Monday, March 7, 2011

Flash Fiction - Rampage

Good day,

 Here's a quick and dirty space-filler.


            “I WILL FUCK YOUR SHIT,” he screamed, waving around the chainsaws he had strapped to his arms. From my office window, I watched people run in fear of the maniac who suddenly emerged from the hardware store, a robustly-built man with two pieces of lumberyard equipment tied to his person.
My first instinct was to notify the authorities, but the fleeing populace armed only with their mobile phones made me think they had gotten the hint. Instead, I decided to watch, captivated by the train wreck before me. I saw the man blindly swing his chainsaw-arms around, barely coming within a metre of each man or woman he terrorized. With each frantic swing and each wild scream, he seemed only to get angrier and angrier at the people who dodged him.
After a time, his flails and incoherent shrieks of rage stopped frightening me and starting to become a little funny. Here was a man who had clearly opted to go on a killing spree but hadn’t quite worked out the logistics. This was someone who didn’t anticipate his movements to be impeded by taking his schoolyard plan and bringing it into the real world.
I made the most of the mayhem. My body relaxed as I fixed my position so that I could observe the insanity unfolding below, taking a seat on my desk so that I could view the spectacle. Reaching over, I grabbed the candy bowl I left for visitors and popped a chocolate into my mouth.
There was a knock at my door; I turned to find Rick, the stick-thin blonde from down the hall, stepping in. “You’re seeing this too, hey?” he asked, coming close to me. His eyes widened gleefully, “Ooh, you’ve got the best view here.”
I nodded, pursing my lips and reluctant to agree. “Mm,” I mumbled, with my mouth full.
“So what do you think?” he asked, traipsing over to my filing cabinet and fiddling with the papers on top. “Postal worker gone batty? Victim of stress? Divorcee?”
Shrugging, I watched the man as he pumped his fists into the air and raged at some teenagers taking his picture, “Who cares? Right now, he’s a clown.”
“Nothing worse than a rampaging exhibitionist,” he mused, shaking his head, “School shootings, downtown stabbing sprees, there’s no thrill.”
Taking in his words like a bad pill, I tilted my head to the side and then back again, “This is more of a swinging spree.” I paused, “That sounded a lot better in my head.
“Anyway,” I continued, facing him, “how is there no thrill in running from an armed kook? At least he’s out in the open. You rather he crept around at the midnight hour, rubbing himself up against phone booths on the dark side of town, abducting kids and hookers so they can fight each other in his personal dungeon?”
He lit up a little when I said that, turning to me as though he had a revelation, “You know what we need? A new Jack the Ripper.”
My eyebrow nearly hit the ceiling two floors up, “What? Why?”
“I don’t know; it’s an exciting idea. Some unknown masked monster stalking the streets, claiming victims left and right. That’s when you get a stronger sense of togetherness, y’know? More cops on the streets, people watching each other’s backs, it’s beautiful.”
“You shitting me? We need more guys like him,” I said, pointing to the madman who had now swung too hard and fell on his back like an overturned turtle, “Think of all the kids who’d still be alive today if John Wayne Gacy left the house wearing a suit made of dildos, or if the Zodiac Killer went around yelling cryptography puzzles at people. What if the Columbine Boys aimed their guns up and sprayed the sky to the beats of a Rammstein track?
“Those guys are scary as all hell because they’re all whack-jobs with plans, but a whack-job with no plan: that’s where the excitement is,” I continued, watching a quartet of squad cars pull up, whole armies of policeman exiting with tasers and batons.
Rick gave a little smile and sat next to me as the cops dog-piled the thrashing gas-powered mass of fury, “You got a point. Plus, it’d make great television.”
I offered him to take something from my candy bowl; he obliged.


 Everyone loves a broment.

See you next time,


EDIT: May 17, 2012. Edits, edits, edits. And this will be the last of my edits until the next time.

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