FOBOS: 120 Days of Sodom
Posted: Wed Mar 03, 2004 10:19 am
"LET ME IN BITCH!"
Cyrus bellowed as he pounded upon the thick steel door for what would be the third time. I turned away from the door and looked behind me, toward the vast wasteland in which we traveled weeks to reach the point we are at now. On the horizon, I could clearly ascertain that a sandstorm was soon forming.
"Two fucking weeks." I mumbled to myself, my throat parched due to a lack of water.
Two weeks since Cyrus and I left our tribe, tasked to retrieve an item essential to our village from a man who calls himself Rosenbaum. Two weeks journey through that hellish desert and all the dangers associated with such an environment. Frankly, I find myself astonished that we reached our destination alive and in one piece. But if matters were not compounded before, they have been now. It appears our contact Rosenbaum is not within his dwelling; or at least if he is, he is not responding.
I turned back and gazed upon Rosenbaum's residence. It looked as if it were a fortress, over three stories high and constructed from what looked to be the stoutest metal I have ever laid my eyes upon. There were no visible windows or openings that I could see, and the only possible entry it seemed was through that thick steel door. Neither huts nor dwellings were within sight; this massive structure stood out in this desert like a circumsized dick. Undoubtedly such a structure was built to house valuables and to maintain personal security.
As for myself, I personally have never met this Rosenbaum, though he was commonly referred to under the nickname "The Hoarder" among our tribe. Apparently he, as legend has it, was a member of a race of men who controlled the machinations of the old governments, while in the process hoarded all the riches to themselves. Devious and grotesque people they were, and now here I was standing outside the abode of such a villanious human being.
"Sonofabitch! Open the fuck up!"
Cyrus yelled again, pounding upon the steel door with his massive fists. And massive they were. In fact, virtually everything about Cyrus' physique was indeed massive. A large negroid standing almost 7 feet tall and thick with muscles throughout his body, his forearms seemed larger than my own cranium. His bald head gleamed in the sunlight. As a physical specimen, Cyrus was indeed physical perfection, aside from his skin color which was likely burnt black by the sun. As the superior warrior within our tribe and physically built to withstand the rigors of the wasteland, he was an obvious choice to venture upon the quest our elders set us out on. As for myself, I was selected through the belief that I was a level-headed person who possessed some degree of intelligence, and my skills in diplomacy complimented Cyrus' methods of brute force.
Cyrus turned his eyes from the door and stared at me. "You fuckin' cracker, what the hell are you doing just standing there? You're here to carry my shit bitch, now before I gets excited and fuck you in da ass, you bests reach into your fuckin' man-purse and give me some some of dat fuckin' cornbread!"
I stumbled briefly, his anger catching me off guard. I pulled the satchel from over my shoulder and frantically searched for Cyrus' cornbread, fearing a second bout of his wrath. I find the small sack, and throw it to him.
"Thanks bitch." Cyrus remarked as he caught the sack. He quickly removed some cornbread from the bag and began devouring each in their entirety.
He drew his eyes upon me again to speak, crumbs of bread sticking to his large lips. "Now lets see if we can get this fuckin' jew to open dis door."
That's what Cyrus always called him. The Jew. I personally never understood as to why he referred to him as that name, and throughout our two week journey he had brushed off my attempts for him to explain why. Then again secrecy and antisocial behavior was never really a new concept when dealing with Cyrus. He hadn't even informed me as to what precisely the elders told him that we would be searching for.
"Cyrus...", I nervously spoke up, "why do you keep referring to Rosenbaum as 'The Jew'?"
Cyrus smiled upon hearing what I said. After a few brief seconds, he began to speak.
"Well when I was a boy before the war, my father would take me with him to steal hubcaps from the cars of wealthy individuals. We would sell them on the black market and make good money, back when they used to use paper for money instead of these fuckin' caps. Anyway, on my sixteenth birthday he came up with this cockamamie scheme to steal a Torah from a Jew church nearby; 'Jews' are what they used to be called back in those days, filthy mothafuckas. Anyway them Torahs were made of real gold, and if he was able to steal and sell it, we'd be set for decades in the ghetto. Livin' like fuckin' kings we would have...", his voice began to break, but quickly he regained his composure. "Those jew security guards they have patrolling their areas caught him in the act of stealing it, and my Pa took down two of those fuckers with his gun before those filthy, greedy mothafuckas put a bullet in his head and killed him." He looked down at the ground, his eyes beginning to swell with tears, but again he quickly regained his composure.
"When there's no more room in hell..." Cyrus mumbled.
"What's that you just said?" I questioned him, curious as to what he meant.
Cyrus looked at me again. "Just something my daddy used to say to me. 'When there's no more room in hell, the Jews will walk the Earth'."
Suddenly the door behind us creaked open, and we both quickly turned around.
A man silhouetted within the shadow of the door began to speak, his enormously large nose protruding from the darkness.
"I am...
...ROSENBAUM!"
Cyrus bellowed as he pounded upon the thick steel door for what would be the third time. I turned away from the door and looked behind me, toward the vast wasteland in which we traveled weeks to reach the point we are at now. On the horizon, I could clearly ascertain that a sandstorm was soon forming.
"Two fucking weeks." I mumbled to myself, my throat parched due to a lack of water.
Two weeks since Cyrus and I left our tribe, tasked to retrieve an item essential to our village from a man who calls himself Rosenbaum. Two weeks journey through that hellish desert and all the dangers associated with such an environment. Frankly, I find myself astonished that we reached our destination alive and in one piece. But if matters were not compounded before, they have been now. It appears our contact Rosenbaum is not within his dwelling; or at least if he is, he is not responding.
I turned back and gazed upon Rosenbaum's residence. It looked as if it were a fortress, over three stories high and constructed from what looked to be the stoutest metal I have ever laid my eyes upon. There were no visible windows or openings that I could see, and the only possible entry it seemed was through that thick steel door. Neither huts nor dwellings were within sight; this massive structure stood out in this desert like a circumsized dick. Undoubtedly such a structure was built to house valuables and to maintain personal security.
As for myself, I personally have never met this Rosenbaum, though he was commonly referred to under the nickname "The Hoarder" among our tribe. Apparently he, as legend has it, was a member of a race of men who controlled the machinations of the old governments, while in the process hoarded all the riches to themselves. Devious and grotesque people they were, and now here I was standing outside the abode of such a villanious human being.
"Sonofabitch! Open the fuck up!"
Cyrus yelled again, pounding upon the steel door with his massive fists. And massive they were. In fact, virtually everything about Cyrus' physique was indeed massive. A large negroid standing almost 7 feet tall and thick with muscles throughout his body, his forearms seemed larger than my own cranium. His bald head gleamed in the sunlight. As a physical specimen, Cyrus was indeed physical perfection, aside from his skin color which was likely burnt black by the sun. As the superior warrior within our tribe and physically built to withstand the rigors of the wasteland, he was an obvious choice to venture upon the quest our elders set us out on. As for myself, I was selected through the belief that I was a level-headed person who possessed some degree of intelligence, and my skills in diplomacy complimented Cyrus' methods of brute force.
Cyrus turned his eyes from the door and stared at me. "You fuckin' cracker, what the hell are you doing just standing there? You're here to carry my shit bitch, now before I gets excited and fuck you in da ass, you bests reach into your fuckin' man-purse and give me some some of dat fuckin' cornbread!"
I stumbled briefly, his anger catching me off guard. I pulled the satchel from over my shoulder and frantically searched for Cyrus' cornbread, fearing a second bout of his wrath. I find the small sack, and throw it to him.
"Thanks bitch." Cyrus remarked as he caught the sack. He quickly removed some cornbread from the bag and began devouring each in their entirety.
He drew his eyes upon me again to speak, crumbs of bread sticking to his large lips. "Now lets see if we can get this fuckin' jew to open dis door."
That's what Cyrus always called him. The Jew. I personally never understood as to why he referred to him as that name, and throughout our two week journey he had brushed off my attempts for him to explain why. Then again secrecy and antisocial behavior was never really a new concept when dealing with Cyrus. He hadn't even informed me as to what precisely the elders told him that we would be searching for.
"Cyrus...", I nervously spoke up, "why do you keep referring to Rosenbaum as 'The Jew'?"
Cyrus smiled upon hearing what I said. After a few brief seconds, he began to speak.
"Well when I was a boy before the war, my father would take me with him to steal hubcaps from the cars of wealthy individuals. We would sell them on the black market and make good money, back when they used to use paper for money instead of these fuckin' caps. Anyway, on my sixteenth birthday he came up with this cockamamie scheme to steal a Torah from a Jew church nearby; 'Jews' are what they used to be called back in those days, filthy mothafuckas. Anyway them Torahs were made of real gold, and if he was able to steal and sell it, we'd be set for decades in the ghetto. Livin' like fuckin' kings we would have...", his voice began to break, but quickly he regained his composure. "Those jew security guards they have patrolling their areas caught him in the act of stealing it, and my Pa took down two of those fuckers with his gun before those filthy, greedy mothafuckas put a bullet in his head and killed him." He looked down at the ground, his eyes beginning to swell with tears, but again he quickly regained his composure.
"When there's no more room in hell..." Cyrus mumbled.
"What's that you just said?" I questioned him, curious as to what he meant.
Cyrus looked at me again. "Just something my daddy used to say to me. 'When there's no more room in hell, the Jews will walk the Earth'."
Suddenly the door behind us creaked open, and we both quickly turned around.
A man silhouetted within the shadow of the door began to speak, his enormously large nose protruding from the darkness.
"I am...
...ROSENBAUM!"
YAH GET WHAT I"M SAYIN!!!!