• sinjanb93 26w

    @mirakee @mirakeeworld @writersnetwork @novemberqueen @stonedmonkey #novel #pod

    The History of violence finds protagonist Adam Cole from leading a simple bartender's life to killing for a cause. However, little does he know that the world where he stepped onto is reminiscent of a violent past. That makes family a weakness...

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    History of Violence

    Chapter 1: The Contact

    A familiar thing about juke box rhythms, is that despite their monotonous songs. There always seems to be a feeling imparted upon the listener to continue it nevertheless.

    The Bruce Springsteen track 'I'm on fire' plays on.........Until a thump on the bar counter, snaps my attention back to the present.

    "You wouldn't be Adam would you?",asked this hipster with a biker jacket and khaki pants.
    His hair was tied in a pony tail, and his thick mushy beard gave me an impression of Santa's disbelievement of Christmas. A strange pheonix tattoo covered his left forearm, and each time he made sudden movements with those it felt as if the bird with the dark beaks was speaking along.

    "You're looking right at him", I replied.

    He slipped forth a photograph that was about a forefinger's length. It was in a deplorable state, with each corners creased from continues upkeep in shirt pockets.

    While a typical exposure to the sun, almost destroyed it.

    I was wrapping my head around it, when he snatched the picture from my hand.

    "I will have a Bourbon on the rocks".

    He had a smirk on his face, when he was putting the photograph back in his left jacket pocket.

    I felt like a professional myself, and went on to pour some Bourbon from the shelf.

    It was a quiet day on the bar. There were rather less customers at the time, than the in-laws visiting for a Thanksgiving holiday. Except an old fart in the corner table with his neat whiskey, and big sissy from Buffalo county enjoying her long Island ice tea.

    I tapped the glass in front of him. He had this unamused look, and sort of grim countenance too. There was some few brief seconds, before he nimbly picked it up and swigged down.

    He made a grunt and savored it's taste for a while by closing his eyes.

    The he opened it, and by putting down the glass took his tattoed forearm to wipe the bead drops from his beard.

    "Is that supposed to mean anything to me?",I asked indifferently alluding to the photograph and feigning ignorance with some conviction.

    He stared down with a squint, and used his deep baritone to just say," Lively College for Girls....your daughter is very pretty".

    Just when he turned around to leave- I asked with a frowned expression on my face,"What does that mean?"

    He stalled halfway, and looked behind to smile once again.

    I felt bedraggled just like you, and couldn't understand what this was about. Except that stranger's exit casted a deep shadow on my mind ever since. Him and his wrinkled jacket skin that revealed the same pheonix figure from the tattoo.

    Except it had a small discernable swastika mark, on the very center.

    Meanwhile, I heard the pistons come to life outside. Most probably signalling the departure of the guy, or drilling a new kind of realisation in me- That I was in a world of s***.

    Anyways the song on the juke kept on rolling with Bruce,"My nerves all jumpin' acting like a fool".