So after getting upset, my brain decided to cook up something so insane that it just might be as funny as it is kinda strange. In a way it feels like a quick crude and crass story that an angsty teen or young adult who happens to listen to a fair bit of Cannibal Corpse might use that as a point of reference in telling a strange story about a diner, and more specifically about an elderly waitress. Oddly enough it is just a quick riff based upon those two ideas, and this is the insanity of a fast paced short, that I hope in the very least isn't taken all that seriously, as well as not taken as my personal thoughts on the subject matter. It is just suppose to be a fun little story to counteract being angry, and has nothing to do with anything beyond being entertaining.
Diner Pie... (893 wrds)
You know that old diner. The one that hasn’t escaped the decade it was built in, and hasn’t done much beyond converting the old gas lighting to electric, because of OSHA standards. You always feel at home there, even the first time you ever stepped foot in there. It just has that odd enticing feel that you are just comfortable with, and you’ll never be able to explain it to any of your friends or loved ones.
Along with that one old waitress, you know the one. She smells like cigarettes and perfume that you are certain cost a small fortune, that she happened to stockpile back in the 40’s when it was the ‘hopping’ thing.
“Good morning hon,” or some derivative she says in that harsh raspy voice of hers. The one that comes from smoking a pack of smokes before 10am, which can be likened to the same kind you would expect from someone who was gargling glass shards while deep-throating a steel cock. You shudder at the horrible image in your mind, while trying to hide it under the guise of being polite.
After your first few visits and you become a ‘regular’, and every time you walk in that door she smiles at you with a sparkle in her wrinkled eye. It seems odd that she would take a shine to you specifically, but whatever. Suppose the rest of the regulars are just too regular, or there is just something about you that she takes fancy too.
Regardless she always go out her way to freshen your coffee, or offer to get you a little something extra. After you have been going there every Tuesday for the past three years. When you realize that you have aged, and she is stuck at somewhere between 68 and Methusala. And after a while you feel you know her pretty well, having politely listened to her life’s history. While your not quite up on your history, you still don’t dare challenge her stories grandeur, and instead ask how the pie is today.
At five years she has become the sweetly devilish grandmother you never asked for. The way you both always seem to laugh together every time she fills up the coffee for the yuppy that always sits at the counter every day for 10 hrs because they happen to have ‘free wifi’. Suppose the yuppy wouldn’t be laughing if he knew she made a ‘special’ pot of coffee every morning just for him, since he always complains about how awful it is, but always orders it anyway.
As the months wear on she gets more and more flirty with you, and you can hear the cooks in the back crack wise about how you two are an ‘item’, and you flush with a bit of embarrassment. Though you know on more than one occasion have noticed the faded silk stockings bunched up about her skeletal ankles that fade into a pair of white orthopedic shoes, that look new if they were from the 50’s.
Since you have found your routine that hasn’t changed in 6 years, and you are growing quite fond of the old waitress that you take compliment to the once previous ribbing from the cooks. That and you have taken a liking receiving home made cookies at Christmas in a Rockwellien tin, that was probably collecting dust in her attic for the better half of a century. As well as that extra slice of pie on your birthday. All the while you have wondered just how pretty she must have been back in the day, when there was still meat on her corpse, and her body was firmer. At this point you can’t help but wonder about such things as how youthful her now windsock gravity trodden tits were, as her scents of perfume and tobacco waft heavily as she leans in low and close to fill your coffee cup, while snow flutters on a light breeze.
By this point you are so sucked into things, you have managed to think all sorts of things that you would and should be ashamed of, every time you walk in that diner. Yet you hide and repress all of it behind a friendly smile and pleasant greeting.
Until that day finally comes when you are bound up naked and blindfolded to a chair made of old oak, and pretty sure you have a few splinters in your ass. And once you feel the gentle bony fingers remove the blind fold, you’re greeted to a sight that leaves you literally at a loss for words. Never mind the military uniform that somehow survived WWII, and would be amazing on a woman a fraction her age.
She looks down at you with her stick thin leg up on the chair between yours, and you see the garter holding up the stockings, crimped tightly around a pair of long white silken panties that all women her age would wear.
“Don’t you want to know how the pie is hon,” she rasps with a smile taking a long draw on a fresh cigarette.
When I say this, it is more in how the characters use them through out the course of the story. After all a decently fleshed out character will have a range to give a semblance to being 'realistic', as opposed to being robotic. Even so far the way they use their emotions to shape the persona of the characters.
I notice how my characters work based on there emotional states, at given points in the horrific setting that I have thrust them into. Like Cor using her connection to Marckus, as an excuse to willingly do everything that causes her inner turmoil and self loathing. Effectively weaponizing Love, and using it as a justification for doing horrible acts that under standard protocols would carry massive consequences. Even go so far as to outright explain this to Sarge at one point not too long after they meet. However, there is nothing wrong with having a complicated and conflicted character like Cor going a bit off the rails, since she is still working to understand how to manage her feelings, since she hasn't had them before. Funnily enough she won't ever call it love, even though everyone around her does. Perhaps by the end she may use it.
In a way having Marckus offer up himself, and his consequent imprisonment and torture, is kinda admission to the deep guilt he has carried. So in an odd back-handed fashion is seeking punishment for the things he had done in his past, and finding a way to allow the deep regret to finally come out in the open for all the terrible things he had done. I think at about the time he starts hallucinating in his pitch black cell in the sweltering heat, does he start to understand that he can't blame himself entirely for the choices he had made, sometimes there is no good choice, you just have to hope you're not completely wrong.
And well what can I say about Graxis, he is oddly enough the 'straight man', which is kinda odd. Even keel he is, with a few deviations here and there, but not overly off the rails. Of course he has been tempted to toe the line with his own morality, but at the same time has an impact on the other two MCs. He garners no ill will towards his role that he plays, and well in a way is just living through life (such as it is), and be able to have a life once all is said and done without too much mental and bodily scarring.
Perhaps I am just mad for seeing the depth to a story, that is probably not much more than a brutal messy affair of blood, guts, and chaos all wrapped up in a bow with good intention of the character's mind?
What about you, how do your characters use their emotions to shape who they are in their universe?
Kinda plays off a joke letter I wrote. And like I said already, I don't see how I could keep out of trouble with such things.
"What do you know? It disintegrated."
Trying to find my groove, and get back on track to finish my book so I can
get working on other things. So bloody close (97.25K) and yet so far.
Well I hope your WIP is moving along, and you can move on to other
Thanks, and have a wonderful day.
After writing a bit where Cor gets shot, and the bullet stops just
beneath the flesh, it would seem her carbon nano tube woven
endo-skeleton would be able to top small arms fire. Not sure how
well it would fair from large caliber ballistics like some sniper rifles
in story, and I doubt that they would stop railgun and coilgun
bolts. But 10mm assault rifle rounds and 15mm pistol rounds will
definitely stop, so long as they don't hit anywhere that is not boney.
Doesn't mean that getting shot doesn't hurt any less, just less likely
to puncture most vital organs.
Separate names with a comma.