone’s fault that he didn’t have the backbone or the brains to make something out of himself. It wasn’t the Residential Schools or the Church or the Government’s fault that he stood there and took it and did nothing but feel sorry for himself.

Wasn’t anybody’s fault that he was a waste of space. That was on him. He was the sucker. And my mother was the sucker for staying and taking all his shit.

Not me. 

Not me.

No, I joined the army just to get off this shitty reserve, off this shitty island. Came back and made something out of myself. Got myself a degree and when they wanted to put me on the council, I took it. When they wanted to put the badge on me I took that too. I’ll take more than that the first chance I get. I keep the peace. I can’t stop every single asshole from being an asshole, but I do what I can.

Another two for the jar.

Three.

Four.

Keep the laws that matter and bend other ones any way that I can bend them. Law of the jungle.

Stupid people shouldn’t be alive anyway. They’re out there having babies by the bushel with no money that they earned, and no brains and their kids end up as stupid as them, like cows that don’t even know that they’re being fattened up for slaughter.

Fuck them.

One more for the jar.

Fuck them twice.

Two for the jar.

They talk about fairness and how the world was a paradise before the white man showed up, but half us were killing the other half, and half of us are still killing the other half. Booze and drugs and shooting each other when they’re drunk or wasted. Running each other down on the road or the river. I’ve seen it. I’ve seen the wrecks. I’ve seen the bodies. The suicides. Some people are just too stupid to be alive, or too weak to be alive, and back in the old days if that was you, you were the one that ended up dead. Now you get to to do stupid things to hurt other people. Kill other people.

We had wars. Our ancestors killed other people’s ancestors. Ate some of them. Parts of them. That’s what our own stories say. When the priests came here we did the same thing to them. They chose the wrong side so we killed them and we tortured them and cut their skin off and ate their hearts. Cut off Brebeuf’s lips and stuck a burning stick down his throat.

Paradise my ass.

Wasn’t one then and it sure as hell isn’t one now. Maybe a paradise for the winners. Maybe a paradise for the hunters and the killers. Paradise is what you make. Paradise is what you can take. Paradise is for the ones strong enough and smart enough not to be the prey.

Cain killed Abel because Abel was too stupid and too weak to be alive.

Survival of the fittest. Sucker born every minute.

Fuck them.

One for the jar.

If we had a kid he’d be one rich motherfucker.

Fuck.

Two.

Better off than this poor kid. His father would sign anything you put in front of him once you get him drunk. Sooner or later he’s just going to kill himself and that kid. Too stupid to be alive. Dumb motherfucker.

Fuck.

Two more.

Just another mean drunk. Just another sucker. And that kid. That kid gives me the creeps. Hardly ever talks. Stands there staring off into space like he’s in some kind of trance. Talking to that kid’s like talking to that stupid goat of his. Just stares at you and stares like he sees you but like he sees past you too. You just can’t tell what the hell is going on inside that kid’s head. Gives me the creeps.

Hell is not a swear word.

Not anymore. 

I’ve seen hell. I know what it looks like. 

Definitely not a swear word.

Kid gives me the creeps. Damn goat gives me the creeps too.

Damn’s not a swear work either. They say it on TV all the time. They say all kinds of shit on TV nowadays.

Fuck.

Two more.

Best thing that ever happened to that kid if I took him in, put him in the system. Living in that burned out house all alone. Not my fault his father’s an asshole. That prick sober and locked up is meaner than any rattlesnake and more disagreeable too. But maybe the boy could give me some leverage. Maybe that kid could be useful for something at least.

Prick.

That’s a swear word.

Yeah. 

It’s a swear word.

Fuck.

That jar’s going to be full. Our kid would be a billionaire, if we could have one.

Going to have to buy another jar. Put it beside all the other ones.

Kid really gives me the creeps. Probably retarded or something. Be better off in the system.

Car in the driveway. There’s a fucking car in their driveway.

Probably that girl. Pretty one. Seen her here before. Heard she’s trying to take care of the kid. Not sure why. What her angle is. Don’t think she’s a social worker or a teacher. Kind of looks like she could be part Indian or maybe Oriental. Hard to tell sometimes. Could be related to the kid somehow. Except she doesn’t look like she’s from this place. Not sure what her angle is and I don’t like people who are up to things I can’t figure out. 

Going to have to dig into that. Find out who the hell she is and if she’s going to be a problem.

What the hell is she doing?

She’s just standing in the driveway. Staring at something. Behind the house. Maybe the field. She’s just standing there. Bag of groceries spilled out all over the driveway. Can’t see what she’s looking at.  Must be something that matters. She should have heard my car. She hasn’t looked back even once, and she’s not taking notice of all that mess in the driveway.

What the hell is she doing?

I don’t like complications. I fucking hate complications.

One more for the jar.

Two more. Losing count.

I can’t see the boy. I can’t see anything behind that burned up house. Maybe something happened to the kid. Out here all alone, something bad was bound to happen. Not sure how that breaks down for me. Might be hard to reason with that prick after something like that. Or if maybe something like this’d leave him open to be manipulated.

I don’t like complications.

Just stop the car. Sit here for a moment. Try to figure out the situation before I go jumping in.

Fuck. She’s looking back at me now. She sees me.

The look on her face. What is that look on her face? Fear? Relief?

Guess I’m going to have to find out.

If I wasn’t married I’d fuck the hell out of her.

Shit.

Going to need a whole new swear jar.

Okay.

Hate complications. I really fucking hate complications.

