Blue

SimonW

SimonW

Well-known member
Reader Beware: This story deals with ideals that may offend a few people. But since it is Fiction I doubt that matters. But it does seem a little more mature with death scenes. Just a little.
With that, I present the first chapter of a story I call Blue. Enjoy.


Blue


Chapter 1: Velga


An old woman sits on the carpeted floor of her apartment. The bangles around her wrists jingled slightly as she made a sweeping motion over the Tarot cards laid out on the floor in front of her.
On the opposite side of the cards was a man in his mid-twenties with a gleam of hope in his eyes. He was sitting down, glancing nervously at the facedown cards in front of him. He observed the motions of Madame Velga’s hands.
She was humming slightly from her slightly parted lips. Suddenly, gasping, Madame Velga uttered a short cry before opening her eyes.
“The vision is hazy,” she stated with a raspy breath.
The young man nervously inched his glasses up the bridge of his nose.
“I’m willing to pay your fee,” he said, his voice wavering slightly as he reached into his jacket pocket for his wallet.
Opening his wallet, the man took out two ten-dollar bills and extended his arm with the money out towards Madame Velga.
Reaching out delicately, Madame Velga snatched the money from the man’s hand and put it within the folds of her elaborate garment.
“Your contribution has afforded me greater insight,” murmured Madame Velga slowly and then closes her eyes once more, her hands hovering over the cards.
“What do you –?” asked the man before Madame Velga interrupted him.
“Hush, child! I sense…a conflict,” she expressed, her hands moving over the cards.
The man whimpered slightly but then made no more sound. The reputation of Madame Velga was well known; many people came to hear her predictions. Wether they were true or not, nobody could really say. But people often feared the unexplainable and had only to hope Madame Velga’s words would provide happy readings.
Gently reaching down, Madame Velga flipped over the first card and glanced at it.
“It was…as I feared,” muttered the old woman as she gazed upon the card of The Fool.
“What, is it bad?” asked the man, gulping slightly as he glanced at the turned over card.
“No, it is not all that terrible, friend. The card merely represents you as you are, not what is to come,” responded Madame Velga.
“So, I’m a Fool?” asked the man incredulously and blinked in awed surprise.
“Yes, but a Fool is not the worst of cards, it just states your inner-self. But, best you be careful in life, lest you cause your own misgivings,” Madame Velga said with vigour. “Now, hush and let me continue.”
She closed her eyes again and started chanting, her hands wavering over the second card before flipping it over.
“Ah, The Wheel, how fortunate,” stated Madame Velga as she glanced at the second card.
“Fortunate? Really?” asked the man, tilting his glasses slightly so they were straightened. He seemed somewhat less nervous now.
“Or maybe…unfortunate. One can never tell with The Wheel,” exclaimed Madame Velga. “It represents your current conflict, does not say what is to pass, but it is good to know where you currently are in life.”
As Velga said this, she was cut off from her concentration. She stopped speaking to the man and gazed at the door to her apartment that was behind him.
The man glanced at the door but had sensed nothing. Turning back to the old psychic, the man seemed slightly irritated in his nervous state.
“What? What is it you see?” he eagerly asked but got no response for several seconds.
Velga’s eyes focused, as if from a daze. She gazed at her customer once more and haphazardly grimaced before answering the man.
“Your Destiny has been foretold. There is nothing more I can see. It would be wise for you to leave this place,” responded Velga as she began to pick up her Tarot cards and place them back in the deck slowly.
The man’s nervousness seemed to be replaced by an even greater emotion, that of anger. He deftly reached out and grasped at Velga’s wrinkled wrist as she had reached for the last card.
“N-n-no!” he stuttered in half-filled fury. “You had better give me my money’s worth you old hag! What Fate befalls me?”
Velga closed her eyes and sighed before responding to the man.
“Your Fate has changed. You have dallied here too long. I’m afraid...” started Velga before she was cut off by the sound of her apartment door being kicked in.
A boy stood in the doorway, looking no more than ten years of age. He held a Bowie hunting knife in his left hand and wore what was apparently a blue tank top t-shirt and light grey jeans. His brow was half covered with a dark blue bandana sash that held cropped above it his jet black hair.
The spectacled man with Velga let go of her wrist and stood up, swirling around at the sound of the door being kicked open.
Suddenly, in a split second there was a squelching sound and the man glanced down to see the knife’s hilt stuck in his lower chest area. As he gasped out, the man noticed his attacker was the boy grasping hold of the knife.
‘How’d he move so God darn fast?’ thought the man before collapsing onto the apartment floor of Madame Velga, the boy yanking the knife out from its latest victim. Blood was seeping from the injury caused by the blade.
“...your Fate is Death,” finished Madame Velga before the man’s hearing was lost and he died from his injury.


