Welcome Visitor: Login to the siteJoin the site



Harry Stockton. Twisted. Insane. Compelling. Line of Work explores the thoughts of this man and delves deep into the realms of the one true mystery that makes this man who he is- the order in which he abandoned his life.


Submitted:Feb 15, 2013    Reads: 59    Comments: 0    Likes: 2   


There are four types of interesting people in this world- the incredibly rich, the incredibly poor, the incredibly old and the incredibly insane. Everyone just fits inbetween these people. They do not have the same qualities of these extremes for that is what makes something stand out and become of interest- when it is an extreme. For something to become an extreme, there first has to be a benchmark. In modern living that benchmark is the middle class working family man. The nine til five worker. The husband. The dad. The flip side for a female benchmark is also true- the middleclass working family woman. The nine til five worker. The wife. The mum. This benchmark is the middle of the spectrum. As you work towards the higher end of the spectrum you find the rich, as you go lower you find the poor and lower yet the old. That leaves but one to fit to the spectrum, but where? Lower than the benchmark? Those who are insane are not always old or poor. Higher than the benchmark? That implies more prominence than the benchmark which many would disagree with. So where?

I believe we lie off the spectrum.

Since I came here I was deamed interesting. I was not a family man but a working man none the less. My line of work may have not been the most orthodox but it was a skill I had, and one which I could make money from. From the right customer. There was no rhyme or reason behind what I did, I just did it. I enjoyed it. For me it wasn't about the money, it was about the look in the eye of someone realising the end had come, the colour drawing from the face, the pupils dilating, the blood trickling from the noes, the gagging of the throat, the pathetic plea, the transfer of power. My price for my service? One pound.

Those who contacted me even questioned me. They, the ones who contracted me to do the dealing, could not understand how someone could be so cold hearted, so twisted, so insane yet so compelling. Everytime I heard the shakey voice at the end of the line mutter those words, "Is that Harry Stockton?" I smiled. Another customer. Another feable minded working class benchmark. Seeking revenge for their cheating spouse, or a theif, or their boss, or the benchmark that took the last fresh onion in the supermarket. I didn't care and still don't. Death does not lie on my consience for I am merely doing The Lord's work for him. I am his employee. He is the only one who can direct these customers to me. The Lord has bestowed me with a great gift and responsibility which I must maintain. There are other men with me here but they are not of The Lord anymore. They could not work for Him. He abondoned them. But not me. He still stands by me and directs me day to day. There are other Angels like me that the Lord is trusting to do his dealing. He sends customers to them now as I am otherwise occupied.

He told me how to do my job. How to effectively serve my customer so that only an employee of the Lord could gain the reference and acknowledgment of those who act to criticise him. The Lord has never asked me to defend him or my actions against his critics so I shall not nor has he sent me a customer demanding the erradication of such critics and until that day does come, the critics shall continue to live. Those who criticise His work and His Angels will find themselves punished when the time does become right.

The Lord has but one more request for me before I retire to be eternally with him. He only asks for me to do one more job. He asks for me to erradicate the man who acts as a man of The Lord without The Lord's intent. The man who unlawfully slays a benchmark that The Lord does not wish to have been slayed. He must be erradicated. It is my Lord's wish. I will grant his wish.

I see my target in the food hall. He eats. My Lord has gifted me with two pills to assist in my reitrement after I finish this job. I walk towards my target. My Lord asks for the vermin to be erradicated quickly. He does not deserve my full skill. I grab the man and press my thumbs into his eyes. The cool blood oozes onto my hands and my retirement pills, I crack the man's kneck and swallow my pills. Critics run towards me and beat me to the ground. I dont care. I am retired now. I am eternally with My Lord.





2

| Email this story Email this Short story | Add to reading list



Reviews

About | News | Contact | Your Account | TheNextBigWriter | Self Publishing | Advertise

© 2013 TheNextBigWriter, LLC. All Rights Reserved. Terms under which this service is provided to you. Privacy Policy.