Don’t like not knowing what I’m walking into. Only one way to find out, I guess. One way to find out who the sucker’s going to be.

This way to the Egress, folks. This way to the fucking Egress.

Going to need a whole new jar. 

Going to need some way bigger fucking jars. 

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[julesdelorme]

So this is the latest chapter. Would be grateful for any feedback at all... faller

Chapter 8

Suckers

There’s a sucker born every minute.

Every single fucking minute.

The wife doesn’t like it when I swear. She keeps a swear jar at home.

I put money in it every day even though we’re never going to have kids to give the money to.

She’s a good woman.

She’s entitled to her delusions after all I put her through. I never mention that the jar doesn’t really have a point. Every day I put money in and it just stays there. It just sits there. There’s a bunch of them now and they don’t do anything but sit there full of money. I don’t touch them. She doesn’t touch them. We go to church every Sunday and she holds my hand, and I’m just glad that she stayed with me all these years.

She knows who I am. She knows the kinds of things that I do. She knows all about me. I never lie to her. I don’t talk about the things that I do and she never asks, but I never lie to her. She knows. And still she stays. Still she loves me.

So let her have her swear jar that gets so full of money that neither one of us will ever touch, that gets so full of money that I keep having to buy bigger and bigger swear jars, and we laugh about that.

She’s a good woman.

I guess she’s a sucker for loving me, but she’s my sucker.

All those other suckers though. All those other suckers with their stupid vacant grins and their pathetic excuses for why their lives have gone to shit or why their lives have always been shit.

Two more for the swear jar.

You’re either the sucker or the guy taking the sucker. And I decided a long time ago that I was going to be the guy taking the sucker.

I’m definitely going to find a way to take this particular sucker. Even if he is in jail again. His kid is still there. Just the kid and that dirty goat. I can find a way to leverage that situation. Give a man a lever and he can move the world. Not quite sure how just yet, but I’ll figure something out when I get there. I always do.

This way to the Egress, folks.

All those suckers lying to themselves all the time, telling themselves some story about god or the way the world is supposed to work, but in the end the world works the way it works whether they like it or not. Predator or prey. The one that eats or the one that gets eaten. That’s the world. That’s the real world.

You don’t need to grow up on this piece of shit Rez to know that.

Another one for the jar.

I tried arguing once with her once that shit shouldn’t be considered a swear word. It’s just describing a normal bodily function that we all have to do pretty much every single day. We don’t think of sweat or scratch as swear words. They’re just things that we do but don’t like to talk about. Lots of things like that. More that we don’t want to talk about than we do. But I guess that a swear word is whatever we say it is, because we’re the ones that get to decide what offends us or doesn’t. No matter if it’s all phoney and the words people get offended by are the things that they do every day or think about every day but just don’t want to talk about.

Let her have that. Sometimes you’ve got to play by the rules of the game, even if they don’t make any sense. And sometimes you just make up the rules as you go. Sometimes you find a way to use the rules or bend the rules a little, and you’re a fool if you don’t, because someone else will, and you’ll end up being the sucker. Someone else will get to feed on the broken corpses of your stupid rules.

My job, in theory, is to make sure that those rules don’t get broken or bent too far. But my job in the real world is to figure out how far those rules can be bent and to make use of this badge that they were fool enough to pin on me so that me and mine get the most out of this life, and that we’re not the suckers, we’re not the prey.

Not like this drunk and his messed up kid.

All that council money now. All the casino money. And these suckers got themselves some free land, a nice house, a boat, and then they go to blowing all the money they got and the money they get every year. It doesn’t take a genius to talk them out of that land and that house.

They can keep their boats. But that land is worth something to people who know how to take advantage, and it doesn’t matter that those are the people who aren’t even allowed to own this land. There’s always someone who is. There’s always someone who is willing to take the money just to have their name on a piece of paper, and that someone is me. It it wasn’t me, it would be someone else.

It was good enough for Joseph Brant, it’s sure good enough for me.

This idiot doesn’t even have the boat and he burned most of his house down, almost killed that creepy kid. Himself. And even that dirty goat. He doesn’t deserve that land. He never earned it.

All these idiots would just sit there in their new houses, the same people that they were when there was no council money and casino money, and do nothing with all that land, with all this valuable border land. They don’t know what they’ve got. They don’t know what they’ve been given. They just know how to lose it.

Suckers.

They see a badge and a uniform, that most of them didn’t even bother to vote to give me and they believe anything that I tell them, or they’re too scared of the uniform to say no. Either way.

Suckers.

Somebody’s going to take their money. Somebody’s going to take their land. Might as well be me as anybody else. Suckers are born to be suckered. Prey is born to be eaten. It’s not the wolf’s fault that the pigs didn’t know how to build a house.

I watched my old man drink and piss away everything he ever got. Blamed it all on the white man. Blamed it all on the system. Blamed it all on my mother. Never once looked in the mirror and saw that he was the sucker and it wasn’t anyone’s fault that he didn’t have the backbone or the brains to make something out of himself. It wasn’t the Residential Schools or the Church or the Government’s fault that he stood there and took it and did nothing but feel sorry for himself.

Wasn’t anybody’s fault that he was a waste of space. That was on him. He was the sucker. And my mother was the sucker for staying and taking all his shit.

Not me.

Not me.

No, I joined the army just to get off this shitty reserve, off this shitty island. Came back and made something out of myself. Got myself a degree and when they wanted to put me on the council, I took it. When they wanted to put the badge on me I took that too. I’ll take more than that the first chance I get. I keep the peace. I can’t stop every single asshole from being an asshole, but I do what I can.

