Alright, well let’s get this bit out of the way. There’s two things that I had in mind of telling you about Portland Chase, and I don’t think this as much of a justification. It is fanfiction, but it’s probably one that’s as old as my membership. I began writing the original Portland Chase back in early 2010 I think, and at the time I had no idea about plot, characters, or even prose. I like to think I’ve improved but I can’t say much on it. The second reason is that this was the first real piece of writing I've taken seriously in the last year, which isn't to say I haven’t been doing any out of apathy. Things were tough, I’ve lost a few family members and things were put on the back-burner, and I was very hotheaded and easy to annoy following the tragic incidents of 2012/2013. This story kind of knocked me out of it and made me keep my eyes on some sort of goal. It has helped me see a path forward with writing. It gave me a chance to write a story with sixty percent pleasure and forty percent pain, due to the indulgence of originality and cliches. It’s a GTA III fanfiction so it’s going to be over the top, dark, funny, and maybe even a little sad if I’ve done this right. So regardless of those things, I hope you enjoy this as much as my first reader did before she moved on.
- Magically delicious, eight-inch, Zigman.
“I’m gonna find ya eventually!” With his bloodied hands slipping onto wet gravel below, the thunderous cracks of the storm rumbled above, hidden away in patches of darkness. The roof trembled as if thousands of tiny hands had begun to bang below. From the swinging, torn frame of the roof-exit door stood Trixie with her pink and bloodied, torn nightgown. The hair on her head damp like the teddy in her hands. From the corner he waved his arms towards her. Go downstairs! Please! HIDE! PLEASE! How had it come to this? Minutes earlier, a warm bed and peace was all that occupied their room until he had booted open the door with a fierce crack.
“I’m gonna find you, and you’re gonna watch me stick her like a man should.” The man coughed violently and belched a loud series of burps. How much had he drank this time? The empty bottle of Kong scotch had smashed across the wooden floor on the second floor, the tiny shards in every direction like a shimmering firework. The stench made him gag as he ran from the dark figure up the stairs.
Oh no. Trixie’s feet lit up with the lightning, and bloody patches within the small, skin creases of her toes were noticeable. She had stood in that damn glass.
The coughing man, Manuel, stumbled around in the dark, continuing an assault of belches which almost rivalled the ones from above. Out here, the rain was freezing, but he had no chance now. “Eh there, Trix! Come ‘ere. Got somefin for you.” He could imagine it now, his bulky hands slipping down into his jeans. Trixie remained still, her bright-blue eyes transfixed on the fat man who groaned and moaned as his hand slipped near to his belt. With metal chinks and groans abound he slowly began to unbuckle it.
“Come ‘ere,” he said as he slipped closer to the edge of one of the rusty air conditioning fans. They had hidden him well so far but didn’t shelter him. His pyjamas were soaked now, and much bloodier then he’d noticed at first. Fresh patches of crimson remained and the gash on his arm from the slice had cut deeper than he thought, not enough to make him feel woozy, but the pain definitely was there. His arm would burn fiercely if her ever escaped Manuel. The cold rain was soothing it, for now. “Alright, babe, here we go. You know how to suck it from last time.”
The voice got closer, Trixie didn’t move from the doorway. Manuel came into view, but he remained in the shadow, Trixie still didn’t move. Manuel reacher into his baggy jeans and began to lightly tug at it in the rain, and still, Trixie did not move. He took a deep breath, from here the roof was only six feet, and Manuel was closer to it. Then, as rational thoughts slipped, as Trixie moved closer, to stick out her arm in a sick, curious way. No f*ckin’ more. He charged from the vent.
“NOOOOOOO!” he screamed, his bare feet burning as stones cut his feet. He ran, the fat pervert slowly turned, unaware, and as the force of a grown man’s punch came in the form of an elbow, Manuel slipped backwards and let out a gasp of air. He slipped back and stumbled to the edge of the roof. Gravel slid from under him landing him on his front. As he slipped, the bastard held onto the edge and let off half-gasps as his legs disappeared into the darkness below off the roof.
I winded him I think, he thought as he watched the fat man slowly slip away off the edge with eyes wider than he had ever seen. In his eyes, as the thunderous rumble began again, he saw something. Was it fear or anger? There was no hint of sorrow though. Both his feet had slipped off and he clawed, grabbing wet clumps of gravel to no avail as they gave no leverage. With his arm bleeding and body burning, he stood exhausted and watched, as if seeing a sinking ship. No…
He couldn’t let him fall….Could he? He turned away, and something screamed at him inside. HE’S LEARNT HIS LESSON. “ENRICO! HELP ME!” he screamed as the scrawny boy limped away. “DON’T YOU WALK AWAY FROM ME…I’M SLIPPIN’!” He looked to Trixie who remained still once more and gripped her bloodied top tightly.
“ENRICO—PLEASE, KID. COME ON. I NEED YA f*ckIN HAND!”
“ENRICO—KID, I—I’M—f*ck, COME ON, I CAN’T BE HOLDIN’ ON FOREVER!”
Say you’re sorry…