# Jesse Owens *working title* (Graphic Violence) (Language)



## Lucifer (Aug 7, 2013)

*  Jesse Owens* 
  By: Lucifer (A.G.G.)  

(Looking for critiques of any kind, I know some grammar and some of my punctuation is off so feel free to tear me a new one! I also for the life of me could NOT get the spacing at the beginning of my paragraphs every time I preview post it always aligns to the far right. please help this noob!  )


Awake. I open my eyes and arrive in a place unknown. The sun beating down on me as I lay unsheltered. The sun stings my sockets they involuntarily squint and water as they try to adjust to the mid-morning light. The ground below me is soft earth covered in long, uncomfortable crabgrass. Throat parched, I try hard to swallow but, it does little good. My head pounds as I try and gain my bearings. “How long has it been since I was out? How did I get here? Why aren't I dead?” All these questions boil in my mind but one question resolves above the others                                             


“WHERE ARE MY GUNS?” 


  My thoughts far from settled, I force my arms to search my body. Intense pains bellow deep from within making this task most dreadful. I hold in the pain and deal, “At least I'm still alive.” But even this thought does little to console me as the search was in vain, I find myself without defense. A deep fear worse than death comes over me as I feel around the earth. Still nothing. My eyes finally adjust to this blasted sun and I gain another ally. 

Looking around I prop myself up with my good arm yet,  trying to stay low. I see an overgrown field with a wrecked truck away off in the distance. Looking around even more and I see a road a few yards away, Another wrecked vehicle lay just off the side. Then movement, someone was moving around the wreckage by the street. Panic sets in. I look back over to the flipped truck and there's more, no telling how many. The tall grass hides me but also limits my sight, I choke out a whisper


  “...Fuck...” 


  I gotta move out, I cant just sit here and wait for one of them to find me. I'm not going to end up like the others. Slowly, painfully, I start to move. Adrenaline pumping, I force myself through suffering. Laying on my back, I flip over carefully onto my stomach and start to crawl. I think my left arm is broke along with my pinky and ring fingers. Everything cracks and pops with hurtful repercussions. But, even as I wince it only brings more agony. My face, I imagine, is a swollen hive, cuts of all sizes strewn across my sour expressions. 

I move toward the street in a looping arch staying far away from the wreck. Every move made seems to be amplified and exaggerated by the rustling foliage. Fear captures every fiber of my being, I move under duress hoping not to be spotted. As I crawl, I observe, I look back and see them scavenging the wrecks. At least they haven't spotted _me_. 

Its humid, the rains that cooled last night now curse the air; God the great comedian. I crawl and crawl then, a faint smell like rotting corpses hits me, the smell of death is unmistakable, it makes me reel. But, a house in the distance, the road that I'm crawling to should take me straight to it. I'm close enough to see the street has deep drainage ditches running the entire length of the road. I look back to the wreck and something has their attention. They point, and they point toward ME! I have no choice but to crawl as fast my broken body will allow. I race toward the street, the stench grows stronger and sours. 

I reach the ditch then I see them, bodies torn apart and bloated. Floating in the half full drainage system. No time for regret or hesitation I tumble into the soup. I hit the warm, waist deep waters with whimpers that escape me involuntary. I try to keep the muck from my mouth with no avail. Short of breath. I try to suck in a gasp of air but, the air was sticky and thick with death. I gag and am staggered, I stumble forward and fall, my face hits the filth and my instincts betray me as I gasp again. I inhale some of the wretched stew, immediately I throw it up as I fall and crawl and claw my way forward. 

With dregs in my face and watering eyes, I spot my only hope in making it out of this alive. A rather obese man completely stripped and gutted. His innards bouquet out of his bloated stomach. His face has craters of flesh riped away and his eye plucked out. I can hear them now, hurrying over to the large man I position myself directly in front of him. I wedge my battered body under the massive corpse as best I can. I throw my arms over the big man in a twisted embrace. I feel his skin and fat slipping off his body as I pull with all my might. He slowly tumbles over all consuming, nearly crushing me. His body seeps noxious gases and I become sick again. 

I lay on my back in the decaying filth that used to be a rural community. My head just peeking above the mire, I breathe as best as I can through labored, painful breaths. The dreadfully familiar sound of the hunt is now all around me. The enormous man pinning me down, I can only see what he allows me to see. His head lay next to mine as his guts mush against my own. I lay as still as possible as fear forces me to tremble. They hunt and fuck till something takes its God-damn head off. It's the only way to know for sure you've killed one of those, things. 