Another two for the jar.

Three.

Four.

Keep the laws that matter and bend other ones any way that I can bend them. Law of the jungle.

Stupid people shouldn’t be alive anyway. They’re out there having babies by the bushel with no money that they earned, and no brains and their kids end up as stupid as them, like cows that don’t even know that they’re being fattened up for slaughter.

Fuck them.

One more for the jar.

Fuck them twice.

Two for the jar.

They talk about fairness and how the world was a paradise before the white man showed up, but half us were killing the other half, and half of us are still killing the other half. Booze and drugs and shooting each other when they’re drunk or wasted. Running each other down on the road or the river. I’ve seen it. I’ve seen the wrecks. I’ve seen the bodies. The suicides. Some people are just too stupid to be alive, or too weak to be alive, and back in the old days if that was you, you were the one that ended up dead. Now you get to to do stupid things to hurt other people. Kill other people.

We had wars. Our ancestors killed other people’s ancestors. Ate some of them. Parts of them. That’s what our own stories say. When the priests came here we did the same thing to them. They chose the wrong side so we killed them and we tortured them and cut their skin off and ate their hearts. Cut off Brebeuf’s lips and stuck a burning stick down his throat.

Paradise my ass.

Wasn’t one then and it sure as hell isn’t one now. Maybe a paradise for the winners. Maybe a paradise for the hunters and the killers. Paradise is what you make. Paradise is what you can take. Paradise is for the ones strong enough and smart enough not to be the prey.

Cain killed Abel because Abel was too stupid and too weak to be alive.

Survival of the fittest. Sucker born every minute.

Fuck them.

One for the jar.

If we had a kid he’d be one rich motherfucker.

Fuck.

Two.

Better off than this poor kid. His father would sign anything you put in front of him once you get him drunk. Sooner or later he’s just going to kill himself and that kid. Too stupid to be alive. Dumb motherfucker.

Fuck.

Two more.

Just another mean drunk. Just another sucker. And that kid. That kid gives me the creeps. Hardly ever talks. Stands there staring off into space like he’s in some kind of trance. Talking to that kid’s like talking to that stupid goat of his. Just stares at you and stares like he sees you but like he sees past you too. You just can’t tell what the hell is going on inside that kid’s head. Gives me the creeps.

Hell is not a swear word.

Not anymore.

I’ve seen hell. I know what it looks like.

Definitely not a swear word.

Kid gives me the creeps. Damn goat gives me the creeps too.

Damn’s not a swear work either. They say it on TV all the time. They say all kinds of shit on TV nowadays.

Fuck.

Two more.

Best thing that ever happened to that kid if I took him in, put him in the system. Living in that burned out house all alone. Not my fault his father’s an asshole. That prick sober and locked up is meaner than any rattlesnake and more disagreeable too. But maybe the boy could give me some leverage. Maybe that kid could be useful for something at least.

Prick.

That’s a swear word.

Yeah.

It’s a swear word.

Fuck.

That jar’s going to be full. Our kid would be a billionaire, if we could have one.

Going to have to buy another jar. Put it beside all the other ones.

Kid really gives me the creeps. Probably retarded or something. Be better off in the system.

Car in the driveway. There’s a fucking car in their driveway.

Probably that girl. Pretty one. Seen her here before. Heard she’s trying to take care of the kid. Not sure why. What her angle is. Don’t think she’s a social worker or a teacher. Kind of looks like she could be part Indian or maybe Oriental. Hard to tell sometimes. Could be related to the kid somehow. Except she doesn’t look like she’s from this place. Not sure what her angle is and I don’t like people who are up to things I can’t figure out.

Going to have to dig into that. Find out who the hell she is and if she’s going to be a problem.

What the hell is she doing?

She’s just standing in the driveway. Staring at something. Behind the house. Maybe the field. She’s just standing there. Bag of groceries spilled out all over the driveway. Can’t see what she’s looking at.  Must be something that matters. She should have heard my car. She hasn’t looked back even once, and she’s not taking notice of all that mess in the driveway.

What the hell is she doing?

I don’t like complications. I fucking hate complications.

One more for the jar.

Two more. Losing count.

I can’t see the boy. I can’t see anything behind that burned up house. Maybe something happened to the kid. Out here all alone, something bad was bound to happen. Not sure how that breaks down for me. Might be hard to reason with that prick after something like that. Or if maybe something like this’d leave him open to be manipulated.

I don’t like complications.

Just stop the car. Sit here for a moment. Try to figure out the situation before I go jumping in.

Fuck. She’s looking back at me now. She sees me.

The look on her face. What is that look on her face? Fear? Relief?

Guess I’m going to have to find out.

If I wasn’t married I’d fuck the hell out of her.

Shit.

Going to need a whole new swear jar.

Okay.

Hate complications. I really fucking hate complications.

Don’t like not knowing what I’m walking into. Only one way to find out, I guess. One way to find out who the sucker’s going to be.

This way to the Egress, folks. This way to the fucking Egress.

Going to need a whole new jar.

Going to need some way bigger fucking jars.

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[julesdelorme]

faller Chapter 6 Suckers

Chapter 6

Suckers

There’s a sucker born every minute.

Every single fucking minute.

The wife doesn’t like it when I swear. She keeps a swear jar at home. I put money in every day even though we’re never going to have kids to give the money to.

She’s a good woman.

She’s entitled to her delusions. After all I put her through.

I never mention that the jar doesn’t really have any point.

