One Sick Sadistic Bastard

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Mystery and Crime  |  House: Booksie Classic
We never truely know of our capability to commit violence.

But when we allow justification for our actions, even best among us can commit acts of evil.

This story is about such a person having found their justification.

Submitted: September 04, 2013

A A A | A A A

Submitted: September 04, 2013




Darkness was broken as your eyelids cracked open then quickly screwing shut again before the overwhelming glare of brilliant light shone into your face.

Confused and still blind you try and sit-up but the covers of your bed help strong arms to hold you down. Screams along with the sound of struggle break the silence and once more you open your eyes to a horror scene partly reveled through the torches glare.

A grinning dark skinned face peers at you from a few inches away. But what really catches your attention is the sight of your beloved wife at the foot of the bed getting brutally raped by a short man wearing a balaclava.

Your mind struggles to accept this sight. Bile rises in your throat as your heart seems to stop beating. Your mouth opens to yell while you clench your arms and attempt to throw off the grinning man’s hold on you.

But a voice in your ear utters. “Don’t” before you can even sound the first cry so that all that comes out is a mere whimper with no weight or meaning.

The word “Don’t” had been heavily reinforced by the barrels of a sawn off, side by side shotgun forcibly pressed into your face. You had your own shotgun neatly locked away in its steel case. But that shotgun was useless to you as if it had never been purchased.

This shotgun however had meaning, clear and violent meaning that broke your will whilst the rape of your wife broke your soul.

“Please stop” You sob as tears from behind your eyes.  A thump to the head is the only answer you receive. You are then pulled violently from the bed and case to the floor while a second man takes his place behind your wife and begins pounding her for all he’s worth.

Through the tears shock and pain you look up and wonder why your wife was so silent even with her hair pulled back so forcibly the tendons on her arched neck stop out while the man raping her grunt and tugged and slammed his pelvis into her buttocks.  Your befuddled mind failed to provide the answer but the question answers itself when your 3 year old son walks into the room clad in pajamas and rubbing his eyes at the glare of several powerful torches.

“Mumma? Dadda?” He asks with obvious puzzlement.

“No not my baby, please leave my baby alone. Please just take me and leave my baby alone.” Your wife breaks her silence and begs the intruders with voice breaking in time to the rhythm of the pounding her bruised cervix was receiving.

The men not having their turn at sex just grin at each. The first rapist having finished pulling up his trousers pushes roughly past your son Jonathon and heads down the hall to the living room where muted thumps and crashes now start occurring.

The second rapist arches his back and shoves his cock in deep one last time, pulls back your wife’s head even more viciously then using his free hand takes a straight back razor and slits her throat from ear to ear even as he cums inside of her. Hot blood sprays out over everything, the bed, the man holding the gun to your head, you lying on the floor and Jonathon.

Jonathon now starts screaming his little head off, not understanding what he was drenched it at all but it was enough to send him over the edge. *Crunch* one of the intruders with no warning just reached behind Jonathon and twisted the boys neck suddenly.

Jonathon’s screams are abruptly halted and the sound of his voice forever stilled as he dropped silently to the carpeted floor. All you can do is stare in horror not moving or saying a thing as your wife collapses on the floor beside you. Face staring upon you as all life flees forever from those warm loving eyes.

“Nooo, nooo nooooo” You cry now quietly and start to struggle from the floor. Past caring of a new rifle pointed squarely at your forehead.

You never heard the shot of the .22 bullet fired less than a meter away. You collapse into darkness covered in blood from your beloved wife hand lying out stretched to your golden child with a neat round hole in your forehead.












Your wife’s hand carried all the love and warmth that you remembered so well. Her eyes welled with tears as she looked deep into your soul without making a sound. Her features began to blur as you felt your own tears flood your eyes. Her love was the shining light within life itself that remained visible even with your eyes closed.

Another hand reached out and took your remaining hand. A small hand that was smooth to touch while your son beamed up at you with joyful mischievousness. You struggled to concentrate as to why your family was here with you now, what was the last thing you were doing together you wondered idly.

Slowly but noticeably both son and Mother began to grow fuzzy and blend in with the blackness that surrounded you all like a veil covering a widows face.  Before you even noticed it both hands had left yours but who’s hands had they been? What was missing?

Sound penetrated the veil. “Stan, Stan. Get with us Stan.” Words without meaning, hearing without care as all that mattered was the fading warmth in your empty hands. What belonged within them? Wetness upon your cheek, from whence had that come from?

The world tilted crazily and the veil was lifted. Whiteness, neither pure nor blinding flooded your vision. Ill yellow around its edges it took your wandering mind and focused it upon a face within the lights center.


Your brother was talking to you. Some part of your mind acknowledged that fact but really it was unimportant, remembering the face of your wife now that was important. But for the life of you the exact number and location of freckles were eluding you. Fuck, just the thought of having to once again stare at her photograph made you angry at your own failings.

“Stan for Christ’s sake, it’s bad enough trying to talk to you normally while you insist on wearing those high heels, but having you just zone out…. I just don’t know what or how or who I should be in order to be there for you.”

“That’s fine Al, I can visualize her face but cannot grasp your concern, I’m fine and am really thankful for you to be loaning me your boat for this weekend. Some time out on water with my family alone is really just what I need.”

With that Al just leaned back on his chair covering his face with his hands breathing deeply, trying to hide his despair from his brother. He need not have bothered because you were not paying him any attention, still locked into visions of your family.
Their faces never left you; they were with you at all times a constant presence and pressure, sometimes loving others condemning.

Life was hard and getting harder with your mood forcing you, driving you between considering suicide and committing mass murder. It helped none at all that the murderers of your life’s existence still roamed unknown and free.
It helped not at all the plethora of drugs and counseling, the only thing that helped at all was the intensely physical training you undertook with each combat class scheduled as often as the organizers and trainers allowed.

