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April 30, 2010 Posted by | Photo | | Leave a comment

Jack & Jill (Part Seventeen)

Jack & Jill (A Love Story)

A Jack Collier Story

By Brett N. Lashuay



Read last week’s entry here.


Part Seventeen: Jack and Jill Went Up the Hill


            The hill didn’t look hard to climb, but that was a bit deceptive. There was a steep incline on three sides, and a nice shallow walk up on the other. We saw Cole doing his best to run up the shallow side and I fired a shot at him. There was a puff of dirt about three feet away, which wasn’t bad at the distance I was at and using a handgun. He turned and fired a wild barrage at us, not hitting much of anything as far as I can tell. We ran up after him, which could have caused trouble. I went around one of the steeper sides and started up it. It wasn’t so steep that I needed to climb with my hands, but it was steep enough to cause trouble.


            Cole was sitting at the top of the hill, waiting for us to come up the easy side. I looked at him as Jill got to the top with me. The hill top was barren of cover besides a single maple tree, and Cole didn’t even have the brains to try and climb it. Jill and I started to walk towards him, having come all this way to collect this bucket of piss we’d have to get him.


            “Cole?” I asked aloud and he spun around.


            He’d been crying, he was still sobbing in fact, wiping his face when he saw us. He couldn’t see very well though, and he was not even beginning to have composure.


            “You ain’t gonna take me in.” He cried, aiming his gun at where he assumed I was through his tears.


            “Cole! Will you stop you fucking idiot? It’s over! You’re done” I yelled at him. “Drop the gun and I won’t have to kill you here on this hill.”


            “You ain’t taking me in on a kiddie rape rap.” Cole growled at me, his gun still trained away from us. “You know what they do to guys on that charge up in Jackson?”


            “I know you’re looking at murder and human trafficking.” I told him. “And they’ll either put you in a Texas jail for what you did to the Mexicans, along with a whole lot of angry Mexicans or they’ll put you in a Georgia jail for murder and you can ride old sparky to hell. You’ll die if they send you to either part of the south. You’re a big guy though. You could fight off the guys who’ve got a thing against child molesters in Jackson.”


            “Fuck you.” He said as a well reasoned response and he fired a round which went into space.


            “Your choice.” I wasn’t going to wait for him to get his bearings and shoot me. I aimed at his right hip and let the Webley do the thing it was made for.


            The sound of a gun is never as loud or as booming as the movies make them sound. In fact, outside they’re positively quiet. It’s a sharp noise, lots of treble, and microphones never get it right. He hopped and shouted as the round punched through flesh and bone. I rushed him, hitting his gun hand with the butt of my revolver and then smacking his chest with my shoulder. He went over in a heap on the ground and then rolled onto his side, clutching at his hip. An entire second may have gone by, but I aged an entire year in that time.


            “You fucking idiot.” I growled.


            “Kill him!” Jill shouted with sudden ferocity.


            “What?” I asked.


            “Kill him!” She repeated. “He raped me, you should kill him for that.”


            There was logic to that, but suddenly I didn’t want him dead. I can’t explain why exactly, but I didn’t want to kill him. I wanted him to have a nice long stretch in the cooler. During that time, he might be inclined to tell me what the hell had been going on. I was still pretty much in the dark about that.


            “No.” I shook my head. “I don’t need to, he’s done.”


            “Kill him Jack!” She nearly screamed. “Kill him so we can be together.”


            “What?” I turned to her and let my gun arm go down to my side.


            Had my mother been around, she would have told me that this was my problem, I always lower my gun at the wrong time. That had been my mistake the last time I’d been shot too. My mother wasn’t around though, so she couldn’t help me this time.


            “Once he’s dead, you can take over for him.” She said, sounding desperate. “You’ll be my new owner and it’ll be perfect. You can make love to me instead of just fucking me.”


            “Uh, no.” I shook my head. “That’s not how it works.”


            “Why not?” She looked confused and bewildered.


            “Because you’re too young.” I said, trying not to sound like she’d just smacked me in the face with a carp.


            “Well I’ll grow up soon.” She smiled. “We can be together then.”


            “You’ll still be…” I shouldn’t have trailed off. I should have kept talking, telling her how I had a daughter almost her age, letting her realize what I meant on her own was a bad idea because she thought I meant something else.


            “It’s because I’m not pure isn’t it?” She started to cry. “I can’t help that he soiled me. I didn’t want him to.”


            “It’s not that.” I said, using my reassuring voice. “You’re less than half my age though. I’ll be too old for you when you’re old enough for me.”


            There were sirens in the distance, and I could see flashing red and blue lights coming toward us. I was so close to everything being alright, so close to being out of this situation. This whole thing was way too close to the end for it to all fly apart now. It wasn’t fair that I was five minutes away from the goal only to have things go wrong now.