(to be continued...)
 
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A very different sort of story to the kind I have read so far, but I am looking forward to more, just the same. I was intrigued by the title, even more so when I read the first episode. I thought Madam Velga might turn out to be a charlatan, but I didn't expect her to be really evil.
 
Is that it? So the guy gets killed, having never had a chance to do anything about it, the end? Or is this just the beginning of a series of Velga vignettes?
 
CORIN THUNDERFIST II said:
A very different sort of story to the kind I have read so far, but I am looking forward to more, just the same. I was intrigued by the title, even more so when I read the first episode. I thought Madam Velga might turn out to be a charlatan, but I didn't expect her to be really evil.
Click to expand...

Yes, it is different. But I am known for that. :)
I merely wanted to get the attention of my readers.
Madame Velga is not "evil", maybe just a lesser extent. True, she did nothing to help the man but she did warn him of his change in his Fate.


Copperfox said:
Is that it? So the guy gets killed, having never had a chance to do anything about it, the end? Or is this just the beginning of a series of Velga vignettes?
Click to expand...

lol Copperfox. As you noticed, it is not over. My staple "to be continued..." means more is to come. I just felt that stopping at the point where the guy was killed was to grip the minds of the people reading.
Oh and to answer your last question...yes. This is only the beginning of my story thus far. More deaths and turmoil await.
 
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Chapter 1, part 2

(chapter 1, part 2)


They say there is no mortal greater than that which has eternal life. Through misconceptions, many have assumed that once one was granted the right of Eternal Life that one would become Immortal. But this theory has been recently disproved, as the great Entity that has surpassed eons of ages had finally succumbed to Death by other Mortal hands. Many more have sought this knowledge for their own selfish gains. Very few have succeeded in actually attaining this “Gift”. But many more will try. All of them seek it, many will die and the blood fallen that was shed were linked to one person...a boy called Blue.
An enigma even to himself, Blue may look like an ordinary boy but he is a stone-cold killer of the highest distinction. Not many know where he came from but his own name suggests he is from Military background. That and his weapon of choice. A Bowie knife. Many rumours circulate about this child but few are founded in truth. All anybody truly knows is that his ultimate goal is to achieve something. But the question remains...What will he do once he achieves it?


Adam Quint believed himself lucky in Life. Maybe not in a long-term life but in the life he lived thus far he was happy with it. So when he decided to take the plane from London via a connecting trip to Russia, he pursued his interests in foreign affairs with a local newspaper within the Business Class Dining Car of a train to a remote village. He seemed shocked for once in his perfect life to come across an article that turned his perfect world upside down and inside out. His picture was in the paper, no doubt about it. The uncouth chin, determined jaw line and thin framed face stared back at him in the paper. Not perturbed by the slight rattle of the train, Adam Quint looked up from the picture to the headline that when translated from Russian read thus: “Businessman killed on board train to Volski.”
Shaking his head at this perplexing puzzle, Adam Quint folded the newspaper as he carefully got up to go back to his compartment.
It wasn’t until Adam Quint was in the hallway that he noticed two men at the opposite end of the hallway, dressed in black overcoats and sharp-lined black suits. They looked Russian, both clean cut and of the same height with slicked back blonde bleached hair. They looked tough and wore black gloves. The man on the right seemed to tug down on the sleeve of his glove, the black leather almost squeaking but was drowned out by the movement of the train.
Swallowing hard, Adam Quint began to lightly sweat and he adjusted his tie as an effort to gain resolve.
Slowly moving forward whilst keeping his eyes on the two men who had not moved, Adam Quint automatically stopped outside his room and turned the door lock of his compartment. Opening the sliding glass door with ease, Adam Quint slipped quickly inside, breaking off eye contact with the two Russian-looking men. Shutting the auto-locking glass door behind him, Adam Quint breathed a sigh of distressed relief.
Sitting down upon the red leathered seat built into his compartment, Adam Quint grabbed the paper from under his slightly moist arm and unfolded it, glancing down once more at the picture of the man. Yes, though he hated to deny it, this man in the photo was...no, IS him.
Gulping once more as he tried to understand what was going on, it wasn’t until he glanced up that Adam Quint realised he was not alone within his compartment.
There were two girls sitting upon the other red leather seat built into the train. They could look no older then thirteen or fourteen but were dressed identically in young girl outfits. They looked identical also. Twin siblings, sisters most likely. Their strawberry blonde hair was wrapped into pigtails by four red ribbons. The girls did not seem to mind his distress, in fact they smiled with ease at Adam Quint.
They seemed relaxed, as if to comment on that fact, they both parted their legs in a relaxed state, the wrinkles in their knee-length plaited skirts slightly disappearing by this gesture. But they stopped the spreading of their legs, the modesty of their actions evident in their hard hazel eyes that dare not betray them.
Adam Quint gazed in wonderment at these young girls, wondering what they wanted with him. He raised the paper as if wanting an explanation. The girls giggled in response before the left side sister raised her white gloved left hand she had hidden behind her back. Within her hand was a gun, a small calibre but with the force she held it she seemed to be an expert.
“But...why?” asked Adam Quint desperately before the girl cocked the gun and fired one round.
A muffled Bang was heard but was so fast that the train whistle masked the sound even further. The trail of smoke lingered within the compartment, the girls having ditched the gun beside the now dead corpse of Adam Quint. They got up and the right side girl picked up the newspaper with her right white gloved hand and smirked in mirth before flinging it over the face of the dead man with a bullet hole in the square of his head that was already starting to bleed.
The two girls left the compartment after shutting the pull-down blinds and locking the door behind them.
The two Russian men came up to the two girls.
“Vis he dead?” asked the left Russian with a heavy accent that betrayed his clumsy attempt at the English language.
“Da, he is dead,” answered in unison the two girls and giggled again.
Bristled by this but not saying anything, the two Russian men in black nodded lightly and removed the two girls to their own compartment so as to not make things look suspicious.