You knew that you were self-destructing that your thoughts were locked into an infinite loop of the thoughts of family lost sending you to the darkest depths of despair only to awaken vast hatred at the shear unfairness of it all. To see brown faces upon TV was to see the mocking brown faces of your family’s killers. And what responsibility did brown people take for the killings? Every time brown skin spoke of weather patterns or made a joke you wanted to scream, why aren’t you asking for forgiveness, what are you acting like nothing happened? Where is their responsibility for the deaths I have been forced to accept?
Where is THEIR pain?

Of these thoughts you tell no one, the symptoms were there plain as day for your doctors and remaining family to witness but of the causes they knew nothing. So while they fretted you explored the relief that lashing out gave you, the satisfaction of landing hits during sparing or the recoil of a rifles butt plate that emptied your mind of images of a dead family.

“I don’t want to be here Al, this world. It’s not right; it’s missing something vital… I didn’t ask to be this person but I damn well am going to be this person” you say ominously but without any emotion so that your brother failed to pick up the words of warning.

“Just take the boat Stan, enjoy, relax and stay in touch, you’ve promised not to do anything stupid with it like, well you know just, don’t. Ok?”

“We do thank you Al, again. You’ve given me an opportunity to begin really healing that which is wrong.” You say with meaning “If you could just, stay away for a while and tell, the, the rest that I will be fine. In time that is. So…, bye?”

Al sighs, stand up and just says “Sure.” Looking like he was with holding tears and without another word he leaves the flat.
You just sat there trusting in your wife to see him out and wondered why Jonathon was crying from his bedroom instead of being outside playing this sunny day.





Stealth was the key now so you shut off the boats engine 100m from the shore, you’d prefer to have gone quiet further out but you had a long night ahead of you.
Breaking out the oars for the 15 foot tinny you backwards pull the boat and yourself into shore easily making your way through the small breakers and onto the sandy beach.
20 minutes later sees you some distance away and above the shore heading further upwards and in-land. The night was dark though not pitch black with civilization a long way off, but that was just as well considering what you were about to attempt.
Goal sighted you gingerly made your way forward and off the gravel road pushing your way through the undergrowth beside the road until you could finally drop the wheel barrow you’ve been pushing beside a vertical grate half buried by long grasses and small bushes.
From the wheel barrow you pull out the necessary equipment and after a few minutes of uncertain fiddling you manage a flame of what you hope was the right length and color and begin cutting through the bars.

Enough passes in this task to leave you sweaty despite the night air and rather shitty. Still the way was open and you weren’t exactly practiced in the art of welding having only stolen the equipment the day before yesterday. Casting it aside you push your way past the hot  metal and into the tunnel beyond which was pitch black right up till when you switched on a torch.

For all your effort the sight wasn’t rewarding, old concrete covered in green snot like growth was your first impression. Still with purpose and resolve you follow the tunnel into depths; broken occasionally only by ramps and right angle turns.

Sure enough however you are halted in your advance by a steel door with a large and obviously locked padlock. Swearing under your breathe you retrace your path, struggle and curse getting the welder through the open grate down the tunnel and cut open the lock.

More time wasted. Or was it? Because beyond the once locked door the torch beam spies columns of stacked boxes, pay dirt!

So many boxes so little time is the only thought you had. Quickly you race through the storage carefully reading each box’s label but otherwise wasting no more time. You suspect that the dump is alarmed and by now triggered. Once you were sure of what you had found you select the first box and carry it out of the tunnels and deposit it within your wheel barrow.

Still no sign of a response so back you go 3 more times till the barrow was full but not overfull. On your last trip back you take a slightly different route around the large storage area and spy a canvas covered lump on the ground, pulling the cover off causes you to start giggling and laughing uncontrollably.

Security couldn’t be this slack could it? Yes you can see a trigger lock but so what? The large gun was otherwise unsecured; this object alone was worth tonight’s risk and reward.

Struggling under its weight you begin ambling back out of the tunnel. *Boom* a loud metallic noise some distance away echoes through the tunnels, the cavalry had arrived at last just as you had begun to think that they weren’t coming. Fuck.
The tunnel behind you’re the direction you hadn’t explored begins to grey and lighten as powerful beams pushed back the darkness. Pushing your tired body faster time seems to crawl as you struggle to keep ahead of the ammo dumps guardians finally react to your poaching.

They may be professionals these people but they weren’t god faring as at least 2 people start cussing and swearing in somebodies lord’s name only 50 meters or less behind you.

It would be obvious to the discoverers of theft which way to head next since there was only one tunnel and one storage room in this part of the ammo dump.

Up ahead of you moonlight winked through the ruined grate and it was with gratefulness that you were able to final drop the heavy burden on top of boxes within the wheelbarrow. Phew.

Turning the heavy ungainly load around and aided by gravity you race down the gravel road towards the beach but making a loud racket as you did so. More shouts come from behind and a beam stabs the darkness. Time was being cut short and you were not sure that escape was possible as it would take time to load your stolen gear into the awaiting boat.

Fuck that and fuck them so at the next sharp downwards bend you so straight ahead into a bank covered by bushes and more long grasses, crouch and wait.

Only a few seconds’ later two pairs of boots come running downhill crunching the gravel as they went.  With a rock in each gloved hand you wait for them to jog pass before moving at a rush from behind, too late the smaller person hears you and turns his head straight into a round house swing that crumples his temple sending him tumbling to the ground.

You follow up the first strike by throwing the now bloody rock at the larger target that bore a striking if older and larger resemblance to the first victim now facing you a few short meters further down the road.

Crunch as the rock hits an upraised forearm, transferring the second rock from left to right hand you leap forward and with ease smash down with bone shattering force the rock upon the man’s defenseless head.

Breathing deeply you stare down at the ruin of two men, blood was leaking from noses and ears while tears slithered down your face but all you were seeing for those 5 minutes you stood there was the faces of wife and son. At first to you they appeared accusing then at last and as one both smiled as if to say well done.