            “Stop lying!” She screamed and the tears poured down her face. “Stop it!”


            “I’m not lying.” I said walking towards her. “But you’ll realize when you’re older that you don’t want me.”


            “Stop lying to me!” She fell to her knees and Cole’s big forty-five was right in front of her. She picked it up and pointed it at me. “Can’t you see how much I love you?”


            “Jill?” Was all I got out before she started shooting.


            Four rounds tore through me, much faster than any gun can shoot. All four bullets went through at once, and I felt like I’d been shot again. That would make it seven times that I’ve been hit. She may have screamed, she may have dropped the gun, she may have said she was sorry, but you can’t prove it by me. Why I didn’t collapse might be a mystery to you, but not to me. It was Michigan. This state wasn’t going to let me die so easily.


            I do know that the Webley dropped from my fingers because the thud it made when it hit the ground was the loudest and deepest boom since the dinosaurs stopped shaking the earth with their steps. I looked at her and she screamed that she was sorry, I think. I felt my holster flap loose at my side, because one of the bullets had torn the strap that held the holster to my right shoulder.


            I walked three whole paces before the hill sloped away and I ran out of level ground. My leg still tried to walk upright, and I fell down the hill. My body tumbled and spun and then Michigan put a big rock in my path, or possibly threw it at me. Who can tell? What I know is that a rock like object smacked into the back of my head and my descent ended. I could tell that I’d broken my skull, and that my brains were leaking out.


            There were sirens in the far off distance, possibly as much as ten feet away. I heard shouts and feet tramping and a few more screams from Jill. I managed to see her at the top of the hill and then watched as she fell towards me. She tumbled down the hill and bumped into my side. I felt her fingers on my face and her lips pressing against mine. She told me she was sorry, but she was a million miles away. I could feel her breath, but I couldn’t smell her or hear her and my vision was growing too dark for me to see her. I felt her breath on my skin though, and I could feel her weight on my chest.


            How odd, I can clearly remember raising my left arm and putting it around her. I may have even told her it was alright. I think I raised my head just enough to make contact with her. I’d meant to kiss her on the cheek, but she turned her head and I planted it on her lips. I think I told her not to worry, I can’t remember. It seems like the sort of thing I would say though, because I’m a tough guy.


            The world was fading away, I couldn’t seem to move any part of me. I felt Jill, but I couldn’t feel the ground or the stone that had drilled its way into my brain. I could just feel this little girl and her breath and nothing else. After a while, I couldn’t even feel her. There was just me, all alone in some tough guy nether world.






            And just this once, I decided it would be okay to pass out.


This Ends Jack & Jill: A Love Story

April 29, 2010 Posted by | Fiction, Jack | | Leave a comment

Photo Everyday (034)

Fancy, doing her Snoopy impression

April 29, 2010 Posted by | Photo | , | Leave a comment

Here’s something most of you won’t admit, but all of you think about.

It would be great if Hanna-Barbera could start producing The Smurfs again, only this time do it as a remake of Ilsa, She Wolf of the SS.

I’d also like to see The Seventh Seal performed by the cast of He-Man and the Masters of the Universe.

I would also like to see the Tiny Toons doing faithful adaptation of Pulp Fiction, but that’s because I want to hear Plucky Duck talking about a $5 shake. Yeah, I’ve got Hamton as Jules in my head because those two go so well together and I like the idea of the timid pig asking if Buster Bunny looks like a bitch.

April 28, 2010 Posted by | Uncategorized | Leave a comment

Photo Everyday (033)


April 28, 2010 Posted by | Photo | , | Leave a comment

Even More Pictures!


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April 27, 2010 Posted by | Photo | | Leave a comment

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April 27, 2010 Posted by | Photo | , | Leave a comment

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April 26, 2010 Posted by | Photo | , | Leave a comment

The Stand Review is now complete

Go read it on the other side…

Part One: The Plague
Part Two: The Dreams
Part Three: The Betrayal
Part Four: The Stand

April 26, 2010 Posted by | Uncategorized | Leave a comment

Time to admit you have a problem.

You know the problem with hating the addiction story line? Everything on TV can be an addiction after a while.

James Kirk has an addiction to tragically doomed women.
Duncan Macleod has an addiction to cutting off heads.
MacGyver has an addiction to building weapons out of junk.
The A-Team has an addiction to helping people in need, who no one else can help. (if you can find them)
The Addams family was addicted to being the sort of goth chic Tim Burton only wishes he could attain.

And of course the crew of the Enterprise D had an addiction to being no where near as cool as Kirk and the boys.

April 25, 2010 Posted by | Uncategorized | Leave a comment