Insurrection as Community Service

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Mystery and Crime  |  House: Booksie Classic
Right now, just the opening scene... The scene of the crime, if you will. For display purposes. If approved, I'll post my progress to date.

Submitted: June 30, 2010

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Submitted: June 30, 2010

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It had all gone bad, somehow.

He wasn't sure how, or when, or why, but if there was one thing he was certain of, it was that it had all broken down. All his hopes and dreams, all the things he'd tried to do... none of it mattered anymore, his erstwhile employee assured him.

"Sego, are you listening to me? Is this seeping in at all? You're going to fade away, starting right now. I don't know where you came from, and I don't care to find out. And neither will anyone else. Your face, your name, your job, your little habits and quirks... All of that is going away. As far as anyone will ever know, you never were, and you never will be again.

How could that be? His momma wouldn't forget. His boy wouldn't forget. He'd been good to them, and they loved him. As long as he knew they had him in their hearts, it almost made up for the fact that he now held his own intestines in his hands, kneeling in a filthy alley. Almost.

"Your family?" The madman asked, cocking his head curioiusly and smiling broadly. "You think they'll care? Hell, you think they'll take a day off to see to your burial? Oh, no. They'll take weeks to even notice that you're missing, and even then they'll tell each other that you've finally had enough of that damned warehouse, and walked off without telling anyone. They'll wish you well, wherever you are, and go on with their business. Eventually, they'll forget about you entirely. They don't need you. No one does. You've become irrelevant; you've failed. You've failed them, you've failed yourself, and you've failed me. And that, pally-boy, just won't be allowed."

And who the fuck are you, he wanted to ask. Who are you to judge? But he was too weak, and distracted. It was starting to get dark, and his surroundings were taking on an unreal quality. The tall brick buildings standing out in sharp relief as the thrust into the bruised sky, the smoke from his attackers cigar swirling around his head, moving into a breeze he didn't feel... The blues and reds of dusk reflecting strangely off the long blade, and the blood -his own blood!- still dripping gently from its oiled tip. It was hopeless after all, he knew. He would not be going home this time; he was going to die in this filthy suburban alley not 3 blocks from the factory that had been his heart and soul for so many years.

Finally he mustered the strength to reply to the taunts and jeers. "You'll be caught. You can't act like you can do whatev-" He paused to spit out a gout of blood. God, but he wanted some water. "Like you own the place." He rasped.

"Can't I? Sego... Kevin. Let me tell you. This place is mine. That street, the people walking by, this city, this country..." A pause. Another puff of smoke. Another smile. "Pally, this world is almost mine. Believe me when I say that you will be erased from it with no fuss. Hell, you've done most of the work yourself, isolating yourself and refusing to consider anything more. Which is exactly why I've taken it upon myself to finish it."

Kevin was about to try another response; tell the guy that he was nuts, you couldn't just cut a man open a block from a highway, watch him bleed out, and go about your day. That he should help, it might not be too late. That he wouldn't say a word to the police or anyone else if the guy would just call an ambulance.

He opened his mouth to say all those things, but his words were cut off by a sudden searing pain as the cigar plunged against the back of his throat, burning through his tonsils. As he inhaled sharply to scream, the ember and hot smoke traveled into his lungs, his guts spilling behind a dumpster as his hands flew to his neck and chest... it was too much. Kevin Sego, father of one, employee of the month three months running, finally fell forward, his last sensation the warm fluid flowing around his cheek as it ran toward the rat infested storm drain.

For a minute, it was still. The cars went by, the birds flew overhead, and the shadows deepened as they grew with twilight.

"Bet you would have done it different if you knew your time was running out, wouldn't ya, pal?" The long knife was wiped clean on Sego's jeans, and disappeared neatly into the Cutter's jacket. "Bet you would have called some people, gone out now and again, huh? Read a book? Watched a movie? Took a walk? But no."

He turned away from the setting sun, and slowly began walking toward the lake, Kevin's corpse trailing behind. Eventually, as the sun finished its daily journey, he stood at the pier, and raised the vacant face to his own.

"I'm a hero, you know. Someone else will read about this or see it on the news, and decide that they oughtta live a little faster, just in case. And maybe they'll be worth something. And you... You got out easy, pal. You don't gotta see what comes next."

There was a splash. Later there would be a scream, and then sirens. There would be commotion, and then there would be silence. And somewhere else, there would be a smile. And another cigar.


© Copyright 2017 Matt Wood. All rights reserved.

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