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Fucked Up College Kids File 422
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= F.U.C.K. - Fucked Up College Kids - Born Jan. 24th, 1993 - F.U.C.K. =
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Random Acts of Kindness
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I like guns. I don't know much about them, though. I couldn't even tell
you what type of gun I am holding. All I know is that it is a rifle.
With a laser scope of course. The best someone else's life could buy.
I went to the gun shop yesterday. I walked up and down the glass cases
admiring the glint and shine off of the polished metal that lined the red
satin shelf lining. An ironic juxtaposition of color if you ask me. I
asked the old fat man behind the counter what he would recommend for a
high powered long range rifle. He spewed numbers and brand names out of
his pathetic mouth. I don't care. Show me one. What price range am I
looking for? The best. The fucking best. He cringed at my choice of
words and moved to the back of the store. He brought out the gun that I
am cradling in my arms now. It was pretty. I liked it. Only $3500 and
it would be mine. What about the ammunition? Expensive as well. I'll
take 100 rounds. He got them. He put them on the counter. Can I see
your ID was all he said. I didn't like that question. I didn't like him.
So I shot him in the head.
The amount of blood and flesh that shot against the back wall was
interesting. I wanted to know what his fat ass ate for lunch, so I
looked. Even though I knew that I would see nothing because it was his
soul that was splattered against the glass, not his stomach. I chuckled.
That's okay. No big deal. I took the rifle and ammunition and left the
store. I felt good. I felt alive. I don't think that gun shop's owner
was feeling very alive.
I bet you are wondering what I shot him with. I don't know. I told you,
I don't know anything about guns. I know how to load them and shoot them.
That is it. It was a small pistol. I took it off of some nigger gangster
that I killed the other day. I don't like nigger gangsters, they bother
me. He was walking down an alley downtown last weekend. He didn't even
see it coming. That's okay. All I needed was his gun. He should have
just given it to me, but alas no one really thinks about stuff like that.
It has served its purpose.
After I left that gun shop I got on the bus. A big Greyhound style bus.
It was leaving the town where I live and was making a stop about 45 miles
away in this moderately sized plains town. It smelled like cow shit when
I arrived at my destination. I choose this particular town for my journey
because it had a cool name on the map. I knew it was perfect.
The bank building was the only structure in town that was over 3 stories.
It was 15. A big building by that town's standards. It loomed over the
entire city like a giant guardian. If only they knew. I chucked silently
as I sat on the bus bench looking at it. I amuse myself.
Perhaps you are wondering why I am here, in this quaint little backwards
city. I saw a bumper sticker the other day. It said something along the
lines of "Practice random acts of kindness and senseless acts of beauty."
I liked it. I want to do that. It would be nice to contribute to society
in such a way. My new rifle is beautiful, and it is kind too. It's name
is Senseless. I named it after that bumper sticker.
I took my bag and headed for the bank. When I got there I opened the door
for some lady and her child who was whining about getting a lollipop from
the teller. I gritted my teeth and smiled a twisted fake smile. I walked
to the elevator and pushed the up button. Inside I was alone. I like
being alone. When I am alone my only enemy is my thoughts. I can deal
with them though. Not much else. I got to the top floor and hit the
stairwell. Roof access was very easy to come by, I recall. Just a little
hinged plate at the top of the stairs.
And that brings us back to now. With me, and my rifle, on the building
overlooking the town. The police station, the city park, the bank's drive
through, a local high school, and what appeared to be the town hangout for
the teenagers of the city, a small coffee shop looms before me. How
quaint. This town should be in a Rockwell painting or some other happy
sappy bullshit.
I take out Senseless and caringly load the chamber with the first of one
hundred rounds. It is a semi-automatic rifle, so I load several more
rounds into the clip. I caress the stock and barrel and admire the
perfection of my new friend. Scanning the scene before me I spot several
police officers bullshitting around a cruiser. I hate police. I got a
ticket once and it made me angry. I decide to start my random acts of
kindness with them. I was going to shoot them and put them out of their
ignorance and misery. That would be kind to them. That would be kind to
everyone who gets tickets. I am excited. I love my new feeling of
goodness and kindness and love that I embrace. I am ready to do
something.
