“Here,” Fowler said in a devilishly satisfied lethargy, “you will find the time to reflect.”With those words echoing in his small ears Don watched as the world turned its back on him. Every watching eye, anyone who cared about the quality of his life, his very existence, was now shut out from reaching the little boy.He spent months on end in the stable. Once a day the priest with no name visited: he brought pieces of stale bread, mostly heels, and whatever other poor excuse for food the school served up that day. Every now and then in the summer he would bring Don a little fresh fruit; a sweet, juicy apple some times, natural food, real like he and his family once ate back home, not like all the fried and processed death the white people forced on him.It wasn't until around Christmas, nearly eight months since first going into the darkness, did a nun end up finding a wilting and emaciated now twelve-year old Don. He ended up having his twelfth birthday during his time locked away d
Everything went off without much of a hitch. Easton's boys remained near fully in tact aside from a handful of cut throats and broken necks, shattered bones laying across the deck. The ships, their masts and decks, all stained in blood and viscera. The mad captain himself stood on the bow of the Adventure crowing out a call of victory to his men, streaked in the colour of the guts of his enemies. It looked a horrifying scene, but Easton and the pirates killed who was necessary while the rest quickly signed themselves on to the ranks of his fleet.The officer whom Easton took as hostage was not as lucky as those ganged into the captain's crew, nor did he experience the luck of a quick and fierce death during battle like those who died on the coast that day.Easton brought the British officer on-deck of the Adventure once they were back in Harbour Grace. The crew lined themselves along the ship's outer edges, each anxiously awaiting their captain and whatever fate was decided for the of
“I mean,” started Alex sternly, “you always gets right excited and talks yer face off to someone, or ends up doin' something to shag up our plans. Every time. Remember last year? Down to Bishop's Falls with that crowd?”Staunch lowered his head how a shamed dog might, low, his eyes still looking up bashful and sorry.“That's what I mean,” Alex exclaimed while light up another smoke. He looked mean, paranoid.A long, tense silence went on, drawing out between the men like stubborn taffy stretched on and on to the thinnest thread. Alex wasn't completely heartless, he did feel bad. But what he said about Staunch was right: the guy fucked up plenty of jobs. Even a lot of legitimate jobs where some little thing or other always seemed to go wrong and it usually, more often than not, came down to Staunch and his incessant need, his drive, to ruin every thing he touches. And because of that, no matter how bad he felt, Alex would not, never, apologize.On the other hand, Staunch didn't
He only hoped Brian, of all people, would at the very least let the fantasy play out, for fun, for the sake of their friendship and the eternal hope Tommy's sanity might stay in tact. Sometimes a little hopeful magic, the unreal, is necessary and essential to living in the cold, harsh reality of certain worlds within this wide and terrifying universe human beings inhabit. Tommy understood this element of life, very well. He thought Brian did, too.The trail he'd been walking suddenly opened a little out into a clearing. Just beyond was Caribou Lake, long, still and vibrant as an oil painting, with its stoney waters and the tall grass circling the edges, and further past were the boggy, floating patches of earth over on the lake's thinner pieces. Tommy stood at the fringe staring on into the horizon, tuning his eyes to the places far at the lip of the water.No lights, nothing except the brilliant moon gave off any visible presence across the entire lake. Tommy heard nature, unmoving,
The small cabin was now full of muddy bootprints. Tom paced back and forth about a half hour before waking his sleeping friend. His young mind imploded, caving in all over itself in every corner, Tom was wholeheartedly convinced he'd found the rumoured buried treasure of Peter Easton. He needed Brian awake, alert, ready.“What's goin' on?”“You were wrong,” said Tommy excitedly. “I knew there was a big ole treasure out there some place – and I found it!”Brian rolled in his bunk, frustrated and tired. “You're just mental, b'y.”“Get up!” Tommy shouted and stomped his foot.“Tom, I've had enough of this shit – okay? Lay down, forget it, and get a bit of rest. Ya looks like a can of smashed assholes.”Brian lay on his back, his mind going to other places where he didn't need to pretend and act like Tom's delusions were worth the time of day; he would give anything to be there, somewhere, anywhere instead of stuck listening to more nonsense about pirate gold and treasure and Peter fuckin
Brian decided it best to save his breath for the walk out from the station, especially considering Tommy planned to dig in three different places all around the area. He kept seeing more money, enough to dive into like Scrooge McDuck, and the thought made everything else fade away.But Brian's conscience, the well of his soul, wouldn't let him rest comfortably. He knew letting Tommy's delusion go on was risky; for days on days now, near a week, Tom has talked of nothing aside from the treasure, pirates, and all the like, and it slowly consumed his sanity, each day that passed. He kept on letting Tom pursue the dream of a legend that most likely was not true, in the slightest, and his spying conscience eyed him, judging, and made him feel as if his entire body were slowly being torn into quarters, drawn by horses, his every fibre wrenched in pain. Yet nothing stopped Brian. He certainly made no real efforts to curb Tommy's lust for treasure hunting.He went on watching Tom, who took hi
Brian understood. He knew now, and along really, what Tommy felt wasn't a mental illness, a real delusion making him paranoid and insane; they both felt it, in different ways. It was the yearning for a new and different life instead of the shit existence they'd both experience up until now. While Brian and Tommy tried to create their own identities and shape the future of their lives, no matter how savagely they fought to do so, they were and always would be inhibited by the families which gave them life, shackled to a dirty destiny. Their parents each were destructive and heartless people; more concerned with their own lives and failed expectations and schemes than bothering to worry about the tiny, lonely humans they created from thin air, leaving them to grow into ungardened plants with no discernible paths ahead of them aside from anguish, despair, torment, and days on this wretched earth long and hard as the road to Hell.This gauntlet of living is what truly made Tommy lie and c
The car parked a few lengths away from them. Two men got out of the driver and passenger sides; they looked normal mostly. One man – tall, tattooed and fairly muscular, the type who spends his free time lifting weights and self-obsessing over the tone of their muscles, bronzed and starved to death – went to the trunk, as the other – smaller, not much, than the other, and with the look of still being in high school due to his teenage way of dressing, but donning a cane in one hand, limping considerably and aching from an obvious back injury – looked to be moving slowly towards Alex and Staunch. They both walked towards the waiting Firebird.Staunch and Alex each got out and greeted the men.The smaller one extended a hand. “You Alex ?” He shook Alex 's hand. Turning to Staunch he asked, “And that must make you – what's it – Stench?”Alex cackled a dry couching laugh. “It's Staunch, actually.”“Shit, sorry.”Staunch looked calm, but underneath a volcano boiled, bubbled fierce in