8th Excerpt From Ne'er Do Well

I have decided to share actual excerpts from Ne'er Do Well. I will no longer share full chapters. Here it is:

I also came across an auspicious find: A lighter, likely belonging to Steve. It had the print of a wondrously unclothed woman with an auspiciously endowed bust and a gracefully gifted rear. Only Steve would have had this beautifully hand-crafted accessory in his possession. Turning over the lighter and looking under the small machine yielded splendid results, and led me to discover the origins of this fine ware. ‘Made in China.’ it read. Amazing! Who could the famous artist in question be? Perhaps, he, in order to create more mystery and intrigue in the lives of the family members and others related to the owner, added this unascertained label, so that they could then furthermore search throughout the lands for the name of the beautiful craftsman. The explorations would likely keep the man’s spirit alive, even after death, as the groups ventured throughout this ‘China’ in search of his other crafted possessions and wares.

After reminiscing on the origins of this accessory, I decided it was time I use it for myself, that is, try it on a cigar of my own. It was rusted, but, not without fuel! I was, at the time, thirsty for a taste of smoke. As I pulled the golden brown delicacy to my face, I flicked the lighter, and out of nowhere, a large fire spewed from the nozzle, burning my brows. The darned thing! Some ass probably felt it jolly fun to ruin this fine piece of… China. I shall call it China until I discover its true origin. With cigar in hand, I continued onward. Might I remind you, that a cigar does wonders for the mind of man. It stimulates the brain to a great degree, to one which could not be achieved normally without a great amount of time spend studying in say, a library, for hours; a cigar, is a quick slip to high intelligence. It was while I was puffing this fine thing that I came upon a new hunch. Call it intuition. I felt the wind was guiding me northwest, which was further away from Ne’er Do Well and led deeper into the forests. I was satisfied.

Seventh Excerpt from Ne'er Do Well

Chapter Seven

            Steve was hiding in an alleyway located deep within the Downtown area. He was freezing and was beginning to grow restless. Thoughts flew through his head; “Is he still following me?” “Has he given up?” Steve was not in any condition to carry himself home. The feeling he dwelled upon was of a simple matter: It stemmed from a small seed of hopelessness, slowly, but carefully watered until it eventually grew into the large stalk we saw now. This stalk would continue to grow, now, because it had already been nursed to size, and once one had allowed a weed to grow, it would not stop easily. Perhaps Steve merely needed to ‘cut’ this stalk down… But, alas, it would take some time to dispose of this one, for it may have already spread its own seeds, or perhaps even had invited its pleasant friends of jealousy and hatred…

            Presently, I shall bring us back to the home of Kresh McCore…

“Wake up woman. I’m hungry.”

Kresh lifted his heavy, heaving body from the bed and stomped his way to the kitchen. He opened his Steven’s Brand refrigerator door and removed his usual breakfast beverage: Milk. He poured his favorite thick, white substance carelessly in to the glass, spilling drops needlessly across the table. He did not care. What reason was there for a simpleton such as himself to mind such a simple matter as making a mess? His stalk was fully grown and it was much more than a simple weed; it was a disastrously tall tree, with vicious thorns and was unable to grow leaves of its own, owing to the dark exterior it fashioned. His tree was the type you found in the yards of those haunted houses. Of course, his tree must have surely been the one that had planted many others of its kind, such as the one which plagued our good hero, Steve.

            And once again, our terrible, deeply under confident villain made his way off for another day of failure, and most surely, another day of success in the form of individual expression. What type of expression you may ask? The type he offered to his wife. The man was an artist, and he painted a most beautiful canvas, incomparable to many of the best artifacts still present in Ne’er Do Well today. While the portrait might have been frightening to some, it actually incorporated many of the desirable traits found in our world today, such as the stability offered from conformity, the pressure relieved from the oh-so-simple act of violence and abuse, and most surely we could not forget the godly title he was so blessed to be brandished with: Enforcer. Yes, Kresh was probably the closest to the title of God… Or at least He felt so. And so did his peers! Ah Kresh, we, the readers wish you the most of luck on your journey to self awakening and happiness!

“Oh, there goes my hero! He’s off to change the world again!” his wife valiantly thought as she slowly wiped a false tear from her eye.