Every day I put money in and it just stays there. It just sits there. We go to church every Sunday and she holds my hand, and I’m just glad that she stayed with me all these years.

She knows who I am.

She knows the kinds of things that I do.

She knows all about me. I never lie to her. I don’t talk about the things that I do and she never asks, but I never lie to her.

She knows.

And still she stays.

Still she loves me.

So let her have her swear jar that gets so full of money that neither one of us will ever touch, that gets so full of money that I keep having to buy bigger and bigger swear jars, and we laugh about that.

She’s a good woman.

I guess she’s a sucker for loving me, but she’s my sucker.

All those other suckers though. All those other suckers with their stupid vacant grins and their pathetic excuses for why their lives have gone to shit or why their lives have always been shit.

Two more for the swear jar.

You’re either the sucker or the guy taking the sucker.

This particular sucker’s in jail again, but his kid is there.

I can leverage that. Use it. Not quite sure how just yet, but I’ll figure something out when I get there.

I always do.

This way to the Egress, folks.

All those suckers lying to themselves all the time, telling themselves some story about god or the way the world is supposed to work, but in the end the world works the way it works whether they like it or not.

Predator of prey. The one that eats or the one that gets eaten.

That’s the world.

That’s the real world.

You don’t need to grow up on this piece of shit Island to know that.

Another one for the jar.

I tried arguing once with her once it shouldn’t be considered a swear word. It’s just describing a normal bodily function that we all have to do pretty much every single day. But I guess that a swear word is whatever we say it is, because we’re the ones that get to decide what offends us or not. Doesn’t matter if it’s all phoney and the words people get offended by are the things that they do every day or think about every day.

Let her have that.

Sometimes you’ve got to play by the rules of the game, even if they don’t make any sense.

Sometimes you just make up the rules as you go.

Sometimes you can find a way to use the rules or bend the rules a little, and you’re a fool if you don’t, because someone else will, and you’ll end up being the sucker. Someone else will get to feed on the broken corpse of your stupid rules.

My job is to make sure that those rules don’t get broken or bent too far.

It’s also my job to figure out how far those rules can be bent and to make use of this badge that they were fool enough to pin on me so that me and mine get the most out of this life, and that we’re not the suckers, that we’re not the prey.

Like this drunk and his messed up kid.

All that council money now.

All the casino money.

And these suckers got themselves some free land, a nice house, a boat, and then they go to blowing all the money they got and the money they get every year.

It doesn’t take a genius to talk them out of that land and that house.

They can keep their boats.

But that land is worth something to people who know how to take advantage, and it doesn’t matter that those people aren’t even allowed to own this land. There’s always someone who is. There’s always someone who is willing to take the money just to have their name on a piece of paper, and that someone is me.

It it wasn’t me, it would be someone else.

This idiot doesn’t even have the boat and he burned most of his house down, almost killed that creepy kid and him.

He doesn’t deserve that land.

He never even earned it.

All those idiots would just sit there in their new houses, the same people that they were when there was no council money and casino money, and do nothing with all that land, with all that valuable border land.

They don’t know what they’ve got.

They don’t know what they’ve been given.

They just know how to lose it.

Suckers.

They see a badge and a uniform that most of them didn’t even bother voting to give me and they believe anything that I tell them, or they’re too scared of the uniform to say no.

Either way.

Suckers.

Somebody’s going to take their money.

Somebody’s going to take their land.

Might as well be me as anybody else.

Suckers are born to be suckered.

Prey is born to be eaten.

It’s not the wolf’s fault that the pigs didn’t know how to build a house.

I watched my old man drink and piss away everything he ever got. Blamed it all on the white man. Blamed it all on the system. Blamed it all on my mother. Never once looked in the mirror and saw that he was the sucker and it wasn’t anyone’s fault that he didn’t have the backbone or the brains to make something out of himself.

It wasn’t the Residential Schools or the Church or the Government’s fault that he stood there and took it and did nothing but feel sorry for himself.

Wasn’t anybody’s fault that he was a waste of space but him.

He was the sucker.

And my mother was the sucker for staying and taking all his shit.

Not me.

Not me.

Joined the army just to get away. Came back and made something out of myself. Got myself a degree and when they wanted to put me on the council, I took it. When they wanted to put the badge on me I took that too.

I keep the peace.

I can’t stop every single asshole from being an asshole, but I do what I can.

Another two for the jar.

Keep the laws that matter and bend other ones any way that I can bend them.

Law of the jungle.

Stupid people shouldn’t be alive anyway. They’re out there having babies by the bushel with no money that they earned, and no brains and their kids end up as stupid as them, like cows that don’t even know that they’re being fattened up for slaughter.

Fuck them.

One more for the jar.

Fuck them twice.

Two for the jar.

They talk about fairness and how the world was a paradise before the white man showed up, but half us were killing the other half and half of us are still killing the other half. Booze and drugs and shooting off guns when they’re drunk or wasted. Running each other down on the road or the river while they’re drunk or wasted. I’ve seen it. I’ve seen the wrecks. I’ve seen the bodies. Some people are just too stupid to be alive, or too weak to be alive, and back in the old days if that was you, you were the one that ended up dead. Now you get to to do stupid things to hurt other people. Kill other people.

We had wars.

Our ancestors killed other people’s ancestors. Ate some of them. Parts of them. That’s what our own stories say. When the priests came here we did the same thing to them. They chose the wrong side so we killed them and we tortured them and cut their skin off and ate their hearts.

Paradise my ass.

Wasn’t one then and it sure as hell isn’t one now.

