The Book Of Vincent. Chapter Thirty Four

Chapter Thirty Four

Has Vincent and Cyri were walking together, the wind having a rather nice, soft mid-spring aroma to it, he started to notice that her hands were soft. He thought of himself as being stupid for thinking about that, but every time they held hands and they walked together, he could not help but notice. The same went for Cyri. Just make it be that Vincent's hand were rough. Behind them, about a few paces back, was Zat and Dumas. Vincent could hear that they were talking about something (maybe some type of band, who knows) but his mind was making sure that they were not going to get jumped. At all.

“Vincent,” Cyri said, looking up at him. “Is it really appropriate to have them with us?”

“Ever sense me and Tad had gotten into that fight, a feeling of terror as swashed over me.” He continued to look forward, occasionally glancing at Cyri. “When I use to live in Warner Robins, I had these extreme fears nonstop about being attacked sense I was a little pussy at the time and I accepted it. While I still have fears, I figure why not have to guys make sure that nothing was to or shall even happen.”

“But, it does seem slightly awkward, would you say?”

“It might be awkward my darling, but look at the celebrities: they deal with it all the time. And looking at how we are now the talk of almost every one at school, it only seems fitting.” For the rest of the time they walked, they talked about random topics including school drama, home drama, and even, for some reason, politics. For reasons none of them could figure out, the entire work of the Government just intrigued them to no end.

Cyri had a thing now for conspiracies and she just wanted to know the truth about the Government. Vincent wanted to know how the entire body of Law worked and how could one alter the law but at the same time, not break any.

The Grindhouse theater was privately owned in a rather busy part of town. It was a local spot for teens that were considered to be outcasts and wanted to see films from different countries or amateur film maker's films. The film they were going to see was about a teenager that goes insane and mad when he starts seeing a paralle between slasher horror films and the real world.

The film lasted for about two hours and all four of them left unsatisfied. Vincent was hoping for a more structured film, but then again, it was amateur. What can you expect.

They went to a local diner near the area. It was a homey little place. Nice enough people. But had terrible food. The only good thing was the one thing Vincent was addicted to: Coffee.

“Okay you guys.” He said pouring himself another glass of coffee. “I want to talk about that film. Now, I understand that the person was trying to make a connection between humans complying about films and the corruption it has on a youth's mind, but did it need to be so bad?”

“Well, look at it like this: The person only had about no money to make the film and for what he done, I think he done a good enough job making the film.” Cyri took a sip out of her drink.

“Does not really matter. If someone can make a film on the internet that is more realistic than what we saw, then there is a problem.”

“How would you change the film?” She laid her head on the table, folding her arms and rest her head on the forearm of the left arm.

“Well,” Vincent leaned back, butting his hands on his stomach. “I would first of all gotten a better script. Give us a reason why to even like any of the characters. Finally have a decent score.”

“Hey! I like Death-Core!”

“I like all thirty one branches of heavy metal. But with no variety, than it becomes like one of those parody films that has nothing but a generic hip-hop score and create some of the worst films of all time.”

“Point there. But do you think you need to be so harsh on an amateur film?”

“Well, I payed for the film and as such, I should have the right to complain if I want.” They continued talking about the film for the rest of the time. Across the room waited Zat and Dumas. They were both drinking some random soft drinks, they did not care. They just watched them like the love birds were on some sort of television drama. But they both knew what the other one was thinking: They wish they had what they had. About a week after the torturing of Donnie, they had gone out but in secret. That had been a month ago. A week ago they came out to the public about their relationship. But, they both envied Vincent with a passion. They both tried to have a love life, but they both knew that they were not dating material.

While being lost in their mind, Vincent went and paid for their check and left. Once they were outside, continuing their discussion about the film, three men in long, black leather jackets similar to that which Vincent was wearing were seated in the dinner. The one with rather large right eye lashes looked up with his bright red eyes. He only said one thing to his three friends: “Show time.”

“no, no, no, no, no.”Dumas said as they passed some buildings. “I am telling you now: The entire trilogy is a disgrace towards films in general.”

“How can you say that!” Cyri responded, shocked at what was said. “Those three films, now parodied to the fact that they are jokes of themselves, developed and improved cinematography and cinema in general as we know it!”

“Look at it like this: They are clearly just ripping off Japanese anime left and right. Just think about it!”

“I do see your point.” Vincent said, turning around, only being able to see threw the lights the local lampposts were giving off. “But think about it like this: What really is original in this world? From one point of time to another, everything as been copied and, excuse my usage, raped from their original meanings. Nothing is sacred or innocent anymore when it comes to the media.” But before anyone could retort, Vincent heard someone slash across the air a blade.

Throwing Cyri to the ground, he took out from his coat a machete that he had carried with him just in case. Dumas and Zat took out swish blades (Zat took off his waits a long metal chain). The person with the long, black eyelash ended up having his weapon (a machete himself) and started trying to slash Vincent.

Dumas and Zat were holding their own against the other two. One thing they noticed: One had black eye-liner on, the other one had blue eye-liner. The blades that the two men had with them had rather odd, custom made edges. With each slash, a scar was left on the skin of Dumas and Zat. This did not face them, for they returned each scar with another one.

Vincent and The man with the black eye lash were fighting now in what appeared to be a park. Once there weapons clashed and they got close enough, that was when they began to speak.

“Who the fuck are you?” Vincent yelled as he pushed his weapon closer to the man's face.

“My name is as of no importance to you now. But, I want to put an end to you. Now!” The Man punched Vincent square in the chest. The only thing Vincent could do as he laid on his back was cough up blood and look at this weird Psychopath. They both heard yells as Dumas and Vincent fought left and right against The Man's two men.

“Why are you doing this?” Vincent said. Right before he got an answer, The Man took his fist and punched Vincent right in the face. He done it repeatedly until he was satisfied. He he raised Vincent's head to deliver one last punch, the light from one of the lamp posts shined directly at Vincent faced.

As The Man stared right at the bright red blood on Vincent's face, The Man, commonly known as ?????, noticed something. After a few seconds, he stood up, in terror.

“No. No! There is no fucking way! How can this even be! McCartney! Stalin! Both of you. Retreat now! Get the fuck out!” With saying that, he threw Vincent a few handkerchiefs.

“I.. I..” he turned and ran towards the men known as McCartney (black eyeliner) and Stalin (blue eyeliner). The both concealed their weapons in their jackets and ran away. Cyri only heard mumbling and hush voices from them as they ran.

She went out of hiding and looked at Dumas and Zat. They had a few scares, but nothing serious. Then they ran to Vincent. Cyri fell to her knees, looking him over. Dumas went and felt his pulse.

“He is passes out. Come on, his house is not too far from here. Zat, grab his arm. Cyri, do something about that damned machete. Hid it in his jacket. We got to get him home. Fast.” Hiding the weapon and picking him up, they carried him home.