Now, finally, I will quench that ever-so-tantalizing desire you’ve had to witness the actions of our brave, but sorrowfully indifferent hero. I bring us to him now!

“What point is there?!”

Driven to the ends of pointless indifference again…

“I see no use in this constant cat and mice game! I’m done! It’s time for action!”

Yes! It seems our hero has used his anger as a conduit for action! Let us take hold of our buttery snacks and let us clench our children closely in our arms, for Steve has taken action (For the first time in, well, almost ever)!

Steve knew that he needed to take action, and that he required a solution, so, he returned to headquarters. And, I say, if the logic is fine and all that, that at that time, Steve could’ve used a good book. And, he found just that when he arrived. A grand title, “The Forgotten History of Bloated Bovines by Mark Taylor”! In the third chapter he licked a tantalizing historic record of utter sizes over the course of the past thirty years, and came across a CD titled “Recording, 320 KB/s, Compact Disk, ‘The Mating Sounds of a Distressed, Enlarged Bovine’”

Eyes widened, he quickened his pace as he made his way to the nearby audio listening lounge. He sat, and inserted the divine disc into its proper place. As it spun, he heard the blessed sounds travel softly through his eardrums, and as the noises grew louder, his eyes grew in proportion; finally the noise climaxed and softly lowered to a sweet timely finish. At this exact moment, Steve had experienced a divine, irreplaceable gift that perhaps none of the occupants of this building could have received.

“Oh, I see. You get a kick from cow porn, huh?”

Wait. Steve recognized that voice. But how? How did she get here?

Steve inched his head slowly around the bend until he caught sight of the beautiful wench he knew from the library.

“Why, hello there! How did you get here?”

The new librarian laughed.

“I work here now. You’ve inspired me. Now, I’m going to be shuffling books with the gods!”

“Ha! Just because we are trying to change the world doesn’t make us gods.”

“Either way, I have to return to the front desk. Goodbye, Steve.”

She was doing it again; playing with that damn toy.

“Phew.” Steve was relieved.

“Wow. I never would have thought YOU would be one of the ones who took an active interest in bovine sexuality. Heh, I guess each his own, I suppose.”

“Aw come on, you know I found it by accident.”

“No, you didn’t Steve. I’ve read it. It’s the picture book with the fat cows… and those... enlarged utters.”

“It’s not what you think! I grabbed the book by chance! You know, figured I’d play the chance card today!”

“You and I both know that you only read books that interest you.”

“Ah, well, fine Jerry.”

“So, I hear you had a run-in with Kresh. Quite a brute he is, huh?

“You’re tellin’ me. The guy just as surely would have ripped my face off. Did you see what he did to that car? He’s a maniac.”

“No. He’s just plagued with a disease I call ‘Enforcers Syndrome’. Quite common really.”

“Well this ‘Enforcers Syndrome’ is deadly.”

“Yes, yes. It is.”

Jerry led Steve to the camera room, where he once more caught sight of the various cameras spread about Ne’er Do Well. Contrary to what may have originally been assumed by some of my many diverse readers, the cameras belonged to the Headmaster. They had hacked them and now used them for their own purposes.

“So here we have Kresh, and as you can see, he is at your house.”

“Whoa, whoa, wait. Wait a minute! There’s a camera in my house?!”

“Six actually. One in the kitchen, one in the bedroom, one in the living room, one in the yard, one in the shower, and one in the toilet.”

“Why the toilet?”

“Not sure. We think he puts it there to monitor the health of the citizens.”

“Creepy.”

“Yep.”

“So, anyways, what we’re going to have to do is head back to get a few things.”

“Why? I don’t need anything.”

“The tracker. I think it’s still in a pair of your pants.”

“Should we wait for him to leave?”

“No. Kresh will be there all night. Look. He even brought his battering ram.”

“You mean his wife?”

“Yeah.”

“Ahh. I was wondering how he got in to my room. Had that thing locked up real good.”

           

            And so our bold heroes prepared for battle. But could they defeat the giant enforcer Kresh McCore?

