158 lines
8.8 KiB
Plaintext
158 lines
8.8 KiB
Plaintext
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_______________________________________________________________________________
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_ _ _ _
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((___)) ((___))
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[ x x ] cDc communications [ x x ]
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\ / presents... \ /
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(` ') (` ')
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(U) (U)
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Twisted Reality
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by Necrovore
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>>> A CULT Publication......1988 <<<
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-cDc- CULT OF THE DEAD COW -cDc-
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_______________________________________________________________________________
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This is a story that I did originally for a journal in my English class.
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It is so original that I just had to write it up in a file for all to enjoy.
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It basically deals with a period of Earth's history in the near future (say 20
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years from now) and how unfair reality can be. All characters in this story
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are fictional. Any similarity to persons living or dead is purely coincidental
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(and probably a product of your deranged mind).
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===============================================================================
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It was a misty night as Cleophus Jackson walked home from work. Cleophus
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was a janitor at the nearby RJR Tobacco Plant and he enjoyed his job. He was
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very fortunate because now he could smoke for free. This may seem unimportant
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but a cigarette habit can cost between $300 and $600 a year, money which could
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be spent on food, shelter, or medical aid. Cleophus' family was poor and the
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fact that he could smoke for free was a boon to their budget.
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On this night the moon loomed above, bathing the industrial streets in a
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very eerie, yellowish light. It had rained that day and the air smelled of
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paper mills and their byproducts. Cleophus was by no means an evil man. Quite
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to the contrary, he was a good man willing to stick his neck on the line for a
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fellow Amerikan. About two blocks from his small home in "the Gardens" he
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walked by the local fast-market. He found that when he turned to wave at the
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proprietor that the store was being held up by two junkies. Being the good man
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that he was, Cleophus ran inside to try to save the owner, a friend of his.
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Even though Cleophus was a good man he was quite naive. One of the two heroin
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addicts levelled a sawed-off shotgun at him and let loose. Cleophus hit the
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ground amidst a rain of blood, tissue, and bone fragments. Seconds later, the
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other junkie shot the owner in the head with a .38 special. What a lovely
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scene. The junkies made off with $21 dollars from the cash register and ran
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off. About two weeks later they both died from overdoses of bad heroin.
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But back to the present. A passerby saw the carnage and called the
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police. About 20 minutes later, the police arrived and called for an
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ambulance. It took the ambulance about ten minutes to get to the scene. It
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had been speeding all the way, lights a-flashing and sirens a-wailing. The two
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cops showed the two paramedics to the bodies and left them to do their work.
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One of the cops, new to the ranks of the blue, retched in an alleyway and the
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other, a tough sonuvabitch, jeered at him.
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A few minutes later, the paramedics left the fast-market with Cleophus on
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a stretcher and his friend, the store owner, in a glistening black body bag.
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The two cops did help the 'medics to load the bodies into the ambulance. The
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ambulance then roared off into the night, sirens waking sleeping people, lights
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illuminating the streets ravaged by the rain ever-present grime. The two
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policemen left for doughnuts.
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Minutes later the ambulance pulled into the emergency ward of Forsyth
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County Hospital and screeched to a halt as two attendants ran to help the two
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'medics unload the bodies and haul them into the emergency ward. The store
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proprietor was quite dead, a tunnel through his cranial passages. Cleophus,
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though, was alive, albeit barely. Most of his midsection had been blasted into
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oblivion by the shotgun wound. As the doctors laid his body on the cold metal
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of the examination table, one of the assistants sat down at a nearby computer
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terminal and started pressing the keys in rapid succession. Another of the
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assistants started to rummage through his pockets for some sort of identifi-
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cation. He soon found Cleophus' wallet and looked inside. He pulled out the
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drivers license and began reading off the information. The assistant at the
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computer terminal continued typing...
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Forsyth Patient Identification revision 2.5x
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Enter name: JACKSON, CLEOPHUS
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searching...
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Jackson, Cleophus Age 42 Black Male
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1532 Shaden Street, Winston-Salem, NC 27109
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Financial Status: negl (insufficient funds)
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More (Y/n): N
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"He can't afford it," said the assistant at the terminal.
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"All right then," said a doctor that was in the room, "Take him to the
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bay." The two assistants lifted Cleophus' body off the table without care and
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casually tossed him onto a nearby gurney. It was about this time that Cleophus
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died. The gurney was then loaded into a nearby truck. The truck was filled
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with bodies all inside body bags. One of the assistants took a bag from a
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stack of them, unzipped it, and put Cleophus' lifeless body into it. The bag
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was the added to the uniform pile of other body bags in the truck.
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Shortly thereafter, one of the assistants closed up the truck, climbed
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into the cab and cranked up the engine. With a rumble, the truck slowly pulled
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out from the hospital and started down the highway. About twenty miles out of
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town, it turned off on Exit 32A and then down a small, paved road. At last the
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truck stopped in front of a gate. The gate was connected to a tall, chain-link
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fence, topped with brutal strands of barbed wire. A sign on the gate was marked:
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WARNING! HIGH VOLTAGE!
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A small post stood on the right side of the road, about five feet from the
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gate. It had a small slot and a sign on it read:
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Please insert ID card.
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The driver inserted a small plastic card. There was a noticeable hum as
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the gate slid to the side. The truck's engine rumbled once more as the driver
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pulled the truck into the fenced-off compound. Once in, the gate slid closed
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again, the hum reminding him of an army of stampeding cockroaches. He pulled
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the truck around the side of a large quonset hut to a loading dock. Once he
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stopped, he cut off the engine and stepped out of the truck.
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By this time it was about four in the morning. The moon was well below
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the tree line but its glinting beams still shone through the entangled
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branches. He walked around to the rear and climbed up on the concrete loading
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dock and unlatched the truck's door. The sound of metal grating upon metal
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filled the air as the door swung upwards. He then climbed in and took ahold of
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one of the body bags. Is it a surprise that it was Cleophus'? He slung the
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body over his shoulder and sauntered into the interior of the large quonset
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hut.
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Inside the floor was of stained concrete. The huge metal building was but
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one room. Its center was a huge pit that reached down fifty feet into the
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bowels of the earth. It was filled with body bags, most of them ripped open.
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The air that filled his nostrils was a rancid mixture of formaldahyde and the
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sickeningly sweet stench of decaying flesh. He tossed the body of Cleophus
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into the pit and turned around to go get the rest of the bodies. Nearby, a
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large rat scurried by, on its way to a feast....
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===============================================================================
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This file kind of makes a protest to the fact that most hospitals today
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(yes, even today) give inferior care to poor people just because they don't
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have the funds to pay the full bill. Do you think this is fair? Put yourself
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in good ol' Cleophus' shoes (even if they are beaten up a little). Cleophus
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was, deep down, better than most Amerikan citizens. Yet he gets absolutely no
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treatment at all. That's what you get for being a hero in the late '80s, and
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probably for the rest of our corrupt civilization.
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_______________________________________________________________________________
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Behavior Modification.....806/793-9462 The Dead Zone.............214/522-5321
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Demon Roach Underground...806/794-4362 Dragonfire Private........609/424-2606
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Question Authority........715/341-6516 Pure Nihilism.............517/337-7319
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Tequila Willy's...........209/526-3194 The Metal AE..............201/879-6668
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===============================================================================
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(c)1988 cDc communications by Necrovore 12/31/88-97
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All Rights Worth Shit
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