Wolf's blog: "Short stories"

As I watched the shotglass travel through the air, it seemed almost in slow motion. Maybe it was the effect of the whiskey. Fuck it, I thought to myself, as I watched it shatter to bits against the back wall. I bear no remorse for its loss. It was taking way too long using it as the middle-man. Drinking straight from the bottle is much faster. Each time I set the bottle back down, I give the revolver on the table a respectful glance, with the single bullet loaded into it. The life of a private investigator is never easy. You have to be ready to deal with the fact that no one loves you. Even the people who hire you think you are scum. That's why they came through your door. They hired scum to catch scum committing adultery, or pretending to be your child to get a chunk of your family treasury. No one likes you. You're alone. You're very alone. Eyeballing the pack of cigarettes on the counter, I ponder the ratio to that of the ammo in the gun. One bullet, one cigarette. I promised myself tonight that I would quit smoking. I would leave that cigarette in the pack and I would look at it every day and tell the inanimate object, which was unable to reply, that I am stronger than it. This was before I had decided to get horrifyingly drunk and shoot myself in the face. I could end it all now, or I culd quit smoking. I'd rather I blew myself away now rather than being on a respirator in ten years. Death has better ways I often said to myself, than sitting in a hospital at age 63, unable to blow out a lit match. The last option was quitting smoking and living my life the way it is. I know no other trade. By choosing to do what I continue to do, I choose a life of being hated and alone. Death definitely has better ways than that. I said that to myself as I picked up the .38 and cocked the hammer. No. If this is to be done tonight, then I'm not ready. I released the hammer gently and set the gun back down, returning to my now half-empty bottle of whiskey. That's when the knock came. Without waiting for my response, the door swung slowly open and in walked the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. Her flowing golden hair fell in graces of godly blessing across the shoulder straps of her immaculate red dress. Her flawless face was the perfect compliment to the perfect body. Her dress hugged each curve as I looked her up and down to her hands, one of which was holding a nickel-plated automatic pistol. She walked in with intent. She intended to kill me. This suspicion was confirmed as she raised the pistol to aim at my forehead. Judging the gun, I could tell it was a simple purse gun, but it had at least 7 shots in it, and she could fill me with enough holes to kill me, regardless of her aim. My aim was immaculate, however, and I could easily dive from this chair, grab the gun on the way down, and plug her one in the skull using the only bullet I had brought to the office tonight. But I didn't. It didn't matter who she was. She could be an ex-wife that I took photos of and ruined her chance at 50% of the former husband's estate. She could be a disgruntled employee that I caught skimming the till at the behest of her employer. She could be my original senior prom date that I left in a field with her panties around her ankles. They were both blonde, after all. There's something strangely erotic about a girl that beautiful with a gun to your head. The feeling of being powerless, even in the presence of being able to regain your power, was intriguing. I had intended to die tonight anyway. Death has better ways, and she could easily remove the dilemma I'd been having by doing the job for me. However, her lip began to quiver. A tear ran from her eye. She was having second thoughts. The gun began to shake in her hands. It was not long before before she dropped into the chair in front of my desk. She let the gun fall to the floor, and held her immaculate face in her hands as she began to violently sob and weep. The evening had just begun. I pushed the whiskey bottle across the desk, expecting her to have a drink. We had all night to figure out what she was doing here, and half a bottle of whiskey to take the edge off. My life had flashed before my eyes, and I realized, being hated is better than being shot in the face. Death has better ways I reminded myself, and lit the cigarette.

Hello there, There seems to be many mistakes and illusions about who I am out there. First of all, I would like to let everyone know that I am not such a bad guy. I mean, if you really focus on all of the things that you love the most in this world, would you really thank anyone but me for having them around? Where would you be if I hadn't talked Eve into having an apple? You must always consider the source when looking into where you should stand. Sure, I'm aware that there's a book out there that says I run a particularly nasty place, with all sorts of tortures and pain involved. Well, if you wanted people to come to your party, would you tell everyone how great the other party is? What are the things you love? Sex? Alcohol? Strip clubs? You like to drive fast and watch violent movies? I know what you like. You want big toys, fast cars, loose partners. You want fast thrills, no spills, and cheap pills. I know what you want, and I brought it to you. I'm that kind of guy. What kind of man creates you and gives you temptation? He gives you the core desires you wake up to every day, and then threatens you if you act on them! Is this a man you wish to follow? This man is my competition. He wants you to be humble before him. He wants you to lay down all your possessions and put them in his collection plate. He sends you leagues and leagues of men in robes to come and take all your money in the name of humility. He wages war and then blames it on ME! You've been given a pretty bad impression of Hell, I'm sure. I can't see your face but I know what you're thinking. Fire, screams, anguish, blah blah blah. Think about it! What kind of things does God use to keep you out of his little elite club? You touched a woman? Did you cheat on your spouse? Did you kill a man? You acted on desire, my friend, impulse and instinct, and that's where I come in. I'm not your enemy, I'm your number one fan. I bring you money, sex, and power. I bring you bliss, all for the simple price of guaranteeing you'll come to my party instead of his. We've got all the interesting characters down here anyway. God gives you a hundred reasons why you should not be allowed in Heaven, and not only do I offer you no means by which to be excluded from Hell, I'll pay you to come in. Remember always that I am an angel, a BEAUTIFUL angel by all standards, and that's why the big guy had to kick me out. He wants everyone humble before him, nobody can be a bigger show than the prideful bastard, and you just can't be humble when you look this damn good. So he waged his war and kicked me out. I'm down here with the other angels who were just sick of it all. He can change my name all he wants, but you say demon, and I say angel. When it all boils down, I'm really just helping you along. I want you to succeed, have great wealth, and be confident and proud of yourself. I want you to stand on the world and shout your primal scream and be happy to be alive, and then come on down and join the rest of us who see through it all. Me... I'm just a businessman... and I hope we make a deal real soon. See you around. Lucifer

