The Master Plan

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Flash Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic
WARNING: GRAPHIC CONTENT. Just a little something I put together a few years back during a dark part of my life. Relax, it's fiction.

Submitted: July 02, 2013

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Submitted: July 02, 2013

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I hate him. I hate him with every single fibre of my being. In the past years, I’ve never really liked him. But recently, he became a little too friendly with my girlfriend. Next thing I know, she leaves me, and only weeks later, they’re together. I don’t even know what she sees in him. He’s so immature, making stupid jokes all the time, disgusting and inappropriate jokes. Honestly, he disgusts me. And it’s not just me either. Other people hate him as well. But no one hates him as much as me. I can barely stand the sight of him. What does she see in him? He’s short and scrawny, barely even strong enough to lift a 5kg weight. He has stupid long hair, and a voice so high it could shatter glass. He may as well be a girl. He never listens in class, is always getting in trouble, but somehow manages to talk his way out of it all the time. There is nothing good about him. His friends are as bad as he is. Disgusting, all of them. I hate him so much. I’m just waiting for the one moment for him to step out of line. All he has to do is say the wrong thing around me, or bump me when he walks past, and I’ll snap. I know I can take him; it’ll be a no contest. There is nothing I want more than to make him pay for what he’s done to me. I imagine it all the time. I’ve got it all planned out.

I see him walking around, being as immature as normal. He is standing near a pole. I walk up behind him, put my hand on the side of his temple, and push his head into the pole with all of my might. He never sees me coming. He collapses to the ground instantly, clutching his head, moaning in agony at the pain I’ve already caused him. But this is only the beginning, just a taste of what is about to happen to him. He’ll regret the day he even began to talk to her. I look down at him, and stare at him, rolling helpless on the ground. I can see the tears move down his cheek, and I smile. I’ve been waiting too long for this; my moment is finally here. I grab his arm and lift him to his feet, then move him over to a bench. I kick in the side of his knee, and he drops down again. I grab his hair, and repeatedly slam his face onto the bench. Once, twice, three times, four. It’s still nowhere near the level of satisfaction I want from this. I pick him up, still clutching a fistful of his hair. His nose is bleeding now, running into his mouth and down his chin. I tell him he had this coming, and he knew. I look into his eyes, and I can see the terror in them. It’s laughable. Still holding his hair, I thrust the back of his head into the pole again, and watch his body crumple lifelessly to the ground. He only makes slow movements, his arm twitches occasionally. He is in complete agony, and I love it. I kick him in the chest several times. I can literally feel his ribcage shatter with each thrust of my foot. He gasps for air, and I realise now that his lungs are no longer working at their full capacity.

I look over at the lockers, and notice the steel padlocks. I walk over to mine while he lies all but motionless on the ground by the pole. The blood from his nose has begun to drip onto the ground, and is slowly forming a puddle by his mouth. I reach for my lock, and after putting in my combination, unlock it, and take it off the locker door. I relock it, and slip it over my middle finger, with the ring facing out when I clench my fist. I have no pity for what I have done to him so far, or for what I am still about to do. I grab him by the scruff of his collar, and lift him to his feet. I push him against a wall, since he can barely stand on his own. With my forearm over his neck, I punch into his stomach over and over, and smile as he coughs. Blood comes out of his mouth, and several drops land on my shirt. I prefer it this way, as it gives me something to remember this great day by. I end my punching by driving my knee deep into his chest, and he lurches forward and vomits a moderate amount of blood onto the ground. I drop the lock to the ground, but clench my fist again. I clench it so hard my knuckles turn white and the veins on my hand protrude out of my skin. I remove my other forearm from his neck, and instead grab him by the front of his collar. With all the strength I can muster, I force my fist into his face repeatedly. The immense feeling of joy is indescribable. His cheekbones give way under the force of my strikes, and I can feel his nose break. I can even hear the snapping of it, as more and more blood pours from his face. Splatters of it fly off and land all over me, and my shirt, and my face, and even onto my fist. I lean back, and hit him with a final strike, and as I do that, he drops to the ground again. He has no strength of his own left.

Once again, I pick him up, but this time force him up against a nearby window so hard, the glass behind him shatters. He lands with his back on the bottom of the windowsill, and shards of glass penetrate his back and spine. The windowsill and remaining shards of glass are stained with red as I pull him off. This time, instead of letting him drop, I throw him face first onto the ground. His head hits the pavement with a crack as it bounces back, before resting again on the cold ground beneath him. His blood continues to pour from his completely destroyed face into a pool around his upper body. The back of his shirt is stained with the red liquid as well, as blood seeps from the holes left by the glass shards in the window. I pull his right arm out from underneath him, and lean with my left knee onto his elbow. I grab his wrist with both hands, and lean back until I hear his arm snap. He yells out in pain as the bone splinters stick out from his elbow. I walk back over to the window and pull out a shard of glass from the windowsill. Walking back over to the mess of broken bones and blood-stained clothes, I grasp the shard so tight in my right hand that I feel the sharp sting as the glass cuts into my palm. But it makes no difference to me.

I grab his left arm this time, and roll him over onto his back. Still holding his arm, I expose his wrist. I look into his eyes as I push the shard of glass into his skin. His eyes twitch with pain as I move the glass across his arm, so he knows what both he and my former girlfriend have done to me. I throw the glass to the side, and watch it shatter into tiny pieces and scatter around another pool of blood. I lift him, and drag him over by the puddle of red, and lay him in it, still on his back. I grasp his throat with both of my hands, and squeeze. My hands tighten around his blood covered neck, and I watch him struggle for the little amount of air his lungs can barely take in. His eyes look into mine as his whole body twitches, before I release my hold and stand up. He looks even more pathetic and worthless than usual, and I love it. All he can do is just lie there motionless in a pool of his own blood. A destroyed face, and several other broken bones, he is a total mess. I simply stand there and look at him with a smile on my face. I’ve done what I’ve been waiting to do for so long. I take one final look at him and think to myself how anyone person could love him now. Soon, I turn and walk away. If he lives, he lives. If he dies, he dies. It makes no difference to me. Now, it’s only a matter of time before the events I have imagined become a reality, and everything I’ve planned are carried out exactly as they should.


© Copyright 2020 LindsayNash. All rights reserved.

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