Alice s Crime and Punishment
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Your Crime Is Time free porn video
Disclaimer: This story (and all parts thereof) is copyrighted, except as noted.
Permission is granted to post on free sites only, with permission. If you are
under legal age where you are to read adult material, stop now. Thanks.
Authors Note: This story is based on the Skid Row song "18 And Life" The idea
occurred a long time ago, and hearing the song after all this time inspired me to
write it.
Its as life often can be, tragic... If you are so inclined, please leave feedback
to lucretia@c... or in the usual spots.
Your Crime Is Time
By Lucretia (lucretia@c...)
Ricci was driving her Geo Metro home from work, idly wondering if her roommate
had picked up any laundry detergent when the song came on. Not just any song; THE
SONG. She pressed the off button on the car radio, but thanks to a feature built
in by the manufacturer that allowed the power button to function as a CD/tuner
selection, it was a long two seconds before it went off. No, not now... I don't
want to think about it anymore. Never again, NO!! These thoughts ran through her
mind as it tried not to remember, to bury it back inside her. It turned out to be
useless. Her eyes, green, began to brim with tears. She fought them back and
barely made it.
Amy was watching a re-run of The Simpsons when her roomie opened the door and
rather swiftly threw her pocketbook over the couch and made for the basement
door.
"Ricci? Hun? Are you okay?" Amy asked, openly concerned.
Ricci stopped and turned, facing Amy. The tears, suppressed were beginning to
overflow her bottom eyelids.
"I heard it again." Ricci's voice trembled out.
"Oh." Amy had seen it before. The first time it had happened, she had tried to
comfort her, but it was useless. The only thing that could be done was to wait
out the storm.
Without another word, Ricci walked down the stairs to the basement.
A small clearing in one corner contained a table, chair and mirror. On the mirror
were pictures of two guys, obviously good friends in a few different places. One
picture of them showed them with both fists in the air, showing that they were
ready for any fight that might come along. The largest picture showed one of the
guys by himself, finger picking a guitar in front of an amp.
On the table there were candlesticks, crystal with black candles burnt down
almost halfway, a small CD player, and a bottle of tequila with a shot glass.
Ricci sat and looked over the pictures again and again. The first teardrops fell
to her cheeks, which inspired more to come.
Soon there was a stream falling from each.
She lit the candles and turned out the lights. In the dim grayness she brought
herself back, trying once again to close a wound that would not heal.
***
Rick Daniel's had enough. Enough of his father and his father's beatings.
Not even his best friend, Tom knew about the beatings. He was too ashamed. He'd
HAD ENOUGH. He had worked hard to earn what little he had. Life took and took and
took. Now it was time for life to pay him back. He'd just turned 18 and was
getting the fuck outta this. He packed his guitar and a few of his things into
his Camero and made ready to get outta the suburbs and into the big city.
"Ready, man?" Tom asked from the passenger seat, eager to go. Ready to live the
high rolling life in the city.
"You'd better believe it!" Rick told him. Soon all that was left of them was two
black tire marks in the street, where, once upon a time, they might have laughed
as they played tag and other games small children play.
Cruising for a bit, they made there way onto a highway that led them into the
city, where the bars, hot chicks and good times were to be had.
For the first few days, the money that they had taken with them kept them rolling
good. They found their way into bars, mostly because the bouncers were willing to
take a $10 bill to overlook their ages. The bright lights and the dark corners of
the city held their young adult minds in awe.
After a few weeks the money ran out and they went separate ways, but not before
bidding "The best motherfucking time of my life", as Rick put it, good-bye. They
closed out every bar in the city and when it was over they knocked fists together
and walked in different directions.
The next day Rick was walking down an alley, when he saw two men in suits
discussing something. He backed into a doorway and watched and the conversation
degenerated into a hot argument. Suddenly, both pulled out guns and shot each
other. He watched this in horror and awe. Soon enough police sirens wailed in the
distance. Rick ran over to the dead men and looked at the briefcases they had
been carrying. Sure enough, one had a white powdery substance, and the other had
bundles of cash. He stuffed as much as he could into his pockets and ran off.
