Massacre
"You monster!" Tracy screamed. "Let my brother go! Let him go!" She made an effort to
kick my shins, but to no avail. I've dropped heavier and sharper things on myself, a few
flimsy kicks wouldn't faze me at all.
His friends gaped at me like idiots while I continued to squeeze harder and harder on their
friend's neck. Finally one of them tried to push me off of him. His face was getting red
and his eyes were bulging. I finally let go and I instead grabbed him by the back of his
neck.
"I'm not finished with you. Tonight at ten o'clock, you're going to meet me at the park.
You're not going to be late and if you're a pussy, go ahead and bring these cohorts along
with you." My voice is low.
I let go of his neck with a push. I spit in his face and walked out of the gym.
I reach home and I check on the chicken. It still looks raw. I check the time. I'd been
gone no more than a quarter of an hour. I scoff.
I stand against the wall with a foot bent and my arms crossed. I close my eyes and think
about today. The more I thought about what happened to my sister, the angrier I got.
I lift my hand and punch the wall beside me, shouting. I run rampant. I storm into the
garage and start throwing things. I smash bottles against the ground and against the walls.
I grab tools and hit things with them and I break a bicycle.
The sounds of things crashing and smashing and breaking is music to my tone deaf ears and
as I throw the last bottle, I heave heavy breaths and smile.
I wipe sweat off my nose with my wrist. I look at the damage I dealt, grinning. That grin
turns into a deep chuckle, which then transitions into loud maniacal laughter. I kick the
debris and stomp around. I stop when I hear the phone ring from inside the house.
Mother called again. Dolores has a really bad concussion and will remain in the hospital
overnight. I am to turn the oven off but keep the chicken inside. Mother will be back in
the morning.
This sends me into a spiral. A sort of rage you'd only see in movies. My skin simmers with
heat and my rage bubbles and boils my blood. My stomach churns in wicked anticipation and
my muscles flex.
I changed into one of my dad's old wife beaters and a pair of acid washed cargo jeans.
Just in case, I slip a switchblade in the pocket on my thigh and I lace up a pair of beat
sneakers.
I was out for blood.
I whistle with my hands shoved deep in my pockets as I walk at a leisurely pace to the
park. It was a quarter to ten and the air was crisp, chilly and dark.
A shiver runs through me and I curl my toes. I smile thinly as my eyes set upon the group
of people I was meant to fight.
"Change of plans!" I called out. Too many people heard about the park.
"We're not fighting here, we're going somewhere else." I say.
I take them to a back alley behind the drug store that closed down in 1956 due to
malpractice and prescriptions being laced with other unauthorized drugs. The FDA closed
it down.
The boys looked around nervously and Tracy whimpered. They brought fucking Tracy.
"Why's she here?" I point my chin to her.
"Because-" She began. Her brother cut her off. "Because she's gonna watch her big
brother kick your ass." He says and he charges at me. His fist went for my face. I
maneuvered myself to the side and his skin grazed my ear. I brought a knee to his
abdomen and my fist smashed into the side of his face.
My knuckles popped from the impact and he crumpled to the floor, wheezing because I
knocked the wind out of him. I stood over him and looked down. "You were saying?" I smile
coyly as he spits blood from his mouth.
I look at Tracy. She takes a step back. "You're nothing but a small maggot and a bitch." I
sneer at her. Her lower lip puffs out and she looks like she's about to cry.
"Like I said. Bitch. You're really boutta cry." I laugh. Her brother finally finds his feet and
he begins to stand. I give him a blow to the head and knock him back down. I put my foot
on his back.
"Stay down, dickhead." I ordered. I rub his head against a rock. I grab him by the hair, lift
his head, and slam it back down. There's a resonating crack as his forehead smacks against
the stones. He goes limp as he loses consciousness.
His friends begin to gang up on me. One of them reaches into his vest. He pulls out a .45
magnum pistol. My thoughts go to the knife in my pocket. I hadn't intended on using it
unless provoked. Unless I felt the need to do so.
"You brought a gun to a fist fight." I smirk. "Can't you fight?" The two boys look at each
other. "Drop the gun and be a man!" I puff out my chest and slap my pecs. They both
charge at me. The gun goes flying. With a swift movement, the switchblade is out of my
pocket and in my hand.
I stab the first guy in the throat and he begins to convulse and he holds desperately onto
his neck. I swing at the other one and slash his shoulder.
He staggers back, holding his wound. He laughs in disbelief. We both make eye contact
with the pistol. Before he can make a break for it, I slit his throat. I grab the gun and
turn to see Tracy huddled in a corner, crying and trembling.
I feel bad. But that lasts for a second. Everything she put my sister through flashes
through my mind. I raise my arm and point the gun at her. She crumples lifelessly.
I go to her brother and check his pulse. He's alive. I grab his hair again and continuously
smash his head against the rock. The cracks remind me of the sweet sound those turtle
shells made all those years ago.
I turn him on his back. He's almost unrecognizable. I take my knife and gouge his eye out
until it hangs out by the optic nerve. It's a gnarly sight. I'd get off from that image for
years to come.
I grab some pebbles and sediments and little rocks and put them in his mouth.
I step back and take a look at the crime scene. I go to Tracy and pick up the bullet casing
and use my knife to pick out the bullet from her skull. I stuff them in my pocket.
I'm covered in blood. No drops of it are my own. They didn't get a single hit on me.
I close the knife and put it in my pocket and put the gun in the waistband of my pants.
I shove my hands in my pockets and whistle all the way home.