7 Day Notice (836 hits)
Category: NoneRating: 1.16 on 29 reviews (Rate this item) (V)
Submitted by Jack_McCallum (View user info) at 2009-04-06 17:36:40 EDT
Girard: 7 Day Notice*
Girard heard the knock again and sat up. He had heard it earlier and dismissed it as his imagination.
He had been lying on his bed, listening to the harsh hiss of a white noise machine and staring at the ceiling until his eyes slipped closed.
Someone rapped on the door again. The knock was coming from the back door, the kitchen door.
He'd been living here for... he shook his head, momentarily drawing a blank. Ever since he had moved into the small and narrow house at the end of the street he had been left alone. The mailman might knock on the front door and leave a package on the porch, but that was all. Neighbors and their kids stayed away from the house at the end of Regent Street. The house needed paint. The old Chevy pickup in the garage looked like it was ready for scrap. The lawn was overgrown. And Girard never answered his door.
He swung his feet off of the bed. The bedroom had large windows at each end and a gentle breeze was moving through the room, cooling the perspiration that dampened his sweat pants and t shirt. There were small tables on each side of the bed. One held a fan. One held the white noise machine. There was no TV or radio, not in this room or any other. Paint and wall paper were old and unadorned, free of framed photos or art.
The house was old, but Girard kept it clean.
He went down the stairs, fingers gliding along the smooth banister. He felt half asleep. That was nothing new. He often wondered if he was ill, since he often felt sleepy and had so little energy.
There was another sound now, one that Girard identified as a heavy tread across his wide porch in front of the house. There was a wooden rattling. Someone was checking to see if the windows were locked.
Girard went down the hall, his bare feet making no noise on the old wood floor. He had dusted the crevices between every floorboard in the house with talcum powder. The boards no longer creaked.
A fist hammered on the kitchen door again. There was a distant shout. "Cam an, muttafucka!"
Girard paused by the kitchen door. The faded black and white checkerboard linoleum under his feet was cool. Beside the sink, near the door, the dishes he had washed... whenever he had washed them, sat upright in the wire rack. Beside them was a wooden block holding his knives. German knives, very sharp. A clock with a crack in the glass face ticked quietly over the stove. It was past noon. On the counter opposite the door was a shopping bag. Girard could not remember going out. On the counter beside the bag were two large cans of peaches. He was trying to eat healthy, but he loved that sweet syrup. At some point he had become aware of his gut, the fullness of his face. He never used to be that way. He reached up and ran a hand through his hair. He had gone into town... when? He had gone into town for a haircut. Cut it short, he had said. Real short. The barber had asked Girard if he wanted really short hair, because that would reveal his scar.
Scar?
He reached up and touched the back of his head. The scar in the shape of a question mark was both familiar and frighteningly new, winding from the crown of his head to the base of his neck, all of it now covered by his hair.
He tried to remember how he had gotten the scar.
A fist hammered on the door again, right in front of him.
"Open dis doh, bitch!"
The speaker had a heavy Asian accent.
Girard wanted to go back to bed, to the comfort of his white noise machine and the fresh spring breeze coming in the window.
I will politely ask them to leave this place, he thought. His thoughts moved slowly these days, rising to the surface like the cryptic messages in a Magic 8 Ball.
He reached for the door with his left hand and saw the faded tattoo inside his forearm.
ALL DEBTS ARE PAID
He glanced at the tattoo on his right forearm.
TIME TO LAY LOW
Girard thought the tattoos had been on his arms forever.
They are the rules, he thought.
He had a flash of memory. He was in a chair. He couldn't move. The tattoos were being etched into his skin and something was crawling around in his brain like a hungry insect. A voice said, "We're shutting you down."
The door was hit again. Girard opened the door.
Four young men were standing there. One was in front of him. Two stood a few feet back, trying to look menacing. One was peering into the open garage. They were early to mid twenties. Lean. Full of attitude.
"Is about fuckin time, aud man."
Girard said nothing. The man, not much more than a kid, was Chinese. His accent was heavy.
"We ah here to bring you a seven day noh-teece," the Chinese kid said. He spoke carefully, working around his accent. "You have seven day to move out of dis nih-bahood."
An eviction notice?
"I think you made a mistake," Girard said slowly. "I own this house."
The Chinese kid wore a look of comical surprise. He glanced back at the others and they laughed.