(to be continued...)
 
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(chapter 1, last part)


“They say the one with The Orb shall conquer worlds. The Orb Of Osiris, a national treasure that is priceless. Not due to the fact of monetary value but the History and Mythos behind such a simple golden ornate sphere. A simple treasure believed by the Egyptians to have fallen from the sky by Ra himself, as a gift to those he deemed worthy. A meteor that delivered this precious ore and was said to hold mystical properties after being turned into The Orb Of Osiris.”
This was inscribed upon the display case where the Orb lay upon a cushion of silk, the security glass protecting the ever-powerful Egyptian Treasure.
But this glass was no match for the one whom wanted The Orb Of Osiris. A lithe figure garbed in black descended from the lofty inner rooftop of the Egyptian Museum. Shimmying down the rope that the thief had just a moment ago let fall silently whilst tying the other end to a marble support beam, the burglar slipped down the rope with ease with gloved hands and landed gracefully with nary a sound.
‘Easy, too easy,’ thought the masked burglar with a silent chuckle and lifted the outer display glass around The Orb Of Osiris.
‘This is where things could get tricky,’ thought the burglar and placed the harmless glass down beside the exhibit podium.
The actual inner glass surrounding The Orb Of Osiris looked more thick and bulky, not a display case but as a security measure.
The thief weighed the options but knew the next patrol by the security guard would appear any minute now. Despite professionalism being the top rule in the thief’s book, the thief knew this chance would not come again.
So, unhitching the crowbar from the waistband, the thief raised the crowbar high in the air and smashed it downwards towards the glass with tremendous force.
CRASH!!!
The inner security glass broke and a shrill alarm was ringing throughout the room.
Snatching up The Orb and stashing it in a satchel, the thief scurried up the black rope that had been secured to enter the building in the first place. With The Orb Of Osiris safely tucked away, the thief leaped from the rooftop and blended within the shadows in the night. The job was a success. Now all that was needed to be done was to deliver the stolen artifact to the person whom employed the thief in the first place. An easy if somewhat hazardous task, but entirely possible with ease due to the thief’s means.


End Of Chapter 1.

(to be continued...)
 