Maybe a paradise for the winners.

Maybe a paradise for the hunters and the killers.

Paradise is what you make.

Paradise is what you can take.

Paradise is for the ones strong enough and smart enough not to be the prey.

Cain killed Abel because Abel was too stupid to be alive.

Survival of the fittest.

Sucker born every minute.

Fuck them.

One for the jar.

If we had a kid he’d be one rich motherfucker.

Fuck.

Two.

Better off than this poor kid.

His father would sign anything you put in front of him once you get him drunk. Sooner or later he’s just going to kill himself and that kid. Too stupid to be alive. Dumb motherfucker.

Fuck.

Two more.

Just another mean drunk.

Just another sucker.

And that kid.

That kid gives me the creeps.

Hardly ever talks. Stands there staring off into space like he’s in some kind of trance. Talking to that kid’s like talking to a barn owl. Just stares at you and stares like he sees you but like he sees past you too. You just can’t tell what the hell is going on inside that kid’s head.

Hell is not a swear word.

Not anymore.

I’ve seen hell. I know what it looks like.

Definitely not a swear word.

Kid gives me the creeps.

Best thing that ever happened to him if I took him in, put him in the system. Living in that burned out house all alone. Not my fault his father’s an asshole.

That prick sober and locked up is meaner than any rattlesnake and more disagreeable too.

But maybe the boy could give me some leverage.

Maybe that kid could be useful for something at least.

Prick.

That’s a swear word.

Yeah.

It’s a swear word.

Fuck.

That jar’s going to be full. Our kid would be a billionaire, if we could have one.

Going to have to buy another jar.

Put it beside all the other ones.

Kid really gives me the creeps.

Probably retarded or something. Be better off in the system.

Car in the driveway.

There’s a car in their driveway.

Probably that girl. Pretty one. Seen her before.  Heard she’s trying to take care of the kid. Not sure why. What her angle is. Don’t think she’s a social worker or a teacher. Kind of looks like she could be part Indian. Could related to the kid somehow. Except she doesn’t look like she’s from the Island.

Not sure what her angle is and I don’t like people who are up to things I can’t figure out.

Going to have to dig into that.

Find out who the hell she is and if she’s going to be a problem.

She’s just standing in the driveway.

Staring at something.  Behind the house. Maybe the field.

She’s just standing there.

Bag of groceries spilled out all over the driveway. Can’t see what she’s looking at.  Must be something that matters. She should have heard my car. She hasn’t looked back even once, and she’s not taking notice of all that mess in the driveway.

I don’t like complications.

I fucking hate complications.

One more for the jar.

I can’t see the boy.

I can’t see anything behind that burned up house.

Maybe something happened to the kid. Out here all alone, something bad was bound to happen.

Not sure how that breaks down for me. Might be hard to reason with that prick after something like that. Or if maybe something like this’d leave him open to be manipulated.

I don’t like complications.

Going to stop the car. Sit here for a moment.

Try to figure out the situation before I go jumping in.

She’s looking back at me now.

She sees me.

The look on her face. What is that? Fear? Relief?

Guess I’ll have to find out.

If I wasn’t married I’d fuck the hell out of her.

Shit.

Going to need a whole new swear jar.

Okay.

Don’t like not knowing what I’m walking into.

One way to find out.

One way to find out who the sucker’s going to be.

This way to the Egress, folks.

This way to the fucking Egress.

Going to need a whole new jar.

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[julesdelorme]

Chapter 6

Suckers

There’s a sucker born every minute.

Every single fucking minute.

The wife doesn’t like it when I swear. She keeps a swear jar at home. I put money in every day even though we’re never going to have kids to give the money to.

She’s a good woman.

She’s entitled to her delusions. After all I put her through.

I never mention that the jar doesn’t really have any point.

Every day I put money in and it just stays there. It just sits there. We go to church every Sunday and she holds my hand, and I’m just glad that she stayed with me all these years.

She knows who I am.

She knows the kinds of things that I do.

She knows all about me. I never lie to her. I don’t talk about the things that I do and she never asks, but I never lie to her.

She knows.

And still she stays.

Still she loves me.

So let her have her swear jar that gets so full of money that neither one of us will ever touch, that gets so full of money that I keep having to buy bigger and bigger swear jars, and we laugh about that.

She’s a good woman.

I guess she’s a sucker for loving me, but she’s my sucker.

All those other suckers though. All those other suckers with their stupid vacant grins and their pathetic excuses for why their lives have gone to shit or why their lives have always been shit.

Two more for the swear jar.

You’re either the sucker or the guy taking the sucker.

This particular sucker’s in jail again, but his kid is there.

I can leverage that. Use it. Not quite sure how just yet, but I’ll figure something out when I get there.

I always do.

This way to the Egress, folks.

All those suckers lying to themselves all the time, telling themselves some story about god or the way the world is supposed to work, but in the end the world works the way it works whether they like it or not.

Predator of prey. The one that eats or the one that gets eaten.

That’s the world.

That’s the real world.

You don’t need to grow up on this piece of shit Island to know that.

Another one for the jar.

I tried arguing once with her once it shouldn’t be considered a swear word. It’s just describing a normal bodily function that we all have to do pretty much every single day. But I guess that a swear word is whatever we say it is, because we’re the ones that get to decide what offends us or not. Doesn’t matter if it’s all phoney and the words people get offended by are the things that they do every day or think about every day.

Let her have that.

Sometimes you’ve got to play by the rules of the game, even if they don’t make any sense.

Sometimes you just make up the rules as you go.

