Two Page Shorts by Nick Venom (top reads .txt) 📕

The alcohol started to mess with Joyce. “M-Marie, c-c-can’t we just…” She interrupted herself with a burp. “... j-just have a g-g-good nice t-talk?” Joyce began swaying.

“Get out!” Marie repeated. “I called the police! They’re on their way!” She shouted. Joyce glared at her, glancing at her bottle and muttering something to it. She looked back up at Marie, grinning, before winding her arm and hurling the bottle at her. 

The bottle hit Marie in her face, blood gushing out of her forehead wound in doves. She shrieked as she tried to stop the blood flow, one eye checking on the blood streaming down her face, and the other trained on Joyce.

Marie’s shrieks attracted neighbors, who got on their phones and dialed the police. Soon, it’ll be the same situation Max was in.

Joyce, noticing the lights popping up from neighbors' houses, charged towards Marie. Marie held up her arms to cover the first blow, the knife tearing into her tan skin. Blood gushed out of the second wound. 

Marie used her body to push Joyce back, keeping the knife in her arm. Joyce took a step back and tripped on a rug, collapsing to the floor. Marie grabbed the knife and tore it off from her arm. Joyce got up from the floor and swung at Marie. The attacked missed, throwing her forward. This granted Marie a chance to stab at Joyce, slicing at the teen’s face. This connected attack frustrated Joyce, who reacted by grabbing the knife from its blade portion, slicing her hand to hell, and ripping it out of Marie’s grasp.

She turned the knife around, using her still-operational hand to move the knife around, and sliced at Marie; who had taken a step backward and tripped on the same rug that Joyce had. However, she reacted quickly and kicked at Joyce’s legs, dropping her. 

Marie got up quickly and searched through her bedside drawer. She took out a gun and turned around to fire. She was then pummeled by Joyce, who was bleeding horrifically from several wounds. Marie, now on the floor, gripped her pistol and fired blindly. One of the shots grazed one of Joyce’s legs while the others missed her. 

Joyce’s eyebrows sharpened and she started to beat on Marie. She raised her knife and stabbed Marie, continuously, until she took her last breath. Satisfied at the mess that Marie became, Joyce took her time decapitating Marie and escaping the house. She took the Cadillac back to the cabin and showed Max her trophy. The head of Marie.

“Now that I’ve completed that mission, will you take me in as your apprentice?” Joyce asked. A hint of delight rested in her eyes. She looked eagerly into his eyes. He took a step back from her, now recovered from his injuries.

She’ll be useful in the future. For now, I’ll take her, thought Max. He could use her as a pawn for his revenge. However, he didn’t want her to know that. He nodded and she squealed. She pranced around the small cabin and flung her arms around. She stopped in the middle of the cabin and jumped up and down. The wood under her, heaving dust upward. After taking a lot of hits from Joyce’s bloodied boots, it broke apart and dropped her into a small man-made pit. 

Joyce fell onto her back and quickly looked around her surroundings. She stretched her arms out, hoping to find her barriers in the dark pit, and touched a slushy object. She shrieked when she noticed what she was touching. A rotting corpse of an adolescent female teen, a little younger than her. Two other bodies were clumped into the pit next to the first one. Joyce glanced up at Max, who towered over her - standing on the tip of the pit’s entrance. “... W-What?” She muttered. “Are these the East Emerald kids?”

***

“Homicide case at 57th and Gandalf. A young woman in her twenties, brunette hair, and tanned skin; Marie Riser.” The police chief---Andrew Hollin---told his men. 

“Wasn’t Toby Riser killed earlier?” A skinny and frail officer asked. 

“How did his older sister die on the same night as him? Was it him?” Another officer, this one chubby and balding, asked.

“Yes. I suspect that it’s Max Riser. The same bastard connected to the infamous East Emerald Case. I believe that he’s targeting his family.” Andrew declared.

“Sir, the evidence found at the second crime scene is different from the first.” The Skinny Officer stated.

“I admit Marie’s death is very different from Toby’s. But that could mean anything. It could even be the lead the neighbor pumped into him that changed something. You know what? The other Risers are in danger! Go out and protect them! Protect the remaining Risers.” Andrew shouted.

“Yes, chief!” Andrew’s men exclaimed simultaneously. They rushed off to get into their patrol cars and scour the surroundings. Everybody except the Skinny Officer left, leaving the two officers in the large police hall.

“Why haven’t you left, Briant?” Andrew asked, grabbing his jacket and equipping it. “We need all units searching for this bastard.”

“Sir, what shall we do about Toby’s children? They’re being held in the waiting room. With Marie dead and the entire family in danger, we can’t take them to any of Toby’s relatives.”

