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Short Story: The Invert By: Eric Blair

Short Story: The Invert By: Eric Blair
1 comment, 29/08/2011, by , in Death, General, mac, Short Story, War

…The End. That’s how our relationship ended. Bloody, screaming, and violently. Before he walked out the front door he turned to me while I was lying in my own pool of blood and he said to me, “*Koff* Ya was the second woman I ever loved, Bunni. Did ya know that? *Koff*” The beautiful words he uttered out of his mouth were moments before he severed my spine with my katana sword my grand father gave me from his trip to Japan. Thinking back on that chaotic night, he got the upper hand only because he was lightning fast. As I was punching and kicking him in the face, my roundhouse kick spun him around like a top. Once he turned he grabbed the sword from inside of the wall. I tried to leg sweep him but he step out of the swipe. Once I came up from spinning on the floor the katana blade was cutting into my back like a knife to butter. He gave me a big hug from the back as the blade begun to touch my spine. He uttered in my right ear, “Sorry fo’ all ya pains.” His forearm was pushed against my throat; I was paralyzed from his grip alone. Then the snap of my spine followed and I said, “Urk!” Five minutes prior, he was on the receiving end of my wraith. I kicked him with my shin and foot so hard I broken three of his ribs. I knew his ribs were broken after he released a big, “Gasp!” He was a big man that was also trained by the army; so he knew how to take pain and use it. He punched me in my face so hard the punch broke my nose and fracture my cheek. That punch knocked me into the dresser. I refused to blackout because the fury in my heart was keeping me standing tall. As he was coming towards me with his fist of fury I quickly slide between his legs. I then use the wall for momentum and leverage to kick him in the face so hard I think I broke his jaw. He punched me in my stomach once and when he went for a second punch, I choked him in his throat and then dropped kicked him in the chest with both feet into the dresser, breaking it in half…


But five minute earlier…


We were lying in the bed together, cuddling, watching Jay Leno. I gave him a big kiss and looked him in his eyes. I asked him to tell me about his time in Vietnam, he would runt about the war for hours. I asked him about one moment he told me about three years ago. The moments before he killed this man, the words the man said to him. He said, “I donno, Bunni. The Gook said to me sumthin’ like, “I was just protectin’ my wife n’ kids. Remember—.” Then I cut him off and finished his sentence and said, “Remember my face.” He tilted his head in confusion like a mutt on punishment. He said to me, “Ya got a gud memory, Bun.” I sat up in the bed as my right hand was easing for the katana from between the mattress and box spring. I said to him, “You don’t remember do you, babe? You don’t remember my face? This face here, same face since I was six.” As I sat up over him in the bed, I finally felt the power, the rage, and the sweet, tangy taste in my mouth. Tears started to rain down my face. He’s still lying in the bed looking stupid as a classroom of retards. He sits up and reaches his arms out for a hug towards me and says, “Hunny Bunni, what’s wrong—.” I rapidly pulled the katana out and sliced across his chest like lightning. As he jumps out of the bed holding his chest still looking like a moron or a monkey in the zoo; I yelled out, “You don’t remember my face, you bastard! You don’t remember me crying in the corner with my mother and brother as you gunned my father down, Cory!” At that moment, a bolt struck his brain; the soft, loving look in his eyes turned into fire. The fire to survive, it all came back and he knew exactly who I was. He said, “What?! Bunni? I thought ya love me?” I yelled, “I do love you with all my heart, Cory but I need to avenge my father! This has been coming your way since ’75, you fucking bastard.” I then charged him with the sword and he reached for his desert eagle. He let off one shot, it grazed my shoulder and I stabbed his wrist on the hand where the gun was. And that’s how World War three begun in our comfy, loving home.


And the man says, “Wait! ‘ow long were you two together?


Bunni says, “For five years. Cory and I got together or more like I found Cory after I graduated Oxford. After my father was murdered by him, my mother left Saigon for England. She become addicted to Heroin, my father had seven bank accounts fill with money therefore we were living wealthy in England. My mother’s addictions become too serious so she shipped my brother and me off to boarding schools. I learned so much living away from my family in my teenage years; karate, how to shot a gun, archery, and how to kill a man with anything sharp. At the age seventeen the day before my high school graduation my mother overdosed on heroin and cocaine. The fuse was lit, I studied and learned everything about Cory Bigglesworth. I knew he was a womanizer and I knew he would lust and fall in love with me. Perfect way to get close enough to kill him but as you can see…


Trevor Bigglesworth, a neatly dressed, chocolate brown complexion, handsome Black man is sitting across a beautiful middle age Asian woman with dark black hair, hazel eyes, and full lips in a wheel chair. Bunni looks very sad as she’s telling Trevor a story about his father. Bunni finish saying, “I didn’t get to kill him. He worked a good number on me.” Trevor smirks and says, “He was good at shite on luv ones.” Bunni grabs Trevor’s hands and gazes into his eyes with a serious look on her face. She says, “You have his eyes. Trevor, I have always loved your father even after what he did to me. He fucked up my life twice but I could never stop loving that man. So when I tell you there is no bad feeling between you and me, I mean it.” Trevor says, “Hm. Good ta know, Ms. Bunni. Ah jus’ came ‘round ta find out a little more ‘bout my pa. Thank you, you helped out a lot.” Bunni says, “No problem, Trevor. One more thing, when your father killed my father that was the moment our “thin line” relationship started. Love blossomed out of hatred but revenge was in the beginning.”


Au début

About Mr. Blair

Eric Blair was born in August of 1984 in Philadelphia, PA, and raised in the North Philly section of the city. He has always enjoyed stories, schemes, and the complexities of plots. At a young age he discovered that he could create narratives full of adventures, creativity, and intrigue. It was this realization that caused him to fall in love with the art of storytelling. At age of twenty-one Eric began writing comic books. His first professional book “Hip-Hop Chronicles” was written for Space Dawg Entertainment in 2004. Eric’s writing style ranges from descriptive to expository writing, where the writing serves to explain and inform the audience. He uses thoroughly developed characters, clever situations, and witty conversation style and tone to keep readers engaged. Eric is inspired by authors who can evoke an emotional response from the reader, as well as authors who can blend elements of fact with fiction to construct a great piece. Eric is currently working on a series of comic books that are soon to be published, his recent writings have been guest featured on several online blogs. He works on perfecting his craft by consistently updating his work, editing pieces, reviewing the latest relevant material, and surrounding his self with like minded, creative, intelligent people.

One comment

  1. karimaabad
    September 21st, 2011 8:44

    nice, it drew me right in. Verry exciting!


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