Sometimes you can find a way to use the rules or bend the rules a little, and you’re a fool if you don’t, because someone else will, and you’ll end up being the sucker. Someone else will get to feed on the broken corpse of your stupid rules.

My job is to make sure that those rules don’t get broken or bent too far.

It’s also my job to figure out how far those rules can be bent and to make use of this badge that they were fool enough to pin on me so that me and mine get the most out of this life, and that we’re not the suckers, that we’re not the prey.

Like this drunk and his messed up kid.

All that council money now.

All the casino money.

And these suckers got themselves some free land, a nice house, a boat, and then they go to blowing all the money they got and the money they get every year.

It doesn’t take a genius to talk them out of that land and that house.

They can keep their boats.

But that land is worth something to people who know how to take advantage, and it doesn’t matter that those people aren’t even allowed to own this land. There’s always someone who is. There’s always someone who is willing to take the money just to have their name on a piece of paper, and that someone is me.

It it wasn’t me, it would be someone else.

This idiot doesn’t even have the boat and he burned most of his house down, almost killed that creepy kid and him.

He doesn’t deserve that land.

He never even earned it.

All those idiots would just sit there in their new houses, the same people that they were when there was no council money and casino money, and do nothing with all that land, with all that valuable border land.

They don’t know what they’ve got.

They don’t know what they’ve been given.

They just know how to lose it.

Suckers.

They see a badge and a uniform that most of them didn’t even bother voting to give me and they believe anything that I tell them, or they’re too scared of the uniform to say no.

Either way.

Suckers.

Somebody’s going to take their money.

Somebody’s going to take their land.

Might as well be me as anybody else.

Suckers are born to be suckered.

Prey is born to be eaten.

It’s not the wolf’s fault that the pigs didn’t know how to build a house.

I watched my old man drink and piss away everything he ever got. Blamed it all on the white man. Blamed it all on the system. Blamed it all on my mother. Never once looked in the mirror and saw that he was the sucker and it wasn’t anyone’s fault that he didn’t have the backbone or the brains to make something out of himself.

It wasn’t the Residential Schools or the Church or the Government’s fault that he stood there and took it and did nothing but feel sorry for himself.

Wasn’t anybody’s fault that he was a waste of space but him.

He was the sucker.

And my mother was the sucker for staying and taking all his shit.

Not me.

Not me.

Joined the army just to get away. Came back and made something out of myself. Got myself a degree and when they wanted to put me on the council, I took it. When they wanted to put the badge on me I took that too.

I keep the peace.

I can’t stop every single asshole from being an asshole, but I do what I can.

Another two for the jar.

Keep the laws that matter and bend other ones any way that I can bend them.

Law of the jungle.

Stupid people shouldn’t be alive anyway. They’re out there having babies by the bushel with no money that they earned, and no brains and their kids end up as stupid as them, like cows that don’t even know that they’re being fattened up for slaughter.

Fuck them.

One more for the jar.

Fuck them twice.

Two for the jar.

They talk about fairness and how the world was a paradise before the white man showed up, but half us were killing the other half and half of us are still killing the other half. Booze and drugs and shooting off guns when they’re drunk or wasted. Running each other down on the road or the river while they’re drunk or wasted. I’ve seen it. I’ve seen the wrecks. I’ve seen the bodies. Some people are just too stupid to be alive, or too weak to be alive, and back in the old days if that was you, you were the one that ended up dead. Now you get to to do stupid things to hurt other people. Kill other people.

We had wars.

Our ancestors killed other people’s ancestors. Ate some of them. Parts of them. That’s what our own stories say. When the priests came here we did the same thing to them. They chose the wrong side so we killed them and we tortured them and cut their skin off and ate their hearts.

Paradise my ass.

Wasn’t one then and it sure as hell isn’t one now.

Maybe a paradise for the winners.

Maybe a paradise for the hunters and the killers.

Paradise is what you make.

Paradise is what you can take.

Paradise is for the ones strong enough and smart enough not to be the prey.

Cain killed Abel because Abel was too stupid to be alive.

Survival of the fittest.

Sucker born every minute.

Fuck them.

One for the jar.

If we had a kid he’d be one rich motherfucker.

Fuck.

Two.

Better off than this poor kid.

His father would sign anything you put in front of him once you get him drunk. Sooner or later he’s just going to kill himself and that kid. Too stupid to be alive. Dumb motherfucker.

Fuck.

Two more.

Just another mean drunk.

Just another sucker.

And that kid.

That kid gives me the creeps.

Hardly ever talks. Stands there staring off into space like he’s in some kind of trance. Talking to that kid’s like talking to a barn owl. Just stares at you and stares like he sees you but like he sees past you too. You just can’t tell what the hell is going on inside that kid’s head.

Hell is not a swear word.

Not anymore.

I’ve seen hell. I know what it looks like.

Definitely not a swear word.

Kid gives me the creeps.

Best thing that ever happened to him if I took him in, put him in the system. Living in that burned out house all alone. Not my fault his father’s an asshole.

That prick sober and locked up is meaner than any rattlesnake and more disagreeable too.

But maybe the boy could give me some leverage.

Maybe that kid could be useful for something at least.

Prick.

That’s a swear word.

Yeah.

It’s a swear word.

Fuck.

That jar’s going to be full. Our kid would be a billionaire, if we could have one.

Going to have to buy another jar.

Put it beside all the other ones.

Kid really gives me the creeps.

Probably retarded or something. Be better off in the system.

Car in the driveway.