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Chapter 2: Stacy Cartwright


Stacy did not know what to do. She sighed in an exhausted manner, her shoulders sagging slightly as she made her way within her apartment. It was a dump as far as she was concerned but it was her own dump and she had to live with it.
Fumbling the key into the shoddy-looking lock, Stacy turned it sharply with her bangle-strapped right wrist. With a satisfied click of the lock unfastening, Stacy yanked the key from the keyhole and deftly turned the handle of her door and pushed.
With a squeak of the rusted hinges, the door opened inwards into Stacy’s apartment, the small interconnecting hallway leading into a shadowy room.
With a deft flick of the switch, the shadowed apartment became slightly illuminated with light as the main overhead lamp came on in the living room.
With another sigh, Stacy trudged her way into the main room of her apartment.
The sofa was a two-seater, definitely worse for wear but was also the main focus of the room due to the tacky brown pattern that could be natural or stains either way. A small coffee table made of cheap but modern plastic housed a blue vase that held a few fake flowers. A small monitor television set was upon a dresser that was also a cupboard that was the most expensive in Stacy’s apartment, a keepsake from her mother that was who knows where. Some dirty laundry was draped over the brown sofa, a brassiere and jeans and a couple of shirts that Stacy kept to remind here to do the laundry...at least a few days ago. Frowning at the laundry, Stacy moved towards them but stopped as she saw a figure laying upon her sofa.
It was a guy of her age, at least nineteen, passed out in a sleeping position with an empty beer bottle in his hand. He looked slightly unkempt, his hair a mess of black that nearly cascaded over his eyes whilst his grubby white undershirt, blue denim jacket and black jeans displayed the slob he was. A handsome slob, but that was still no excuse in Stacy’s eyes why her boyfriend was passed out drunk, while they needed to think of the rent as he wasted the money he got from the penny arcade machines on booze.
Rolling her eyes in slight frustration, Stacy made her way to the dinky little kitchen and opened the cheap mini-fridge to grab herself a soda, noticing the inconsiderate jerk of a boyfriend named Keith had not left a single beer for her to drink. Standing upright with her soda, Stacy gave a small kick to the fridge door to shut it, leaving a slight indent from her high-heeled shoes upon the fridge door.
Frustration slightly controlled, Stacy felt a bit better and cracked open the soda can as she walked back into the living room and stood over the sleeping Keith. With a sigh, she dipped the can over Keith’s face, splashing soda all over him, which made Keith startled and splutter, jerking up from his position upon the brown sofa.
“I’m up! I’m up! Hiya, hun...what time is it?” asked Keith as he saw Stacy over him with the soda can and a hand upon her hip.
“Time? You want to know the time, Keith? It is now time for you to get up and get him,” muttered Stacy in as calm a voice she could muster.
“I’m sure he’ll be fine...” started Keith in a slightly drunken spool before noticing Stacy tapping her foot impatiently upon the floor and he laughed sheepishly to stop himself from talking. “I mean, I’ll just go get him, hun.”
Keith roused himself up from the sofa, taking his car keys from his pocket as he made his way haphazardly towards the door. Normally, he would not go out drunk like this, but he knew better than to talk back to his girlfriend when she was in a mood.
As he made his way towards the front door of the apartment, he heard Stacy say after him, “And don’t let him scare you. He’s only a kid.”
‘Baby, you know nothing about him,’ thought Keith but somehow managed not to say it as he left the apartment of his girlfriend and made his way down to his beat-up old car to get the delivery over and done with.


(to be continued...)
 
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(chapter 2, part 2)



Robert Marshal hated trains. The motion of it made him psychologically nauseated and yet he also found the rhythmic sway soothing in a turnabout way. After polishing his horn-rimmed spectacles with his embroidered handkerchief, Robert Marshal placed the spectacles delicately back upon the bridge of his slightly crooked and thin nose. With a deft motion, he put his handkerchief back into his black coat pocket and with the tip of it out near his lapel white-laced collar of his taut and ironed white undershirt.
With a slight cough of throat-clearing as he was accustomed to do, Robert straightened his slightly askew tie that got wrinkled from his arm movements of placing his handkerchief within his breast pocket. After straightening out his tie, he meticulously placed a hand upon the black shining bowler hat beside himself and brushed away some invisible traces of what he assumed was dust to ease his English mind.
Robert’s mannerisms and daily habits were suddenly interrupted as his cabin door was slid loudly and forcibly open. Glancing in irritation at this intrusion, Robert saw two Russian-looking men of equal height with identical black suits and blank expressions staring back at him. Robert Marshal did not seem overtly perturbed by their appearance, if anything, it just annoyed him further.
“Well, is it done?” asked Robert Marshal in his normal monotone English voice with little interest.
The two Russian gentlemen dared not to speak, lest their broken English would betray them so just gave a slight nod in unison as a response.
“Excellent. That person is one minority I can now forget about. I trust there were no...complications?”
The two Russian men did not respond as they knew it was not a question directed at them and parted as the twin girls in matching dresses stepped into the compartment of Robert Marshal and sat opposite him upon the red leather seat and both smiled at Robert.
“He died as per your requests, sir,” responded the left most twin whilst her twin sibling was nodding in affirmative to what she was saying.
Robert Marshal did not look pleased. In fact he merely grimaced in his sullen manner at the two bubbly girls sitting opposite him within his compartment as the two Russian men left from a slight nod of his head before the girls had sat down.
“I do not hedge me bets, ladies. I am a calculating individual and my time shall not be wasted on smug satisfaction. Now, listen very carefully as I shall not repeat what I am about to say,” stated Robert Marshal with a grim undertone of seriousness that he knew was lost upon these ambitious young girls.
The twin girls giggled in unison but nodded with eager heads, awaiting their next assignment with gleeful intent.
“One of my contacts has been disposed of. I do not know by whom but it is obvious the fool had thought to seek help from an apparent psychic...an art I never appreciated. But, nevertheless, despite being a mere pawn of mine, his info has yet to have reached me and I am a man who does not like to be kept waiting, no matter how trivial the info was or is. Now, I want you two to get off at the next train station and get my bodyguards Hans and Fredrick to deliver you to his last known whereabouts. Use any means necessary at your disposal to find out who killed him and whether or not he divulged any information. Regardless if he did or not, I want you two to personally kill that person. Got it?”
The smiles on the faces of the twins disappeared as they grew serious and they both nodded their heads in understanding to Robert Marshal before replying as one, “You can count on us.”