With that you break your trance and drag then throw first the father then the son off of the road and down the steep hillside to the sound of breaking branches and limbs as they tumbled and rolled.

Returning to the wheelbarrow you set about returning to the boat with the task of first loading it with your spoils then evading capture. You hope that using the boat will prevent you being caught since the raided ammo dump was located at the end of a long narrow peninsula with just one road in or out.
You think your chances were pretty bloody good.





Moving without a clear purpose you strolled through the darkened streets of Auckland. Lighting was few and clouds were thick creating an air of malice amongst your surroundings.

Fear however found no way into your mind as your muffled footsteps kept time to the movement of your dark shoes. Everything about you was dark. Shoes, hair, shirt, pants, gloves and a large duffel bag slung over one shoulder. While you had no clear destination in mind your eyes roamed endlessly searching for one.

These particular streets were known to others as places of danger and violence. Certainly not a place to be travelling alone at night but for you the setting suited the feelings kept within your heart.

 Shops on either side of the street were long since closed with heavy steel grates covering entrance ways or in many cases the entire shop front. Graffiti filled in each wall and spaced amongst these darkened shops were open doorways from which light spilled around forms of heavily built men guarding the entrances.

Places of sins and desires for those of hardened souls and fat wallets. They did not interest you in the slightest. But perhaps your destination could be found amongst the back entrances to these buildings?

So spying the next alleyway between shops you turn into a brick and concrete tunnel full of rubbish and smells of old puke. Perfect. Walking slower and hopefully silently you follow this dark path till it makes a sharp turn to the right and ends abruptly at an old shoddy door.

Voices could be heard within. Loud slurred voices back-grounded by bursts of unfriendly laughter, excitement coursed your veins and the small amount of apprehension you’d felt disappeared behind a wall of determined purpose.

Easing down the large duffel bag you lifted out its primary content and slung it over your right shoulder and onto your back. You also reached in and drew out a hand hatchet and pushed the handle through your belt.

Leaving the bag on the ground you rise and turn the shoddy doors handle to find that it was unlocked. You were prepared to deal with a locked door but were happy to have avoided the hassle. Stepping into the building you make for the source of human voices coming from the room behind this one.

Turning the corner through and door less entry you make your sudden appearance into a dirty room of unknown original purpose. In this room there was little more than a cabinet a few chairs some piles of garbage trash and half a dozen human trash.

“Who the fuck are you white boy?” Yelled a solid stumpy browned youth who was clearly used to having unwelcome visitors arrive unexpectedly or at least was very quick on his feet.

Taken aback by his fast aggression you stutter back; “Some... someone who hates your guts”

“Aww I think this guy doesn’t like you Mitch.” Another youth laughs out from the back of the room.

“You fucked up crazy honky.” Another dark skinned boy of about 18 but built like a brick shit house and now holding a wicked looking machete snarls. “Cut him Mitch.”

Mitch slides of an edge of a table where he had been slouching and walks his way over to where you stood by a doorway partially blocked by a low cabinet bench. Reaching the bench Mitch thrusts his head forward and screams.

“I’m going to cut you up and leave you bleeding on the street for the pigs to find! You think you’re better than me? Ain’t no pale faced cunt better than me you stupid white fuck!”

With that he pushes you hard and you fall over backwards into the previous room and land on your arse. Vaulting the cabinet bench Mitch follows you into the room and kicks you hard in the balls.

“Ooph” is all that can escape your lips as you try and scuttle backwards towards the open alleyway door.

Mitch takes another swinging kick but misses this time and instead slips on a piece of trash newspaper and goes down on one knee.

This gives you the opportunity to stand back up by bracing your back against a wall and pushing with your legs. By now you hear jostling from the next room as the gang of boys push and shove their way past the cabinet bench in their eagerness to see you getting your arse kicked.

As Mitch gets back to his feet you find the anger within your soul and pull out the hatchet, step forward and swing it hard at Mitch’s head. Mitch however is fast and clearly used to such forms of street fighting and manages to block the blow with his right forearm.

*Crunch* as the sharpened steel makes its way through his shirt sleeve and flesh before stopping against his radius bone.

“Aaaargh” Mitch screams as the first gang member reaches this room’s doorway and stands agape as blood pours from Mitch’s arm and pools on the floor. No time for fucking around now you un-sling the semi-automatic shotgun from across your back and into your awaiting hands.

“He’s got a gun!” The young gang member cries as Mitch drops to the floor cradling his arm. The young gangster tries to back up but is blocked by the bodies of more gang members as they pressed to gain sight of what was occurring.

Pulling back the bolt then releasing it the first of the12 gauge, buck shot rounds is feed into the firing chamber, you then pull the trigger with the barrel pointed squarely at the first gang member.

*Boom* as the rounds leave the barrel of the shotgun and open gaping wounds into the youths chest stopping only if encountering bone. “Oww oow owwww!” he cries as he falls to the floor clutching at his ruined chest.

The others either gang members either look on in shock or fall over each other in their attempt to escape. All except Mitch who using his left hand pulled a small knife from his trouser pocket. It was the folding type so he was busy trying and failing to use his one good arm and teeth to open.

He was in that position as you leveled the shotgun with his head, pulled the trigger and redecorated the room’s wall with blood and brain splatter.

‘Call me a cunt would you” you scream and with that you charge the milling mass of boys and unleashed round after round into the packed bodies and eviscerated them with both your contempt and buckshot.

With the gun silent, magazine empty you didn’t bother with the spare mag. Instead preferring to pick up the now discarded machete and began hewing into any boy’s flesh that was within your reach.

From the next room you hear boys screaming and a door slamming open as some at least managed to escape the bloodbath. You however are loathe to give chase as the doorway between rooms were packed with bodies of the living and the dying. Incredibly small cries of pain and anguish could be heard coming from more than one.

