Master of the Drunken Fist: Chapter 2

Continuing with the story, here’s chapter 2 of Master of the Drunken Fist.


Chapter 2

“Get up Mikey. Get yer purty little self up and at ‘em boy.”

Bright, brilliant white light flooded Mike’s eyes. He could see nothing but the shimmering white. Am I in heaven? he thought to himself. The white was this blinding light. He tried to adjust his eyes, though nothing seemed to be working. The light engulfed him like a giant wave washing over his existence.

“I said get yer ass up boy, and I ain’t gonna say it tergain.” The voice sounded much like Gene, yet it seemed…different. It sounded like it was coming from right in front of him, though all he could see was white. If this was heaven, someone was playing a cruel joke on him. He recalled images of angels and cherubim and stories about streets of gold. All he knew was whiteness and some redneck yelling at him to get up, and it sounded serious about it. This didn’t sound or feel like any heaven he heard about. It was cold in the light, as though he walked into the winter with no clothes on. He tried to get up, but it was hard because he couldn’t see a thing. His footing seemed solid, so he raised himself up, fearing what could possibly be next, but also fearful of what would happen if he didn’t.

“That’s a good boy. Now walk forward, and don’t ya get no ideas of running. You do that, and we gonna get ya quick. Ain’t no escape from here boy.” Mike walked slowly forward, leary of walking into something or someone. A knot of fear began to grow in his stomach at the anticipation of what was next. He couldn’t tell if this voice was the only person there with him or if there were others.

Wait, what about Noelle? he thought. Images of her beautiful face flashed in his mind, breaking the pure white around him for the first time as he looked longingly into her green eyes, wishing for all the world that he wasn’t dead and in some strange type of after-life.

“Where is Noelle?” he asked to the void.

“No..what? What the sam hell you talkin’ bout boy? Ain’t no one else here but you.”

Mike’s knot of fear grew to the size of a softball. She’s not here? Where is she? Where am I? This can’t be real. I must be dreaming. Yeah, yeah, that’s it. This is just some fucked up dream. That damn moonshine of Gene’s got me good this time. He must have added some kind of special ingredient, cause I’ve never felt this way before. Before he could reason it out, the voice called to him again.

“Damn it boy, move now!” and Mike felt a knock on his head. The voice apparently had a fist to go along with it.

“Ouch! What the hell was that for?”

“Cause I told ya to move and you’re sitting over there playin with your pecker like some dumb ass. Now ya gonna listen or do I need to hit ya again.”

“No man, I can move.” Mike started walking forward, not caring who or what was around him. He was not ready to get hit again. He reached up to rub his right temple, the spot where the voice hit him. He brought his hand down to look for blood, but he couldn’t see anything. His hand wasn’t there. At least, it felt like it was, but he couldn’t see it. The bright white blinded him to everything. He look down at what should have been his feet but saw nothing. He couldn’t see the ground or anything. He continued forward out of fear that he’d get hit, and maybe worse than before.

“Alright boy, that’s good. You musta hit that damn head o yours purty good to be that dumb.” The voice laughed out loud at the insult. Mike thought he heard another voice laughing too, though he couldn’t be sure. He never realized what it was like to be blind until now, devoid of sight. This was terrifying. It shook him completely. He shuddered while standing there, waiting on orders from the voice. After several minutes of standing there, well it seemed like several minutes to him, it could have been a few seconds or an hour, his sense of time was all screwed up now, he decided to speak up.

“Where am I? What am I doing here?” His voice echoed in the void. He still couldn’t see a thing. “Speak to me!” he shouted. Thump! A hard fist hit his right temple again. “Oww, dammit, stop!” he replied. The hit made his knees buckle. He thought one more hit like that and he was going back to the ground. He didn’t like the prospect of that.

“Boy, ya don’t speak like that ta me. You show some respect!”

“I’m sorry. I…I…I didn’t mean anything by it.”

“That’s right ya didn’t. I expect ya to listen and do as yer told. Got it boy?”

“Yeah, I got it,” Mike replied while reaching up to his temple again. He fully expected to see blood, but still only blinding white. Where his eyes even open he thought? He blinked and could feel his eyelids moving, though his view didn’t change. He was still engulfed in pure, bright white. It frustrated him to not have his vision. He wondered if he’d ever get it back.

Just then, he felt hands on his back, pushing him forward. “Hey, wait..” he tried to stop but he couldn’t. The hands from the void surprised him and pushed him through what he could only describe as some sort of portal.

Suddenly, his vision went from pure white light to vibrant colors. The pallet turned to vivid greens and browns and sky blue. It was a dizzying transition. He saw a forest and hills all around him going off in the distance. He stood in front of a small, run down shack. He could see holes in the sides and the patchwork roof shuddered under a light breeze.

“What the fu…” and he was cut off from a voice in the distance.

“Mike, Mike, come here. Mike, over here.” It sounded like Noelle, but it couldn’t be. Not here, not in this strange sort of after-life or between life or whatever the hell it was.

“Mike, please, over here,” the voice pleaded. It was Noelle!

“Noelle, I’m here. I’m coming.” He ran to the direction of the voice off to his left. He turned back towards the cabin once more and saw what he thought was a balding man walk into it with some jugs in each hand. He stopped for a second thinking to go back to the cabin to see if that was the jack-ass that kept hitting him in the void, but he heard Noelle’s plea again and decided against it. He turned back to the direction of the voice, took one more step, and found himself in the void once again.

“Damn!” he said aloud. Stepping forward was all he remembered as he fell fast when the ground left him. He screamed all the way down, crying for help from Noelle. All he got in return was silence. Suddenly, he hit the bottom.


Thanks for reading! Please leave a comment below, your feedback is much appreciated. Come back tomorrow for chapter 3 of Master of the Drunken Fist. Click here for the Table of Contents and links for the chapters.

 

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