(to be continued...)
 
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(chapter 2, part 3)


Blue watched in stony silence as Madame Velga had rolled up the dead man’s corpse within a well-worn and tacky carpet that was already well-stained with the man’s blood. The old woman was out of breath by the time she accomplished this task, sitting herself on top of the rolled up carpet to rest her weary joints from the tiresome endeavour. Blue merely had cleaned his bloody hunting knife after the kill, satisfied only in the ease of his victory against his prey. He did not hate the man he killed, but nor did he like him. To Blue, it was a simple whimsy that he did not take lightly in all his seriousness. There was no thrill nor excitement gained from his action to kill the man. He was merely a liability and Blue was the solution in that instant.
Velga glanced over at the boy Blue with shrewd and wise eyes and nodded solemnly once.
In response, the boy went to the far end of Madame Velga’s apartment and glanced out of one of the windows, looking down at the street which was only three floors below. The usual lack of traffic was of no interest until suddenly a dark green car appeared and parked outside the curb in front of the apartment building. A late teen in a grubby white undershirt, blue jeans and a black jacket stepped out of the car and shut the driver side door behind him.
Blue turned from the window and gave Velga a steely gaze to indicate that help had arrived. Without a word passing between them, Blue walked past Madam Velga into the apartment hallway.


Keith Sutherland felt cautious as he let out a sigh of boredom to mask his inner dread. He unwittingly betrayed his own charade by lightly gulping after his shoulders sagged slightly more in compliant annoyance as the thought of his pissed off girlfriend Stacy was more frightening than what he had to do currently. He still felt nervous as he gazed up slightly at the apartment building. A slight shiver went down Keith’s spine but he masked this more for the benefit of himself as he placed his hands into his pockets of his blue jacket. What made Keith feel worse was the still drunken stupor he was in, not to mention the fact he would probably be more nervous doing the job sober.
‘Now, that…is a scary thought,’ Keith thought to himself out loud in his mind as he gulped again before sluggishly walking towards the front entrance of the door to the apartment building.
Keith entered the building, the uneasiness feeling settling over him like a cold shower. He didn’t like it, this feeling. But, he knew he had to brush it off as he entered the front mini hallway where there was simple letterbox slots for the room occupants and a slightly run down staircase leading up. Having traversed this complex of units before, Keith half-heartedly began his ascent of the staircase to the upper floors.
Despite his age and lithe body, Keith was mildly exhausted by the time he reached the third floor, his breath slightly hurried as he leaned against the wall after clearing the stairways and previous floors. He glanced up and saw the boy Blue awaiting him just to the side. Keith, though slightly out of breath, managed to avert his eyes from Blue. Keith was feeling a sense of patronizing from the boy’s cold gaze.
“Don’t…say…nothing,” Keith managed to wheeze out between hurried breaths but remained quiet afterwards as he regained his energy and composure as the boy did not respond nor move.
After regaining some form of vitality in his body after two or three minutes, Keith glanced up sharply back at the boy Blue with a wry yet uncertain grin.
“Well? Deliveries dun come cheap, pal. Where’s the stiff?” Keith asked nonchalantly.
His sarcastic voice quivered slightly under the steely gaze of Blue as the boy said nothing in response and turned around, walking up the corridor.
‘Creepy kid,’ thought Keith as he had wilted under the gaze of Blue before silently following whilst trying to mentally assert his male bravado to himself.


(to be continued...)
 
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