Searching amongst the gore you proceeded to hack at the heads of any you suspect to still be breathing till at last all was silent except the sound of your own heavy breathing.

Dropping the machete you take a deep breath and stare at the ruin of so many youths. Idly and in a semi-trance, you bend down and pick up a length of intestine and enjoy the sensation of squelching it between thumb and fore finger.

“Who’s the bleeding cunt now eh?”

Looking around about you and discarding the shred of intestines you see nothing of worth so you decide it was time to leave. Making your way out of the place of slaughter you reach the duffel bag and take out the last remaining items.

Quickly stripping to your underpants (complete with a cricket cup to protect your balls from harm) you don a flowery dress followed by a wig placed atop your head and high heels upon your feet, you take some time to admire your handiwork in a small makeup mirror.

A bit butch looking you think to yourself so using a portable makeup case you add some blush, eye shadow and lip gloss. Nice. Quickly you pack up your soiled and blood splattered clothes into the duffel bag followed by the shotgun, zip it closed and sling it back over your shoulder. Without a backward glance you walk down the alley and back onto the street.

High heels while not your normal attire still carried you boldly and without stumbles as you followed a pre-planned escape route. Checking the time you see that you had 15minutes to make it to the local bus stop a mere block away.

Stopping yourself from whistling you nonetheless allowed a goofy grin to remain upon your face as you recalled each moment of glory in gory detail and not even the thought of those that had escaped could dampen your mood.

It had been a long time since you had felt happiness in any form and well, if putting these bastards in an early grave gave you this welcome feeling, then fuck ‘em all.

Reaching the bus stop well ahead of time you take a sheltered seat next to a dodgy looking old man. Dodgy because his eyes were roaming all over your body, perhaps there was some purpose to feminists after all? “Looking for some extra cash?” He enquires without any words on polite etiquette such as “What a nice arse you have, can I try it on for size?”

Not wishing to give the game away with your voice you turn away slightly and with your right hand pull the finger at the dirty old bastard. This seems to goad the old man on further because he unzips his fly and pulls his limp cock out of his trousers and slides over till your thighs touch.

“Feisty whore, just my type” He says and puts actions to words by running his hand up your shaven right leg. What the hell makes him think you’re a whore you wonder? Too much make up?

“Shit.” Hardly an un-noticeable getaway and certainly not part of the plan, you think to yourself.

Turning back around upon the seat you meet his leering face with a fast moving clenched fist accompanied by a satisfying crunch. Even if one of the breaking bones was one of your own you felt that it was a worthwhile exchange.

“Oww” He screams now in pain and anger. Clearly not out of the fight yet you decide so half standing and then leaning over his body you pummel his head and raised arms with fists backed by unleashed fury.

Standing fully you take a moment to look around and spying no one in sight you feel bold enough to grab the old man by his hair and drag his writhing body out of the bus stop and along the sidewalk till you reach an alley.

Pulling him screaming inside you give him a solid kick to the head. Dropping him then the duffel bag you open it and search through its contents looking for the hatchet. “Shit!” you exclaim over the top of the old man’s moans. You have left the weapon and possible links back to you at the place of slaughter.

“Fuck” One last exclamation. Needs must and you’re not the strangling type. Pulling out the shotgun you unclip the empty magazine, grope around inside the duffel bag till a fresh one is in your grasp and place the magazine into the shotgun.

Out of the corner of your eye you see movement. Moving very fast for a man in heels you swing around to the front of the alley and standing there is a young male cop with a very startled look upon his face.

*Boom* Him or you so without any second guessing you put shotgun pellets into the body of this young cop who just by following the sounds of violence thereby meet an early end to his career.

“Ugh” is all he manages as he drops to the cold alleyway concrete and curls into a ball. You rush to the opening of the alleyway and back onto the sidewalk. Looking left then right, you spy neither a police car nor another cop.

Puzzled but still driven for a need to survive this experience you run back into the alley in time to see the old man staggering to his feet and stumbling towards the alleyways rear exit. *Boom* another blast echoes through the night as you send the old man sprawling by shooting him in the back.

Needing to end this fast you race up and fire another round into the old man’s head at close range, ending his lecherous ways for good. Blood bone and brains leave a satisfying smear on the alleyway floor.  You notice that you are now carrying around a large erection which hardly helps in your disguise.  What more could go wrong?

You check in on the cop. His breathing had stopped and he lay still and with obvious signs of pain at his passing. You feel nothing at his death, just emptiness that’s robbed you off your prior feeling of happiness. Taking the cops body by the arms you drag it further into the alleyway till you reach your duffel bag.

Emptying the shotgun shells out of the shotgun you place rounds and shotgun back into the duffel bag and put the bag back onto your back and walk your way to the bus stop just in time to see a bus approaching. You wave down the bus then give yourself a quick check over before the bus door opens.

Wig in place and no signs of blood that you can see. Hopefully the bus driver doesn’t notice anything out of the ordinary or this night could get even messier. You climb into the bus, state the destination and pay the fare. So far so good, scanning the bus you take confidence in the other few passengers’ indifference so you walk calmly to the back of the bus and take a seat.

As the bus moves away from the bus stop a cop car drives past in the opposite direction with lights flashing however the bus driver seemingly takes no notice. You let out a breath of tension and relax slightly.

This is much better allowing yourself a moment to hope that you might actually get away with this. A short duration later the bus reaches your stop still deep within the city and as you alight from the bus a quick check spies nothing out of the ordinary.

Walking with style and flair you strut your way down a street till you arrive at a small public park. Walking into the park along a brick footpath you reach an old stone toilet building divided in two between men’s and women’s. Entering the women’s toilets you discover it to be empty so make your way into the sole cubicle. Closing the door behind you but not locking it you strip off the dress, wig and heels till you stand once again in your underpants. Taking out a third suit of clothes wrapped in plastic from the duffel bag you dress in plain blue jeans, sneakers and a grey woolen jersey.