"Ah, but you see, we own dis nih-bahood. We own dis street. We need dis house for de weck-wee-a-shun-al activity." He gave Girard a wide smile.
The kid by the garage was tall and black, wearing a wife-beater and huge baggy satin shorts. "Bitch-slap that muhfucka, Tang. We ain't got all day, niggah."
The other two kids, Latinos who looked like brothers, laughed at this.
"We give you a day," Tang said. "To pack your shit. To get out."
Girard was confused. "Who are you?"
"We're the United muthafuckin Nations, old man," the black kid said, "An you bein relocated."
Old man, Girard thought, I'm thirty... five. I must look like hell.
"Sorry boys," Girard said wearily. "You got the wrong house."
Girard started to pull the door closed. The Chinese kid named Tang squawked "Muttafucka!" The other kids gaped in astonishment and started for the door.
Tang put a foot in the door.
Girard shook his head. "You don't want to do that, son."
"Gonna call the police, bitch?" This was one of the Latinos. "They ain't coming round here no more."
Girard had thought this was a peaceful neighborhood. Apparently he had been mistaken.
"You lay a han on us," the other Latino kid said, "An we gonna charge you with a hate crime, you old white muthafucka."
"So you see," Tang said, "Is best to leave. You leave, you don't get hurt."
"Get hurt," Girard said, the back of his head itching as if there were ants under his scalp. "Me get hurt? I'll eat you punks like a bag of M&Ms."
Girard frowned, wondering where that had come from. That kind of talk would only exacerbate the situation and—
Tang was shoved out of the way and the door was pulled open by the black kid. He planted a big hand on Girard's chest and shoved. Girard stumbled backward against the counter.
"The name's Lemon Fresh, bitch, and I'm gonna clean house." The kid stepped into the kitchen and grinned when he saw the wooden block by the sink. He grabbed two long knives.
"Put those down," Girard said. "I don't want any trouble."
"Well it's too fuckin late for that," Lemon Fresh said. He had a long reach.
One arm lanced out and Girard felt the blade slice into his left shoulder. He glanced at one of his tattoos again.
TIME TO LAY LOW
The long curling scar on the back of his head began to burn, filling his head with light like the glowing filament of a light bulb.
Lemon Fresh took a step closer, waving the knives through the air.
Girard reached back to the counter and grabbed what was there, coming up with a large can of peaches in each hand.
Lemon Fresh laughed, stabbing at Girard's gut. "Aw man, what's that, dessert for after I carve up the main cour—"
The knife was knocked out of the black kid's hand with one can of peaches. The other can swung low and then rose, thumping into Lemon Fresh's testicles.
"Gawd damn," Lemon Fresh grunted, "You a dead muthafucka."
Every thrust Lemon Fresh made with the remaining knife was parried by a peach can. Those busy cans also found time to smash four of the kid's front teeth, break one of his wrists, and slam repeatedly against Lemon Fresh's forehead until the kid was driven backwards out the kitchen door. Girard let the peach cans fall to the floor.
The Latinos who looked like brothers surged through the door next. One of them had a baseball bat. The other had a long screwdriver, the flat end honed to razor sharpness.
All of Girard's utensils were on the other side of the kitchen. Whatever weapons he had remained in his shopping bag. He reached in and brought out a plastic bottle of laundry detergent.
The kid with the screwdriver lashed out. Girard let the sharpened tip puncture the bottle and then slapped the kid across the face with such strength that the kid fell to his knees.
"Shit, bitch," the kid said, spitting blood.
The other kid raised the bat to take a swing that would take Girard's head off and Girard raised the bottle of detergent, giving it a squeeze. Gelatinous blue liquid ejaculated from the puncture in the plastic bottle and splashed into the young Latino's eyes. The kid dropped the bat and clawed at his eyes. When the kid turned around, reaching out with both hands like a blind man in a bad movie, Girard booted the kid in the ass hard enough to send the kid tumbling through the door.
The kid with the screwdriver stood and swiped the screwdriver in front of Girard's face, nicking Girard's cheek. Girard dropped the detergent bottle.
The screwdriver-wielding kid sneered and tried to call Girard a bitch again. He got as far as "Bi—" when Girard grabbed the kid's lower lip and yanked down as hard as he could. Here was a wet ripping sound. The kid shrieked and fell on his ass, blood pouring from his mouth. Girard grabbed the kid by the scruff of his neck and the waistband of his jeans and with one swing the kid was airborne.
