This story holds no sex, no reconciliation, no loving support from an understanding family, or any other such bullshit! This story is about pain, betrayal, rage, and hurt, as well as unexpected justice forged from the fires from hell that have kept this ghost warm during the years that followed. So if you have a problem with that you know where the 'X' is...
What made this veteran decide that it was now time to set things straight? Fate had sent him a message in the form of an 86-year-old woman. His name isn't important right now (because he can't remember it) so they just call him 'Wolf', at 6'6'' and 260lbs. he was a large man without an ounce of fat on him. he was obviously a smart man but for the life of him he just can't get past that wall when he tries to remember his earlier days! the other thing he was curious about was the evidence of old wounds of various sizes and shapes that encompassed his body. the scars were long healed and he thought made him look like Frankenstein's Monster when he took his shirt off to bathe in a small pond in the woods.
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The storm raged on as the rain came down, and I no longer felt the need to stay dry and was hoping that it washed away the trail of blood running down from the hole in my left shoulder. I was walking back to the large wooden crate that had become my home for the past few months with a bottle of cheap vodka that I had gotten from the corner liquor store when a crackhead stepped up and demanded my booze as well as my pea green WWII wool coat (that so wasn't going to happen!) and while I set down the bottle and begin to tell my new friend why it wasn't...the little prick shot me with a.32 caliber pistol! who knew they still made.32s anyway??
We then had an "educational" talk as I walked away telling him how to soothe his throat resulting from my throat punch that drove his Adam's apple into his throat, as I walked along the river I gave the pistol a toss...shot by an old ladies pistol, freaking insulting!!
As I made my way to my place behind a thick vale of camouflage to a large wooden crate where I was able to relax and take my coat off. after gently peeling back my shirt and examining the wound, I realized that I had to go to the mini-mart about 3 blocks away for more cotton, using what I had to slow things down, I took 3 large pulls of the vodka for good luck and headed back out to the store. The store was 2 blocks down and one up and what I saw when I made that turn brought a smile to my face!
A limo was sitting at an angle half on the curb the rest in the street some of its doors were open and a body slumped over the wheel was nothing I cared for but the five wanna-be's that threw a small thin looking bundle against the wall of the building and saying "Listen to me you old bitch, your son is messing with things he was told to leave alone, now we need to send him a message and your it!", these punks raised their weapons as they chuckled.
A quick look around at the body count laying around and noticed somebody had been busy, but what caught my eye was the short-barreled AR15 obviously modified with 2 mags taped together facing away "Hollywood style". As I scanned my targets my mind was doing what it had been taught, my breathing slowed not making a sound as I watched their movements begin to slow to a crawl, I know I could take 3 of the 5 before the rest would hopefully shoot me and get it over with! I had a moment to figure out which one I wanted to start with when a greasy Mexican walked up to the huddled form and poked it with his AK47 and said
"Lick my barrel it's time!" and I thought...' question answered' and the dance started!
I shouted "Hey you menstruating assholes! How good are you when the odds are even?"
The guy looked over and said "5 against 1, you call that even? learn to count Dickhead!"