A sixth excerpt from Ne'er Do Well

Chapter Six

            He ran. He ran until he had finally arrived. Home. He put his corroded copper key into the deadbolt lock, turned the knob, and entered. A thick, strong smell filled his nostrils. Mold. His living room was cluttered with a thin layer of clothing, magazines, and trash. Had someone been there before him? No, his house was always a mess. Indeed, Steve was in deep need of a visit to the land of solitude, the impenetrable world, the world where none of the struggles of the universe could seep in. Steve went to his bedroom.

            He laid himself down, taking in the light blue, flaky walls, the sun’s golden sheath, and the incomparably gorgeous clothing closet. To him, it did not matter where, as long as silence permeated the air. Not surprisingly, he was thinking about an interesting theory. He dreamt of a simple world, where all moved at their own will, and all dreams were reached. Alas, for Steve this world was unattainable. Even for people like you and I, the truth of this philosophy is painful to endure…

            And as Steve sat in his comfortable bed, the mysterious, smiling man searched. Presently, I will take us to him.

“In only a moment… Just a moment…” He grinned

His steps were steady yet quick, like the speed of the workers in Ne’er Do Well. With each step, his smile grew larger, and he knew. He knew exactly what he was searching for and he was well aware of its location. He came upon Steve’s street, a rundown trailer park, complete with your average every day rusted vehicle. The man was stunningly strong, his fists pounding into a nearby rusty car; his strong, grey eyes displaying his commitment to his cause. His pace quickened, only one trailer away. As he finally reached Steve’s yard, he took at breath through his nose, as if he could smell his target. He knocked.

“Come on out, Steve.”

No response.

“Damn it, Steve. You know I like games, but you and I have been playing this game for much too long.”

His arm tensed. He grabbed the door by its sides and tore. The living room was exposed.

“Please pardon my rudeness.”

His manners were still programmed to work even in these kind of situations. He made his way to Steve’s room, aiming for the kill. He bashed open the door. And found…

Nothing.

“NOTHING?!”

            Steve was gasping for air. Despite his readings which suggested healthy food and exercise daily, he ignored them; the effect was felt. He was almost there. The secret entrance. But, how would he be sure the man wouldn’t follow him? No, he was sure the security doors would stop him. Or, would they? The man had torn off Steve’s door. These steel panels were most surely not going to stop him. Steve came to the crossroads; should he worry for himself and enter the headquarters or should he worry for the welfare of the association’s members? He chose the former. He ran further, past the hidden entrance…

            I bring us back to our villain, Kresh McCore, entering his home. An apartment located in deep downtown Ne’er Do Well; beautifully kept, by his one and only dear wife: Isabell McCore.

“Home again.”

“Welcome home, dearest.”

Isabell’s arms were covered in scratches, both old and new, a face emblazoned with romantic red scabs and sunset-purple bruises. Her explanation to her coworkers? A fall down the stairs here, an accident while cooking there, or perhaps a fall from the bed. They were simple accidents, which were in fact, experienced by many women in Ne’er Do Well. So, the explanation was acceptable.

“Honey, do you see this?”

“Umm, yes, dear, I do. It’s the floor.”

“Don’t get smart.”

He grabbed her by the hair and pulled, until allowing her small, young head to plummet towards the ground. The impact was felt, and rose tainted petals fell from her nose.

“Look at the mess you made. Heh… You thought you were finished. My darling, you have to do much better than that.”

And as she coughed lovely, rosy petals once more, she exhaled

“Yes.”

            He was finished. Justice had been served. Karma has a funny way of working, he must’ve thought. Near the bedroom door sat a precious, golden retriever; man’s best friend. Kresh McCore respected his dog almost as much as he respected his wife. Because of this, he expressed his love with several ‘check-ups’; A simple examination to confirm existence. A simple thrust of the foot, with a brown leather boot for extra special accuracy and an assured response. A loud cry of confirmed life filled the house instantly. He was satisfied, his wife had been ‘gently’ reminded of her mess-ups and his dog had shown his master that his was still filled with everlasting vitality. It had to be; else he would not have been alive for 8 years thus far. Kresh’s last dog lasted only a few days… ‘Lacked vitality’, he would exclaim.

            It was off to bed, with yet another day of failure. He was feeling much better now that he knew his fellow housemates were there alongside him. His wife in bed; His dog at his feet. He was ready to close his eyes to a day unrealized. He would be ready to open his eyes again in the morning. Another day another dream, he always thought.