Andrew looked at him. “Send them to Allison’s relatives. If Max is on the prowl for other Risers, then send the children to non-Risers. Simple as that.” He sat down, turning on his computer. On his computer were many files with “Max Riser” as titles. Some had Max’s name while others involved his cases---Max Riser’s East Emerald Killings, Max Riser, Riser Family, Max Riser Sent To Mental Asylum - they were but a few of the titles.

“Sir, what if he’s targeting her family.” Bryant started.

Andrew glared at him. “Do it. That’s an order.”

Bryant nodded, submitting. He went to the waiting room and picked up the children, packing them in a car and taking them to meet with Allison’s parents---their grandparents.

Meanwhile, Andrew looked down at his desk, muttering to himself. “I’ll catch him. I’ll catch him before he kills again. He’ll be dead once in my grasp.”

Maverick scurried across an empty road, patting his stomach. He hadn’t eaten in a few days, rationing a candy bar over three days. It ran out today.

He approached the nearby gas station, entering the slightly cold store. He walked past the cashier, who shot him a nod, and reached the chips/candy aisle. He skimmed through the aisle and pulled out a small bag of normal Lays before heading to the drinks. He walked up to the soda fridges, pulling out a Mountain Dew. He turned around and headed back to the cashier. He laid the snacks on the table and waited for the cashier to scan them.

The cashier, an older gentleman who appeared to be in his late thirties with strong short black hair and wearing a comfortable blank tee and wrinkled dark blue jeans, looked up at Maverick. “Same as usual?” He asked.

Maverick nodded. “I got to try my luck. Maybe I have some good luck.”

The cashier shook his head. “I doubt it.” He handed Maverick a ten-dollar lottery ticket with the words “Crazy 10’s - You can win up to $1,000,000!” Printed in big bold letters, entertaining him with the thoughts of winning. 

Every two weeks, Maverick spent ten dollars from his unemployment check on tickets; most of his check going to paying his $250 apartment rent. The remaining forty dollars went to alcohol and snacks. 

He came in with hope and left with it dashed. 

Maverick paid with his last twenty dollars, getting six dollars and loose change. The cashier gave him his stuff in a bag. Maverick thanked him before stepping to the side, over the trash can, to scratch the card. The cashier yelled at him for scratching it on the table and not over the trash can.

He spent a few minutes scratching the ticket, every movement bringing him despair. He finished scratching it, his head lowered. He won… nothing as usual. He handed the card back to the cashier to scan and see if Maverick missed something or if the card had anything special on it. It didn’t.

“Better luck next time.” The cashier told him.

“I hope so as well.” Maverick thanked the cashier before leaving the gas station and headed across the empty street. Very few cars travel through this road and any road connected to it as the community has deteriorated thanks, in part, to the alderman and rising gangs. Everything was falling.

He reached the midway point of the street, not looking down either side of the road. A twenty-seven-year-old living in a broken-down apartment… no money or future… my mom would be proud. He chuckled to himself. His mother would never be proud of him.

“Ugh! Argh!” Maverick heard grunting and the sounds of punches being thrown enter the atmosphere. He turned towards the sound, two people some distance further down the road fighting. They didn’t look like the usual drunks or addicts. Both people wore black clothing, the woman wearing a loose cloak coat and black stockings, and the man wearing a skin-tight and long cloak; his pants were masked by the cloak, but Maverick caught a few glances at his black pants that popped up every once in a while.

Maverick looked down at himself. He wore ripped jeans that were baggy and faded. The original color was long gone. His shirt didn’t fare any better, two sizes too large for him and its color drained. It used to be red, but not anymore.

The woman wielded a bo-staff that resembled metal more than wood. She fought the man by thrusting the staff at him or launching downward and sideway swings. The man, however, always lingered out of her attack range. It was almost like he knew she was weak in range, using this to his advantage. He waited for an opportunity before sneaking into her defense and throwing barehanded blows. Each blow connected, knocking more out of the woman. On his back was a longsword strapped to his back.

“This is the Great Aviana?” The man taunted, his voice sounding hoarse. “It appears that the rumors were just that; rumors. Exaggerated and untrue.”

Aviana glared at him, the wind grabbing a hold of her hood and throwing it back. Her flowing black hair was exposed, being lifted into the air by the wind. “I’ll show you that the rumors are untrue.” She remarked, Maverick hearing that she was losing her voice. 

The man grinned smugly. He appeared to be younger than Aviana, in his late twenties, with unkempt coal hair and ghost pale skin. He looked sickly but had a menacing aura. He stood back, waiting for Aviana to attack. However, she had been badly wounded by his punches that she was coughing out blood.

Maverick jumped at the blood. He had seen blood during fights, but they were in small amounts. A drop here or there. This wasn’t a drop, but a small puddle leaking from under her cloak coat. 

The man smiled. He brandished his longsword, licking the blade before he charged forward. Aviana held out her bo-staff, her lack of energy apparent, and deflected the first strike but not the second. She crumbled under