Tuesday, 3 April 2012

Writing out of boredom.

I got bored this evening and decided to write a short "story" page on OpenOffice Writer, just to pass the time.
Story? Is that the right word? I didn't really write it as a story. It wasn't intended to be a story. Just a quick written piece, to let loose a bit of my creativity and my dark thoughts.
It's not my best work, even slightly. I didn't put much effort into it. This wasn't intended to be a chapter, or anything to come of it. I just felt the need to WRITE. It's therapeutic almost. Oh well. Enjoy, I guess.


Looking down at the cowering man below me, I could hardly contain my glee. Each blow I deliver to these wretched creatures sends a rush of adrenaline through my body and I can barely refrain from ending their pitiful lives prematurely. Focus. Don't get carried away. They must suffer for their meaningless existences. The top cats in society. The so-called “privileged”. What have they done with their time on Earth? Nothing. All they've done is look out for themselves. I could have done anything in their position. It's a shame only the few night-shift workers were left in the building.

Temporarily lost in my own thoughts, the man grabs onto my leg. Staring down at him, I take in the damage I have dealt. His lips and nose are bust open and soaked in blood. Although my well-placed boot to his skull was only a matter of seconds ago, his face had already developed a deep purple contusion and I could tell from desperate grunting that he was struggling to find his breath.
“Don't touch me, you filthy fucker!” I roared, ripping my leg away from his grasp and delivering another punt to his side, crunching his ribs as he rolled across the floor, yelping out in agony. 
Turning my attention from the broken body before me, I looked across the office for my next victim.

The office belonged to a small independent loan lender firm located in the center of the city. Run by sleazy, weak parasites used to feeding on the desperate. It's ironic how the roles have reversed and it is now they who plead for help. The d├ęcor of the office, once bland and colourless, is now splattered in the blood of it's workers.

Spotting a young Asian woman trying to take cover under a desk, I make my way towards her. Mere feet away from her, I raise the Colt .45 handgun I'd used to dispose of the building's security officers and take aim. She spots the weapon and cries out in fear, begging for her life, choking on her own tears.
As I tense my finger around the trigger, a woman bursts out from a door at the far end of the room. 
Fucker. She must have hidden away in the store when she heard the commotion. She's heading towards the front doors at speed, trying to make her escape. I watch as reaches out for the handle and pulls at it, only for it to jam. Stupid little bitch didn't consider that I'd have locked the doors behind me once the only threats were eliminated.
She spun around in horror and made eye contact with me. The fear in her eyes drove me on and without a seconds thought, I aimed across the building and fired two shots. The Asian woman, still under the table, cried out louder in horror at the sound of gunfire, as my target fell backwards against the door, her throat burst open and blood spraying out across the tile floor. One bullet had missed and exploded out the window into the high street. I damned myself for my carelessness but shrugged it off. It didn't matter any more. Through the windows, I spotted the first of many police vehicles pulling up on the road.
“Looks like my times up,” I muttered, looking back to the shaking and whimpering lady on the floor, “Do you want to leave?”
She stared up at me, her make-up stained down her face, too afraid to even stand.
“I'll give you thirty seconds,” I smiled, knowing how sadistic I must seem to this terrified wreck of a woman, “The keys I took from security are lying on the receptionists counter. Thirty seconds. If you aren't out by then, I'll end your snivelling fucking life, got it?”
With a quick kick to her side, she scuttled under from the useless protection of her table and ran the same direction of the last victim, this time picking up the keys I'd pointed out to her. I could hear her cries as she tried to still her shaking hands while unlocking the door.
I leaned against a table, amused by her attempt at escape. As the door finally opened, I raised my arm and fired the last two rounds in the clips, ripping deep into her back and sending her stumbling forward into the street before collapsing. Gullible whore.

With my weapon empty and the office filled with broken bodies and lifeless shells of it's employees, I lay down on the floor and waited for the police units to fill the building.

Today I turned the tables. Today I made society take notice of how they wasted their lives away.
As I lay listening to the doors burst open and the room fill with armed uniforms, I looked along the floor to my right and saw the man I had beaten half to death. He stared deep into my eyes, blood running from his hanging open mouth. He would be the survivor. He would be the one to tell my story.

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