Tang came through the door smiling. Girard dropped the detergent, fed up with these intrusions. He took a swing at the Chinese kid and the kid struck Girard's arm, leaving it numb and added a foot to the gut for good measure. Girard puked air.
"I use to hade my pah-rents," Tang said. "Too many year of kung fu school. No time for fun. Now I know, kung fu is fun."
Girard was kicked in the side of the head. Christ, he thought, the kid's five and a half feet tall. How— He was suddenly hammered by hard blows to the gut and ribs. He fell back against the counter again and groped inside the shopping bag for a weapon, pushing aside lettuce and tomatoes closing his hand down on a cucumber. He raised it like a club.
Tang laughed. "Care-fuh! You don wan to break your ass toy!"
He was still laughing when Girard brought the cuke down fast, faster than he ever thought he could move. He rammed the cucumber down into Tang's throat and then broke off the last few protruding inches so the end of the cuke was flush with Tang's teeth.
Tang's nostrils flared as he struggled to pull out the cucumber and noisily sucked air through his nose, his windpipe almost completely blocked.
Girard slammed the edge of one hand against Tang's nose, shattering bone and crushing cartilage. Tang's nose began to bleed. Tang's nose began to swell. Tang began to suffocate. Girard shoved Tang outside and closed his kitchen door.
He glanced out the window and saw all four kids helping each other down the road. He went to the sink and splashed cold water on his face. He was getting a terrible headache. He filled a glass with water and went upstairs.
The white noise machine was still on. He sprawled on his bed. He turned on the fan. The cool breeze from the open windows felt good. He let the white noise fill his mind and tried to think of nothing at all, but instead he thought of the scar on the back of his head and the tattoos and how he did not have a job of any kind... yet he owned this house, he knew that for certain, and he always had cash.
We're shutting you down, the voice had said.
"Should have tried harder," Girard whispered, and then he slipped into a restless sleep.
--
* This is a character I've been working on - he fits into a larger tale called 'The Memory Project,' a story dealing with the restoration of lost memories. Comments welcome, let me know what you think.
User Reviews
Submitted by Caulaincourt (user info) at 2009-04-07 13:00:17 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
http://www.ubersite.com/m/121775#2881765
Submitted by UltraNinja (user info) at 2009-04-07 12:06:13 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
I want more.
Submitted by TuTs (user info) at 2009-04-07 11:15:18 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
"We're the United muthafuckin Nations, old man," the black kid said, "An you bein relocated."
----
That line made me laugh. Overall I liked it, usually I can't read action and maintain interest but for some reason I did here. I got a definant Memento feeling here, however the name girard was jarring.
Submitted by Caulaincourt (user info) at 2009-04-07 10:30:46 EDT (#)
Ranking: -2
Girard is a french name. Its origin is germanic from the name Gerhard. It means "hard spear".
I know that cuz they populate my hometown by the hundreds.
I've read somewhere that the name McCullum means "Cat Fucker" in Pictish.
Submitted by BLITZKREIG_BOB (user info) at 2009-04-07 09:57:10 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by Jack_McCallum (user info) at 2009-04-07 08:56:50 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Submitted by MajulCartoons (user info) at 2009-04-07 05:43:58 EDT (#)
Ranking: 1
just brief notes on this very long story
--
Is this the same guy who was annoying everyone??????
Good feedback, thanks.
Submitted by Ducky (user info) at 2009-04-07 08:50:36 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
I like the Jackie Chan use-whatever-is-nearby-to-kick-ass-with aspect of this.
The words 'wet ripping sound' - when he pulls on the kids lip - made me cringe.
Submitted by SgtHartman (user info) at 2009-04-07 08:46:43 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
yeah boy
Submitted by Brdn_Nkd (user info) at 2009-04-07 08:45:41 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by monkeyswithguns (user info) at 2009-04-07 08:35:15 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
nice.
