sway reply by quaintgerontion
this obviously won't fit in a comment, so i'm posting it here :) all of you who wanted another sample of quaintgerontion's writing, post your new vote at the original app, not here
Predictable
By QuaintGerontion
Michael hopped into the driver’s seat, threw the duffle bag into the back seat of the car, and slammed the door with his left hand while the right turned the ignition. Mitchell, his younger brother and partner in crime, was just closing the door and fastening his passenger seatbelt, when Michael punched the accelerator. The two tore out of the small town, and made towards home.
Three minutes into the commute, Michael turned to Mitchell, “Alright, do like me: take off your ski mask and throw it out the window.”
Michael drove with one hand and removed his mask, Mitchell copied. He placed one of his hands on the wheel and took his mask off with the other. The car swerved to the right, towards a clump of fir trees. Michael let go of his mask as it flew out the window, and grabbed the wheel with both hands to right the vehicles path.
“What do you think your doing?” yelled Michael.
Mitchell stared at his older brother; there was no discernable expression on the younger’s face. Mitchell released the wheel and continued looking forward.
“Why did you try to crash the car?” repeated Michael. Mitchell continued to stare blankly ahead. “Talk!” shouted Michael.
“I’m allowed?” replied Mitchell.
“Yes,” said Michael, “we’re out of the bank, we have the money, and there are no cops around. You can’t possibly screw it up now.”
“Oh, Ok,” said Mitchell. “You said ‘Do like me.’ And you held the wheel and threw out your mask. So I held the wheel and threw off my mask.”
“Really?” said Michael. “You’re serious?” Mitchell looked at Michael like a bored dog. “Yeah, you are. Ok, no more touching the wheel unless you’re in the driver’s seat.”
Michael turned his concentration back to the road. They had turned off the main highway onto a back-country dirt road. It was an hour after they had exited the bank that Mitchell broke the silence: “I need to pee.”
“Fine,” responded Michael. He pulled the car to the right, onto the grass bordering the road, and turned off the engine. Mitchell opened his door and stepped out of the car. Michael followed suit and walked around the front to where Mitchell was standing.
“Well,” said Michael, “you going to go or not?” At this point, Mitchell went to his belt with his hand, withdrew a knife with a five inch blade. The blade gleamed silver when it left his belt, and crimson after it was pulled from Michael’s abdomen.
“OUCH! You stabbed me?!” cried out Michael.
“Yes, I realize that,” said Mitchell.
“Well…”
“Well what?”
“Well why the hell did you stab me?!” questioned Michael.
“Because it was the time for stabbing,” responded Mitchell.
“The time for what?”
“Stabbing. If it were time for good nights I would have hugged you, brushed my teeth, and peed. But it was the time for stabbing, so I ran my knife through you.”
“I can see that. I can also see my spleen and liver too, but that’s another matter. Why did you decide now was the time to dissect me?”
“Didn’t I tell you about the stabbing time?”
“I heard about your effing stabbing time. But why is this particular moment the time for stabbing?”
“Because we have the loot and we’ve gotten away. Mom said that this was the time for stabbing.”
“Mom told you to do this?”
“Yeah. She was very specific. Especially about the part where I wait until after you stopped driving to start the stabbing. She seemed to think that stabbing while driving would be bad. I don’t know why, but I guess it’s just something moms think of.”
“I can’t believe this. Look at me, I’m bleeding everywhere!”
And so he was. Michael’s blood was simply gushing from the knife wound Mitchell had just instilled in his lower belly. But both had been wrong about it being a stabbing. Though it was the stabbing time, this was most definitely a slashing, carving, or possible filleting-not a stabbing.
Michael was stooping slightly. The pain from the gash was quite acute, and there was a large volume of blood now soaked into and weighing down the front of his shirt. He reached behind the passenger seat of the escape car and grabbed a roll of paper towels. He kept them there for washing the windows.
