Original Stories Fan Fiction ❯ The Free Fields ❯ The Free Fields ( Chapter 1 )

The Free Fields

By Zack Clopton

 

 

The views and opinions expressed in this work are those of the characters portrayed within. They do not reflect the beliefs of the author.

 

The following is a true story and taken from first hand accounts. The names have been changed to protect the innocent and guilty alike. This is not a work of fiction.

 

“If I can make it there, I can make it anywhere…”

 

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-July 13th, 1977

New York City, New York-

 

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Polly scrawled down the customer's order on her notepad. The customer had an ugly scowl on his face, like he was disappointed in the way Polly took his order.

 

“Why are you looking so blue, mister?” Polly was being as perky as usual.

 

“Bad day.” He spoke in a deep baritone. His voice suited his mood.

 

“Okay… You say you want that with ketchup?”

 

“Yes.” The customer said that if he were being inconvenienced.

 

Polly walked back down to the kitchen and placed the order on the diner hook and shouted to the cook.

 

It was almost time for her to head home. Polly was going home early tonight. It wasn't safe to be out at night anymore. A while ago, some nutcase put a bullet in the head of a few girls. The Forty-Caliber Killer is what the newspaper called him. A couple of people had been killed since then. It wasn't safe for girls. He liked blondes, the newspaper said.

 

Polly was a blond.

 

“Number 7!” The cook yelled out and placed a platter on the counter.

 

Polly rushed the food off to her depressed customer.

 

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- July 13th, 1977

New York City, New York-

 

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New York is not a good place to live.

 

It's filled with all the crap you could imagine. This is not a pleasant place. Just taking a look out my cab window, I can see a hooker, a crack-bum, his dealer just around the corner.

 

New York is not a good place to live…

 

…and I love it here.

 

Nowhere else can you find all the decadence in the world. This city has got is all. New York and Vegas are the modern Sodom and Gomorra. Really, go ahead, pick your vice. I'm sure we've got it.

 

I'm currently working the taxi run. Public transportation is both a blessing and a curse. In one way, you're never out of work. People always have somewhere to go, after all. But in another way, you have to put up with all the people you don't want to see.

 

Another Hispanic jumps into my cab. He barely speaks English. He says he wants to head to the Bronx. Wilmington street. I start up the taxi. I drive off, the Mexican chattering on about only God knows what.

 

He better pay me or else I'll put a bullet in his head. Just the excuse I've been looking for to off one of these goddamn…

 

Really, I like it here.

 

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“I take this one, Daphne. You head on home.”

 

“Thanks, Pol.”

 

Polly was always taking shots for other people. She was the one that would always stay just a little bit longer so someone else could go home early. One of those people that are so preoccupied with making other people happy that they often forget they have to make themselves happy. Polly was a doormat and she didn't even know it. It was okay, though, she liked being a doormat. It helped her feel.. validated.

 

Polly went over to a young couple that just sat down at table 5. The girl was a brunette. The guy had sandy brown hair. They were well dressed. They were pretty. They look wealthy.

 

Polly wondered what they were doing in a low-rent place like this. They should be in a nice, four-star French restaurant or something, not some greasy spoon like this.

 

The couple ordered two burgers, one with onions and a lot of cheese, one without, a basket of French Fries, and a large root beer float with two strawls.

 

Polly knew that you could tell a lot about a person by what food they ate. Like say, people who get ketchup on everything, that usually means that they're sexual frustrated or something. It's kinda' weird. Something you have to be into to understand. A sort of edible graphology. Psychology by way of the fast food generation.

 

Polly gives another order to the cook. At the same time, a medium-rare burger with ketchup and a coke comes back. Polly lifts up the tray and heads to the depressed man's table.

 

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Out of gas.

 

Looks like I'll have to stop here. The place is filthy in just about every meaning of the word. The grime sticks to the walls and ceiling. The kid behind the counter looks through a magazine. There is a shotgun taped under the counter. A young man steals a bag of potato chips and isn't even noticed. A bum sits in the far corner eyeing the alcohol from behind the glass. He looks like a kid standing outside a candy shop. Alcohol is a dirty thing, you know. Horrible. I stay away from the stuff. It'll kill you, ya' know.

 

The sun is still shining. It's hot. You could cut the humidity with a knife. One of those cold drinks the bum is eyeing seems pretty good right about now.

 

A bunch of flies buzz around the hot dog rotisserie. They look like they've been there for weeks. Still steaming. They smell a lot like the bathrooms here. For a fact, the whole place smells like that.

 

I quickly pay for my gas. The guy looks up at me and asks, “Will that be all?” He sounds distracted.

 

I say no and leave.

 

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Polly grabbed up her purse. It was time to head home. The sun would go down in bout thirty minutes.

 

Larry shouted back to her, “Polly, did you clean out the grease trap?”

 

Polly shouted back as headed out the doorway, “Yes, Larry.”

 

The grease trap was the worst part about Polly's job. The rest wasn't so bad, but the grease trap, yuck. She hated that.

 

New York was nice. The summer was hot and the winters where cold, just the way Polly liked it. Things weren't constantly changing like home. It was always very hot or very cold. Polly always knew what to wear. She never had to face the unexpected.

