Bump for Machine.
Insanity.
Some call it a disease, detrimental to society. It's my life.
Walking into the nearest hardware store, looking for a new belt sander, I notice the man behind the counter. Small and withering, like the leaves in the fall. His life is of no consequence to me.
I ask him for his opinion on a double sided axe that I found near the register.
"That's our finest model there....."
The blade penetrates his skull, a dull thud eminates, and I'm left standing there, holding the handle in my hand, staring at his dead body. Cheap axe, the man selling it deserved to die, trying to sell a piece of shit as if it were gold. I steal his money and his scalp, stuff them both in my toolbelt and leave.
When empathy, compassion, and love leave, they're replaced with something more powerful.
Hate.
Getting into my late 70's model Monza, I see a scratch on my door. The paint is red. The car next to me is red. It could be a coincidence, but I don't care. Justice must be served.
A lady carrying bags of groceries walks to the car, puts the keys in, but is interrupted.
"Excuse me miss, I think you dropped this"
"But that's a rusty shuriken. And you just pulled it from your toolb...."
I slash her throat, tear her shirt off, and cut her abdomen open. Not knowing what to do next, I begin to worry. I start to shove my fists into her now opened midsection, hoping to grab a hold of something, anything. I feel a kidney. I start to punch at it. All the while she's moaning, almost orgasmically. I feel, for the first time ever, a bit of regret. It passes in 1.54 seconds. I reach into her bag, grab a can of coffee and smash her face into a heap of mush.
An old lady and her husband approach.
I ask them to leave politely. They don't listen, their curiosity will be the end of them.
As they observe my handiwork, I go to my car and turn on some music.
King of Pain.
Coming from my monstrous system consisting of a 30 watt amp and 1 6x9, they get nervous and begin to walk away, their brittle bones not allowing for a quick getaway.
I had brought a cordless drill with me today.
I get in front of the old woman and drill a hole into her skull. She falls to the ground, the mix of shock and massive head trauma surprising her. The old man begins to flail at me. I grab his cane and shove it into his spine, sending him to the asphalt. Looking down at him, I feel another strange feeling.
Sympathy.
I check myself, amazed at this new sensation.
Not for long.
I grab my butterfly knife and cut his shoulders and elbows to the bone. I then obtained his breathing tube and shoved it into one of his wounds. Using the tank of helium I always bring with me, I managed to attach it to the tubes and force some of the noble gas into his wounds. He is dead now. I think.
I want to be sure, so I get in my car and run him over 6 times.
Hearing the sirens, I pack up my things and go.
I long to be normal, maybe a plumber or a doctor, but not in this lifetime. For now I have to settle. Settle on being a deranged sheep herder with an opium/alcohol addiction and a little shanty town in the middle of nowhere.
Always look on the bright side of life.
Do do, do do do do do do.
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