There’s a car in their driveway.

Probably that girl. Pretty one. Seen her before.  Heard she’s trying to take care of the kid. Not sure why. What her angle is. Don’t think she’s a social worker or a teacher. Kind of looks like she could be part Indian. Could related to the kid somehow. Except she doesn’t look like she’s from the Island.

Not sure what her angle is and I don’t like people who are up to things I can’t figure out.

Going to have to dig into that.

Find out who the hell she is and if she’s going to be a problem.

She’s just standing in the driveway.

Staring at something.  Behind the house. Maybe the field.

She’s just standing there.

Bag of groceries spilled out all over the driveway. Can’t see what she’s looking at.  Must be something that matters. She should have heard my car. She hasn’t looked back even once, and she’s not taking notice of all that mess in the driveway.

I don’t like complications.

I fucking hate complications.

One more for the jar.

I can’t see the boy.

I can’t see anything behind that burned up house.

Maybe something happened to the kid. Out here all alone, something bad was bound to happen.

Not sure how that breaks down for me. Might be hard to reason with that prick after something like that. Or if maybe something like this’d leave him open to be manipulated.

I don’t like complications.

Going to stop the car. Sit here for a moment.

Try to figure out the situation before I go jumping in.

She’s looking back at me now.

She sees me.

The look on her face. What is that? Fear? Relief?

Guess I’ll have to find out.

If I wasn’t married I’d fuck the hell out of her.

Shit.

Going to need a whole new swear jar.

Okay.

Don’t like not knowing what I’m walking into.

One way to find out.

One way to find out who the sucker’s going to be.

This way to the Egress, folks.

This way to the fucking Egress.

Going to need a whole new jar.

#fiction writing writers julesdelorme faller

[julesdelorme]

Chapter 6

Suckers

There’s a sucker born every minute.

Every single fucking minute.

The wife doesn’t like it when I swear. She keeps a swear jar at home. I put money in every day even though we’re never going to have kids to give the money to.

She’s a good woman.

She’s entitled to her delusions. After all I put her through.

I never mention that the jar doesn’t really have any point.

Every day I put money in and it just stays there. It just sits there. We go to church every Sunday and she holds my hand, and I’m just glad that she stayed with me all these years.

She knows who I am.

She knows the kinds of things that I do.

She knows all about me. I never lie to her. I don’t talk about the things that I do and she never asks, but I never lie to her.

She knows.

And still she stays.

Still she loves me.

So let her have her swear jar that gets so full of money that neither one of us will ever touch, that gets so full of money that I keep having to buy bigger and bigger swear jars, and we laugh about that.

She’s a good woman.

I guess she’s a sucker for loving me, but she’s my sucker.

All those other suckers though. All those other suckers with their stupid vacant grins and their pathetic excuses for why their lives have gone to shit or why their lives have always been shit.

Two more for the swear jar.

You’re either the sucker or the guy taking the sucker.

This particular sucker’s in jail again, but his kid is there.

I can leverage that. Use it. Not quite sure how just yet, but I’ll figure something out when I get there.

I always do.

This way to the Egress, folks.

All those suckers lying to themselves all the time, telling themselves some story about god or the way the world is supposed to work, but in the end the world works the way it works whether they like it or not.

Predator of prey. The one that eats or the one that gets eaten.

That’s the world.

That’s the real world.

You don’t need to grow up on this piece of shit Island to know that.

Another one for the jar.

I tried arguing once with her once it shouldn’t be considered a swear word. It’s just describing a normal bodily function that we all have to do pretty much every single day. But I guess that a swear word is whatever we say it is, because we’re the ones that get to decide what offends us or not. Doesn’t matter if it’s all phoney and the words people get offended by are the things that they do every day or think about every day.

Let her have that.

Sometimes you’ve got to play by the rules of the game, even if they don’t make any sense.

Sometimes you just make up the rules as you go.

Sometimes you can find a way to use the rules or bend the rules a little, and you’re a fool if you don’t, because someone else will, and you’ll end up being the sucker. Someone else will get to feed on the broken corpse of your stupid rules.

My job is to make sure that those rules don’t get broken or bent too far.

It’s also my job to figure out how far those rules can be bent and to make use of this badge that they were fool enough to pin on me so that me and mine get the most out of this life, and that we’re not the suckers, that we’re not the prey.

Like this drunk and his messed up kid.

All that council money now.

All the casino money.

And these suckers got themselves some free land, a nice house, a boat, and then they go to blowing all the money they got and the money they get every year.

It doesn’t take a genius to talk them out of that land and that house.

They can keep their boats.

But that land is worth something to people who know how to take advantage, and it doesn’t matter that those people aren’t even allowed to own this land. There’s always someone who is. There’s always someone who is willing to take the money just to have their name on a piece of paper, and that someone is me.

It it wasn’t me, it would be someone else.

This idiot doesn’t even have the boat and he burned most of his house down, almost killed that creepy kid and him.

He doesn’t deserve that land.

He never even earned it.

All those idiots would just sit there in their new houses, the same people that they were when there was no council money and casino money, and do nothing with all that land, with all that valuable border land.

They don’t know what they’ve got.

They don’t know what they’ve been given.

They just know how to lose it.

Suckers.

They see a badge and a uniform that most of them didn’t even bother voting to give me and they believe anything that I tell them, or they’re too scared of the uniform to say no.

Either way.

Suckers.

Somebody’s going to take their money.

Somebody’s going to take their land.

Might as well be me as anybody else.

Suckers are born to be suckered.

Prey is born to be eaten.

