The cycle of violence, p.1
The Cycle of Violence
By Nathan Allen
Copyright 2015 Nathan Allen
Thank you for downloading this ebook. You are welcome to share it with your friends. This book may be reproduced, copied and distributed for non-commercial purposes, provided the book remains in its complete original form. Thank you for your support.
Also by Nathan Allen
All Against All
The War On Horror: Tales From A Post-Zombie Society
The Fine Print
Available now for free download
“Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it.”
George Santayana (1863-1952)
It was 2:13 a.m. on a Saturday morning, and Fraser Jaensch’s face was hurtling at full speed towards the pavement.
His head connected with the stained concrete at an angle and velocity that would result in weeks of jarring headaches and severe neck pain. But at that precise moment he barely felt a thing. Fraser had poured so much alcohol down his throat and shoved so much white powder up his left nostril that he was on a fast-track to invincibility. Nothing in this mortal world could cause him harm.
The club’s meathead bouncers, two ugly gorillas with single-digit IQs, warned him to leave now and never come back.
Fraser responded with a cocky smirk. Who were they to tell him what to do? He was Fraser Jaensch. He was young, rich and handsome. He didn’t take orders from a couple of UFC wannabes in pink polo shirts and security tags hanging around their thick necks. He could do whatever the hell he wanted.
And that was exactly what he was going to do, because Fraser Jaensch always got what he wanted.
He picked himself up off the ground, brushed the dust off his four hundred dollar shirt, then carried on his merry way.
The decision-making part of Fraser’s brain, the part that dealt with logic and reason, told him that being kicked out of the scuzziest strip club in the sleaziest part of town was a good indication that it was time to call it a night. Luckily for him, vast quantities of booze had silenced these negative, defeatist thoughts. The impulsive, id-chasing part of his brain grew in influence and stature with every passing moment. This part of his brain ordered Fraser to keep the party going.
Fraser obeyed these orders.
He sauntered along this neon-lit stretch of sleaze and vomit and attempted to enter some of the other fine establishments on offer. He tried using all his powers of persuasion, but on each occasion he made it no further than the velvet rope.
This setback bothered him, but only slightly. He didn’t need anyone else’s permission to party. The party was happening right here on the street. He was the party, and if other people couldn’t see that, that was their loss.
A raucous clique of pretty young things on a girl’s night out passed him by. Fraser made his move. He swooped in and invited them to be a part of his one-man bacchanalia, blindsiding them with the full force of his charisma. Much to Fraser’s confusion, they appeared immune to his charms. The group exploded into a chorus of laughter and impolitely declined his generous offer.
What was going on here? He was Fraser Jaensch. These women, none of whom was any higher than a seven, should be grateful someone like him was giving them a moment of his time. This didn’t make sense.
Maybe it was the pack mentality that had caused them to reject his advances. There were eight of them and only one of him. The presence of a single, handsome male would naturally evoke some sort of negative reaction. It must have been a female defense mechanism – they banded together as one to reject Fraser, rather than compete against one another for his attention and create rifts within the group. He needed to find some young lass on her own with whom he could connect on a one-to-one level.
He spotted her a few minutes later. She was standing by the side of the road in knee-high boots, tight leather skirt and skimpy halter top, trying in vain to hail a cab. Fraser saw it as his gentlemanly duty to rescue this young lass from a disappointing night out.
He sidled up next to her.
“Hey, you’re really hot,” he whispered into her ear, close enough for her to smell the incendiary alcohol fumes on his breath. “Anyone ever tell you that?”
Despite this irresistible pick-up technique, the young lass chose to play hard to get. She turned away from Fraser, ignoring him completely.
Fraser interpreted this frosty reception as the commencement of their game of seduction. The young lass would pretend that she wasn’t interested, to let Fraser know she was not that easy, but they both knew how this night was ultimately going to end.
“What, you think you’re too good to talk to me?” Fraser slid his arm around her waist. “Trust me, sweetheart. If you knew who I was, you’d see how far I’m lowering my standards by even talking to you.”
The young lass shrugged him off the instant his hand landed on her. She shoved him hard in the chest. Fraser stumbled back and tripped on his shoelaces.
The girl made a hasty departure.
“What?” Fraser slurred, the girl of his dreams quickly fading into the distance. “I just wanted to talk to you!”
“Go fuck yourself!” she shouted back.
He watched her leave from his seat on the sidewalk, the clacking of her boots echoing through the streets.
A feeling of slight panic crept into the back of Fraser’s mind. The booze was wearing off, a dull pain was shooting up his coccyx, and he feared he might have overestimated the extent of his own magnetism. What was going on here? When did women become so stuck up? The strip wasn’t what it used to be, that’s for sure. Nobody wanted to have fun anymore.
Maybe now was a good time for Fraser to cut his losses and call it a night. Go home, sleep it off, then do it all again tomorrow.
But then he laid eyes on the blonde girl, and his world changed forever.
Moments earlier, a van with blacked-out windows had driven off on the opposite side of the road. A lone passenger had emerged. She was tall, she was slim, and she was beautiful.
Fraser thought he didn’t believe in love at first sight, but that all changed in a heartbeat. The innate beauty of the blonde girl radiated under the glare of the blinking streetlights. It was like an angel had been sent down from heaven, just for him.
He knew there and then he had to have her, and nothing would stand in his way.
The others may have slipped from his grasp, but he wasn’t about to let that happen with the blonde girl. This time, he would have to use a different approach.
He now realized his mistake with the other women he propositioned – he was far too nice. Women don’t like nice guys. They want a man who takes charge.
If he wanted the blonde girl, his courting was going to have to be a little more direct. A little more forceful.
She staggered down a dark alley. Fraser smiled to himself. The alley was private and secluded. The ideal place for their relationship to commence.
He checked to make sure no one else was watching, then trotted across the road.
He made it to the other side, just as a pack of drunks in suits stumbled out of a nearby sports bar. There were nine in total, a bunch of middle-aged middle managers desperately trying to recapture their youth, singing at the top of their collective lungs.
I get knocked down!
But I get up again!
You are never gonna keep me down!
Fraser waited until the Armani army had passed and piled into their waiting limo. He didn’t need some gathering of louts ruining what was sure to be a beautiful moment.
The limo drove away, and Fraser followed the blonde girl into t
Her behavior was somewhat erratic. She appeared confused, distressed. She didn’t seem to know where she was, or even who she was. Possibly drug or alcohol affected. Maybe even mentally impaired.
None of that mattered to Fraser. That would just make the courtship process so much easier.
He increased his pace to catch up with her.
“Hey there, beautiful,” he said in his most seductive voice.
The blonde girl looked at Fraser. She was even more stunning up close. Cheekbones carved by God himself. Eyes he could get lost in for hours. A body to die for. It was as if a team of scientists had collaborated to create the perfect female specimen.
A look of fear filled the blonde girl’s eyes. She knew Fraser’s intentions the moment she saw him.
She tried making a run for it, but lacked the coordination and basic motor skills to escape. Her ankles twisted underneath her, and she collapsed in a heap on the paved road.
Fraser stood over her with a devious glint in his eye.
“No!” the blonde girl screamed. “Wait! NO!!”
Fraser disregarded her protestations. He silenced her by clamping a firm hand over her mouth.
The Cycle Of Violence by Nathan Allen / Horror / Science Fiction have rating 3 out of 5 / Based on15 votes