Then one of them comes into view standing above the pit, blood-soaked and mud-caked she inspects around the moat. Then another comes into view he is also like the other, their clothes shredded from their bodies. He wears a necklace of tongues some still bloodied. I hear a splash from down stream out of the corner of my eye I catch a glimpse of something descend into the moat. The thing walks into view inspecting the bodies along the way. His name was Willy James but, everyone use to call him Wild Bill. His actions no longer his own but that of an unknown driving force. Bill unknowingly hunts after _me_, _I_ am his prey. 

He looks carefully at each body as he passes them by. I can only hope now, I'm as lucky as my mother said I was... He comes closer and closer his wild eyes search. I stay focused on him blind to the rest. Finally he reaches me and my cloak, I give my best impression of death. His glossed over eyes bloodshot and determined. He looks straight at me and for a moment I wonder, “Will they drag me out of here kicking and screaming? Does he recognize me now through those twisted eyes?” He stares and analyzes then, he trudges on. After awhile I hear one of them bark. 


  “NOT, HERE!” 


  Slowly they disperse and I lay in the filth my nose peaking above the sludge. I decide to stay here for an hour or so to make sure they have left. They maybe cunning hunters but they have the attention span of a child. I stare into the overcast skies and pray it doesn't rain. The sun, enormous, shines through rain clouds and produces brilliant curtains of light. They cut through the dreary day with God's own grace. A spectacular sight to behold, even when you are one of the damned. A sort of bitterness showers over me. How does HE take the others so suddenly while always leaving me behind?... 

How long have I laid here intimately with this cadaver? Minutes or hours? Slowly, my mind wanders into dark realms and everything starts to fade. I think to hear the dead mans thoughts. He whispers in a gargled voice, his tale hypnotic, I fight to remain conscious. In this struggle I convince my arms to move. They push against the large mound of decaying fat. My appendages retaliate with a pain so fierce, I fear my broke arm will shatter. The corpulent corpse pleads with me to stay with him. Forever to wallow in the muck with him, lovers in the sun. I squirm myself free as he grows ever so heavy. my strength, nothing. Finally, I am out from underneath of him. The dead fat man slumps back down into the murky earthen soup. I try to crawl out of the ditch when the haze in my mind takes hold, my thoughts go blank and dizzy. 

There is nothing but blackness, even as I slumber there is no escaping them. They hunt me even in my dreams, the horrible creatures that take the form of humans. Once it takes hold there is no escape, no hope. There is nothing left of the person that kissed you ever so lovingly. The man that was there for you, strong like a stone. The woman that held you, gentle as lavender. There is nothing but the savage, boundless craving for pain and agony. I have seen infected mothers brutally kill their own lineage with no hesitation or opposition. Children screaming and crying never knowing why... 

Presume you do defend yourself and fight. They will laugh and heckle you, even as they themselves get shot and torn to bits; Pain is their pleasure. It seems the quickest way to stop them is by a lethal blow to the head. Easier said than done, these things are not mindless. They work simple mechanisms and have diagnostic capabilities. They roam in gangs torturing, raping and toying with any living thing, even each other. Boarding yourself up in a house will NOT save you from these savages, they'll just burn it to the ground. I've seen it before, in my own house, with my own terrified eyes... 

Suddenly, I am back in the land of the living. Some may argue I was never dead, merely unconscious. But, brother sleep and sister death are close siblings indeed. Hunger pangs welcome me back to reality. I am now laying toward the top of the bog. Face down in the earthen wall my eye peeks open. It's late in the day and it's quiet. Agony rips through me as I move but, I do move. I drag myself up out of the drain. I set off to my last bastion. The house I first spotted at the end of the road. The last few agonizing hours of my life where spent slithering on my stomach down a patch of road I will forever remember as hell. Anguish my affliction. I tell you, Pride my sin. From head to toe I wreak with the sewage from within that dreadful ditch. The odor haunts me as I trek down the street. 

Yards away form the house I can see that its old, with chipped grayish blue paint peeling from its wooden frame. It stands three stories tall, strange for such a structure planted in the middle of nowhere. I inch my way close as the sun lays low in the sky. Finally I reach the abode, it stands colossal to the tiny trees and shrubs that dot the landscape. I sneak as best as I can up to the house. Utilizing the little cover that was there for me. All the while I observe the landscape for movement, flashes of light, or things unusual. The monsters that haunt this dreary place are cunning and imaginative. 

