In the night

Tragedy archetype

Like many quite, lonely, empty nights in a small uncharted town things often went bump in the night.  Were residents suppose to think anything of it? Did they? were the bumps in the night, just tree branches tap, tap, tapping against their windows or was it something far worse, beyond the human imagination.  Was the closet door swinging open just a breeze? or was It a boogeyman you refused to believe existed? Are the shadows lurking in corridors of your mind the evil you deny possessing?  As many believe their is evil in everyone and everything whether it ever surfaces or stays buried in the darkest realms of the mind. For the citizens of this Podunk countryside space in the universe, they would experience the worst of demons and the scariest evil hidden in the human body, the event that went down in history as the night.

 

The night, December 12,2005.  The events that took place were well... gruesome to say the least. Courier Lane was one of the most uneventful streets in all of Washington, it was a proven fact. What was particularly special about this practically deserted neiborhood on the night of December 12th 2005?  Was it the people who populated this small slot in a big space?  Was something so sinister out to get them?  Well I'll let you be the judge of that...

 

 giggles and cackles, pain and shackles, the story of this horrific night.  The tale ill tell is quite gruesome, The words behind this story are quite tragic.  The fear in their screams, the nightmares buried in their dreams.  What the town never expected, is this all happened by one who went undetected, by the one they disrespected...

 

The breeze flew in from the north, sifting through the trees and lifting the leaves to their new destination in the yards of a town so quite, so off the map only few knew it existed. the only source of light on the lane was from the muted lights coming from the houses that could afford electricity.  For those who only made enough money to put a roof over their heads and food on their plates, had to rely on the light emanating from the fire under their mantles.  A fresh glass of rain poured over the town, thunder rolled through the sky, lightening starting a domino affect of sparks on the phone lines.  shutters smacking against abandoned houses almost in a musical choir.

 

The first of eerie sounds to fill the streets came from the Moore house. Clanking of dishes  and shot glasses sliding against each other as the celebratory group of misfits cheer and do shots of vodka, impairing their minds from the cruel world waiting just on the other side of the walls that protect them... for know.

 

The eerie music continued just houses down. a song of creaking porch steps under invisible ghouls feet, or something far worse, playing in the air like a lullaby.  Headlights scanning the house like ghosts hiding behind binoculars, seeking the stories of the residents guarded by walls from nosey intruders.

 

It wasn't unusual that Christmas was celebrated early in the Moore house, the unusual twist this night for the Moore family and friends was the urge to drink. As the vodka was poured glass to glass by candlelight laughter vibrated through the walls in every room and every corner of the roomy home.  Up roar of debate on politics took control of all conversations as every member of the small group of friends talked over one another as if someone was actually listening to their argument. anger grew in the group but was often extiquished by more liquor.

 

The liquor kicked in and judgment was impaired. Guards were down. Dangerous actions and sounds, were masked by the violent laughter and cheers of celebration.  What was their to celebrate?  The body count rose in the town that surrounded courier lane, but did no one notice? Did no one care?

 

What was happening to humanity that when something tragic happens to someone so near and dear to a fellow being that walked the earth, celebration was more common than mourning for those who passed before their time, where was the respect for the deceased?

 

On this winter night the cruel actions that took place were of those seeking revenge, those venturing deep beyond the padded cells of their mind to get justice, to get truth. Mellissa Moore The youngest of the Moore bunch, also the most devious, sat in corner watching the action.  Judging, speculating, deciphering words as if she had nothing better to do.  Really there was nothing better she could do. She was in a sense, under house arrest.  What did she do? Really only she knew what secrets she held.  But the story she stood by, she was forced to be an accessory in a breaking and enter scandal.  Was this the truth?  Was their more to this story then anyone seen?

 

Did the members of this town over look the truth in attempt to protect a member of their small society? What really happened the night of December 11th 2004? What secrets were buried with the remains of a victim exposed to the twisted pleasures of the sickest minds of the human race?

 

These questions may never have answers but it is up to us to determine what really happened and who is really to blame for the ruthless and senseless murder of the innocent, just a young pedestrian walking the unforgiving, cruel, and vindictive streets of life minding his own business just to be part of a senseless act of hate. 

 

Jason neaper was a senior in high school perfect G.P.A of 4.0, though different to society and the closed minded peers he walked the school halls with, to himself and the ones who truly cared for him he was unique, an individual. He traveled to school on foot even during the gruesome winters where the snow was no more welcoming than the Welcome to Almira sign that stood outside the town.

 

Jason was an interesting character and he wasn't the least bit worried about what the critics would say. Wearing all black, black jeans, a band tee for his favorite band KISS, black shoes, and black nails, Jason made his way to school just like any other day but this what not like any other day. As Jason walked down the sidewalk only blocks from his home, and family business where his father and mother were morticians, a car pulled along side of him.

 

The passenger window rolled down. "Oh looks if it isn't Jason Creeper!" This snide remark came from Football star Tanner Rodd, though his jokes weren't the brightest his grades would argue that he was still a wise young man. Did he deserve those grades? No, but in order for the high school to keep their star quarterback on the team he had to get passing grades, therefore his report card said he was Harvard material, his I.Q said otherwise.

 

Jason dared not look at the band of misfits as they follow him from sidewalk to sidewalk ignoring the stop signs for no rules applied to the wealthiest of the town members, or at least that is what they thought. "What, mommy didn't need your help embalming your friend?" an uproar of laughter rose from behind the tinted windows surrounding the rest of the car.

 

Recently Jason had lost a dear friend when she was a victim of a hit and run.  Speculation in the town drove Jason crazy, though he wanted justice for her, he also wanted to forget she was no longer there, that she was eternally gone from the world, but never from his mind. 

 

Teeth clenched, fists tightened into a ball Jason fought all urges to attack this group of Arrogant rich brats. He relaxed, loosed his hand, and grasped the martyrs cross around his neck.

 

Jason picked up his pace, though he didn't know why.  He knew he couldn't outrun the words they were spitting out, for he would hear it in the halls of his own personal purgatory. He would repeat it in his head over and over, he would write it down between the pages of his history notebook he could not run from it, he could not run from his pain, he didn't even attempt to. 

 

The window behind the passenger window rolled down and a metal object flung from it landing just it front of Jason as he came to an abrupt halt. Another uproar of laughter haunted the quite road as the car sped off. Jason bent down picking up the mystery object and as he looked it over it was no longer a mystery.  It was a cross necklace matching the one Jason was recently clutching onto. 

 

He knew exactly who this piece of jewelry belonged to.  His beloved friend who died for no reason other than a senseless act done by a heartless person.  He had given this necklace to Macy the innocent girl whose life was taken by a car.  It was the one piece of jewelry that she was wearing the night she died, she loved the necklace for the simple reason that it was given to her by her best friend Jason Neaper.

 

Jason knew she was wearing it that night, how?  He was with her just hours before she was hit and died on impact.  He looked at the rusty blood spattered cross in his hands as if it were holding all the memories of Macy in it, playing them back like a silent movie.  This was the last trace of Macy that Jason had, for he could no longer her her raspy but still femine voice he could no longer watch her toss long black strands of hair from her chest to her back, he leaked those images from his mind with every tear. 

 

Jason often compared Macys voice to the deseased Janice Joplins, joking that she was the reincarnation the legendary rockstar. If he knew that the last time he would hear her laugh was sooner than he was expecting, he would have made her laugh every chance he had. Thoughts of her didnt fill him with dispair or bring him down with sadness, but arose anger in him, anger toward himself and anger toward those who shall not be named.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Reviews

[Keely]

Good imagery

[Chyla]

Thank you so much :)

[Keely]

No problem (: