Wordsmoker

Oh, they still came. They were everywhere he looked. Everywhere. They were on the streets, at the office, at the gym. In the rear-view in his car, he saw them walk backwards, caper, jump, point and scream. They hopped and scrabbled, babbling and moaning. Everywhere he went.

Everywhere.

The cop was the first. Fucking cop. He started it. Pointing and shouting

what? sidewalk?

at him. He looked closer, cocked his head to listen, couldn’t make out the language so he just stared. The words stopped suddenly when the cop saw his knife. That shut him up. He remembered the cop looking confused, not knowing whether to call for backup or draw his piece. In the seconds it took for him to decide, he’d already reached him and with one graceful motion, embedded the knife in his neck. Right to the hilt. There was a quick sensation of the blade passing through muscle

really, just like steak, rare

and a short diversion as it bounced off of bone

was that his spine?

but the journey was mostly unhindered.

He stood back and watched the blood arc in the quiet, crisp, evening air, the knife jutting out of the cop’s neck at an almost comical angle, his hands trying to grasp the handle to pull it out, but he was already too late. Way too late. The blood-flow slowed after a minute or so, the cop fell to his knees, the flow became a trickle and that strange whistling noise of the last breath

whsssssshssh

he would come to know and love. Yeah, the cop was the first. Days later, when all of his deeds became fully known to the media, he’d often think about the cop. How he whistled his last, stupid breath in front of him. How he dragged his corpse into the alley. How he stripped him of his uniform. How he stood over the cop’s still somehow surprised face. How he brought down his foot onto the cop’s open mouth, repeatedly, gleefully, breaking off as many teeth as he could with the heel of his shoe, the sound of the wet crunching becoming music to his ears. He remembered gathering up the uniform

could be useful

then pulling the knife out of the narrow wound

hairless cunt

then flipping the body over and joyfully ripping the cop a new asshole, slicing deep into his anus with the knife, widening it every way possible and then carefully, delicately placing the teeth in and around the gaping hole for whoever to find in the morning.

Ass munch.

It still made him giggle.

He’d gone home on automatic, grinning. Laundered the uniform, pressed it, made it look like new. Tried it on, smiled at the fit. A good fit. If the cap fits, as they say.

Tomorrow was Halloween after all – why not dress up?

Oh, and what a day Halloween was! This was the best one ever. Like, ever. All the papers, the TV, the radio. Cop slain this, cop slain that. The city got a real kick out of that, he bet. What a fucking jolt to the system. Everyone was so alert now! As he sat in his apartment, staring out the window, he could almost sense the current surging through everyone he saw walk by. His deed was on everyone’s lips, a real conversation starter – talk about breaking the ice at parties tonight!

He pondered his service to the community all day, sitting in his chair, wearing his new costume, rocking back and forth ever-so-slightly, waiting for night to fall.

The media either didn’t get his ass munch joke, or didn’t publicize it. Shame. He was pretty funny, and in 8th grade was known as a bit of a joker.

He still had plenty of jokes in him.

The city was beautiful. Again, clear, crisp, the leaves rustling in a gentle Fall breeze. He left his apartment and got down to work almost immediately. He passed some fucking hipster dressed as a bumblebee

a what

A fucking bumblebee? What was that about? Didn’t make any sense. That fucker got the knife in the back, right through a kidney probably. Dragged into the bushes and stripped. He sliced

carved

the flesh on his back, fucking hipster flesh, just under the skin. He tried as best he could to make decent-sized bee wings from what came away from the muscle and tendons, but it was a little ragged, and he was worried whoever found the hipster-bee wouldn’t get the joke. This made him angry, so he tried making antenna by gouging out the eyes without severing the optical nerves, leaving the eyeballs dangling from the sockets. Maybe too oblique. Fucking hipsters. He severed his right leg just below the knee to find out how difficult it was

turns out – pretty difficult

then left, bored. They were everywhere, anyway. The two slutty nurses he found, walking through the park, already drunk or high or whatever? Half an hour it took him to cut off their heads and switch them around. One was Latino, the other white. The contrast in skin tones fascinated him for a while, and he took ten minutes out of this surprisingly strenuous activity to stare at them and catch his breath.

Good work.

Ah, the night was young. Sirens began to fill the city air, bouncing from building to building, echoing down streets, enveloping him. Some old woman came up to him, asking for assistance for something. He wondered

why him?

then remembered the uniform. He stood and nodded, pretended to listen intently to her pleas, then got bored and sliced a couple of neat diagonals

I am Zorro!

across her face. Her mouth literally flapped now, and he giggled again.

It was getting chilly now. And his community work was making him thirsty. He’d never been the sort of guy you invited to a party, but now he could do with something strong inside him, just something to warm him up. Crossing the street, onto the next block, he heard music coming from a top floor apartment.

A party!

Of course, it had to be a fucking fifth-floor walk-up. Jesus H Fucking Christ.

He caught his breath again and stood outside the door. Muffled laughter and music from inside. It was maybe going on for midnight now, and that music could possibly be classed as a disturbance. People didn’t respect their neighbors any more. Well, a couple of raps from the handle of his knife on the door caught their attention. Shuffling and clicking. The door opened.

Well, what a swell party this was. Loud music, smoke in the air. Damn, he was having a great time. People loved

loved!

his costume.

Everything was a bit vague now. Man, that punch must’ve been strong, but he partied like he’d never partied before. A couple in the bedroom, underneath the coats, throats opened to new experiences. The girl in the bathroom? Wow, he almost pushed her head right through the medicine cabinet

Klonopin?

everywhere, mingling with gristle that was left of her face, one eye popped like a child’s balloon, leaking slowly onto the floor. The music, some goddamn fucking hip-hop nonsense, masked his intentions, covered the quickly-silenced screams and the sound of broken glass on tiles. There was a knock on the door

you gonna be long, bro?

Bro? Bro? He was no-one’s fucking “bro”.

He opened the bathroom door, slowly.

The Halloween party that no-one would ever forget was about to continue.