He pulled off an arm’s length of sheets, pressed them to the open wound, and tried to stem the flow of blood. They soaked up too quickly, though, and were not nearly enough to make an impact. Michael then simply laid the entire roll up against the wound and pressed as hard as he could. This showed tremendous promise, so he decided to continue this plan.
Mitchell was still standing beside him outside the car on this small country road. The knife was still clutched in his hand and he was staring at Michael. “How am I supposed to stab you again if you’re holding that roll of paper towels over your belly?” he asked his older brother.
“Stab me again?! Why are you going to stab me again?” Michael responded.
“Because Mom told me to.”
“Well I’m telling you not to.”
“She told me that you’d say that. And she told me I was supposed to stab you anyways.”
“Well, I’m telling you that the plans have changed and you’re not supposed to do anymore stabbing.”
“She told me you’d say that too, and that the plans haven’t changed, and I’m supposed to stab you again.”
“She told you that, eh? Well… Did she, did she tell you that I would say this: Stab the car. Stab the car! STAB IT!” Michael yelled in his younger brother’s face.
Mitchell stood with his mouth slightly open, and his tongue barely protruding from between his lips. His head tipped fifteen degrees to the left and he began to think. This was unexpected; Mom had said Michael would only ask not to be stabbed, and that Mitchell was to stab him anyways. After about twenty seconds of silence, he replied, “No, she didn’t say anything about that.”
“I didn’t think she would. Now give me the knife.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m in charge now.”
“I thought Mom was in charge?”
“She was, but things have changed. Now I’m the leader.”
“But Mom said-”
“Forget what Mom said. Didn’t I just show you that Mom didn’t know what would happen?”
“Well, yeah, but-”
“Well now that things have happened that she didn’t know about, we need to come up with a new plan, right? That’s the only logical step, right?”
“I don’t know. Is it?”
“Of course it is. Now give me the knife.”
“Okay.” Mitchell held the knife out toward his brother. He was happy he didn’t have to be confused anymore. Michael seized it with his one free hand. His other was still maintaining the pressure on the roll of paper towels held against his open wound.
“Find me the roll of duct tape in the trunk,” Michael said to Mitchell.
As Mitchell made his way around the back of the car, Michael took time to assess his situation. They had gotten into the bank without a problem. Using the knife and fake guns, they were able to get the bag of cash from the terrified teller. They were in the car and out of town before the cops were even called. Mom had planned it all perfectly-the timing, the getaway route, everything had worked as she said it would. Up until now, that is. Michael needed answers, and there was only one person to get them from: Mitchell.
“Now Mitchell,” Michael said to his brother, as the younger came back from the trunk with the roll of tape, “tell me exactly what Mom said to you this morning before we left the house.”
“Well,” started Mitchell as he handed over the tape to his brother, “first she told me to stop playing with it. She said that it would go away after I went to the bathroom.”
“No, not that part of the morning,” said Michael as he slipped the knife into his belt. He used the tape to secure the paper towels snugly against his injury. “Tell me everything that she said concerning ‘the stabbing time.’”
“Ohhh, okay. Well, she said that I had the most important job in the whole plan. After we had the loot, and were one hour away from the bank, I was supposed to ask you to pull over. When we got out of the car, I was supposed to take my knife and stab you in the belly.”
“That’s it?”
“No, I’m supposed to look you in the eyes and tell you that she’s sorry, but that it would be too expensive to care for three people on the run. Then she told me to tell you not to be sad; since you’re really adopted, you weren’t really stabbed in the back, I mean front, by your own family. Then I’m supposed to take the money and car and drive back-”
“Whoa, wait! I’m adopted?!”
“That’s what she said.”
“And she thought that telling me this on my deathbed would make me feel less sad?!”
“Yup. That’s what she said.”
Michael stood there staring at his brother. This was quite an unexpected set of developments. Just where he should go at that point was not clear to him. In the original plan, the one he was actually privy to, the brothers were supposed to return home with the loot and go on the run with Mom. Mexico was the ultimate destination. But now that Mitchell had exposed Mom’s true colors, Michael was going to have to improvise.