 

Polly noticed that she had a little money in her purse. She decided to take the cab this evening. She was becoming more and more weary of the streets, anyway, like everybody was.

 

Polly flagged down cab - a big yellow taxi. The driver had jet-black hair. Some loud rock music blared from his radio. Polly opened the backseat and jumped in. The cab was kept in good shape. Most cabs where a little on the raggy side. The driver obviously cared for his car.

 

Polly looked at license on the back. Richard Lionheart is what it said. The driver was ruggedly good-looking, like some Hollywood actor of old. That's something you don't see often, an attractive taxi driver.

 

“Hey, Richard! Take me home to the Bronx. Fifth street, please?”

 

The driver looked back and said, “Don't call me Richard. All right?”

 

“Oh… Okay.”

 

Polly didn't like it when people acted like that.

 

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The sun will go down soon. When the lights go out, that's when things get interesting. When the big sun goes away that is when all the real scum comes out and plays. That's when the real fun starts. I'll have to go home soon, true. But I'll be back on the street before the night is over.

 

A young chick, couldn't be more then nineteen, flags me down. A blonde. Young and fuck-able, her ample tits barely squeezed into her black tank-top, her ass accented by her tight genes. Hmm, yummy. The things I'd do to her… The temptation to bend to her over the hood and just fuck her senseless crosses my mind, but, naturally, I can't do that. That just wouldn't be proper. She jumps in the back seat, her purse hanging over her body. The smell of grease and fried food surround her. Most be a waitress.

 

Her voice, upbeat, reaches me from the backseat. “Hey, Richard! Take me home to the Bronx. Fifth street, please?”

 

Now, why did she use my first name? She doesn't know me. She has no right to call me that. It figures there wouldn't be a brain in that gorgeous body of hers.

 

“Don't call me Richard, all right?”

 

Stupid girl. These are the kind of customers I hate. There are seemingly clueless to the unpleasantness around them. I like the ones that revel in it. The ones that enjoy every minute of their twisted universe and their position within. Like the hookers and the crack heads. They enjoy it. Like me.

 

I take this dumb slut, hot as she gets me, home. The whole drive, I'm constantly checking the mirror, looking back at her. Again, I think about just pulling into an alleyway somewhere and fucking her five-ways to Sunday, but, again, I resist. It's not the time or place. I'll have to be satisfied with just jerking off when I get home. I hired a hooker but I don't them.

 

We arrive at her place and she pays and then exits the cab. As she walks away, I get one more chance to stare at that wonderful ass of her's. It's a shame looks only go so far.

 

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Polly entered her apartment. It wasn't put together perfectly, just yet. She had just moved in not to long ago and a lot of boxes where still spread over out the area. The only thing really together was her bed, a TV set, and a picture of her parents.

 

Her sweet parents. They're probably worried sick about her right now. They said she was too young to move out on her own but Polly knew she was ready. She wanted this.

 

It was getting dark. Polly turned on the lights.

 

They wouldn't turn on…

 

That's strange.

 

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I walk into my place. Yeah, it looks a lot like the gas station. I don't have a trashcan. I keep all of it on the floor. I told you, I live for this crap. I don't have a bathroom. That's right. No shower. No toilet. All I have is a closest with a pot in it. A pot I empty once a week.

 

My fridge is over in the far corner. I brush away the garbage in my way. It was getting a little too crowded in here. The roaches and rats where becoming a little too prolithic. I pick up some garbage and toss it out my window.

 

I get out my trusty baseball bat and deal with the rats. Chasing the little fuckers around the room, hearing them shriek as I close in on the kill. As I smash their little heads in. There are few things more satisfying then that crunching noise, believe me.

 

The roaches? Well, I just step on them.

 

I may enjoy filth, but I don't like freeloaders. Those pests can invade someone else's home. Remember that I only keep company with human pests.

 

You're probably vomiting right now. That's okay. I respect your weak sense of decency and morals. Hey, some of us have got to have them. I'll give you time to finish.

 

….

 

Done now? Good.

 

You're probably wondering how I can live like this. Sometimes I wonder myself, like why I don't have leprosy or something. I guess God likes me. Right now, I could go into details about how I started thinking about that girl again and how I decided to reveal that tension but I'll spare you those. Perv.

 

After my little session, I try to turn on my TV but nothing happens. First, I make sure that the rats haven't chewed through the wires. At the same time I check to see if it's plugged in. Then I realize that there are no lights on anywhere. I realize that the entire neighborhood

is cloaked in darkness. Strange.

 

I smell smoke. Where there's smoke there is…

 

Fire.

 

I open my window to see people are beginning to do things. Bad things. Loot, destroy. Some guy has set a store down there on fire.

 

What is happening to these peoples? They aren't acting like they normally do.

 

I smile. This is my kind of environment.

 

Maybe society has just crashed in on itself. Maybe the devil is gathering his forces for the end of the world. Maybe New Yorkers are like reverse cockroaches. Turn off the lights and they all go nuts. Either way, people are beginning to act like they are supposed to. I knew they would come around eventually.