I see nothing as I make my way to the back door. Turning the old metal knob, its unlocked and I make my way into the house. I shut the creaky door gently and lock it. Inside I see a kitchen torn apart, splashes of dry blood paint the walls and floors. I wander the house in the twilights last rays. Each room's the same, bloodied but no bodies to be found. I find a staircase and start the climb up. As I make my way up the steps, on the second floor landing, I notice out of a window movement in the distance. I strain to look and see something dreadful. I see what used to be my younger brother Wild Bill, he now leads a small group of those things toward the house. My heart drops as I race up the steps, I look for a weapon, something, anything. I reach the top of the staircase and look around while shattered skylights illuminate the interior with moonlight. 

A wide hallway lay in front of me, I quickly stagger to the first room. Broken glass crunches under my feet all the way. I open the door and witness more gore but, nothing to arm myself with. Hastily I go down the hall and search the next room with no avail. The third door I come across is wide open, I peek in and look around. Only now does the sickening odor of decay hit me, masked by my own stench. Dead bodies are stacked on top of each other, maybe thirty or more. The dead lay scattered across the place each in different stages of decay. I search franticly for a weapon, finally I find one in the hands of a half rotten corpse. She's dressed in her Sunday's best, arms caked with blood from where she had her arms slit. I pry the large butchers knife from her cold  hands. 

I hear them, they are close and panic seizes my body. I slip the knife into the back of my pants and move to the next room. As I go through the hall, they break into the building, I hear my heart pound in my ears as I search. This room seems particular, almost familiar I get a strong sense of De ja vu. Something calls out to me, the closet. I tear it apart and see a silver dollar hole in the wall, I stick my finger in it and pull. A section of the wall gives way, inside I see something, remarkable. An old winchester 1901 lever-action shotgun and a dusty box of cardboard shells. 

The sight of this angelic device lends me strength. I can notice this work of art in any light, my grandfather had one just like this. I load the shotgun and pump one into the creaking chamber. The beasts make their way up the steps as I prepare for the clash. I rip the remaining curtains off the windows and place myself in the middle of the room.  I hear them search each room down the hall. They close in on my door and I fear my heart may hammer through my chest. The door opens, I take aim, it's Willy James in my sights. Without hesitation I pull the trigger. 


  *Click* 


  Nothing happens, Wild BIll laughs as they rush me. Ditching the gun I reach for my knife and plunge it into the neck of my first attacker. Black ooze sprays everywhere as the rest of them take me down. I am held down now by the lot of them. Frantically I struggle and I see Willy standing over the downed menace. He pulls my knife from the neck of the writhing animal. Willy laughs maniacally, over and over he stomps down on his head caving it in. This violence works the others into a frenzy. They claw deeply into my skin with jagged nails. Slowly then he waltzes over and straddles me, sitting on my stomach. He shows me the knife, slick with black blood, a smile upon his twisted face. He takes the knife and gently sticks it into my side. He works the knife in between my ribs and slides it in. I scream and squirm as the pain intensifies. Then I hear him say... 


“We where watching you.” 


  … As the rest now join in and feast on my corpse. Nothing but agony and their laughter, then nothing ... 


  … Awake. I open my eyes and arrive in a place unknown. The sun beating down on me as I lay unsheltered...


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## Monsus (Aug 7, 2013)

I like the idea of ending it as you started it. The uncertainty of what actually happened to this guy makes a great ending. However, I didn't enjoy the fact that the whole story represents his thoughts. Being only in his head the whole time made me feel tired and I found myself thinking a few times " I just want to get out of his head for a moment and see everything from a different perspective". It might be partly due to the fact that his thoughts sounded a bit alien to me and it's frustrating because I can't actually pinpoint in what way. I am really curious whether anyone else had the same feeling or it is just me.


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## Lucifer (Aug 7, 2013)

thanks for the critique, I do realize that some of the dribble I posted was hard to read do to poor sentence structure and punctuation. I have made an effort to fix said problems. as for the first person perceptive I was kind of going for the whole "Internal human struggle" type deal and if others feel "Tired" it may be too long? I may look into shortening it. thank you for your input Monsus!


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## CCRazorback22 (Aug 8, 2013)

I agree Monsus, the story needs to escape the character's brain, but maybe just a little. The concept that it is all in his head is pretty cool, but where is he, you know? I enjoyed it and can't wait to read more of your work. 

