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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Mystery and Crime  |  House: Booksie Classic
A deranged vigilante seeks to kill those that he deems unfit for society. Calling it "liberation", follow his short story through school and streets.

Submitted: May 28, 2013

A A A | A A A

Submitted: May 28, 2013




Two girls sat in a library. One was quietly trying to do her work, but the other had a different plan in mind.

“What do you get when you guzzle down sweets?” she chanted. It sounded demonic, like Satan himself had risen from the depths of Hell and claimed Charlie and the Chocolate Factory as his hymns.

She chanted on and on, moving between mindless phrases of “I can't figure this out,” and “Yeah, I think that looks good on you.” She did not care for those around her, the dozen innocents that crowded around the nearby computers so that they may complete her work. “Holy shit, I hate this!” she blurted out. There was no stopping her noise crusade.

Suddenly, a brick flew out from nowhere and sailed through the air. Its trajectory was clear: it was aiming right for the She-Satan's head. Not knowing what was about to befall her, the girl continued on with her rambling. “Oh my goodness, this is so stu-” was all she could get out before the godsend met its mark. It hit true and strong, and instantly broke through the layer of skull that protected Satan's brain. Her head was thrown to the side, and blood covered the monitor of her screen, still showing the hundreds of tabs of shoes and accessories. The second girl barely batted an eye, and continued on her work for her English class, finally pleased with the silence of the library.

The savior of the library was a man dressed in all black, with a hood covering most of his face. A boy who was working on his politics summative noticed him and pointed. Soon others turned, until everyone in the library was facing the individual who had given them all such sweet silence. They all stood up, one by one, and applauded. Slowly at first, a dramatic 'slow clap', then furiously, as they realized that this hero had just liberated them from terror.


The hero then ran out, satisfied with his efforts. He dashed through the halls of the school, and out through the front doors. He stopped and caught his breath, then looked around to see what was outside.

No cops, he thought. Good, that means that I won't be getting caught anytime soon. He casually walked away from the front doors of the school and down the sidewalk that ran along the football field. What he had done had been a blessing to the people in the library, that much was true, but there were others who would not think as highly of his deeds. He saw it as liberation, they saw it as murder.

That was the fickle thing about people; it's all about perspective. Humans tended to have many different perspectives about how things should be done, or how certain actions should be handled. This was one of those very controversial ones.

It wasn't like this was an impulse decision though. This work had been carefully planned out and executed, pun not intended. He had been following this girl around school for a week no, and he had deemed her to be both annoying and dispensable. She wasn't going to be missed, mainly because she was a twin. People may initially mourn her loss, but in the end she had a carbon copy of her that still lived on, and thus she would live on.


He continued on his walk past the school grounds and out into the open atmosphere of Richmond. It was not a necessarily big town, but it was big enough to hide in, and that's precisely what he needed to do now. Someone wouldn't understand, and that person would call the cops and have them search for the culprit; someone who was wearing all black. He found a nearby bush and shed his black clothes, leaving him wearing a burgundy t-shirt and blue faded jeans. Now he didn't look like the savior, now he looked like just some kid.

He didn't want to take any chances though, so he decided to travel off to his safehouse and wait there for a day. In a secluded area of woods that was a few kilometers away from his actual place of residence, it would make the perfect place to stake out while the cops scapegoated someone else for the liberation. They tended to do that a lot whenever they couldn't immediately find out who actually had done it. If someone was walking down the street that even vaguely matched the description, then the cops would fire a couple shots from their rifles and the 'culprit' would fall down and be forgotten.

And that's when noticed someone walking towards him. Someone that he didn't like very much, in fact, someone that needed to have the same fate as the library. This time it was another girl, one who had barely uttered any words when she was at school. That's why she needed to go. If you don't talk at school, then you're labeled as a freak and disposed of. It needed a sort of undertaker to rid the school environment of these pests, and he was exactly one of those undertakers. Normally someone that didn't talk wouldn't actually be killed, but would be re-assigned to a different school, one that would better cater to the needs of someone that didn't talk, one that forbade silence unless you wanted to be beaten rather harshly. That school was known as a prison to most, but the school board remained adamant that it was a rehabilitation school or an Alternate Program as they called it. Frederich Banting Alternate Program, to be exact.

This girl wasn't going there. The only place she would be going would be a hole in the ground, about six feet deep. When they were about five feet away from passing by each other, he stepped to the side so that he was blocking her path. Startled by such an act, she looked up from her gaze at the pavement and took a half step back. Her eyes spoke confusion, and his only spoke duty. Realizing what kind of person he was, she tried to cry out for help. Her cry was sadly cut short though, as he quickly punched her in the stomach, knocking the wind out of her and having her double over onto the ground. He continued his assault by drawing a switchblade from his pant pocket and drawing the steel from its hilt. Her panic increased as she saw the blade with her newly tear stained eyes.

He kicked his new target in the head, sending it sprawling back to the ground and smacking down with a satisfying crunch. He smirked at first, and then broke out into maniacal laughter. He was enjoying this a bit too much, but he didn’t care at all. The only thing that mattered was that the job was completed, even if the job was somewhat of an overtime assignment. He reached down and pulled her head up by the hair, revealing newly broken teeth and a bloodied visage.

She was crying, albeit quietly. She was convinced that this would be her end yet she still held out on some shred of hope that this was just a nightmare, and that this would all be over soon. She closed her eyes and tried to wake up. He stood there with her hair in his hands and waited for a moment, letting her realize that this was all real. When she opened them again her fear took on new levels, and she finally found her voice.

“W-why are you doing this?” she sputtered out, blood making her speech muddled and a little incoherent. “I never did anything to you…” She returned to her sobbing.

Realizing that they were still in fact on the side of a street, he picked her up with her hair in one hand and the bottom of her shirt in the other, with the knife still drawn, and threw her off to the side, into a cover tries which would hide them from any unwanted attention. She landed with a thud and laid motionless for a moment, until he drove his foot into her stomach and rolled her over onto her back. He placed his foot on her chest.

“Why?” he sneered. “Why am I doing this? I’m doing this simply because I can and must. If the others got to you first, then you wouldn’t really learn your lesson, hmm? No, this is how you must be dealt with. So that you know that your insolence was your real undoing.” He put more weight on her chest, and she moaned out in pain. “Do you know what I am? Who I am?”

“You’re a bastard, that’s all,” she whispered. “A bastard, a bastard, bastard…” was all she said after that, and was all that she repeated until he opened up her throat with his knife, giving her a red smile. The words stopped, the crying stopped, everything stopped except for his heart and his adrenaline. He looked down at his work.

Two liberations in one day, he thought. Well I think that’s enough for now. He hid the body under some nearby leaves, and as he made his way to the safehouse two police cars raced by him on their way to the school.

© Copyright 2017 ChrisMiller. All rights reserved.

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