He Comes for Me Another look at evil bosses in arcade games. I often sit back and marvel at my power. I gaze down upon my castle and all of my minions within it. On occasion, I see a hero come through here and try to bring me down. Usually they are stopped somewhere in the castle by my minions before they can even get to me, but on that rare and wonderful occasion, I get the pleasure of killing them myself. I can see everything in my castle without moving. My eye remains trained on our would-be hero every time I hear the noise. It's a faint noise that I can't identify completely, but my best guess is the sound of a coin dropping into a slot of some sort. When I hear that noise, it's time for some excitement. Speaking of which, there's the noise now. Time for some action. My eye automatically zooms to an outside view of my next victim. Why do they even try? Don't they know that, even if they are lucky enough to make it past my minions, that the moment they reach my chamber I will crush them flat? I wish honestly that I could preserve the bodies of all those I have killed in the past, those that would challenge my power. I would string them about the castle as a warning to the rest. Our little friend has enetered my castle and I watch him run left to right, flashing his sword against the easy minions. I prefer to let the smaller ones have a go at him first. It's not as if they die forever. I have seen them killed many times and every time I see the words "GAME OVER" they come right back with no thoughts or regret towards their early failure. I allow them to go first because, well, if I sent the biggest ones first, the smaller ones would never see any experience. They don't seem to learn from it, though. They always try the same approach. The challenger doesn't always do the same thing, though. He may look the same, and be equipped the same, but it always seems like he has changed his mode of behavior ever so slightly. He always follows the same path through my castle, though. This one seems persistent. He is cutting his way quickly through my creatures. I am surprised at his guile. It will not be long at this rate before he faces my personal wrath. I look forward to it. He eventually does reach my chamber. I extend my arm and crush him on the spot. The typical words "GAME OVER" appear above me as they always do upon my victory upon these pitiful souls. I'm not sure what they mean, but they have become strangely satisfying in their context. The coin-drop sound is immediately heard again. The body disappears. Our would-be hero is ready for another try it seems. It's definitely the same one. They always look the same, but now he is even behaving the same way. He cuts through and reaches me again. Again I extend my arm and attempt to crush him flat. Such a shame that he wasted his life for this moment. No... he dodges it... He strikes me with his sword. My body glows red for the most brief of moments, but I felt pain. Real pain. I've never felt pain before. It sears through me like a rushing flame. My initial pride is turned into fear... and anger. If he can avoid my hand, he will not avoid my flame. I contract back and extend my neck as I spew forth a massive belch of fire. I scorched him without trace of him ever being there. The words "GAME OVER" appear again. This time they are not as satisfying. I am not content. I cannot stop thinking about... the pain... I still hurt. I feel it. For the first time I wonder how I even got here in this castle. It was never a question before! Why am I here? Why must I constantly fend off these warriors, and what have I done to hurt like this? Another coin drops. Same warrior again. His movements have become mechanical. His exact route is memorized. He knows how to get here... and he knows how to hurt me. Anger is no longer an issue... I am afraid. This man intends to kill me. As he reaches my chamber, I make another futile attempt at crushing him beneath my hand. He knows how to dodge that. Why did I even try? I don't know. He strikes me again, and I feel that familiar pain. It hurts... so much... I spew forth another patch of fiery wrath, but he cowers in the corner and remains unharmed. He charges forward yet again and strikes me. My body glows yet again. The pain is worse now. It is as if I am paying pennance for something. I am suffering for nothing. I did nothing to these men, but yet they hunt me again and again. I took pride in myself, pride in stopping them, but they intended to kill me. I did it to survive. As the rage of his attack raced through me, I thought of how I could possibly live. I'm not supposed to die! Before I could plan something else, I realized my hand was coming out to attempt to crush him again. Why did I do that? He dodged it, of course, and struck me again. The pain has become unbearable. I wanted to scream, beg for him to stop, but I couldn't. He was running to the corner again. I suppose since, beforehand, after I tried to crush him, I would then attempt to scorch him with my fire. Of course I wouldn't do it again, he knows how to dodge it and is already perfectly safe from it. Yet I did it anyway. Why can I not control this? Why am I forced to fight in a way that leaves me vulnerable? He knows how to beat this current method. Like none before him, he knows! I couldn't think about it long before he struck me again. The pain did not cease. It grew worse by the minute. It increasingly became more and more excruciating. If only someone would help me. Save me from dying. I felt my own death approaching... what did I ever do besides defend myself... the pain... it's so strong... I want to scream... I want to cry... I can't. My body glowed yet again, but the glow did not cease. Above me, the words "GAME OVER" did not flash as they always have. Instead, the word, "CONGRATULATIONS" appeared. Congratulations? This mystical power that caused me all of this pain and suffering has been trying to reward them? I lay here dying... for what? For his glory? Why won't the pain subside? Suddenly, I was upright again. I could feel the pain still. It was beyond intense. Even sitting here now, apparently alive, I could still feel it. If someone could just release me and let me die, I could never feel that horrible sensation again. Just let me go... if you're out there... let me go... please. Another coin drops.