For the next few weeks, Rick went to concerts, bars and worked on his Camero. The
car was looking awesome. A brand CD player, speaker box, and a paint job. He
lived out of the car, too nervous to get an apartment. That might be traceable,
and he didn't want his dad showing up and dragging him home.
Walking down alleys became a sport for him. He yearned to see what was beyond the
bright streetlights and the neon signs. This lead him to another alley just after
the sun had fallen behind the skyscrapers in the city.
At once, he felt something was wrong here. Before he knew it, he was facing a
brick wall with graffiti that had to be at least a decade old, a gun to his back.
"Nice shoes, nice jeans, and if you wannna see how nice this gun is, try
something stupid."
Ricky felt his head getting clearer, colder. It was how he had often escaped
serious injury when his father felt like giving him a few lumps for forgetting
his soda bottle on the living room table, or when he had knocked a can of his
dad's favorite beer on the floor.
"Sure man, no prob. It's in my front pocket, just let me turn around."
"Do it slowly, very slow. Speed really DOES kill, if you get my drift."
Ricky turned around to face his assailant. A greasy, thin man with fresh needle
tracks on his arm. He reached into his front pocket and brought out his wallet.
The man's eyes gleamed at the fat wallet in anticipation. In truth, there were
mostly ones in there, but that really didn't matter.
Rick let his eyes dart out quickly at the far end of the alley as he handed the
wallet over. The man looked in the direction and tried to see what it was that
Rick had seen.
Quick as a rattlesnake, Rick, using his fist, drove the man's hand that was
holding the gun into the wall, dropping it. The man yelped in pain and surprise,
made a grab for the gun, and Rick punched him in the jaw. The man went limp and
fell on the ground. One eye, open, not seeing, peered through a cracked and empty
bottle of beer. The man's breathing suggested that he would be out for a while.
Rick reached over and picked up the gun. He looked at it, feeling high with
adrenaline and a sense that this piece of metal was somehow magical, a talisman
of sorts. It felt like power. It felt like the strength he hadn't had while lying
weak and helpless on the kitchen floor as his father's fists plummeted him again
and again. But the gun also gave him a sense of unease that he couldn't
understand. He slipped it into his coat pocket and walked away.
That night, at a local bar, he drank up a storm, feeling as if he had fought a
titanic battle with life, and come out the clear winner.
A few weeks after the incident in the alley had gone by, local gangs took notice
of him. They offered him their peculiar "membership" as they called it, but he
always declined. A few fights broke out, but his cunning and speed always won
out.
Two months after they had left for the big city, Rick and Tom met again at a bar
known as "The Toolies". Knuckles were knocked again, backs were patted and they
sat down. Tom wasn't looking too bad, either, Rick saw.
Rick looked at the bartender for a minute and soon after a bottle of Tequila
accompanied them.
"How's the streets, Ricky?"
Rick grinned, "Fortune passes everywhere," he said, knocking down another shot.
"And you?"
"Livin large, my man, living larger then life." Tom replied as he returned Rick's
cold grin. "I came by, hoping to see you here."
They exchanged stories as only the best of friends could do. Tom had moved up a
bit; he was living in an apartment and was working here and there. He just
started at a company that wanted him to relocate, and he wanted to say good-bye
to Rick.
"So what you wanna do?" Rick asked.
"I'm having a party at my flat uptown Tuesday night. We'll rock out, drink a bit
and then make our last good-bye look like an 8 year old's birthday party thrown
by his grandpa."
Rick nodded, "One to remember, my man. I hear ya"
Tuesday came by and he drove up to Tom's flat, which looked only slightly better
then the seedy motels that prostitutes brought johns to.
So they started partying. Vodka and Tequila ran like water. Drunk almost to the
point of passing out, they decided it was time to go out and make their final
marks on the city.
From bar to bar, they rolled on and on. Soon they only bar that hadn't been
closed due to brawls was The Toolies. They walked in, made themselves at home,
played a couple rounds of pool and eventually started a fight so bad the SWAT
squad had to be called in. Of course, they slipped away long before the cops
showed up. In an alley they finished what remained of the bottles of alcohol.
