Okay, guys, public poll time. In the delirium of sleeplessness last night, I got an idea for a short story. A dark short story. Is this insane, or insanely genius? Or, worst of all, blase? I cant tell. Small, blue collar to mid class, suburban town somewhere. There is a group of cop buddies who basically dictate what is accepted on the community streets. All between 20 and 40, theyre your typical, douchey, ex-HS jocks. Not evil people, but a bit too reckless with their authority and being alpha-male, flashing their guns like its the old west. Because this town lacks a flow of exciting, hero-making crimes to bring to justice, their eagerness is channeled into being heavily armed daily. To them, a real man of the law, a real MAN, keeps his gun at the ready so you always have the upper hand. Almost every cop in town was like this, except one. He is quiet, a loner, an observer. Not attention grabbing like the others. They tease him mercilessly, bully him, really. Mostly because he refused to carry a gun. He didnt like using them, which prevented him from becoming a fully officialized policeman trained to respond to criminal activity. He preferred his sleek night stick, which he polished with a high gloss every night. To the others, he couldnt step it up and be a man, or even a real cop. He was a wimp who couldnt own his masculinity, and thats all hed ever be. He did the drudge work: manning the station service window or filing reports, zoning violations, occasionally issuing tickets. Necessary, but nothing involving high danger since he had only his stick and pepper spray. But the real reason he preferred his stick was because he had a secret fetish, an obsession, with the overwhelming exhilaration of bashing a persons skull to a pulp. Anyone who presented a challenge would do. Hes a hunter, not a Dexter. A carnal desire that he had long since given up fighting. With guns, you pull the lever, put 1 hole in their head, and theyre dead. By the strength of your puny finger. Enragingly anti-climactic. THIS guy was not a get in your face, small-dicked bully. He was an attack from behind, calculated chaos. Terrifying and obsessed with violence with a sinister night time hobby of destruction that breathes life into him, until he returns to being patronized as weak during the day. I dunno... is this insomnia vomit? Thoughts, please.
Posted on: Sat, 24 May 2014 03:43:31 +0000
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