Short Stories by VEF Members thread?

[KissArmy]

I continue to be impressed by the writing and thoughts of many VEF members. We're not all just posting pictures or posting quick statements. I think there's some good writers amongst us.

I propose a VEF Member Short Story thread. A short story on a person, thing, or event that isn't covered by one of the regular threads on this forum. That is, or was, a part of your life or formative years. Quick, short paragraphs on a person, thing, or event we can all relate to, or find entertaining. Not too long. VEF rule abiding.

I'll start...

[KissArmy]

All us kids knew Timmy was messed up. It was like his body wasn't producing enough adrenaline. Timmy had to be constantly excited, wired, as if to get his adrenaline level up. Maybe he was addicted to adrenaline. Us kids just knew he wasn't normal.

When he was outside, he had to do the dangerous, on-the-edge thing. I watched him climb a 200-foot tree over a river once, using old, rotten boards nailed into the trunk. When he got to the top, he jumped. He had no idea of the water's depth... he'd never been to that spot on that river before. But the danger didn't phase him. The adrenaline rush of the jump was what turned him on.

When there wasn't something physically dangerous for Timmy to get off on, he verbally and physically taunted people to get his adrenaline rush. Stirring up anger, stress, or fear turned him on. And people-wise, Timmy went for the big targets- adult men. To Timmy, adult men were what the bulls are to those guys running down that street in Pamplona. Getting adult men annoyed, angry, even physical, gave him the biggest adrenaline rush of all. I saw him do it to the men of our church. And they were the perfect targets. Because the church, the Bible, etc. said the men couldn't beat the hell out of Timmy. They offered Timmy the best rush with the least risk. He knew it.

When adult men weren't around, Timmy targeted the "nice kids" like me who had to play with him sometimes. One time I brought a trinket to the Sunday School we attended. Timmy saw it, saw that I liked it. 'Lemme see it!" Timmy begged. When I gave it to him, the trap was set... Timmy wouldn't give it back. Holding it out for me to almost take, he made me chase him. When I finally cornered him, he taunted me by fake-throwing up onto the roof of the building. The closer I got, the more he taunted with fake throws. His mouth was gaping open with excitement. His eyes were dilated. I was giving him one hell of a rush... he was fully turned on. When I finally lunged for my trinket, Timmy threw it on the roof. As a church boy, Timmy knew I wouldn't hit him. He chose me wisely. The final time I had to play with him, he put me in a wrestling submission hold and enjoyed my pain.

Timmy's family left our church when I was about 12 or 13. I saw him one final time after that, for a single day, at my junior high school. His head was shaved, as if he'd been to one of those Troubled Teen/Outward Bound camps. I never saw him again after that.

Forty years later, with the advent of the internet, I did a search on Timmy. Typed in his full name. Turns out that life did what Timmy's parents and the men of the church couldn't do- life had kicked Timmy's ass. All the entries were arrest mug shots for drugs and even an assault. He looked rough; in one mug shot someone had busted his face up pretty good. Mommy couldn't protect him anymore. Life, unlike us, didn't have to play nice with him.

About five years ago I did a final internet search on Timmy. Timmy was dead. Didn't make it out of his 50s. Apparently the drugs, his mental health, and his own body killed him. He still had that slight build, that square head, that lantern jaw, that blond hair. But he looked rough, humbled. The final photo showed him outside some church or rehab center, but it was too late for Timmy. There were social media posts from his family saying we love you Timmy, but they were the only ones who did. Everyone else either kicked his ass or fled from him. And rightly so. Timmy was a sick fuck.

Looking back on it, his whole family was screwed up. His father was a bull alpha male who left all discipline to Timmy mother. Timmy's mother was a pathetic, spineless wimp who could only whine "Now Tiiiiiiiiimmmy" when he was tormenting us guests in her home. Timmy's 14, 15-year old sister was screwed up too. Pretty, blond, but blank. Bland. Boring. I never saw her with girl friends, but she was like a female dog in heat to the neighborhood boys. They'd be out in her front yard on their spider bikes, surrounding her, waiting for their chance. Like a pack of dogs vying to mate with her (my Mom said one did... got her pregnant). My mom said she was "slow."

So Timmy was one of those people in life who got what was coming to them. I wish I could say I feel bad, but after seeing what he did to others - and being one of his victims myself - I don't.

[KissArmy]

My "Timmy" post was the punch in the face I should have given the sick little fuck over 50 years ago. It wasn't a short story, it was therapy. I feel better now.

Mods, I vote to delete this thread. It's served its purpose.