His name was Brad. He was the prick at work that everybody hated. Well, to say what I see as a cliché, hate is a strong word. Jokes behind his back, his arrogant attitude and know it all manner. In all truth, it wasn't even that. It was how you could let it go, try to give him a chance and get along with him, then get screwed over at the earliest convenient moment. Whatever he could do to get over on somebody, he would do it. So I simply returned the favor.
As a general rule, you don't do people from work. That concept can take many forms, but I felt this one was justified. I knew his route home. That was not hard to figure out, the address was on his paystub that I would sometimes distribute. One night I put a few nails under his tires so when he backed out of his parking space, they would penetrate. I was waiting on a dirt road with my lights out. He passed by and I waited a few minutes, then pulled out. It was only a few miles before I saw the emergency lights reflecting off a dark, unlit road.
The lights blinded him and they concealed my identity. He spun the back wheel to loosen the next lug nut. Raising his hands up in front of his eyes, he couldn't make out my face. It didn't really matter, he wouldn't be able to tell anyone. My heart began to beat faster. I normally enjoy special moments like this with women, but there was a very prominent, vile anger that begin to rise in my chest as I approached him.
I imagined his internal conversation as he had jerked so many people around. I could hear his simple minded rationalization about how this was just the way of the world, how he had to be. How he had to do others before they did him. All that bs. It angered me more. No one has to be anything to make a living, they just have to show up and try. It might not be permanent and life is unexpected, but trying gets you a long way.
He said something in an annoyed tone and it turned my sight red against the darkness of the night. I produced my stun gun as I came closer and he froze. By this point I was only a few feet away. Whether he knew what was coming, I didn't know or care. Shoving the gun into his neck and pushing the switch, he fell back to the ground and tried to resist, but it was pointless. Just like his existence.
After about a minute, I let go. He attempted to get up, but fell back, weakened by the shock. I wore nitrile gloves, not rubber. You never know when someone might have an allergic reaction. Placing my hands on the sides of his head, I began to push my thumbs into his eye sockets. He thrashed with what energy he had left, but it was not enough. I kept pushing. One eyeball slid under my thumb and the other to the right. That didn't stop me, I just went deeper. Even though I wasn't punching him, I felt the power that one feels when they have a person on the ground after a fair fight and keeps on pounding. To beat them unmercifully for ever trying to attack or harm. He would not get up.
The twitching stopped. I sat beside him for a moment, then got up and lifted his body into the driver side seat. Pouring gasoline over him and the interior, I stepped back and looked at the simple menace that would never be again and smiled. This is deserving.
Looking back in my rear view, the flames licked the night air. Of course, they would realize that this wasn't an accident. They would question everyone, but I have always been exceptional at playing innocent. A small inconvenience to pay for this justice. He burned and I laughed all the way home.
The lights blinded him and they concealed my identity. He spun the back wheel to loosen the next lug nut. Raising his hands up in front of his eyes, he couldn't make out my face. It didn't really matter, he wouldn't be able to tell anyone. My heart began to beat faster. I normally enjoy special moments like this with women, but there was a very prominent, vile anger that begin to rise in my chest as I approached him.
I imagined his internal conversation as he had jerked so many people around. I could hear his simple minded rationalization about how this was just the way of the world, how he had to be. How he had to do others before they did him. All that bs. It angered me more. No one has to be anything to make a living, they just have to show up and try. It might not be permanent and life is unexpected, but trying gets you a long way.
He said something in an annoyed tone and it turned my sight red against the darkness of the night. I produced my stun gun as I came closer and he froze. By this point I was only a few feet away. Whether he knew what was coming, I didn't know or care. Shoving the gun into his neck and pushing the switch, he fell back to the ground and tried to resist, but it was pointless. Just like his existence.
After about a minute, I let go. He attempted to get up, but fell back, weakened by the shock. I wore nitrile gloves, not rubber. You never know when someone might have an allergic reaction. Placing my hands on the sides of his head, I began to push my thumbs into his eye sockets. He thrashed with what energy he had left, but it was not enough. I kept pushing. One eyeball slid under my thumb and the other to the right. That didn't stop me, I just went deeper. Even though I wasn't punching him, I felt the power that one feels when they have a person on the ground after a fair fight and keeps on pounding. To beat them unmercifully for ever trying to attack or harm. He would not get up.
The twitching stopped. I sat beside him for a moment, then got up and lifted his body into the driver side seat. Pouring gasoline over him and the interior, I stepped back and looked at the simple menace that would never be again and smiled. This is deserving.
Looking back in my rear view, the flames licked the night air. Of course, they would realize that this wasn't an accident. They would question everyone, but I have always been exceptional at playing innocent. A small inconvenience to pay for this justice. He burned and I laughed all the way home.
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