 

I grab my lucky bat. This is going to be a fun night. Just the excuse I've been looking for to crack some skulls.

 

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Polly rushed out of her apartment. People where destroying everything. She

couldn't figure out why this was happening. Why where they doing this? Polly couldn't understand at the time. Her naiveté had gotten the best of her.

 

Then a man, not one she knew, grabbed her and attempted to rip her clothes off. He manages to just tear away one of the straps to her top, but it was enough to shock the poor girl. She went running off away from the laughing man, panicking. It was at this point that Polly knew she should have stayed in her apartment.

 

Never thinking about her own welfare…

 

Polly ran off into the masses, just wanting to get away from this. People around her were smashing open shop windows and stealing things.

 

Polly noticed a man stealing a TV from a window. An older man. Then another man, armed with a baseball bat, rushed up to the older man and hit him in the face. The TV fell to the ground. The glass shattered. Polly could hear the old man screaming as the other man hit him again and again. Soon, the old man stopped screaming.

 

Polly knew she should have stayed home with her parents.

 

The man with the turned to Polly and smiled. He had jet-black hair. It was Richard Lionheart. The cab driver she rode with earlier. He gripped his bat and said,

 

“Hello Beautiful Girl.”

 

Polly ran.

 

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I rush out of my apartment. In the lobby, an old woman stands, shocked at what is happening around her. I smile. Fucking old bitch. Are you the one that blares your old, sappy, fucking ragtime music at four o'clock in the morning?

 

I beat in her kneecaps. She falls to the floor screaming. I scream something at her, something I can't remember now, before smacking her in the gut. Her scream is reduced to a whimper and I decide to move on to the streets. To the real fun.

 

I walk outside and into the streets. People are stealing and yelling and destroying. They are acting like humans were meant to.

 

Why are people stealing TVs? They aren't supposed to grapple to their useless possessions. I guess I have to teach these people a lesson.

 

An older man jumps out of a shop with a television set. I figure he is in need of some drastic education. I rush over and slam him in the face with the bat. He falls head over heels, practically. He's on the ground now. I slam my bat into his face again. His nose shatters.

 

I do it again.

 

His jaw breaks.

 

Again...

 

Blood is gushing from his forehead. I continue to pummel this poor guy until his face best resembles a sort of blood-stew.

 

I'm loving this.

 

I look over to see a girl starring at me. I know her. She's the pretty idiot, the hot little number with bigger tits then brains. Someone else who needs to be taught how humans work. Someone else who needs to know how the world is suppose to work. And maybe, if she

 

“Hello Beautiful Girl.”

 

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Polly kept running. She ran through the crowds, pushing people away from her, ignoring the taunts and curse tossed her way. The chaos continued. These good citizens kept destroying their own community.

 

Polly heard Richard shouting at her through the noise. Shouting horrible things. She thought she heard him. She wasn't sure. It was so loud.

 

Polly tripped over something. Oh, God. She fell to the ground and could feel other people walking over her. Crap, this is how she was going to die, isn't it? Trampled to death because she loved her high-heels to much. It was almost comical. Polly crawled away, trying her best to ignore the smashing feet above her.

 

She crawled into an alleyway. A bum sat near, shooting one chemical or another into his bloodstream. Polly rested against the wall, trying to ignore the searing pain in her body.

 

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She's a fast runner that's for sure. I guess she didn't get that figure of her's from sitting around. I try to catch up, but these people won't get out of my way. It's difficult to keep track of her when a hundred different people are running around in the same area.

 

I shout to her, “Don't run off!”

 

I don't think she heard me. I think I'm done with this victim. Maybe I should just embrace the chaos of it all. It's a shame, too, the things I could've shown her.

 

Yeah, that sounds good.

 

I start smashing everything around me. I hear bones crack and blood splatter. I don't linger on one target for to long. Just going through the crowd, picking off who ever gets in my way.

 

This is fun.

 

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Polly awoke the next day. The sun shined into her eyelids. Good, she made it. She survived the night. The bum she fell asleep to was still there.

 

She walked into the streets. The signs of last night's rampage where still evident. She sees a police officer standing next to an overturn police car. He looked very depressed. Kinda' like her one customer.

 

Polly stumbled off over to her apartment. Good, it was still there. She stumbled into the building and slowly advanced up the stairs. Polly was very tried. She didn't sleep well.

 

She opened the door to her room. The boxes where still there, as was the photo of her parents. Her sweet, wonderful, wise parents. She closed her eyes and remembered thinking about her parents.

 

She remembered thinking about how nice they where.

 

She remembered thinking about her job.

 

She remembered thinking about her life.

 

She remembered...

 

Ya' know what? She couldn't remember anything else...

 

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After another day, the lights came on. People didn't act as much like themselves the second night.

 

The next day I went back to my cab route and life return much to way it had been.

 

These strange creatures called humans. They experience one night of joy and then forget about it and act like it never happened. Typical.

 

A young woman jumps into my cab. She looks at me and smiles.

 

“Brown please. Fifth street.”

 

I drive down the street into that nice little neighborhood. Some type of garbage rolls off into the sewer grill as I drive away.

 

I love this town.

 

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Clopton 19