Rick decided to show off his talisman
"Hey man, check it out, ain't it cool?"
Tom laughed "The gun's cool, but I'll bet you can't shoot straight."
Rick, full of himself as well as alcohol, argued that hitting targets was easy
"Yeah, okay, Wild Bill Cody or whatever that guys name was. I bet you couldn't
shoot this bottle off my head!"
Rick said that shooting a bottle off Tom's head was no problem, but he thought
Tom was too much of a pussy to let him try.
Tom stood up, swaying. He balanced the vodka bottle on his head, no small trick
because he was drunk nearly to the point of passing out.
"Come on man, show me what you got."
Rick, felt a chill run up his back. He'd never actually shot a gun before, and he
wasn't so sure he could take off the bottle without taking off his friend's head.
"Nah man, you're moving too much." he said and made to put the gun away.
"Fuck you, pussy. Do it man."
"Dude, I'm telling you your moving too much."
Tom, nearly falling started chanting, "Do it. Do it you fucking pussy". Rick, for
the first time since Tom had broken his Power Wheels when they had been eight,
got angry at him.
"Alright man, stand still and I'll show you the 8th wonder of the world."
Tom stood as stolid as his 1.2 blood alcohol level would permit him.
Rick took careful aim and squeezed the trigger.
If Rick had ever fired a handgun before, if he hadn't been nearly intoxicated as
he was, things might have turned out differently. His aim had been right. He just
didn't figure the re-coil would screw it up. Tom fell in a heap, the Vodka bottle
shattering as it hit the ground.
"NOOOOOO!" Rick screamed, praying in his head that Tom was faking it. Tom was
not. He bent over his friend's lifeless body in shock.
A light female voice intruded. "You're in a heap of trouble, son"
Rick spun around, nearly out of his mind in terror. What he saw was what appeared
to be a 14 year old girl with long red hair wearing a Metallica T-shirt and faded
black jeans.
"You're coming with me."
The girl rushed him so fast that later he thought that she was in front of him
before she completed her sentence. A swirl of red hair and all he knew for awhile
was darkness.
He awoke somewhere in the middle of a deserted factory, lying on an old mattress
in what appeared to be a freight elevator. Crisscrossing wire mesh formed the
walls, ceiling and floor. But he didn't realize that at first. He first
registered the skull-shattering headache coming from the hangover. The second
thing was that there was no way outta this wire cage. The third thing was...
"Ohh MY GOD! I'm a chick! A Girl!"
His blond hair and the protrusions on his chest seemed to indicate that. He ran a
hang up under his shirt and felt the protrusions. They were real, sensitive
mounds of skin her small hands couldn't cup entirely.
But down below...
He slid a hand into his jeans, jeans which seemed tighter in places and looser in
others.
"Oh MY GOD!" He screamed, turned white, and promptly passed out.
When he awoke again, the hangover was gone and he took stock of himself again. He
was still a girl. His body appeared very dainty, small hands, small feet and a
mid-section that showed cute, taut skin. Just what the hell had happened to him
last night? He remembered going into the alley with Tom and then...and then...
"No. No way. No." His words, spoken with a voice he couldn't fathom as his own,
echoed off the rusting machinery. The weirdness of his situation evaporated.
"I killed him." Again his voice echoed in the desolate factory. Why, for the love
of god, WHY did have to prove he could use the gun?
A crushing sadness filled him. His best friend was dead. He had killed him. His
best friend was dead. He had...
But that ended almost all rational thought. As a male, he never would have bawled
his eyes out. Now, all of his masculine emotional armor was totally stripped
away. She cried for hours, finally surrendering to sleep.
When she awoke a figure was standing in front of the makeshift cell. It was too
dark to make out any details, but Rick thought that it was the girl who had
confronted him in the alley.
"Who are you?" Her voice, young, feminine, sweet, bounced off old rusting
machinery and cold concrete.