Using the mirror you wipe clear the makeup and set your hair in order. Satisfied you open the cubicle door and step out into the main toilet area. Walking to the wall that separates the woman’s toilet from the men’s your cast the duffel bag over the top of the wall as the toilet wall doesn’t reach the ceiling. Jumping up you grab the top of the wall and pull yourself over and drop easily into the men’s toilet. Picking up the duffel bag you place the bag within an even larger blue sports bag hidden behind the men’s toilet. Exiting the toilet with sports bag on your back you make your way along the park’s path till you reach an exit on the opposite side of the park from where you first entered. Not far from this exit was a parked car beside the footpath.

Reaching the car you take out a set of keys, start the car and drive off sure that you had done the best you could to escape from prosecution. Vividly you recall every death except the cops. Never had you felt such as excitement, the blood the sounds of people in pain moments before death takes them forever.

Not even the throbbing of a broken finger could ruin your delight.

“This is just the beginning; so many fuckers, so many rounds available to slaughter them with!”

Laughter is its own form of medicine so you gave yourself a hefty dose.




The Meeting House was well lit up, cheerful and well-kept of ancient design settled in amongst immaculate lawns and gardens. It was a building that spoke of both warmth and welcome.

But to you it was the lair of evil doers. Where others might see it as a piece of artwork due to a facade of well carved figures all your eyes bought to your soul were designs of blood and anguish.

You were settled in a not to warm car parked outside the Meeting House and simply waiting for darkness to finish gathering its hold upon the land. You weren’t paying any particular attention the Meeting House or its grounds as you’ve long since finished with plans and preparation.

One way or another blood was going to be shed this night and as the cold fire of vengeance burned your heart you vowed that it would not be your blood that was shed. Hate filled you till all that you desired was the sensation of flesh popping within a clenched fist. Of warm blood exploding into a red spray bringing visualization to the sounds of a dying man’s scream.

Oh yes these things are what you desired and mercy would only get in the way.

“Blood, breaking bones and the tearing of flesh, may these gifts be granted to me another night. For tonight I have other plans” You quietly say to yourself. You’re finding increasingly that talking helped to focus the mind on the tasks at hand. Only by proper planning and the use of the right tool at the perfect place could your desires be met. And if talking to yourself helped, well you didn’t give a flying fuck what any passerby might hear and think of you.

You had done plenty of preparation and planning for tonight and if talking was to thank for it.

“Thank fucking God for speech.”

Darkness outside the boundaries of Human intervention was complete. No moon and plenty of clouds to cover the light of distant suns finally gave you the signal to move.

Having observed the Meeting House for some time now you knew that the meeting scheduled for tonight would go on for another hour or so. You’d witnessed people arriving and entering the Meeting House. Now it was time to ensure that they would never leave.

Moving quickly but not hurriedly you exit the car and make your way to the rear of the vehicle and use a key to open the boot. From within you take out a small wheel barrow and set it on the ground.

Into this wheel barrow you load a portable nail gun, some nails, planks of wood, an emergency flare and petrol can. Hurrying now you pick up the rear handles of the wheel barrow and race through the front entrance arches of the Meeting House and followed the foot path till it ended in steps just a few meters in front of the building.

Quickly you take a wooden board along with the nail gun and climb the steps till opposite the wooden door. Performing an action that you had practiced many times in the last few weeks you place the board across the door and using the nail gun to nail it to the door frame.

From within the building the sounds of muted conversation eases and you easily imagine people from within turned around now and facing the only exit from the building.

Dropping the nail gun you race back to the wheel barrow to grab another plank of wood and as you come back you see the door handle being turned and pressure coming onto door and its bar.

Wasting no time you duplicate the first door bar. By now voices within the Meeting House were crying out in concern and the door was being rattled violently but to no avail as the nails held the door firm.

Beside each door was small window each with a small frame that could be raised or lowered to allow air to enter the building and possibly to allow people out.

Not taking any chances you first nail down each window frame and return to the wheel barrow for more wood. Taking care with the wooden planks emplacement you border up first the left window then the right.

All this took perhaps 3 minutes of well-practiced effort. Those 3 minutes were all it took to ensure the peoples inside doom.  Without wasting time to admire your handy work you grab the last two items from the wheel barrow.

Still hurrying because of threat of phone calls to the police that you were sure was taking place right this minute, you open the petrol can and start upending it and send splashes of fuel all over the front of the Meeting House.

Screams of panic could now be heard as the people trapped within smelt the pungent fumes. Crashes of bodies resounded against the door and its frame creaked alarming.

“There must be some huge sumna bitches in there” you say to yourself.

This comment bought a gale of laughter to you that being heard by those in the Meeting House only increased the signs of panic coming from within the doomed building. With the front of the building well and truly doused and the petrol can empty you run away from the front of the Meeting House and take the signal flare from your coat pocket.

You break the flare and it quickly burns with a spluttering red light of death. With words of encouragement you send the flare into the base of the Meeting House.

‘Send these fuckers to hell the long hard way”


The building erupts in flame forcing you to hide the side of your face from its violent glare. Still aware of how little time you have to enjoy the spectacle you pick up the wheel barrow and race to the rear door of your car. Dropping the wheel barrow and then opening the door you take out two bundles of hay and place them on the sidewalk. Now you reach back into the car and take out another, identical to the first one petrol can. First one then the other hay bale gets doused in petrol then loaded into the wheel barrow.

In the distance you can hear the sounds of sirens. Like the sounds of a parent’s car returning home early they herald the end for a night of fun.

No mucking around here as you take the heavily overloaded wheel barrow and race back to the Meeting House. The fire has caught and is spreading around the front of the building but as you expected, not fast enough. So you pick up each hay bale and cast them into the bases of the flames which bring the results you desired. The fire now burns larger and hotter.

Picture this. A building on fire with sounds of screaming and crying from within. Begs of mercy mingled in amongst the cries yet eyes of on watchers  would instead be drawn to a man dancing amongst the light of flickering flames and in beat with a rhythm of death and ruin.

