Vertigo Klumpp and his lovely mother

Sometimes for no reason and completely unexpectedly I get ambushed by characters. People I don’t know who are characters in stories I have yet to write. And when I do get ambushed I must stop and sketch them out, I’ve got to write their caricature down.  Heaven knows I must have close to 100 pre-made characters waiting patiently for their turn on the word processor and monitor. Whether they will ever form part of a story – who knows – I imagine most will live on for eternity sitting in solitude on the hard drive of my computer. Only a few lucky ones are bound to escape.

Here’s two that jumped on me this morning – be warned these characters are not very nice. And they certainly do not fit into my current style, or plans for stories and characters – however they are calling loudly and vociferously and have certainly made their presence felt. I think they would be incredibly well suited to a crime/horror,comedy short story. Let me know what you think.

So Ladies and Gentlemen, without further ado, I am pleased and proud to introduce to you, my two new friends – Vertigo and Yvonne Klumpp.

Bryce had been called Vertigo from his very first day at school. Some wag mocking his diminutive stature and apparent fear of anything that moved, spoke, or involved physical exertion. School was a trial for Vertigo, and relationships with his peers could not have started on a worse footing. Vertigo turning up to school hand in hand with his mother, his grey socks pulled up tight, right past his knees and sitting just under his voluminous baggy shorts. His flat brown hair was combed over, patted and pawed neatly from the right to the left across his excessively sized head. His hair gelled and stuck down with his mothers spittle. Vertigo hated school and he hated the other children who went there. Even the teachers seemed to revel in bullying him. 

son

As he waited for the 92 bus which would take him into town, into work, Vertigo shuddered at the memories of 13 years of schooling. Schooling which had only really ever taught him one thing – and that was you couldn’t trust anyone – ever – unless it was your mother of course.

mother

Yvonne Klumpp was a sturdy woman, a woman whose shadow announced her presence long before she arrived and spoke. Silent and deadly, she was a woman not to be trifled with and a woman who took great pride in that her body had never been touched by a man since that good for nothing Jimmy Carlyle banged her up the night of her school prom. Poor old Jimmy she smirked as she looked out of the kitchen window watching Bryce at the Bus Stop, he didn’t even know he had a son. His life, his mortality paying the price for the sins of his testicles and lust. Imagine, she laughed to herself – choking on your own member – still the bastard deserved it!

dead man

The 92 still had not arrived, it was typical, on Mondays the bus always seemed to be late. Bryce looked back toward the house and saw the kitchen window blinds twitch – Mother must be staring at him again he thought. He wished she wouldn’t do that. He was 18 now and a man, he didn’t need mother to fight his battles for him any longer. Hadn’t he disposed of the woman  at number 22 all by himself? He smiled at memory, while he may not have traveled the world, while he may not have a car or any friends, at least he was no longer a virgin. 

92 bus

 

Many thanks and acknowledgement as always to

http://www.gratisography.com/

Love your work!

Kia Ora Roly

 

 

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