Prize Winner

by Douglas King


04.25 2. October
His eyes were of a questionable kind as he gazed upon his corpse. As if an outer body experience, he was apparently floating above his obviously decaying carcass. What exactly had happened? And why were rats’ suddenly contemplating whether or not his genitals would make a good appetizer? The answer to these seemingly ridiculous questions struck him like a bullet hitting an already damaged cranium at close quarters.

In what seemed like fifteen minutes ago, he was on his way to replenish his depleting stock of the good ol’ heroin yet again. Under his left arm, he carried his papers of written words for his yet-to-be-published novel. Gerald Woods had aspirations (delusions if you will) of becoming a writer. As of now, he was in between jobs and housing situations, and was residing in a rundown house in the Trenches (slang commonly used for the slums in this city of angels), in good hopes that things would get better. By all means it was a horrid place smelling of fungus, decay and plain old death, but in Gerald’s own words, it was cozy(Gerald Woods was a liar, even in his own mind.)

On the rather sunny day that Gerald was on his way to meet his dealer, he was also going to make a stop visiting his maker on the way. He was making unnecessarily good time to the meeting where merchandise would change hands, anxious to get his ‘fix’, when a stray bullet from Danny Thompson’s wild frenzying hand conveniently struck Gerald’s head straight through his left temple and out his right. As he made his customary dramatic entrance towards the concrete bed that laid before him, his papers blew like waves through the air, only moments later partly covering his corpse.

Danny Thompson’s ever faithful crew of fellow lunatics and thugs took the whole affair somewhat unnoted, and walked rather relaxed over to the body, and dumped it in a nearby alley. This was were it was currently residing, and where Gerald Woods would see himself decaying three days later.

As he watched his body dazed, there came a sudden realization that everything he had done before this moment didn’t matter anymore. He had ceased to be Gerald Woods, and become something greater. His eyes randomly rushed left, and caught a glimpse of a man wearing a gray suit sucking a pipe walking by. A distinguished mustache was all Gerald could characterize the man by, as he walked in a straight line ten meters in front of him.

As quickly as he had awakened he once again dozed off, this time without the help of a bullet, but feelings of traveling kept his consciousness in a tight lease throughout his sleep. As he yet again opened his eyes, he stared at a desert spreading far out into the horizon, seemingly never-ending. Dead, dry and alone, Gerald Woods started walking into his new life, unknowingly followed by a man in a grey suit.

2011 Fender American Standard Stratocaster
2012 Tanglewood TW170

Boss Katana 100w 1x112
Line 6 HD500
Did you write this? what was the purpose of posting this, did you want crit?
Yours Sincerely,

Dr. Speakers
Quote by wyldelife
Quote by speakers
Did you write this? what was the purpose of posting this, did you want crit?

edit: now that i lurked him, and know his name isnt douglas king, i change that to.. apparently not

...but what is the point of posting this? what are we supposed to be thinking about lol
Last edited by brookiemonstarr at Oct 1, 2009,