By this time there were on watchers aplenty. The Meeting House was nestled in amongst a normal residential neighborhood after all and the commotion had bought them out in droves. But till now not one had approached the scene closer than from behind planes of glass windows.

Happiness had long been a stranger so when some jerk off interrupts your moment of celebration you got real pissed off real fast. An elderly man had passed through the gates to the Meeting House and halted a few meters away and brings you spinning around to face him by saying “Sweet mother of all what have you done?”

Rushing the old man you reach his frail body and grab his head with both hands and viciously head butt him into unconsciousness. Felling slightly woozy yourself you stumble backwards. Unfortunately others had followed the old man to the scene and there were a group of people on the street now mostly screaming for help.

Only mostly because a dark skinned stout short young man amongst the group was directing yells of outrage at you. Banishing his fists he charges up the stairs towards you. Risking a glance back at the burning meeting house you console yourself that while you didn’t get much chance to savor the fiery deaths brought forward by your hands of wrath, nonetheless the job was complete as the fire was busy consuming the entire house with no chance of any of those trapped within having survived the inferno.

So you turn and with a slight twinge of guilt you take flight from the young man and flee past the burning building and head towards the back of the property that was lit up as if it were daylight. Tongues of flame scorch your exposed skin even though you hug the boundary fence as far away as possible.

Reaching the rear fence you jump up and grab the wooden top and pull yourself up easily and swing your legs over then let go to fall with a soft thump in the neighboring property. Quickly you pick up speed again racing around discarded toys but by the strong odor failing to miss at least one pile of dog shit.

Behind you comes the sound of struggling as the man labors to climb the fence still determined to chase after you but you quickly leave the grunts and curses behind as you race through the neighboring property and make your way down a darkened street heading for an intersection leading to a cul de sac.

Your feet pound the pavement as you head for a property that would in the daylight show obvious signs of abandonment with overgrown lawn and boarded up windows. But now in the darkness of full night it showed little beyond any other property.

Moving fast up the broken driveway you head around the back of a wooden garage before stooping and hiding yourself away in the shadows. Heaving chest quickly stills as you hold silent for a few minutes before being rewarded for your patience by the sound of footsteps running down the cul de sac before slowing down then finally stopping not far from the property where you crouched hidden.

Silence stretches now almost unbearably while in the distance sirens could be faintly heard but gathering in strength as they drew nearer. You really had no time for this shit so putting aside the inner voice of caution you stand up and head as silently as possible to the back of the abandoned property till you reached a shitty low chain link fence. Stepping over it gingerly you make your way down a grassy bank till your right foot squelches into cold wet muddy grass at the bottom of a large ditch.

Following the course of the ditch you reach a large concrete culvert after some minutes. Half stopped you enter the dark tunnel and using just your hands as guides make your way down its length passing under roads and houses alike till you exited several hundred meters away from where you entered.

The culvert at this end had opened up into a ditch at the centre of a large grass park dotted with the shapes of dark trees and bushes. Leaving the ditch by scrambling up its steep sides you break into a run heading for a car park some distance away.

Out of the darkness ahead come the shapes of 2 people being led by a dog on a leash. Swerving to avoid them you slip on the slick grass and go sprawling face first into the grass. Fuck. “Wow, are you alright?” a woman’s voice asks from the darkness along with other sounds of consternation. Picking yourself up with mud and grass stuck to your face, hands and the front of your jersey you stand with anger barely held in check. A hand appears on your shoulder as you turn towards the couple and a man standing in front of you asks. “Seriously are you ok man? That was one hell of a fall even if it was damn funny to watch.”

“I’m ok” you mutter back “must get going.” Reaching up you grab the hand on your shoulder and attempt to pry it loose. “Hey mate, not till I’m sure you’re ok. Gillian, get the torch out so that we can check this guy over.” He orders.

You try and pry the man’s hand of your shoulder while politely excusing yourself but the man’s grip remains firm. A bright light appears blindingly you and exposing you entire to the couples gaze. “Tim, this man is covered in ash and now that I think of it he also reeks of smoke.” You didn’t need to be a genius at this point nor have vision to know that both members of the couple were glancing in the direction from whence you came as that part of the night sky was lit up to the sullen glow of fire.

“Just what have you been doing man? Is that why you were running?” The man Tim says forcibly with both hands now on your shoulders while giving you a jostle. Alright, time to fuck this shit you think to yourself. Reaching up to the man’s right hand you place the palm of your right hand on the back of it and your fingers underneath. You now apply downward pressure with then rotate his wrist joint viciously and to your satisfaction he screams in agony.

Before he even utters a second scream your left arm comes across bent at the elbow and press hard into the man’s arm and apply so much force that his elbow joint dislocates.

The man falls unconscious to the ground from the pain. Pussy.

The woman seeing her partner fall begins screaming for help but is silenced when your right arm meets her neck in a chopping motion. As she gags falling backwards you finish her off rapidly with a swift left hand upper cut.

That’s how you do you think to yourself. Walking over to the unconscious woman you click off the torch light still grasped within her hand. Hoping no one noticed the commotion you set off at a run once more towards the distant car park and away from the fiery sacrifice.
Your running is greeted only with distant sounds evidencing a safe getaway.

Sometime later and panting not with exertion but from excitement you reach the safety of your car, leaning up against it satisfaction makes its way into your feelings. A job well done worthy of a clap upon the back; which you proceed to do unmindful of how dorky it makes you look as you reach an arm around behind and thump repeatedly.

It was in this awkward position that a man rushes out of the darkness catching you completely by surprise. “Here he is, he is over here!” The man screams just as you dives and tackles you to the ground both his arms around your waist.





You feel nothing. Not even excitement about an opportunity that was about to convert itself from fantasy to reality. Outside the walls of your armored soul nature went about its business.

