Thread created on 14:37:36 - 20/04/21 (6 months ago)
Last replied 23:19:02 - 04/05/21 (5 months ago)
(This is a short story, inspired by some funny drama I've witnessed. Hopefully, you'll enjoy! Oh, and it's not meant to insult or offend anybody, obviously.)
Night of the Salty Indian "Don't start the fire you can't put out..." - Anonymous
It was a cold evening in the Torn City. A place filled with criminal activity and rival, gang factions vying for control. In one of those faction's headquarters a private meeting was occurring.
It wasn't like any typical meeting. Where battle plans and strategies would be discussed, or important political policies.
No. It was just an attempt by the small, limited human mind to record the incomprehensible events of the past few days, that were witnessed by very few. Those unfortunate souls would be called crazy were they truly let the world know the horror they had to suffer.
It was a small room, usually used for interrogation. Padded walls, a metal table, two barely comfortable, light green chairs. Two persons were sitting, facing each other. Between them, on the table, stood an inconspicuous, slightly dated microphone.
Neither of them were restrained. It was calculated by the best mathematical minds of the faction that it was a mere, insignificant 74% chance that one of them would end up hospitalized.
After all, it was no interrogation of one's enemies. A man's hand extended to grab the microphone, flicking on the switch to begin recording.
"19th day, of 4th month, of 2021th year. Torn City, BnB HQ. This is Akrylowy speaking, as scribe, beginning the session now," the man began, his voice tinged with nervousness. He knew what could happen. After all, he took the whole brunt of the 74% danger. "Subject..."
He paused, not knowing what to say exactly. He was chosen for this important task for no other reason that, when the horrifying events were occurring, he was too busy losing big bucks at poker tables instead of paying attention to important things happening.
It might've luckily saved his sanity for that particular moment. But he was going to pay the price now. Someone had to. And his was just the tip of the iceberg, his was far away from being the worst.
"Salty Indian," Ampheromine said, sounding pissed off. She wasn't, actually, it's just how she were.
"Right, uhhh...Subject, "Salty Indian Man". Case nickname: "Night of the Salt". Primary witness: Ampheromine. Can you say hello to your listeners, boss?"
"This isn't a f**king podcast, dumbass."
Akrylowy took off his hands off the microphone, wiping the sweaty palms on his trousers. The fierce stare of Mommy Amph was always a red flag, and right now he felt it drilling into his skull.
"Get a move on," she urged him. She had shit to do, ain't got all day.
He took a deep breath, steadying himself. He had to do it. It was his duty.
"A'ight. Ampheromine, BnB leadership. What can you tell me about "Salty Indian Man"."
The woman's face grimaced with...some feeling. It was hard to name. It looked like common disgust, but at the same time...it was something more. Something worse.
"Right, so. We recruited a new member, a few days ago. We told him the rules and all, he accepted, and joined our ranks."
"It was the Salty Indian Man, yes?"
She fell silent. It didn't feel like angry-silent, though. More introspective-silent.
"You have to understand, I've been a member of the Torn Staff for many years. I saw many things happen, or be. Things that most people would call vile, repulsive, scary. But me? I'm a tough cookie, I've never been afraid."
He didn't interrupt her. He was just the scribe in these proceedings. It was her recollections that were to be memorized, not his of losing millions at the poker tables.
"Really. Never. Until now..."
"What happened?" he asked, gently prodding her to continue.
"Everything seemed fine, initially. Then we had a chain. You know, gotta kill people, lots of people. To get respect, which you need to kill even more people, and so on. When we chain, we need people on the streets working their asses off, literally. And people who don't do that, well, that's just unfair to everyone else."
"And that's when it started, correct?"
"Yeah. Little birds informed us, the leadership I mean, that..."
"Scribe's note: First unit of evidence presented by the witness. Insubordination. That's bad, especially in a new member."
"You got it. We gave him a chance, reminded him yet again and again - no training allowed during chain. We need people killing people, causing mayhem and destruction, not working on self improvement and becoming better human beings. That's for pussies," Mommy Amph explained, being a role model to us all.
Akrylowy sat there, awestruck, feeling inspired. He never knew just how important it was to be a menace to modern society.
"Anyway, so, he responded by..."
"Naturally, that got him kicked. We have low tolerance for idiocy, as you know," she said, staring menacingly at poor, little Akrylowy.
"Scribe's note, second unit of evidence. What happened then?"
Amph lowered her stare down, fixating it on the smooth surface of the table.
Atmosphere in the room felt palpably colder than before. Falling degree by degree. The sudden silence was eerie and everpresent, as if the entire city stopped dead in its tracks to not interrupt.
Why did it be so? It was strange. Spooky.
His better judgement screamed at him, at the back of his head, to stop it. To not continue the recording, to just say forget it and move on, not dwell on it.
But those weren't the orders. It had to be recorded. For who are you, who do not know your history?
"Come on, Amph, you have to say what happened," he continued, his voice trembling.
"That's when the nightmare started," she whispered.
Akrylowy swallowed loudly. He never seen Mommy Amph like this before. Almost...vulnerable. Like the...unknown, everpresent feeling of the past few days was almost too strong to bear.
"I've started experiencing these weird sensations...like...disgusting feelings, you know? Of repulse and extreme misanthropy."
"Can you...can you identify them? It may be important," Akrylowy shivered, starting to feel just what Amph was describing.
It was disgusting. It was horrible. It was just...
Amph grimaced, groaning slightly. As if trying to name the sensation was unbearably painful in and of itself.
"I, uh...cringe. Pure f**king cringe. Seeping through my skin, coursing through my veins..."
Akrylowy groaned as well. His eyes were opening and his body was recoiling.
He understood her now.
"Urrgghh...poisoning your brain, making you want to just kill yourself?" he finished for her.
She nodded, then started shaking her head, trying to escape it.
How could it be so supernaturally strong? It was unbearable. It cut deeper than a diamond bladed knife, it hit harder than a metal nunchaku, it felt more toxic than a dirty bomb itself!
"He started talking to me. Talking real, real shit. Like, seriously, jesus f**king christ," Amph explained.
"I tried to stop it, to stop him. I began attacking him, hospitalizing him to keep him away from my sight. That's how you stay healthy, you know? f**k the toxicity up!" she continued, excitedly.
"Did it work?" Akrylowy asked, already anticipating the answer with a sinking feeling in his stomach.
Amph's grimace deepened.
There was a palpable, terrifying lull.
"It was just the beginning."
"Wh...what do you mean?" Akry asked.
He was scared. He wanted to run, to escape, to climb the walls, to go back ruining his life at poker tables. But there was no escape...
There was...no escape...
"Whenever I walked somewhere, the wind would suddenly pick up, blowing faster. And...carried by the wind...dollar bills flew straight into my hands," Amph continued, unflinchingly.
She truly was a tough cookie.
"And those bills...those f**king bills..." Amph voice went quieter and softer, turning into a whisper as she hid her face in her palms.
"What, Amph? What about them?"
He regretted asking it. He wished he never had asked it.