Desperation

Desperation

Postby Rattrap » Thu Jul 31, 2003 3:19 am

The house rattled with each blow; the rafter creaked everytime the bull hide bag was hit, but the man didn't stop. The place he once called home wasn't much of one, now - there was barely anything left, save for the punching bag and a cheap cot. There wasn't even any silverware, furniture, decorations, anything - he'd sold them all. All just to meet a petty payment.

So in a bare house with bare rooms, there was just the punching bag. It was this that caused stress to the house's structure; but more specifically the man propelling it.

Allen connected with another, and then another - all the while dancing around the bag, catching it at all sorts of angles. Pure power packed behind each assault, every muscle in his body pouring into each punch at the time.

A dead friend of his had told him, after he'd been knocked out, that it felt something like a catapulted brick hitting him in the face. Of course, people were prone to exaggeration. If he had that much force, why, he could be a human wrecking crew...

But for all that power, Allen was still as good as dead on Saturday. There was another payment to be made, and not only that, some foolish promises were made to make up for some others. So far, he had almost nothing. And the clock was still ticking.

He was covered in a fine coat of sweat, and it felt good. Relaxing. It cleared his mind enough to allow him the knowledge of what he had to do, as much as he really didn't want to. His life was on the line, and be damned if he was going to die in this hell hole. In debt, no less.

Allen gave the bag a final thunderous blow before the rafter gave up, wood cracking away at the point of connection. The bag hit the ground with a thud and fell over with yet another, and a silence fell over the house.

Silence to be eliminated as the wood squeaked ever so softly under the big man's steps.
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Rattrap
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Postby Rattrap » Fri Aug 01, 2003 1:46 pm

Despair was starting to kick in. Friday night, and he didn't just get paid. He was still with nothing, in fact, and Allen was working himself up for the end that would inevitably come sometime tomorrow. He could try to flee, but they'd probably catch him. So he'd resort to suicide, if the need be. So long as they didn't get a hold of him.

These thoughts, primarily, flooded about his head while he stood in the middle of the lane at the dark hour. Eventually, he set himself on the plan of a poison and set out in search of one. An alchemist was needed, or a doctor - one of them would have suitable poisons, he was sure.

Then he was walked into, and his plans were tossed aside. Fate had given him an answer that, much as he didn't like it, was quite the excellent alternative to everything else.

Aloisius Treadwell walked into Allen without paying attention, and only moments latter was face up in the mud, unconcious, while Allen dug around his pockets and coat alike, searching for whatever coin there was to be found.

Fate smiled upon him, and Allen was rewarded with three hundred shilling, silver eyeglass frames, and a lovely wedding band.

Allen was just then granted life for another week.
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