Wednesday, November 20, 2013

Lights Out--Fiction

“Then the lights went out.” 

Giggling, Conrad gave Mrs. Hardy one more whack with his hammer before he paused for a breath.   His crisp white Oxford shirt was spattered and stained with blood, but he found a clean portion of his sleeve and wiped some of the gore off of his face.  Conrad felt a little sad that this shirt was ruined; he was having so much fun, and he wanted to preserve the moment somehow. 

He danced around the room, twirling and laughing, the hammer in his hand flicking bits of brain onto the leather furniture of Mr. Farnsworth's office.  He had never felt so free!  All of his burdens, all of his stress, had vanished the moment that hammer had cracked Mr. Farnsworth's temple.  The old man never saw it coming; he was too busy firing Conrad for complaining about his wages.  But Mrs. Hardy saw everything.  Mrs. Hardy screamed and screamed, but Conrad was sure that was only because her perfectly fake face was covering in the remains of Mr. Farnsworth's head. Girls were silly about things like blood spatter, Conrad knew.  He hit her with the hammer to shut her up, and was delighted when her skull exploded like a ripe cantaloupe. He hit her again and again, giggling and laughing with sheer joy, a child long denied splashing around in a puddle.

Conrad knew that his euphoria wouldn't last.  He knew that he was going to prison, probably to the gas chamber.

"And then the lights went out!" he cackled.

He had not one excuse for what he had done, was doing. It wasn't even his hammer--he'd grabbed it off of Bob's bench on his way to see Farnsworth. It was entirely possible that maybe he had gone crazy.  But while this feeling lasted, Conrad was determined to enjoy himself.  Carpe diem, as they say. Humming, he picked up the phone, dialed an extension.

"Mr. Crosby? Mr. Farnsworth would like to see you immediately in his office." Conrad hung up the phone, plopping down in Mr. Farnsworth's chair and spinning about.

"Then the lights will go out for you, Mr. Crosby!"

Yeah, I don't know where this came from, but the Muse said write it down, and you do what the Muse says or else.


  1. The rest I can excuse, but the stolen hammer? Love the twist at the end!

    1. I know, right? You'd think he could bring his own hammer to the massacre...

  2. Dude. That guy is creepy as all hell. I find it so interesting that he is quite aware of the consequences of his actions, and yet he still calls up Mr. Crosby to continue the massacre (and who is Mr. Crosby? why does he get a hammer to the skull?).

    1. I suppose that he figures that he's going to prison, he may as well get it all out of his system. Thank you for reading--I really appreciate it!

  3. The contrast of the maniacal laughter and the cool understanding of the consequences is a great touch.

  4. I love that he's celebrating his crazy. Yes, carpe diem indeed! And those muses can be a bit quirky, yes?


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