It’s not the wolf’s fault that the pigs didn’t know how to build a house.

I watched my old man drink and piss away everything he ever got. Blamed it all on the white man. Blamed it all on the system. Blamed it all on my mother. Never once looked in the mirror and saw that he was the sucker and it wasn’t anyone’s fault that he didn’t have the backbone or the brains to make something out of himself.

It wasn’t the Residential Schools or the Church or the Government’s fault that he stood there and took it and did nothing but feel sorry for himself.

Wasn’t anybody’s fault that he was a waste of space but him.

He was the sucker.

And my mother was the sucker for staying and taking all his shit.

Not me.

Not me.

Joined the army just to get away. Came back and made something out of myself. Got myself a degree and when they wanted to put me on the council, I took it. When they wanted to put the badge on me I took that too.

I keep the peace.

I can’t stop every single asshole from being an asshole, but I do what I can.

Another two for the jar.

Keep the laws that matter and bend other ones any way that I can bend them.

Law of the jungle.

Stupid people shouldn’t be alive anyway. They’re out there having babies by the bushel with no money that they earned, and no brains and their kids end up as stupid as them, like cows that don’t even know that they’re being fattened up for slaughter.

Fuck them.

One more for the jar.

Fuck them twice.

Two for the jar.

They talk about fairness and how the world was a paradise before the white man showed up, but half us were killing the other half and half of us are still killing the other half. Booze and drugs and shooting off guns when they’re drunk or wasted. Running each other down on the road or the river while they’re drunk or wasted. I’ve seen it. I’ve seen the wrecks. I’ve seen the bodies. Some people are just too stupid to be alive, or too weak to be alive, and back in the old days if that was you, you were the one that ended up dead. Now you get to to do stupid things to hurt other people. Kill other people.

We had wars.

Our ancestors killed other people’s ancestors. Ate some of them. Parts of them. That’s what our own stories say. When the priests came here we did the same thing to them. They chose the wrong side so we killed them and we tortured them and cut their skin off and ate their hearts.

Paradise my ass.

Wasn’t one then and it sure as hell isn’t one now.

Maybe a paradise for the winners.

Maybe a paradise for the hunters and the killers.

Paradise is what you make.

Paradise is what you can take.

Paradise is for the ones strong enough and smart enough not to be the prey.

Cain killed Abel because Abel was too stupid to be alive.

Survival of the fittest.

Sucker born every minute.

Fuck them.

One for the jar.

If we had a kid he’d be one rich motherfucker.

Fuck.

Two.

Better off than this poor kid.

His father would sign anything you put in front of him once you get him drunk. Sooner or later he’s just going to kill himself and that kid. Too stupid to be alive. Dumb motherfucker.

Fuck.

Two more.

Just another mean drunk.

Just another sucker.

And that kid.

That kid gives me the creeps.

Hardly ever talks. Stands there staring off into space like he’s in some kind of trance. Talking to that kid’s like talking to a barn owl. Just stares at you and stares like he sees you but like he sees past you too. You just can’t tell what the hell is going on inside that kid’s head.

Hell is not a swear word.

Not anymore.

I’ve seen hell. I know what it looks like.

Definitely not a swear word.

Kid gives me the creeps.

Best thing that ever happened to him if I took him in, put him in the system. Living in that burned out house all alone. Not my fault his father’s an asshole.

That prick sober and locked up is meaner than any rattlesnake and more disagreeable too.

But maybe the boy could give me some leverage.

Maybe that kid could be useful for something at least.

Prick.

That’s a swear word.

Yeah.

It’s a swear word.

Fuck.

That jar’s going to be full. Our kid would be a billionaire, if we could have one.

Going to have to buy another jar.

Put it beside all the other ones.

Kid really gives me the creeps.

Probably retarded or something. Be better off in the system.

Car in the driveway.

There’s a car in their driveway.

Probably that girl. Pretty one. Seen her before.  Heard she’s trying to take care of the kid. Not sure why. What her angle is. Don’t think she’s a social worker or a teacher. Kind of looks like she could be part Indian. Could related to the kid somehow. Except she doesn’t look like she’s from the Island.

Not sure what her angle is and I don’t like people who are up to things I can’t figure out.

Going to have to dig into that.

Find out who the hell she is and if she’s going to be a problem.

She’s just standing in the driveway.

Staring at something.  Behind the house. Maybe the field.

She’s just standing there.

Bag of groceries spilled out all over the driveway. Can’t see what she’s looking at.  Must be something that matters. She should have heard my car. She hasn’t looked back even once, and she’s not taking notice of all that mess in the driveway.

I don’t like complications.

I fucking hate complications.

One more for the jar.

I can’t see the boy.

I can’t see anything behind that burned up house.

Maybe something happened to the kid. Out here all alone, something bad was bound to happen.

Not sure how that breaks down for me. Might be hard to reason with that prick after something like that. Or if maybe something like this’d leave him open to be manipulated.

I don’t like complications.

Going to stop the car. Sit here for a moment.

Try to figure out the situation before I go jumping in.

She’s looking back at me now.

She sees me.

The look on her face. What is that? Fear? Relief?

Guess I’ll have to find out.

If I wasn’t married I’d fuck the hell out of her.

Shit.

Going to need a whole new swear jar.

Okay.

Don’t like not knowing what I’m walking into.

One way to find out.

One way to find out who the sucker’s going to be.

This way to the Egress, folks.

This way to the fucking Egress.

Going to need a whole new jar.

#fiction writing writers julesdelorme faller