He reconsidered that-Step-mom, that’s what she was-never his Mom, always his Step-Mom.
He stared at Mitchell. His poor, dim-witted brother had been too slow to realize what Mom was doing. He actually thought that he was doing the right thing by stabbing his brother. It was not that poor, foolish boy’s fault, thought Michael; Mitchell couldn’t help but to believe Mom.
“Okay,” Michael said to both his brother and himself, “first, we have to get me to a hospital. My duct tape and paper towel tourniquet isn’t exactly medically sound, not to mention it chafes and makes me look fat.”
“I don’t know,” said Mitchell. “I want one. You wear it well.”
“Do I?” said Michael with a girlish giggle and a twirl. “But that’s beside the point. I need stitches, and I don’t trust your needle hand. So get in the car, and drive me to the hospital.”
“I can touch the steering wheel?” asked Mitchell.
“I can only hope you do,” responded Michael.
“Okay,” said Mitchell.
Mitchell climbed into the driver’s seat while Michael slid into the passenger side. It was all going well until the knife used to slit his belly, the one he absent-mindedly slipped into his belt, stabbed into his leg. All the commotion surrounding his adoption and tourniquet had distracted him from the physical elements at hand. That knife he had tucked into his belt now tucked itself into his upper thigh.
“Awww, crap. Stabbed again?!”
“Again? Okay.” Mitchell reached over and removed the knife from the thigh. He then proceeded to thrust it into Michael’s chest.
“OUCH! I can’t believe you just did that,” said Michael through the stabbing pain in his upper body.
“You told me to,” replied Mitchell.
“I did not,” wheezed Michael, coughing up a stream of blood.
“Yes you did. You said ‘Stab again.’ So I stabbed again. Just like in the plan.”
“I told you,” gasped Michael, “the plan…changed…”
“Oh. I forgot. Sorry.”
“I love you…brother.”
“That’s nice,” said Mitchell. He pushed his dead brother out the door of the car, closed to the door, and drove home.
Predictable
By QuaintGerontion
Michael hopped into the driver’s seat, threw the duffle bag into the back seat of the car, and slammed the door with his left hand while the right turned the ignition. Mitchell, his younger brother and partner in crime, was just closing the door and fastening his passenger seatbelt, when Michael punched the accelerator. The two tore out of the small town, and made towards home.
Three minutes into the commute, Michael turned to Mitchell, “Alright, do like me: take off your ski mask and throw it out the window.”
Michael drove with one hand and removed his mask, Mitchell copied. He placed one of his hands on the wheel and took his mask off with the other. The car swerved to the right, towards a clump of fir trees. Michael let go of his mask as it flew out the window, and grabbed the wheel with both hands to right the vehicles path.
“What do you think your doing?” yelled Michael.
Mitchell stared at his older brother; there was no discernable expression on the younger’s face. Mitchell released the wheel and continued looking forward.
“Why did you try to crash the car?” repeated Michael. Mitchell continued to stare blankly ahead. “Talk!” shouted Michael.
“I’m allowed?” replied Mitchell.
“Yes,” said Michael, “we’re out of the bank, we have the money, and there are no cops around. You can’t possibly screw it up now.”
“Oh, Ok,” said Mitchell. “You said ‘Do like me.’ And you held the wheel and threw out your mask. So I held the wheel and threw off my mask.”
“Really?” said Michael. “You’re serious?” Mitchell looked at Michael like a bored dog. “Yeah, you are. Ok, no more touching the wheel unless you’re in the driver’s seat.”
Michael turned his concentration back to the road. They had turned off the main highway onto a back-country dirt road. It was an hour after they had exited the bank that Mitchell broke the silence: “I need to pee.”
“Fine,” responded Michael. He pulled the car to the right, onto the grass bordering the road, and turned off the engine. Mitchell opened his door and stepped out of the car. Michael followed suit and walked around the front to where Mitchell was standing.