A Forth Excerpt from Ne'er Do Well

Chapter 4

“How much further?”
“It’s only another four blocks. We’ll be there soon.”

Steve and Jerry were on their way to the Association’s home-base. Jerry had been persistent in his persuasive maneuvers and had finally succeeded in convincing Steve to come. It was not long after that Jerry stopped moving
“I thought you said four blocks. This is only two.”
Jerry made a ‘Shush’ noise and placed a couple of fingers in front of his mouth. He whispered
“We’re here.”

They were standing in front of a seemingly empty lot, but, on closer inspection, a small shed sat in the middle of the insignificant, white field. At this point, Steve knew that the association was serious business. He could tell that they knew how to stay under the radar. Jerry walked forward to the white moon bathed field and motioned Steve to follow. Steve followed.

When they arrived at the abandoned, wooden shed, Steve noticed something of interest: The doors were unguarded and the entire structure was close to falling apart. Much to Steve’s surprise, Jerry went around the shed and lifted a rather large barrel and placed it aside. Underneath, a simple piece of grass, untouched by the white blanket that covered nearly all of the field. Jerry lifted the grass, obviously fake, and revealed a coppery, rusted door of sorts. The door looked nonfunctional and ancient to him. Jerry knocked on the door twice, pricked his finger with a needle and proceeded to place it in a hole conveniently located on the door. “Did you get your tetanus shot?” Steve giggled silently to himself and gained no response. Then, the door slowly creaked open, creating an unbearable noise similar to the sound of nails screeching on a chalk board. It had reminded him of the unbearable lashings he had received in grade school when he had played hooky. What was he doing, you ask? Fishing. Steve was an excellent fisher and could perhaps make a business out of the sport. This moment was, to him, like fishing. He sat and waited, patiently, for something grand, something marvelous to pop up and surprise him.

After three more inner grates opened, Jerry pulled out a rope and a lighter and descended down the deep, almost humid hole. Perhaps it was in some way connected to the sewers. Steve bent over and took a whiff before starting his descension. Yep. The aromatic, sweet, tingling smell of urine. It was an unbearable scent that had caused him to place his hand over his nostrils. He then realized that he needed both hands to climb down the rope. He sighed, took the rope in both hands, and began lowering himself. When he finally reached the bottom, there was Jerry, wagging his tail in anxious anticipation. The man was patiently awaiting his master, his tongue practically hanging out of his mouth. In this case, of course, the roles are reversed, but we can play along, can we not?

In the chamber was nothing of particularly noteworthy example except perhaps a stone wall, a few barrels, and the lack thereof of any outside light. I suppose this is why Jerry carried a lighter in with him. And as our heroes journeyed inside the dark corridor, Steve’s mind began to wander off…

“Where have you been? It is already 1:20 and class is almost over!”
“I went fishing.”
“Fishing? Again? You do know that I’m going to have to increase the lashings, do you not?”
“Yes.”

Steve was lost in the past. He was experiencing a moment when he arrived at school late. The schools in Ne’er-do-well were ‘protected’ by metal fences that were erected in order to keep ‘potential threats’ out of the learning environment. Cameras were positioned at various locations such as around the main building and in hidden spots on the playground. Yes, they were even placed in bathrooms. At the top of the two-story building were two large antennae which were to be used in the event of an ‘extreme emergency’. Usually the only time they used it was for the children who misbehaved and were to be sent to the higher-ups. In addition to all of this, the school had strict standards to be adhered to at all times. The boys and girls were to line up in the morning and sing the allegiance to their country and their ‘god’. The pledge was to take place at 7:15 every morning. Steve felt the pledge to be unbearably mundane and felt it much easier to sit during the pledge. He was punished accordingly. At Clark Dale Elementary, students were expected and even forced to become a piece of the larger whole.
“I would say… about twenty.”
Steve grinned and responded
“How about fifteen? It will make your life much easier when I arrive on time. What say you?”
The boy had been rather silver-tongued for his age. The man smiled
“I am feeling generous today.”
His grin widened
“I will give you twenty-one.”
But to no avail. The boy frowned, aware of his rapidly impending doom. He figured he could avoid it with a few choice words of humility
“Yes sir.” Once again, to no avail.