Birds cried and the Fan tails danced amongst the surrounding trees. The day was still but insects were not. Not even flies alighting on your sun warmed skin could break you from your trance. Still as a statue you starred off into the distance. Your eyes seeing but not caring about the tarmac road that ran straight and true as it cut its way to the right of the wooded hill upon which you stood.

Without altering the peace of the forest glade, red and blue lights could be seen flickering in the distance. Growing silently but steadily closer other motions began to come into focus and finally the sight of a banner held proudly tall broke you from your trance.

A crowd of hundreds, possibly even thousands were marching in step down the tarmac road heading in your direction. Led by 2 police squad cars an army was on the march. They took up both sides of the road, their march was unstoppable and all gave way before the angry mob. Cars heading in the opposite direction were pulling over to allow the mob to pass.

Sounds could now be heard. The voices of hundreds merged into one loud angry sound of protest and anger. Holding banners and placards aloft individuals amongst the crowd of marchers lifted their heads high and shouted their anger to the world.

This bought the briefest of smiles to your face as you pulled back the cocking arm of a stolen “ma deuce” 50 caliber fully automatic heavy machine gun mounted on a solid but makeshift tripod within the glade.  Resting your fingers on the butterfly triggers you wasted a moment of wishful thinking about the modest amount of ammunition you had available.

Still needs must and pushing that thought aside you pushed the triggers in and sent a stream of bullets and tracers into the mob which was now just 100 meters away and below to your right.

Great mists of blood exploded amongst the front few rows and now it was your voice that screamed primal rage at the heavens. No mercy gained access to your soul as the marcher’s bodies were rendered to scraps of bloody meat.

Packing such energy into each bullet meant that it didn’t really matter where a bullet hit a person as death came regardless. Arms were blown off, legs shattered. Stomachs and intestines flew to join clouds of blood and bone shards.

Grey matter splattered back and was squashed by stomping feet as the protest march broke apart as individuals scattered. Cries of protest had been stilled and replaced by cries of fear and anguish. No one heard your cries of joy and rage above the steady beat of heavy gunfire but it wasn’t through lack of effort on your part.

The police had stopped and exited their squad cars but otherwise did nothing but stand gaping as more rounds slammed into the bodies of those that hadn’t moved since the slaughter began.

Sounding like nothing more than a baseball bat hitting a sack full of water, bullets continued to leave the barrel of the heavy machine gun and take the lives of those that had sought to protest against your unending murders.

‘Crunch’, there goes the head of an Elderly woman. ‘Boof’ a man doubles over as his spine causes a heavy bullet to explode amongst the ruins of his abdomen.


Below on the blood splattered road one of the Cops was moving to the back of the squad car and opening the boot. The other, a female office was mouthing words into a radio strapped to her shoulder.

Frankly you could have cared less. But you did care that just then the heavy machine gun ran dry of ammunition and stopped firing. You pause for a minute just to savor in the screamed sounds of fear and loss from the road below. You feel moved at what you had accomplished and barely notice either the tear trickling down your face or the leaves falling and branches chopping above you.

Letting go of the triggers you lift up a pair of powerful binoculars to your eyes and scan the carnage below. Ignoring the bullets passing through the forest glade above your head and tearing your gaze from the piles of bodies scattered along the tarmac you confirm what you had hoped would happen. Large numbers of survivors sheltering in the grass berm’s and ditches beside the road but not actually within the forest.

Dropping the binoculars you now take a special cell phone from your back pocket and hold down the number 2 key for three seconds.  The phone now dials another cell phone hidden down beside the road. As the phone receives the call instead of applying voltage to its ringer the voltage is used instead to detonate a series of homemade explosives buried at intervals along the left hand side of the road.

*CRACK CRACK BOOM* and more screams rise up from the road side along with the dying cries of multitudes as several baby formula cans laden with explosives and nails shred  flesh from bones and gut the elderly and young alike. From this distance you can see what looks to be the wheel of a baby’s pram bouncing down the road before coming to rest against the headless body of corpse still clutching a protest banner.

Holding down the number 3 key you expect the same results but from the right side road verge but hear nothing new to greet your ears.

“Crap” Is all you can say to the vanished fan tails.

 Not without regrets you leave the still smoking machinegun and the small clearing littered with spent cases and make your way up the small hill and away from the sounds of human misery. Quickly you push your way through the undergrowth and reach the nearby trail. This particular trail had been thoughtfully created by the local Government. Not for ease of moving to and from a place of slaughter but it served that purpose well nonetheless. There ahead of you lay the means of your immediate escape.

A trail bike well-worn but also well maintained and not wasting a moment you right the bike and pedal off down the track. The kilometers fly by as you speed down the trail leaving it for the unevenness of the undergrowth only when encountering steps. Moving fast but not with abandon. Just with the confidence of a man who had ridden this exact route several times before.

You knew the trip would take only 23minutes but you were still surprised when you reached this journeys end, surprised perhaps because you had spent the time gleefully recalling every gory detail, thereby locking it into memory forever and incidentally therefore had no recall of the bike rides passing.

Around you the forest had ended and been replaced by a large gravel car park surrounded with the Forest on three sides and a road on the fourth. Unfortunately this car park contained two cars instead of the expected one. Still you were fast becoming a great believer in your own ability to adapt to unforeseen events.

Stepping off the bike and walking to the second car you pull a vicious looking knife out of its holder from behind your back.

“Ahem” you politely cough to a stranger who was bent over backwards from you doing something in the boot of their car.

The person turns. You are ecstatic to note that this person is a young clean cut and well groomed dark skinned male of about 20 years of age. Killing him had turned from a chore to a pleasure at his sight of his skin colour.

Before the innocent stranger could even finish his turn and note the knife in your hand you had rushed forward and plunged it into his gut twisting viciously. As the tormented man opened his mouth to scream in agony you clamp the palm of your left hand unto the gaping hole.

