I'm afraid I have to suspend this little project indefinitely. Enjoy the archives.
Tuesday, May 1, 2007
Thursday, April 26, 2007
Author's Note:I find 1000 words a day to be no problem, but trying to finish a 2500-3500 worder usually takes all evening and blows by my bedtime, and I'm starting to feel a little burnt, so expect a lot more of these split episodes.
Gabe McCain wasn't your ideal Boy Scout. He was surly. He was dirty. He smelled like urine, probably from wetting the bed and sleeping in it. He didn't like the other boys, and they didn't like him. They made fun of him, and he stoically ignored them as best he could. He hated the Scouts.
Once Charlie Lewis pantsed him in front of the other boys. He whirled like a lion and, not even bothering to pull his pants up, tore into the larger boy. The other boys crowed and laughed at the spectacle. Charlie came away with bite marks on his shoulder deep enough to bleed. He was a big boy, so he tried not to cry, but his voice cracked as he screamed: "He bit me! He bit me! I've got rabies."
Scoutmaster Carl Ferguson was 57 years old and divorced. His only hobbies outside of Scouts were drinking beer, watching football, and pornography (hetero; he was especially fond of unusually large breasts). After shepherding boy scouts for over twenty years he had seen it all. He waded into the fight, barking gruffly, and separated the two before Gabe could get a hold on Charlie's jugular.
"That's enough, you two! Now go cool off in the corner, both of you!" Jim, the assistant Scoutmaster, gave Gabe a dirty look and took Charlie off to the Church kitchen to see about cleaning the wound.
When the kid's parents came to pick them up after that meeting Carl took Gabe's mother aside. "Mrs McCain," he explained. "Gabe bit a boy tonight. Just thought you should know."
Gabe's mother looked worried. She always looked worried, and frazzled, with dark circles under her eyes. Occasionally she sported a bruise somewhere on her face or arms. She put her hand over her mouth upon hearing the news and looked extra-worried. "Oh my God, is the other boy ok? Is Gabe ok?"
"They're fine. They'll get over it. But you know, Gabe doesn't really seem interested in the Scouts." Here Carl paused, not too sure how to continue.
"I know he always whines about it, but, I just feel like he needs to get out of the house. And see other kids his own age, you know? He doesn't seem to have any friends at school, and I was just hoping..." She had tears in her eyes. Carl nodded, understanding. After twenty-five years he'd seen it all.
"I know what you mean. What do you say we give him some more time? Maybe after this the other boys will respect him a bit more."
"Thank you, Mr. Ferguson. I was afraid you were going to kick him out."
"Oh, hell, I've seen boys do worse than bite. Now listen, the Scout Camp is coming up next month. I sent home a form about it but I didn't hear back from you. Do you think Gabe can make it?"
"Well, I don't know. How much does it cost?"
"It's thirty-five dollars. We leave here Monday morning at 8:00AM and come back Friday evening about 6:00PM. Gabe just needs to bring a sleeping bag and a change of clothes. We've got enough tents, and the camp serves the meals in its mess hall."
"I'll have to check and see if we can afford it. I better talk it over with Gabe first, too."
"Ok, Mrs McCain. Let me know within the next week or two so we can give the camp an accurate count."
As Gabe's mother pulled away with her feral son sulking in the front seat beside her, Assistant Scoutmaster Jim Bradley came to stand beside Carl. "That little bastard is nothing but trouble. You should expel him, Carl. He's a hazard."
Carl shrugged. "How's our victim?"
"He'll live. I put some antiseptic on it. His father was pretty mad, you know. He threatened to sue if Charlie gets infected. And to tell you the truth, I wouldn't blame him."
Carl snorted. Jim had a son named Chris in the troop. No doubt Jim would be gone in a few years when Chris got too old. Jim rode the poor kid mercilessly. "Come on, Chris, be assertive!" God Almighty, how many times had Carl had to listen to that? If Chris wasn't such an easy-going goof he would have turned into a quivering mass of helpless protoplasm after twelve years of that. Yep, after twenty-five years Carl had seen it all.
"You go ahead. I'll lock up." Carl patted Jim on the shoulder. What a night. He just wanted to go him, pop open a Schlitz and enjoy the brand new issue of Juggs that had come in the mail that day.
Gabe was against going to Scout Camp. One night a week was bad enough with those asshole retards, as he tried to explain to his mother. But she had made up her mind. No doubt that asshole retard Scoutmaster Fergie had turned her on to the idea and now she was going all bitcheroni on him. Stupid camp. A bunch of jerk-offs in the woods telling their stupid jokes and playing dump tricks on each other. Maybe the Scoutmasters would molest them. That would serve them right. Gabe grinned at the thought of Assistant Scoutmaster Jim ass-raping Charlie Lewis behind the trees. Hell, that might be worth the hassle of going.
TO BE CONTINUED...
Copyright 2007 Gordon McNutt
Posted by Gordon McNutt at 10:38 PM