Dawn looks at the square unimaginative building. 100,000 bricks asleep under slanted moonlight, totally unaware of what awaits them on the morrow. From across deserted asphalt, the geek watches as the last light goes out, signaling the retirement of the janitor Mr. Venucio. 'A test subject would be advisable,' her inner scientist assures her, 'just to make sure the ray's still functioning.'
Beneath the woven branches of a manicured bush, Dawn watches as the janitor approaches. He's fiddling in his pockets for the keys to his car. 'Pathetic,' you think, 'half that man's life involves keys, I'm doing him a favor.' When you see his tan uniformed legs passing right outside, you slip out the gun. There isn't any aiming involved at this range, you just point and squeeze. No flash nor beam; its ray is invisible and the plump Italian simply 'vanishes.'
~~~
Venucio stops in mid stride, his foot once poised over a crack, now hangs over a trench. Before he can begin to understand his predicament, his world of twilight gray goes darker. Above, the shadowed visage of a girl, face unclear, ascends into the air like a Goddess of the night. The janitor steps back and nearly stumbles into the 'crack'. When he looks from the mortal fall back around he sees a black shoe raising before him. To his children's shame, he screams like a woman.
~~~
Dawn lifts her loafer over the now penny sized janitor. For a moment a voice of mercy assails her, arguing, 'Mr. Venucio was never mean to you.' She thinks on this a moment before responding outloud, just so her conscience will understand who's the boss, "yeah and he didn't do anything to help either." Only dimly does Dawn register the rodentine squeal as she brings the ball of her foot down on the blue collar worker. A satisfying squish ends his feeble sounds of protest.
You kick the body into a nearby gutter, and leave the blood stain on the cement. They'll just think one of the strays got a bird.
On the other side of the street, you have a primitive camp set up. You curl up there in your 10-degree sleeping bag, the only cold that of the steel ray gun pressed closely against your body. 'Tomorow, tommrow...' The faces of a hundred bullies scroll past your mind's eye as you imagine the varied ways you might destroy them. 'I'll get my revenge on all of you, I'll make you, I'll make you,' you stretch and let loose a yawn begging for sleep,'know how it feels.'  indicates the next chapter needs to be written. |
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