Destiny These days I always wake up with a sense of dread and confusion. It never really mattered where or when I woke up. That's a surprising thing to say because I didn't always wake up in the same place. This was the first time I awoke with blood on my hands. I was in my own bed, but the room had been moved about. The couch was facing the wrong way, its cushions up against the wall. My modern art coffee table was flipped upside down, and the recliner was edged sideways against the wall. The resulting image of my small apartment looked like someone, maybe me, went to a little bit of trouble to make sure everything was incorrect. But why? There was no other blood anywhere. I realized I was naked as I stood to inspect the furniture, and immediately started checking myself for wounds. From what I could see, I couldn't find any source to say that the blood was my own. I walked to the bathroom, intending to check my back for more blood or telltale wounds. Opening the bathroom door was when I first saw her. The strangest thing I recall about seeing her was not feeling panic, or even remorse, for seeing her twisted and mangled body in my bath tub. Something deep down inside me knew what happened to her. You killed her. I could hear my own voice in my head telling me such things. You killed her and you enjoyed it. I went for the kitchen. I didn't think it right to wash my hands of her blood while she was, well you know... watching, I guess. You've really done it now. After washing my hands, I opened the cabinet. My last can of Alpo. It was an excellent food source. High energy, long shelf life, and, most importantly, very, very cheap. When you have five dollars and no job, you can eat for a week on canned dog food. It really wasn't that bad. You are pathetic. Now you're a pathetic murderer. Random images flashed through my mind. As I listened to my own head, my own voice, belittle me as it always had, I began to see the night before in choppy flashes. It wasn't me though. Could I have been the one that killed her? It was you. No it couldn't be me. I'm not a killer. Besides, the images I see showed hairy arms, long claws. I hear growling. Some kind of big dog. It was you. The loud hum of the can opener ended with a faint metallic click as the top of the can popped free. I didn't have a spoon. In all reality, I didn't have an apartment either. I found this apartment furnished and unoccupied, and there doesn't seem to be a landlord. As far as I know, the whole building is squatters. Pathetic losers. Just like you. But they don't kill. I'm not a killer! I don't think about anything but surviving each day! You killed her to survive. You had to eat. I had spent so many months convincing myself the greasy, salty taste of the Alpo was bearable. I had even approached the point that I felt it was actually fairly good. However, this morning, I couldn't even bear the smell. I had a hunger for something else. Whatever I ate last night, I don't seem to want anything else. But what was it? You fed on her. You killed her so you could feed. That can't be possible. You are powerful. You are strong. You need to feed. The can of dog food fell from my hands and crashed in a brown mess across the old tile floor. That... was not... my voice. Embrace it. You need to feed No that can't be right. I'm not a cannibal! You are not human Yes I am! Go see the girl The images in my mind continued to replay claws, long hair... dog-like. I looked down at my pale and gaunt arms. That wasn't me. Embrace... indulge I went back into the bathroom. I didn't want to, but I felt compelled. I had to least really look at her. I mean give her a really hard look. Looking down into the bath tub, I gazed upon the bloody mess. Her face was attractive. Somehow I decided that, despite one eye had been torn out, and her face was locked eternally in an expression of sheer terror. Most of her stomach and one leg was missing. Anything below mid-thigh on her left leg was gone, the remains of the leg ending in shredded tatters of flesh. Her stomach was as if someone hollowed her out with a giant fork/spoon combo. Looking her over didn't disgust me, although my whole life I had always thought that if I ever encountered something like this in person, I would vomit. However, looking at her, I felt something... different. Embrace who you are. It made me feel... hungry. Yes... I don't know what compelled me to do it, but I knelt down beside the tub. I was no longer wondering what to do with her. You know why she's there I knew why she was there. She is food She is food. Yes... As I reached forward to rip forth another piece of her leg so that I could satisfy my hunger, I felt a twinge of pain in my chest. Everything seemed to clinch and tighten at once. I gritted my teeth and groaned against the pressure. My groan slowly turned into what sounded like a growl. My arms came into view in the corners of my eyes, and I watched the hair and claws extend from my once skinny arms. I felt bigger, stronger. My vision even seemed more clear. I could smell her now. I could smell her blood. Embrace... yes embrace... As I tore her flesh free, I could not wait to feast upon it. I wonder how long she'll last before I need to get a new one? Welcome home...