I wrote this for English Class in college in 2000, I lost one page but I don't think it lost its storyline. I begin this story right where it begins, the second page. Hope you enjoy.
FIRST PERSON POV:
"Apparently poochie was taught to stay still and sit while there were vehicles moving around. The trainer had lost his braking fluid and couldn't brake. All I saw and heard was my dear old poochie being hit, rolled under and smacked by the muffler and squashed by the back tire. Good thing was that the tires were from Goodyear and didn't do too much damage. Poochie died right there and then."
"So, I'm eating a great supper at my ex-girlfriend's parent's house. They gave me some pretty good damn food, I tell you what. I was stuffed, boy, oh boy! Then the unthinkable happened...again, as if my day was getting darker each incoming minute. Portia's father goes to his 'medicine cabinet.' I call it the medicine cabinet, but it's actually his 'boozing' corner. I also call it 'his boozing corner.' It's actually where he stores his finest assortment of three dollar liquor and 8 dollar wines."
"He walks over to me with this glass made out of glass, right? I've never seen and been witnessed to a glass made out of glass. I don't know where these people come from. They're weirdos, either that or they're rich. So, he brings this tall glass made out of glass and begins to pour some blue liquid from his finest wine into it. The name of the wine slips my mind at the moment, but I think the name was Tumbledbottler-wruttlemuddle-pumphled. I think it ended with an '-er' instead of the '-ed.' Then, while I'm all drunk, disorderly and vulnerable, Portia's father hands me his 95-year old Colt Revolver, a classic antique gun. You can't find those now a days. He says to me, he says, 'Boy, I know you're troubled with this break up and all, but a man's gotta do what a man's gotta do.' So, I asked him what the hell that meant. He just smiled and nodded at me."
"He kept on doing that until I found out later he was just passing wind...you know, Gas? Well, it's obvious that you don't know who 'Gas' is. He's a pretty well-known figure in our history's era. But, I won't trouble you with that great adventure; it's boring, car chases here, car wrecks there, puppets that come alive, hair-raising hand to hand combat with a little gun and sword play here, Gas getting close to dying there; you know, boring stuff? Well, I can chat about 'Boring Stuff' all I want, but I won't trouble you either, he's just Gas' Native American trail guide and frienemy. Now, let's get back on track before this train gets off course, shall we? Before I side-wind again."
"But, the reason why Portia's father was smiling and nodding at me continuously was because he had gas, he was farting and releasing it in increments, is what I meant to say. You see, Portia's father is kind of senile, but not at that extent, but he is. And her mother is a winer. 'Winer' without the 'H.' She's a boozer. I call her a winer, though. That is why Portia's father, Milford, owns all these fine assortments of alcoholic beverages; to ease down the pain. But, you see, Mr. Milford Bendford is easing me down now. That crack-smoking son of a gun hands me the ancient pistol, right? And tells me to go upstairs and walk into Portia's bedroom and blow my brains out. He said to do it out of love. But before I went on and accomplished that suicidal feat, to first go into his son's bedroom and shoot the little maggot in the back. He says he doesn't like the kid because he was born with a gimpy left eye socket and can't catch a flying baseball even if he wanted to."
"I don't know what that means, I guess he doesn't like to see people suffer. Well, I didn't want to see him suffer either, so I shot him firster or pre-first, whatever comes before first is what I meant to say. I heard this wailing sound outside the house and was spooked a little that some urine trickled in spurts down my pants, but unnoticeable to anyone except myself. I felt the warm piss turn cold in seconds then it just stuck to my thigh. I felt that I could get a rash if I didn't wipe it off, but I was embarrassed to clean myself in the presence of people. That's when Portia walked in. She starts to scream at me with tears in her eyes and snot bubbles spewing from her nostrils and some streams of snot falling to the floor. This was pretty freaky to me."
"I guess it was cold outside or something, I don't know. I tried to calm her down, but she kept on hitting me with her knuckles. Then her boyfriend, who was actually a woman, begins to pound her beefy fists against my cheekbones and belly. I tell you, I was kind losing my dinner there for a second. The reason why Portia broke up with me was because she was a lesbian. And she tells me that she really wasn't going out with me in the first place. She just wanted me around because she wanted to know how different a guy was from a...gal-guy. That's what's wrong with this world! Everyone is nuts!"
THIRD PERSON POV:
Portia was a crazy gal. She had everything that Portia wanted. She had a Porsche 911 Turbo with a dual camshaft, double-header and a six cylinder engine in the Porsche. But, what she dot not have was love. She wanted admiration, she felt lonely inside; trapped in other words. Portia wanted an escape from her tragic life she calls home. Portia's parents are a bunch of crazy nut-holes; she referred to them as crazy nut-holes once. Portia began to go out with what she calls her, "boyfriend." Portia just wanted to hang out with this guy, Grendle, but she didn't want to go out with him, just be around with him.
You see there was this thing that was trickling around with Portia. She doesn't like men or women for that matter because she's really an alien. If you looked closely and carefully at her, you can tell right away she doesn't have any human features whatsoever. Portia was getting an eerie feeling with Grendle because Grendle was trying to make the moves with Portia. First of all, they started hanging around a couple of days ago, yesterday. Grendle appeared happy through Portia's eyes, but what she saw in Grendle's soul was nothing but malevolent, hardcore fun. Grendle wanted to play golf with a combination of football thrown into it, like street basketball. That was too hardcore for Portia. Oh, no, there was no intention of having Grendle's kind of fun with poor young Portia. And this is what scared poor young Portia. So, after three hours of hardcore golf, Portia let the news out, she told Grendle, nice and gentle-like that she did not want to see his big, fat, good for nothing, repugnant, three-month-old smelling carcass any longer.
Grendle took it pretty well; he just was disappointed with the word "fat." He's not fat, just big-boned with a lot of meat wrapped around it. This is where Portia leaves this helpless soul. She wanders off to a disco with her friend Truffels. "Truffels" is short for "Truffells." There are two "L's" in Truffells, but Portia thought it was too long, so she shortened it out to one, "L" for short. That's how Truffels got her name, it was by the help of Portia. So, now, Portia is having a good ol' time at the disco. She spends her wailing time dancing up a storm with Truffels. A few hours pass and she heads home to discover the sound of a gunshot coming from inside her house.
Portia carefully, quietly removes her house keys from her small red and purple-glittering purse. Portia is afraid of making any noise fearing that the killer from inside the house will also shoot her. But she wants to capture this killer too, so she is being sneaky about it. As soon as she takes her keys out, Truffels wanders up close to her. She tells Truffels to quiet down. Portia turns around and points her keys at her red Porsche and presses her alarm. The car alarm makes a whirring sound for about three seconds before she presses the alarm again and shuts it off. Truffels offers to help out by taking out her pepper spray but she accidentally sprays Portia in the face. Portia begins to tear up with snot building up into her nostrils that spill out in chunks. But Portia is a tough alien , so she proceeds.
As she storms inside her house she finds that Grendle has purposefully shot her father, Milford Bendford. Portia rushes over to Grendle and begins to strike him profusely with her fists. All the while her father crawls to safety toward his "medicine cabinet" to get alleviated for his gunshot wound. Portia's mother helps out poor old Milford.
Created: Jul 18, 2010Document Media