“Well,” said Michael, “you going to go or not?” At this point, Mitchell went to his belt with his hand, withdrew a knife with a five inch blade. The blade gleamed silver when it left his belt, and crimson after it was pulled from Michael’s abdomen.
“OUCH! You stabbed me?!” cried out Michael.
“Yes, I realize that,” said Mitchell.
“Well…”
“Well what?”
“Well why the hell did you stab me?!” questioned Michael.
“Because it was the time for stabbing,” responded Mitchell.
“The time for what?”
“Stabbing. If it were time for good nights I would have hugged you, brushed my teeth, and peed. But it was the time for stabbing, so I ran my knife through you.”
“I can see that. I can also see my spleen and liver too, but that’s another matter. Why did you decide now was the time to dissect me?”
“Didn’t I tell you about the stabbing time?”
“I heard about your effing stabbing time. But why is this particular moment the time for stabbing?”
“Because we have the loot and we’ve gotten away. Mom said that this was the time for stabbing.”
“Mom told you to do this?”
“Yeah. She was very specific. Especially about the part where I wait until after you stopped driving to start the stabbing. She seemed to think that stabbing while driving would be bad. I don’t know why, but I guess it’s just something moms think of.”
“I can’t believe this. Look at me, I’m bleeding everywhere!”
And so he was. Michael’s blood was simply gushing from the knife wound Mitchell had just instilled in his lower belly. But both had been wrong about it being a stabbing. Though it was the stabbing time, this was most definitely a slashing, carving, or possible filleting-not a stabbing.
Michael was stooping slightly. The pain from the gash was quite acute, and there was a large volume of blood now soaked into and weighing down the front of his shirt. He reached behind the passenger seat of the escape car and grabbed a roll of paper towels. He kept them there for washing the windows.
He pulled off an arm’s length of sheets, pressed them to the open wound, and tried to stem the flow of blood. They soaked up too quickly, though, and were not nearly enough to make an impact. Michael then simply laid the entire roll up against the wound and pressed as hard as he could. This showed tremendous promise, so he decided to continue this plan.
Mitchell was still standing beside him outside the car on this small country road. The knife was still clutched in his hand and he was staring at Michael. “How am I supposed to stab you again if you’re holding that roll of paper towels over your belly?” he asked his older brother.
“Stab me again?! Why are you going to stab me again?” Michael responded.
“Because Mom told me to.”
“Well I’m telling you not to.”
“She told me that you’d say that. And she told me I was supposed to stab you anyways.”
“Well, I’m telling you that the plans have changed and you’re not supposed to do anymore stabbing.”
“She told me you’d say that too, and that the plans haven’t changed, and I’m supposed to stab you again.”
“She told you that, eh? Well… Did she, did she tell you that I would say this: Stab the car. Stab the car! STAB IT!” Michael yelled in his younger brother’s face.
Mitchell stood with his mouth slightly open, and his tongue barely protruding from between his lips. His head tipped fifteen degrees to the left and he began to think. This was unexpected; Mom had said Michael would only ask not to be stabbed, and that Mitchell was to stab him anyways. After about twenty seconds of silence, he replied, “No, she didn’t say anything about that.”
“I didn’t think she would. Now give me the knife.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m in charge now.”
“I thought Mom was in charge?”
“She was, but things have changed. Now I’m the leader.”
“But Mom said-”
“Forget what Mom said. Didn’t I just show you that Mom didn’t know what would happen?”
“Well, yeah, but-”
“Well now that things have happened that she didn’t know about, we need to come up with a new plan, right? That’s the only logical step, right?”
“I don’t know. Is it?”
“Of course it is. Now give me the knife.”
“Okay.” Mitchell held the knife out toward his brother. He was happy he didn’t have to be confused anymore. Michael seized it with his one free hand. His other was still maintaining the pressure on the roll of paper towels held against his open wound.
“Find me the roll of duct tape in the trunk,” Michael said to Mitchell.