Pop. Pop Pop Pop. Pop Pop. Pop. I admire the smoothness of the action
as several bullets escape from their metal prisons. It is amazingly
quiet. I watch as the entire group of pigs disappear in a hazy red cloud
of blood and gore. No one notices. No one cares. They just go on with
their lives. I am pleased. Drawing a crowd or a panic would make my plan
harder to complete. But then again, they were just cops, so who would
have really expected anything?
It feels good, damn good. I really like the life that is pulsing through
my veins. I am addicted; addicted like never before in my life. I look
down at my hands expecting to see the blood that I imagine should be
there. There is nothing at all. Just the pure white flesh of my worn
hands. I embrace the rifle and clench the clip with my hand. It is warm
to the touch. Not the cold hard steel that was before, but warm and
alive. It is alive now. I gave it life and meaning and existence just
like it gave me the same. I exhale and feel my pounding heart deep within
my chest. I take out more rounds from the box in my bag. I gently kiss
each one as I slide them into the clip. There. I am ready.
I hear a slight commotion below by the police station. They have
discovered the torn corpses of the police officers. There is shouting. I
must be very quick. I line up a teenager standing in dirty pants with a
skateboard by the coffee shop. I smirk as he notices the red dot on his
chest. Pop. That red dot transforms into a massive red hole, enlarged
and vibrant. He falls to the ground. Screams are everywhere as people
are falling to the ground in fear. Silly people, I am above you. That
just makes you better targets. Pop Pop Pop. Three more of the skater's
buddies join him. Pop Pop. A yuppie with his cell phone and his laptop
ceases to exist. So does his precious laptop. It flies through the air
in a comical flight routine and smashes on the concrete.
I swing my rifle around, farther down the small strip mall where the
coffee shop is built. I see a liquor store. I can clearly make out the
man behind the counter looking out the window at the commotion. He
probably wants to see my ID. I don't like that. Pop. Glass shatters and
his head snaps back grotesquely. There's my ID, mother fucker.
Bang! Concrete snaps off of the lip of the roof near me. I close my eyes
and grasp my head. The rifle falls from my grasp onto the roof. I have
been spotted. Police are shooting at me from the station. I duck down.
I must be careful now. People don't like me. I grab Senseless and move
to the opposite side of the roof, putting a large ventilation structure
between me and their line of sight. I reload the rifle. I stand up again
and look over the edge. I see the park. People are running and
screaming, hiding behind trees and under benches. It reminds me of a game
I used to play as a little kid. There was this rifle arcade game where
you shot the ducks and geese and deer as they ran across the screen. It
was very reminiscent of those carnival games. This was a lot like that, I
thought. I shot. A man with a briefcase fell to the ground and clutched
his shattered knee. I shot his hand. I began shooting at the multitudes
of pigeons that scattered the park. Nobody likes pigeons. Perhaps they
will be happy if I kill them.
I move to the side of the roof facing the main street. I take aim at
cars and trucks and began shattering windows and destroying tires. I bet
frogger would have liked to have me on his side when he was trying to
cross that street. I think he would have liked what I was doing. I keep
pulling the trigger even though I hear that I am out of ammunition. My
mind races as I hear people coming up the stairs to the roof. I have a
feeling that my game is over, at least for now. I go over to the hatch in
the floor and watch as it slowly raises, revealing several very cautious
policemen scouting the scene.
They see me, holding the rifle with a twisted smile on my face. They
begin yelling at me to drop the gun. They think that they have caught me.
They want to stop me from having fun, from being kind, from feeling alive
and existing. I can't do that. I won't let them stop me. I scream at
the top of my lungs. What it is I scream even I can't understand. It is
earsplitting and takes all of my energy to sustain. I stop and hear
shots, so I run to the side of the roof. I scream again, louder this
time.
I have a secret. They don't know it. I will escape to live another day.
Now that I have found that which makes me alive. I will get away. They
can't stop me. They won't stop me. I hate them. They want me dead.
They don't want me to experience my new life and vitality and existence.
No! NO! NOO! They won't! Hahahahahaha! I laugh insanely. They don't
know my secret. They can't hurt me. You know why?
Because I can fly...
.: illusionary:. .: illusion@cyberrock.com :.
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