The man grabbed the boy’s wrists and bound them in ropes attached to two wooden planks. The devices were very popular at Clark Dale, two per class, and were set about five feet off of the ground. In addition, small buckets were set underneath the devices. The man then retrieved a rather large whip from his desk drawer. It was so large that it was probably the only object in the entire drawer. As procedure dictates, the man pulled the boy’s trousers to his ankles and removed his underpants. The boy’s rear was on display to the entirety of the class. The man hoisted the instrument above his head slowly, gathering strength and then, swung forwards with utmost dexterity and speed! Whoop! Snap! With each and every hit a scream could be heard throughout the halls and a cackle which increased in pitch at each successive blow. The boy’s legs were soaked in blood after only 10 lashes. The man continued, swifter than ever with a force that would only be comparable to almighty Zeus’ terrorizing bolts of lightning. Afterwards, the man took a deep breath. A feeling of accomplishment and power rushed through his mind instantly. At the same time, his very soul elevated to heavenly (or hellish) heights, while the student’s legs shook with fear. As custom in Ne’er-do-wellian schools, the students were left to soak in the despair and regret of their actions and were usually left to starve and relieve themselves until the end of the school day. Of course, all of this was done in the company of the entire class. Even when the children had behaved, he still chose a ‘Lucky Contestant’ to witness his fury. Most of the class watched with cold indifference, their frozen stares penetrating the souls of those who were chosen to suffer. The stares were like hammers that drove stuck-up nails back to where they belong.

“Hey! You coming?”
“Oh… yes.” Steve continued onward at a hasted pace and in almost an instant, a beam of light had broken the darkness. They were almost there.

They reached a metal, barred door which featured pass-card verification devices. Even so, the place was almost completely unguarded. Once again, the security was lacking.
“Why is no one standing guard?”
“Just wait.”
Jerry inserted his card and opened the door. When Steve entered he saw a room, but not just any room. No, it was beautiful. It had long hand-woven rugs, imported. The ceilings held exquisite chandeliers, which reflected a thousand golden sparkles across the ceiling. The walls were covered in light neutral beige and the halls had expensive paintings and pottery. Steve had not seen art like this in a very long time, because art was rarely viewed in Ne’er-do-well.

When they passed a couple doors, they reached the only open door and noticed something marvelous. A whole group of people book-licking! He became so excited that he almost ran in and jumped for joy. He was halted by the fact that it would be rude to interrupt one who is book licking. Jerry had somehow disappeared while Steve was gawking at the intellectuals, so Steve began searching for him. About three doors down he saw more people that were doing things he had never seen before. Some were hitting balls with a long stick on some type of green table, while others sat in front of a television holding small, round devices with buttons. Everyone seemed to be having a grand time and even Jerry was enjoying a game of hit-the-ball-with-a-stick. Steve ran enthusiastically to Jerry
“What is that you are doing? It looks… fun.”
“Oh, yes. This is pool.”
“Pool? It does not look like you could swim in that.”
“It’s different than that. Here. Take a swing.” Jerry handed a stick to Steve.
“Hold it like so… and then.”
BAM! In a quick moment the ball went flying across the room, bounced off the walls and missed nearly two people.
“Oh. I can see why this room has fewer decorations than the other rooms.”
“Yeah… This is Gary. He’s also in communications. He works under me.”
“Hello.”
“Hello.”
 After the greeting, Gary leans over and whispers something in Jerry’s ear
“Oh, yes. I almost forgot. I will. Yes.” Jerry then turns his attention to Steve
“We are going to see the boss now. I’m sure that you will like him.”
Steve chuckles. “Will I?”

Jerry led Steve through another, shorter corridor until they reached a reinforced metal door with a slightly crooked note. The note read ‘BOSS’.
Jerry pointed at the door “This is it.”
“You don’t say?”
            Jerry then proceeded to knock on the metal door until a man came out of the room. The man was wearing a heather gray business suit and slacks, a hat, and… clown shoes? He had a fair complexion, rosy pink cheeks, and a large grin stretched across his face. He outstretched his hand to Steve, who grabbed the hand, feeling accepted and welcome
“Happy to have you aboard, Steve. You got quite the fine catch this time, Jerry.”
 “What is your name?”
“It is a pleasure to finally meet you.”