As Mitchell made his way around the back of the car, Michael took time to assess his situation. They had gotten into the bank without a problem. Using the knife and fake guns, they were able to get the bag of cash from the terrified teller. They were in the car and out of town before the cops were even called. Mom had planned it all perfectly-the timing, the getaway route, everything had worked as she said it would. Up until now, that is. Michael needed answers, and there was only one person to get them from: Mitchell.
“Now Mitchell,” Michael said to his brother, as the younger came back from the trunk with the roll of tape, “tell me exactly what Mom said to you this morning before we left the house.”
“Well,” started Mitchell as he handed over the tape to his brother, “first she told me to stop playing with it. She said that it would go away after I went to the bathroom.”
“No, not that part of the morning,” said Michael as he slipped the knife into his belt. He used the tape to secure the paper towels snugly against his injury. “Tell me everything that she said concerning ‘the stabbing time.’”
“Ohhh, okay. Well, she said that I had the most important job in the whole plan. After we had the loot, and were one hour away from the bank, I was supposed to ask you to pull over. When we got out of the car, I was supposed to take my knife and stab you in the belly.”
“That’s it?”
“No, I’m supposed to look you in the eyes and tell you that she’s sorry, but that it would be too expensive to care for three people on the run. Then she told me to tell you not to be sad; since you’re really adopted, you weren’t really stabbed in the back, I mean front, by your own family. Then I’m supposed to take the money and car and drive back-”
“Whoa, wait! I’m adopted?!”
“That’s what she said.”
“And she thought that telling me this on my deathbed would make me feel less sad?!”
“Yup. That’s what she said.”
Michael stood there staring at his brother. This was quite an unexpected set of developments. Just where he should go at that point was not clear to him. In the original plan, the one he was actually privy to, the brothers were supposed to return home with the loot and go on the run with Mom. Mexico was the ultimate destination. But now that Mitchell had exposed Mom’s true colors, Michael was going to have to improvise.
He reconsidered that-Step-mom, that’s what she was-never his Mom, always his Step-Mom.
He stared at Mitchell. His poor, dim-witted brother had been too slow to realize what Mom was doing. He actually thought that he was doing the right thing by stabbing his brother. It was not that poor, foolish boy’s fault, thought Michael; Mitchell couldn’t help but to believe Mom.
“Okay,” Michael said to both his brother and himself, “first, we have to get me to a hospital. My duct tape and paper towel tourniquet isn’t exactly medically sound, not to mention it chafes and makes me look fat.”
“I don’t know,” said Mitchell. “I want one. You wear it well.”
“Do I?” said Michael with a girlish giggle and a twirl. “But that’s beside the point. I need stitches, and I don’t trust your needle hand. So get in the car, and drive me to the hospital.”
“I can touch the steering wheel?” asked Mitchell.
“I can only hope you do,” responded Michael.
“Okay,” said Mitchell.
Mitchell climbed into the driver’s seat while Michael slid into the passenger side. It was all going well until the knife used to slit his belly, the one he absent-mindedly slipped into his belt, stabbed into his leg. All the commotion surrounding his adoption and tourniquet had distracted him from the physical elements at hand. That knife he had tucked into his belt now tucked itself into his upper thigh.
“Awww, crap. Stabbed again?!”
“Again? Okay.” Mitchell reached over and removed the knife from the thigh. He then proceeded to thrust it into Michael’s chest.
“OUCH! I can’t believe you just did that,” said Michael through the stabbing pain in his upper body.
“You told me to,” replied Mitchell.
“I did not,” wheezed Michael, coughing up a stream of blood.
“Yes you did. You said ‘Stab again.’ So I stabbed again. Just like in the plan.”
“I told you,” gasped Michael, “the plan…changed…”
“Oh. I forgot. Sorry.”
“I love you…brother.”
“That’s nice,” said Mitchell. He pushed his dead brother out the door of the car, closed to the door, and drove home.