"StarGirl" She whispered.
Rick waited for her to go on; to explain why he was here, why he was a girl now
and what was going to happen to her.
She sat there; her bright red hair illuminated occasionally when the wind blew it
into the path of light coming from a street lamp outside.
She said nothing, waiting.
"Why am I a girl? What am I doing here?"
StarGirl sighed. "You are here partly as penance and partly because I want to
give you another chance at life. To the police, the gun you used was used in a
murder. You would be probably charged with it, and spend the rest of your life in
jail. But I'll give you a choice. Stay as you are, or in the morning you will
find you are back in your body facing the charges."
"I'm sorry. Look I know how bad that sounds, given the last few months of my
life, but I'm truly sorry. I won't ask you to give me my life and body back,
But... I'm sorry."
"I know and believe you. But you still have a price to pay. The sadness you
grieve is for your friend. That is understandable. But justice must be done. You
are not the only one to grieve. Tom's life is gone. Many others grieve, and for
them, justice must be served." she said and sighed.
"For the first time, I can't decide on something that's both just and with
mercy."
Rick waited for her to speak again. He waited a while, watching her light a
cigarette as she looked out a broken window. She was beautiful, looked about
fourteen, and dangerous. Finally she walked back to his makeshift cell.
"For now on, your name is Ricci, one R one I two C's and an I. You can't age, you
can't die, and you will carry the grief of those who have lost as well as your
own."
Ricci felt herself getting drowsy.
"I believe in you. Good-bye." Rick said as sleep took him
Ricci awoke in the same alley, unsure of what day it was. She was dressed simply
in jeans and a T-shirt. Next to her was a pocketbook with a teen-aged girls
collection of necessities, along with some photos she didn't want to look at.
Making her way out of the alley she walked toward the Human services building.
She explained that she had woken up in an alley, unsure of who she was. They ran
a check of fingerprints and could find no identity. She had a new life with some
old scars.
Ricci floated out of her flashback to find that her tears had dried.
The candles had almost burned out, but she didn't get up yet. She thought that
the worst part of it had been that Skid Row song. She had heard it one day while
she was working in a local deli. She suffered a breakdown and had to recuperate
in the manager's office.
But she had been wrong about that being the worst part. She began to realize that
she had fallen in love with Tom. All the times they had been together as guys she
had thought back on. Loving someone that was only a memory, that was the worst.
She once thought that had been a part of StarGirl's plan for her, but she knew it
was not.
She took a shot of Tequila. Her body couldn't take it, she would throw it up in a
matter of minutes, but she took it anyway.
"For old times." she said, thinking of Tom
The candles guttered and went out. She reached out and played the song, HER song,
the one that brought all the misery to the surface and flushed it out for awhile.
The one that she knew would haunt her thought the rest of her days:
Ricky was a young boy; he had a heart of stone.
Lived 9 to 5 and worked his fingers to the bone.
Just barely got out of school, came from the edge of town.
Fought like a switchblade so no one could take him down.
He had no money, oooh no good at home.
He walked the streets a soldier and he fought the world alone
And now it's
18 and life, you got it
18 and life you know
Your crime is time
And it's 18 and life to go
18 and life, you got it
18 and life you know
Your crime is time and it's
18 and life to go
Tequila in his heartbeat, his veins burned gasoline.
It kept his motor running but it never kept him clean.
They say he loved adventure, "Ricky's the wild one."
He married trouble and had a courtship with a gun.
Bang Bang Shoot 'em up, the party never ends.
You can't think of dying when the bottle's your best friend
And now it's
18 and life, you got it
18 and life you know
Your crime is time and it's
18 and life to go
18 and life, you got it
18 and life you know
Your crime is time
And it's 18 and life to go
"Accidents will happen" they all heard Ricky say
He fired his six shots into the wind
That child blew a child away
18 and life, you got it
18 and life you know
Your crime is time and it's
18 and life to go
18 and life, you got it
18 and life you know
Your crime is time
And it's 18 and life to goooooooo
"18 And Life" Lyrics Copyright Skid Row
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