I hope you enjoy this story i decided to right in 12th grade. I've yet to finish the second chapter but I have been very busy....
Hoyt watched the city from atop an old abandoned office building. The people marched along the streets like ants, the cars like slightly larger ants with headlights. The streets were flooded with the warm and colorful lights of street lamps and storefront signs. Yet the sky was a dull brown, black, and gray swirled together like when you mix too many water colors and you go, “fuck.”
Hoyt watched the people from atop that building. People of all colors, races, classes, cultures, creeds, religions, and ideologies. And criminals. Criminals were the main ingredient of this melting pot. A melting pot of shit. Shit that needed to be wiped. And guess what? This city’s all out of toilet paper.
Hoyt looked at his watch. 11:51pm. He left his lookout and made his way toward the fire escape. He leapt over the edge to the platform below, which was lower than he anticipated. In hindsight, he thought to himself, it probably wasn’t a good idea to leap before he looked. In all honesty, he wasn’t even entirely sure the fire escape was on that side of the building. It probably would have been much less troublesome to have taken the stairs through the roof entrance, which he had left unlocked. Nevertheless he decided to jump and landed with a fart, a grunt, and a muffled snap in that order. He gingerly sat upright and looked at his ankle. Or maybe it was a grapefruit; he couldn’t tell. Goddammit.
Hoyt continued visiting this location for several months; having the mind to take the stairs. One warm night while walking briskly past a dark alley, he heard shouting. Down the dark, damp, sticky, urine smelling, garbage strewn alley were three figures partially visible from a dim lamp above a door. Two figures were pummeling a third who was helpless on the ground. Shit. Two shits that needed wiping. But how does one wipe shit with no toilet paper? A desperate man, alone in the woods, would resort to using crude tools such as a pinecone. It wasn’t pretty, and hurts like a son of a bitch, but when a shit needs wiping, a shit needs wiping. Hoyt decided from that moment on, he would be that pinecone. The lone wiper in a city that ran out of toilet paper long ago.
Hoyt surveyed his surroundings. Empty cans, newspapers, used condoms, sleeping homeless men; nothing useful. He puffed his chest out, clenched his fists, took a deep breath, and stood upright. Hoyt was a fairly tall and hairy man. Were it not for his usual attire of denim short shorts, a fishnet tank top, an open dark brown trench coat, a black feathered fedora, and steel toed work boots, he could have passed for an intimidating fellow. Hoyt walked straight up to the two shits. They stopped stomping the crumpled heap of a victim and were utterly taken aback by his appearance. When they regained their composure, they walked heavily towards Hoyt. They were large. Much larger than Hoyt. Both men had shaved heads, bulging muscles, and matching black T-shirts with “Security” written on the front and back.
The shit on the left pointed past Hoyt and said, “Hey, Copernicus, why don’t ya navigate your way around the front entrance and wait in line like the rest o’ the chumps, we’re fuckin’ BUSY here.”
“Speak when spoken to you shit”, shouted Hoyt. . . No. . . Shouted the Pinecone. The Pinecone immediately shot his left hand toward the shit’s crotch and squeezed with all his might before twisting his suspiciously shriveled testicles into oblivion. The shit dropped like a. . . well, like a shit. The remaining shit did not hesitate to retaliate on the attacker. He delivered a powerful punch to The Pinecone’s ribs. The Pinecone stumbled backward but remained standing. The shit took a step toward The Pincone and said, “Motherfucker, I don’t get paid enough to deal with fuckin’ lunatics like you!.” He took another powerful swing at the Pinecone, but the Pinecone was too quick. He fell to his back and began thrashing wildly with his legs. He landed a strike on the shits knee, stomach, and elbow, but they seemed to go unnoticed. When he bent down in an attempt to grab The Pinecone and stop him from thrashing, a full on kick caught him directly in the nose. Blood poured out like a faucet and the final shit was wiped.
With the two shits incapacitated, The Pinecone limped his way toward the victim. The poor victim, with his large stomach barely covered by his “Federal Boob Inspector” T-shirt, his mustache coated with white powder and his stained sweat pants. The man stood up and looked at The Pinecone, not directly, but in his general direction. His pupils were dilated and he wobbled as he stood. He smelled like sweat, beer, and hot wings. He looked around as if he were not sure what to look at. “Hey, thanks man. That’s the third time I got kicked out of this joint for choking the dancers.” A sudden realization hit The Pinecone like a punch in the sternum.
“Wait… You mean to tell me,” said The Pinecone in a low voice,” That you were the shit?” The last part was a sharp growl that seemed to snap the shit out of his intoxication. He took in the Pinecone’s appearance and attempted to back away. He tripped over the two heaps on the ground and sat there paralyzed. Perhaps The Pinecones appearance did make him intimidating. The Pinecone brought his leg up as far as he could manage and delivered an axe kick to the shits head, simultaneously pulling a hamstring and rendering the shit unconscious.
The Pinecone looked down at his work. Three steaming piles of shit. He looked up to the dull sky and limped his way home. There was much work to be done. He needed to prepare this city for the era of. . . The Pinecone!