Ignoring the reflex bite and muffled scream you rip clear the knife and plunge it into the man’s chest where you think his heart should be. The man stiffens and tries gasping for breath. Severe pain is etched within his face but no sound comes out from around your left hand. Feeling confident you pull your hand and knife clear and allow his body to crumple to the gravel. Very little blood was leaking from the man’s corpse and only some had splattered onto your shirt. Still it was a good shirt so you are a little fucked off.

“Nice” You say sarcastically to no one in particular.

Turning from the corpse you make your way to the second car, open the boot and quickly throw in the bike minus its front wheel and the bloody knife. You follow suit through the driver’s door and seating yourself comfortably you start the old Holden station wagons engine. Now was the time for the real fleeing. Already you can hear the sounds of a helicopter in the distance from the direction of the ambush and rising smoke. Quite possibly you had started a grass fire amongst the verge. The thought of all those people wounded and unable to move roasting to death bought another tear to your eye. You just love it when things come together.

Leaving the car park you turn onto a state highway and quickly bring the Holden up to the legal speed limit of 100 Kilometers per hour.

“Shit” you mutter. If only the second set of explosives had of detonated there would be a lot more weeping tonight, broken hearted widows and devastated parents who had lost children and grandchildren alike.

“Fuck em, mercy is for the weak” you think to yourself.

Laughter fills the car as you leave the area of mass murder.






The taxi pulls up to the loading zone outside of the airport. The taxi driver, who really needs to take lessons in shutting the fuck up, turns and leans over towards you in the back seat and says.
‘Here we are matey potatey that will be $63 dollars.”

You stare at him for maybe 30 seconds as you consider killing him. You are that close to the edge of going on a rampage start right then and there. Finally having taken all your will power you instead take a deep breath and hand the man a $100 dollar bill.

“Keep the change”. You say as you let yourself out of the cab and head straight into the airport terminal with duffel bag slung over your back and a heavy carry bag on one shoulder. Walking fast neither looking left or right you walk straight to a kiosk and check yourself in using the automated terminal which merely required  the stolen credit card. Ticket in hand you walk over to the departure lounge to note the time of the booked flights departure.

Having discovered that you had several minutes before the flight was due to leave; you spend the time idly loitering in a toilet cubicle. Having not wanted to be noticed nor have questions asked about the contents of the duffel bag and you certainly didn’t want to be recognized.

You’d taken some pains to alter your appearance with skillful application of makeup and hair dye but experience has now taught you that plenty of things can go wrong with even the most cunning plans. Relaxing as best as possible given the state of the toilet and natural tension at what you were about to attempt to do you let your mind dream up how the next few hours were going to play out.

Over the intercom you hear the final boarding call for your particular flight. Getting close now and your breathing starts to increase along with your nerves, for what you were about to do has never been done before that you were aware of. Hopefully that will give you an edge of surprise and allow you to achieve your final dream.

The intercom was back on, calling final passengers with your stolen ID’s name along with 2 others. The toilet where you hid was only a few seconds fast walk to the security gate that led to boarding lounge. Deep breaths calm the nerves and settle down you think to yourself. Odd though as you cannot recall getting this worked up about something for a very long time. You try to divert your attention to the graffiti scratched into the toilet stall door. Tried and failed.

Intercom came to life once more. This time it was a final boarding call for just your stolen name. Time to go and fast, settling the bags on your back and shoulder and keeping your right hand in your right trouser pocket you race fast out the toilet door and straight to the security gate.

Two male guards stand ready and alert. One of them spies you coming and tries not to frown as he directs you towards an entryway on the right flanked by a steel conveyor belt to pass your bags through and a metal detector archway for you to pass before reaching the boarding lounge.

Rushing past the conveyor belt deposit point you vault the rail and reach the surprised guard while pulling a police baton from under the back of your shirt where it had been taped and smash it hard into the guard’s neck. His body crashes hard to the floor. Stepping over the fallen guard you cry “Quick he’s collapsing to a heart attack or something.”

The other guard who was already heading your way warily, eyes flickering between you and the comatose guard but that was all the time and distraction you needed to pull a Taser out of your left jacket pocket and shoot its cruel barbs in the guards exposed neck and the second guard joins the first on the floor.

Dropping the Taser and leaving the fallen guards behind you sprint at full speed towards the boarding gate, racing against the time it would take for someone to discover the guards or for the guards to recover and radio ahead to the cabin crew of the flight.

There up ahead a stewardess sees you coming and smiles with one arm out held. If she notices the share amount of luggage you were toting she doesn’t let it show. Slowing down just enough you stretch your left hand out with the ticket and as her arm comes out to collect you pull the hidden baton from behind your back and whack her on the side of her head with it.

She hits the floor as you hit the ramp to the airplane at a run. Turning a tight corner and racing downwards the cabin crew at the door station see you coming and unlike the first stewardess show clear puzzlement. No matter as you slam past the door war and hammer the male cabin crew with the baton and down he goes after 3 quick blows.  Shoving the other cabin crew, a young blond female, to the floor you drop your bags and the baton and within moments have the shotgun out of the duffel bag and pointed towards the passengers.

“This is a robbery!” You cry as the first screams come from passengers throats. Turning quickly you order the stewardess to shut and lock the door. She stares at you numbly from the floor so you give her unconscious work mate a vicious blow to the ribs.

“You it now you stupid bitch or I start shooting!” This time she gets up and complies by shutting then locking the planes door. Pointing the shotgun at her you demand; “Now walk down the aisle and start asking that all passengers pull their wallets, cell phones and jewelry and place them upon the aisle floor! Do it now and do it fast you fucking dumb cunt!”

With the passengers fully distracted and the stewardess moving like a zombie towards the passengers in the first row with tears falling down her face you turn your attention to the door leading to the cockpit.

Hammering the door with the butt of the shotgun you yell out “Start the plane moving now or I start shooting passengers”. Only silence greets you so without any further warnings you point the shotgun at the head of th

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