Submitted by MajulCartoons (user info) at 2009-04-07 05:57:25 EDT (#)
Ranking: 1
Also NOTE* a lot of people here make their descriptions too poetic, making them sound like a cheesy news story
here was not the case, your descriptions were well constructed... long, but fitting the tone
Submitted by MajulCartoons (user info) at 2009-04-07 05:43:58 EDT (#)
Ranking: 1
I wasn't looking forward to reading this as i assumed it would be really long winding and rather pointless, however i was wrong
Overall flowed very nicely
Well constructed beginning, setting of premise, easy to follow (especial considering the number of characters)
NOTE* a lot of short stories here are difficult to follow. However, this wasn't the case, you clearly described the premise, environment, character intention, etc
Good character development, good character dialect
The following sentence i found rather amusing, in a good way...
"On the counter beside the bag were two large cans of peaches. He was trying to eat healthy, but he loved that sweet syrup."
i thought a can of peaches was quite a random choice, later i understood why.
The name Girard i thought was a bad choice (not that it takes away from the story)
Also, i counted the word "kid" about 35 times
example
"The kid with the screwdriver lashed out. Girard let the sharpened tip puncture the bottle and then slapped the kid across the face with such strength that the kid fell to his knees.
"Shit, bitch," the kid said, spitting blood."
and this extract with "Tang" i found peculiar
"Girard slammed the edge of one hand against Tang's nose, shattering bone and crushing cartilage. Tang's nose began to bleed. Tang's nose began to swell. Tang began to suffocate. Girard shoved Tang outside and closed his kitchen door. "
No clear conclusion at the end, however the very well orchestrated build up of suspense (strongest point of this story) made up for that... plus i think you mentioned this was an extract
just brief notes on this very long story
Submitted by Merlina (user info) at 2009-04-07 04:31:59 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
I liked
Submitted by kaos-king (user info) at 2009-04-07 03:36:02 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by johnny.b.dumb (user info) at 2009-04-07 03:27:56 EDT (#)
Ranking: -1
meh. obviously you've never been in a fight. Vicarious wish fulfilment
Submitted by Bubba2341 (user info) at 2009-04-07 01:13:15 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Submitted by Crystle (user info) at 2009-04-07 00:51:21 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Here it is again, your blatent mysogyny.
Gah - you make me sick, all the anti-woman rhetoric.
Submitted by HateMudkips (user info) at 2009-04-07 00:02:58 EDT (#)
Ranking: 1
i liked this, but it reminded me a bit too much of the movie Gran Torino.
Submitted by skrapmetal (user info) at 2009-04-06 19:55:12 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Submitted by rob_berg (user info) at 2009-04-06 19:00:00 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
+2 McFiction.
-----
and worth it too.
Submitted by apollo88 (user info) at 2009-04-06 19:17:14 EDT (#)
Ranking: -2
someone is banging on his door and rattling his windows and he's running his hands through his hair thinking about his haircut and his scar.
gave up there.
Submitted by rob_berg (user info) at 2009-04-06 19:00:00 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
+2 McFiction.
Submitted by secret_of_nimh (user info) at 2009-04-06 18:52:06 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
brings the obvious "Memento"-like connections, but that's not a bad thing. i like the idea of this character, and am genuinely intrigued as to where this story is going.
Submitted by RoadSong (user info) at 2009-04-06 18:36:21 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
"* This is a character I've been working on - he fits into a larger tale called 'The Memory Project,' a story dealing with the restoration of lost memories. Comments welcome, let me know what you think."
~~~~~~~~
I am very interested in memory restoration ...
Submitted by Cyrus (user info) at 2009-04-06 18:36:16 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
It's extremely been done as an SF theme, but I liked it.
Submitted by SkullBiter (user info) at 2009-04-06 18:29:08 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
I would read more of this. The hate crime thing made me laugh, cause it probably happens.
Sad world.
Submitted by Blackberry (user info) at 2009-04-06 18:06:35 EDT (#)
Ranking: -2
Your cats only come near you because you line your underwear with catnip
Submitted by no1hasdis (user info) at 2009-04-06 17:53:08 EDT (#)
Ranking: -2
I'm surprised you haven't logged in horse87 to bump up the rating.
Submitted by no1hasdis (user info) at 2009-04-06 17:51:47 EDT (#)
Ranking: -2
Two thumbs down - Ebert
Meandering plot, drab characters - Roper
Another swing and a miss - Laben
Submitted by no1hasdis (user info) at 2009-04-06 17:39:16 EDT (#)
Ranking: -2
I think it sucks shit. You did say comments welcome.
BTW, aren't you contractually obligated to shut the fuck up?