CCRazorback22


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## patskywriter (Aug 8, 2013)

You might want to rethink the name. Jesse Owens was a track star in the 1936 Olympics.


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## Lsahlm (Aug 8, 2013)

hey Lucifer,

since the main concept of this was to have inner thoughts, i think the format is incorrect a lot of times.
...well, make that, "not so consistent with general modern writing." "incorrect" is a matter of who you ask.



Lucifer said:


> *  Jesse Owens*
> By: Lucifer (A.G.G.)
> 
> Awake. I open my eyes and arrive in a place unknown. The sun beating down on me as I lay unsheltered. The sun stings my sockets they involuntarily squint and water as they try to adjust to the mid-morning light. The ground below me is soft earth covered in long, uncomfortable crabgrass. Throat parched, I try hard to swallow but, it does little good. My head pounds as I try and gain my bearings. “How long has it been since I was out? How did I get here? Why aren't I dead?” All these questions boil in my mind but one question resolves above the others


 
quoted thoughts are hardly needed these days. for one (and it doesn't really apply here so much as there's only a single character), readers may get confused weather someone is thinking or actually speaking aloud. but since this is a single character scene, they're not needed at all. we _know_ they're his thoughts/questions. they don't even have to be italicized. but grammarically, if you were to use the quotes, every question should have had and opening/closing quotation mark, not just at the beginning of the first question and the end of the last question.



> “WHERE ARE MY GUNS?”/ “...Fuck...”


i feel the capitalization is unnecessary in the first sentence. since both are like a _"stressed" thought and in it's own paragraph_, italics alone would have done just fine and would have had more impact, i think.

there are about a half dozen ways writers can choose to do their inner thoughts, and it's valid as long as it's consistent, but the above 
i feel is generally the more modern way to handle them. for a deep first person pov in present tense, i think my suggestion is definitely the way to go. but again, your mileage may vary...


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## Lucifer (Aug 8, 2013)

Thanks everyone! I do realize that Jesse Owens is indeed a track star of the African American persuasion, I wanted to insinuate the race of the lead character by using it. as for the place and time is sort of irrelevant because this man is living in a loop in hell. that was the premise when I started anywho, I wanted to do a Deadite (a form of "monster" from the Evil Dead Directed by Sam Raimi ) story with a twist at the end. And Lsahlm Thanks for the detailed breakdown! i will try to go back and fix these problems to the best of my (mediocre) ability's! when I get time that is, but yeah thanks! its so hard to step away and look at your own work and see whats confusing and what works cause its coming from ME. CCRazorback22 comments like this make me want to not burn the world to the ground! thanks a million!


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## Lsahlm (Aug 8, 2013)

you're welcome, Lucifer. being a black guy myself (surprise!), i thought that was pretty cool. 

[even tho it's "polically correct" some of us absolutely _hate _the term "African American". i'm one of the faction.]

*and my apologies for this:*
_but grammarically, if you were to use the quotes, every question should  have had and opening/closing quotation mark, not just at the beginning  of the first question and the end of the last question._

i think i was dead wrong.

Sam


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## Lucifer (Aug 13, 2013)

Lsahlm I meant no offence when using the term "African American" I was just, as you said, trying to be P.C. my apologies though.


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## patskywriter (Aug 13, 2013)

Lucifer said:


> Lsahlm I meant no offence when using the term "African American" I was just, as you said, trying to be P.C. my apologies though.



Please don't go overboard by apologizing for typing "African American," LOL. There's nothing wrong with it, and in my opinion, that phrase has no more to do with political correctness than "Italian American."


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## Lsahlm (Aug 13, 2013)

no apologies needed and no offense taken. i was just sharing a "tidbit". 
sorry if it came off that way. completely not intended.

some of this politically correct stuff is just silly was my point.


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## Odd Greg (Aug 13, 2013)

I hate to be that guy, but apparently I am. What is the purpose of the Poll at the top of this thread? And how, if at all, does it relate to the subject of the post?


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## Lucifer (Aug 14, 2013)

the poll? it doesn't just something to do, people have opinions and like to voice them. It's kind of a tool to get people through "the door", if you will? mayhaps, if irritating, I'll cut it out?


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## Odd Greg (Aug 14, 2013)

I confess that I don't fully understand your reply, and I hope I didn't come off as patronizing. I'm a bit of a paranoid, for reasons I'm afraid to explain, so when I see a context schism I tend to think, _Huh?!_


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