|The Hunter (standard:other, 1973 words)|
|Author: Unsun||Added: Feb 18 2001||Views/Reads: 2035/1219||Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)|
|another story for a class. Oh and if you think the plot's bad how about telling me why this time?|
Owen's green eyes chilled. His faced turned an angry red. His arms quivered, and his breath came out in an angry grunt, spittle flying from his lips. "TEN!!" he growled, letting the heavy barbell slam and clang its way to a resting point. Panting, he stood up and paced the length of his garage. His head hung forward from his shoulders, and wandering strands of his shoulder length blond hair shadowed his eyes. Finally regaining some composure he leapt to his chinup bar. Pulling up, he focused his eyes on a single point on the wall, let his spirit relax, and the music flood him. He hated this. It meant complete surrender to The Hunter. His anger flowed coarse and hot through his veins. At ten pullups his arms burned. "Fuck it all!!! Fuck this world!! Fuck everything that you stand for!! Don't belong, don't exist don't give a shit!!" screamed his radio. At fifteen pullups he was out of breath and his biceps quivered. The point on the wall began to blur. His spirit fought for control with The Hunter. Owen didn't ask for much. He had his circle of friends, that's all he wanted. Sure some people annoyed him. But he didn't Fucking shove them. His eyes flashed. The seventeenth pullup was always the hardest. He heard the Hunter Howling in his mind. He urged his soul to relax and let him win. It did and the pullup followed. He dropped heavily to the floor, and could barely stand. Still the rage burned his mind. Breathe he reminded himself. Owen breathed raggedly. The breathing of a man who was halfway between tears and a blood letting rage. "I hate this" he said, doggedly. "What's that?" his mother asked turning down the radio. "Sorry but we can hear it in every room in the house" she smiled sweetly, ignoring the lyrics. "Sorry" he said, sincerity in his voice. She frowned at the weights. "That's pretty heavy.... shouldn't you have a spotter or a partner or something?" she asked, her eyebrow raised in question. "It's alright Mom I'm ok" She nodded hesitantly and left, shutting the door behind her. Owen raked his hand through his hair, yanking out and retying the leather thong. He never used a spotter. The danger was what he needed to get rid of his anger. To regain his control. The irony of that was clear to him even through the Hunter's incessant howling, "Of course I wouldn't need this if I didn't have to deal with Nick every day" he spat. The anger flooded him again. By the time he left the garage he could barely move. Except to trudge to his room, turn on the music and the fan, and then collapse on his bed. He stared at the ceiling. He needed to eat. If he didn't he'd wind up digesting his spine. He needed to shower too. He slept instead. He woke up an hour later, still tired, to the sound of his mom asking if he wanted dinner. "uh yeah" he'd responded groggily wiping his hair from his face. "It's in twenty minutes" she said. In other words, take a shower he thought. Grabbing a shirt and pants he walked calmly to the shower. He methodically removed his clothes and stepped into the shower. He twisted the knobs for both shower heads. He jumped a little when the frigid water blasted his tired flesh. He turned the water on as hot as it would go hoping the heat would breathe some life into him. Steam flooded the room, swirling with even the slightest movement. The flowing white vapor soothed him. It was like a warm faintly glowing cocoon. Unfortunately it made him painfully aware of how hungry he was. He quickly dried off and tied his hair back in his black leather thong. The shower had helped. He no longer felt the need to throttle something. But damn he was hungry, it was almost as bad as needing to throttle something. He was an only child so it was just him and his parents for dinner. He helped himself to a pile of spaghetti, while he listened thoughtfully and quietly to their conversation. He never talked much. He always listened, but he rarely talked. He didn't see anything wrong with that. Regrettably most people didn't feel that way. "Don't you agree, Honey?" his mother asked. Owen looked up "Yeah, of course Mom." People like his Click here to read the rest of this story (119 more lines)
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