Rated MA-R mainly due to violence, blood and general horror-ness.
Jason Voorhees, Mrs Voorhees owned by their respectives. Kevin Lomax is the lawyer from The Devil's Advocate, the pics I don't own either (coming from the films Murder In The First & Friday the 13th series). Read, comment, enjoy!
Steve Miner II Ice Rink, Galesburg, Illinois, 2007
Jason crouched low in goals, deflecting puck after puck. Nothing got past him. The scouts watched in amazement as the young man moved with speed and grace almost contradictory to his massive size. Drill after drill, he nailed the competition.
“So Mrs Voorhees,” said the recruiter from the Nashville Predators “We can offer a sizeable package for your son”
“But its Tennessee!” scoffed the agent from Buffalo “Now the Sabers…”
“Have never and will never, win the Stanley!” stated the Red Wings agent.
“Gentlemen,” said Mrs Voorhees “We shall wait for the draft”
“But Mrs Voo…” the Nashville agent nearly choked as her eyes bore straight down into his soul.
Tamms Correctional Center, Illinois
Kevin Lomax looked at his client on the other side of the glass. He had appealed the death penalty for his client Jack Burrel, but after no new evidence came to light, the state had pressed ahead with the process of executing him for the murders Barry Adams and Claudette Hayes. Prison had not been kind to Jack in the time he’d been its guest. His youthful features worn, his hair cropped short partially as it had been falling out due to stress, scars on his face from ‘nothing’ happening on a daily basis.
“I’m sorry” said Kevin unsure of what to say.
“Not as sorry as I will be in a few hours,” Jack’s hollow stare wasn’t even at his lawyer, but to the clock above his head “At least it’ll be over for me. Kevin?”
“You know I didn’t kill them right?”
Kevin nodded “I’m sorry”
An alarm sounded and the heavy door behind Jack clanked open. Two burly guards, one with an armful of shackles entered.
“Already?” said Jack
“Sorry Jack, times up!” said the guard
Voorhees House, Crystal Lake, Illinois
Mrs Voorhees glared at her son; the still sizzling frying pan where she’d cooked dinner was held tightly in her hand. “What did you say?”
Jason’s head sunk low, his shoulders dropped as the six foot tall seventeen year old cowered at the table. Mrs Voorhees slammed the frying pan onto the table, cracking Jason’s plate and sending his half eaten dinner across the room.
“What did you say?”
“Play for Florida” squeaked Jason, tears leaking from his eyes.
“Stand up!” Jason hesitated and Mrs Voorhees grabbed him by the hair and pulled him to his feet “Do as you are told Jason!” She shoved the frying pan up under Jason’s shirt as she pulled back his hair “Do you understand me?”
His flesh sizzled and he screamed “YES!”
“YES MOMMY! I’M SORRY MOMMY!” he wailed like an animal and began thrashing. Mrs Voorhees released her grip as he convulsed on the floor.
“Florida is too far away,” she said calmly as she put the pan in the sink. She wiped the broken plate and the food onto the floor near Jason, who rocked back and forth on the floor in excruciating pain “Now finish your dinner”
Jason breathed heavily into his mask, it relaxed him, helped him deal with it all, made him strong. He angrily kicked rocks, sticks and trees as he aimlessly, angrily wandered about the woods. Jason unsheathed his machete and swung it, slicing the air with deft precision. Jason emerged from the woods onto the edge of Crystal Lake. He looked out as the moonlight danced across the black waves. Jason walked out onto the rickety old jetty, embedded his machete into a pylon and stared up at the moon, forgetting the world.
Jason whirled around from his trance to see a man in a wheelchair a few feet behind him.
“Sorry didn’t mean to startle you,” he said “Lovely still night, very peaceful”
Jason looked at the man in the red 81 top as he fished out a cigarette from his pocket and lit up, the pungent smell of marijuana drifted across the air.
“You want some?”
Jason shook his head.
Jason shook his head.
“You don’t talk much do you?”
“Are you okay?”
Jason shook his head.
“Well if you tell me, maybe I can help?”
Jason stared intently at the man who puffed away on his joint. Mark looked back and shrugged “Or you can just be a big creepy guy in a hockey mask standing on a pier. Only trying to be nice. See ya #$%^g freak!” Mark spun his wheelchair and rolled off.
The words were soft, almost barely audible over the lapping waves against the jetty “Jason”
Mark stopped and turned his wheelchair back and smiled “See that wasn’t so har…”
“I’M NOT A FREAK!” Jason roared, and in one quick motion grabbed his machete and clobbered Mark with it, the blade chocking into his face with a sick thud like chopping a melon. Jason grabbed the handle and reefed it out and hit him again, and again and again.