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Literate Freaks

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Television [Feb. 10th, 2006|06:40 pm]
Literate Freaks
literate_freaks
[jcdangerously]
What follows below is a silly story that I jotted down while terminally bored at work. It was originally posted as an entry in a contest on a humor website. It's also x-posted from my own journal. It's meant to be tongue-in-cheek humor. However, unless you are familiar with the antagonist, you may find it a bit confusing. The unintentional humor he creates as host of a popular t.v. show was the inspiration behind the post. Here's hoping you enjoy it.


It's a little after midnight, and i'm pacing nervously across my living room. I know i've done something very wrong, and it's so horrible that my soul is cold with fear. Every time I focus my thoughts on what could be making me feel this way, it slips out of my grasp as elusively as a fox. The thunderous ticking of the clock interrupts my concentration, and as I cast a glance over to the table it sits on, I see it. My breath catches in my throat as I observe cold steel, a huge barrel. "I hate guns," I think to myself "Why is there a gun on my kitchen table?" I walk over and pick it up, and I find that I enjoy the heft of it. Somehow, it feels right in my hand, as if it's an extension of my body. I'm inspecting it with the careless eye of someone who has no love for firearms, when I hear a familiar voice in my head.

"I know what you're thinking. "Did he fire six shots or only five?" Well, to tell you the truth, in all this excitement I kind of lost track myself. But being as this is a .44 Magnum, the most powerful handgun in the world, and would blow your head clean off, you've got to ask yourself a question: Do I feel lucky?....Well, do ya punk?"

A bead of sweat rolls down my forehead and I hold my breath as I release the cylinder. There are five rounds, and one is missing. I don't have long to ponder this. My electricity goes out, and i'm cast into complete darkness. Without the ticking of the clock, the silence seems oppressive. It weighs heavily on my chest as I walk toward my front door. "Surely the whole neighborhood can't have lost power." I reassure myself, as I unlatch the deadbolt. Before i've gotten the door halfway open, i'm completely blinded by an intense white light. Bewildered, I shield my eyes with my hand. The hand with the magnum in it. An electronically intensified voice thunders across my front yard. "Drop the weapon! Do exactly what I say, and we won't have to open fire!"

My reflexes prove that they are quicker than the speed of rational thought, and I slam the door with a noise that sounds like a guillotine. I'm sweating now, gasping for breath as I slump against the wall. Why can't I remember where I was earlier tonight? What am I doing with this gun? God, if you're out there, please take mercy on my soul. I don't remember. God, I don't remember. I feel as if i'm losing my mind. I dash over to the phone and slam it into my ear hard enough to make me see stars. There is no dial tone. "Oh, Shit." the expletive escapes my lips and hangs in the darkness, heavy and malignant like a tumor or an oil slick.

There's a thunderous crash, and time slows down to a crawl. My front door bursts open, pieces of wood and siding spinning through the air like shrapnel. I see a man enter my living room, flashlight and gun pointed straight at me. He looks oddly familiar, as if we've met once before. Greyish hair, triumphant sneer overshadowed only by his alert, hawkish eyes. He opens his mouth to yell something, but it's far too late. I lift the gun carelessly in his direction, my primal instincts taking over. As I prepare to ventilate this intruder, his eyes narrow. The barrel of his police issue glock spits fire, and I feel an impact on my chest. It's like being hit on the sternum with a hammer, only there is no pain. I feel wetness on my hands, my face, and my chest, but most of all, I feel peace. I collapse to the ground, and as I wait for the reaper's caress, I feel another violent impact, this time across my face.

I wake up on my couch. I'm completely bewildered, and i'm covered in cold water. The t.v. is blaring noisily in the background, and my roommate is standing beside me with a murderous look on his face. "You were yelling in your sleep, asshole." he grumbles. He turns and walks away as I rub my eyes sleepily and glance back at the television. There, on the screen, is the face of my nemesis. The one that had ended my life moments earlier.

Never again will I fall asleep watching World's Wildest Police videos.

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Comments:
[User Picture]From: scarybaldguy
2006-02-11 12:00 am (UTC)
I see from your user info that you're a friend of Blop. Knowing that, the tone and content of this piece don't surprise me at all.

This is, by the way, a Good Thing.
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