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Friday, October 28, 2005
Not your average 4.20

Copyright 2005 by Jeff Vickers

This story is a bit beyond my normal fare. Some people may find the contents disturbing and morbidly graphic. Read on at your own risk.

Thank you.
Through the darkness of the night forest, trees barely visible through the light blue moonlight, shone two erratic, yellow lights, moving through the trees. The lights were accompanied by giggles and laughs of four men, seemingly enjoying each other's company. Soon the four reached a clearing in the woods, and settled around a circle of twelve rocks, in the center the ashes of a bonfire once lit there.

The four men quickly gathered dead branches, some wood, and set up the wood to create an open pit fire in the clearing. Charlie lit the fire, which became fully ablaze almost immediately. Ian reached into his knapsack, pulling out a bong, fashioned as a ceramic alien head, whose all black eyes were bloodshot, and forehead tattooed with a marijuana leaf. Dougall and Marcus smiled at each other, eager to toke off the highly creative bong.

Ian looked at his watch. "It's time" he remarked, as he lit the already prepared smoking machine, and took a hit, holding it in until he half coughed and half laughed out the cloud of smoke.

"Ere." Ian paused, with a big grin crossing his face. "I can't remember the last time we celebrated such a holy day."

"Uh, isn't that holiday? I don't think God would consider the pot-smoker's holiday terribly holy" remarked Dougall.

"Meh. It's holy for us. NOTHING is more sacred" Ian rebutted. The four friends continued to smoke until they had finished all the weed, and the group was good and baked.

Still standing, and laughing for a virtual eternity in their reverie, Ian glanced at his watch. "Shit, I've got to be at work in an hour."

"Couldn't you get the day off?" inquired Marcus.

"Not a chance. You know what they say, all work and no play..."

"Makes Jack Nicholson a schitzophrenic killer."

The four men laughed. Ian said his goodbyes, to which Charlie added, "I'll be back. I have to ten-one."

Ian and Charlie disappeared in opposite directions, leaving Marcus and Dougall still joking amongst each other. "Do you think it's a surprise that Charlie is still single?" joked Dougall.

"Hell, if it wasn't for us taking him to that rub-n-tug, I'd doubt he'd ever lose his virginity."

Charlie slowly appeared, partially hidden by the foliage, staring at the two men joking at his expense. He slowly approached, and as he came within earshot, he suddenly froze, his eyes, hard and cold, pierced through the two jokers.

"Why do we even hang out with him?" chuckled Dougall.

"'Cuz he's got the herb, man." replied Marcus.

Still in the bushes, Charlie's cold, piercing blue eyes started to glow a straw orange, the same colour as the fire. The more he listened, a voice started echoing quietly in his head. "Strike in anger" it repeated, over and over. Charlie's body became so rigid that it began to tremble, quiver, and quake all at once. His unblinking eyelid began to flutter a little bit, and there was a twitch to his upper lip.

"What a failure Charlie is" bellowed Dougall in fits of laughter. The voice uttering "Strike in anger" screamed in Charlie's head, and his rigidity snapped. From underneath his shirt and trousers, Charlie drew a Tanto, and sprinted with all his fury directly at Dougall and Marcus. Before the pair could make any kind of move, Charlie started impaling the knife repeatedly, violently, into the chest of both his victims. The assault continued, the rage grew, the blood poured faster, and Charlie grinned sardonically over top of his prey.

Then silence. Charlie stood over his prizes, butchered, and breathing quite labouriously. Charlie raised his Tanto, and drove it up the neck and into the brains of both of his victims.

Daylight broke over the clearing, the fire burned out, the singing of birds mellowing the eerie air. Officer Dana Johnson enters the clearing, looks around, and then stops. She finds herself staring at Dougall and Marcus, their heads impaled on spikes, blood still flowing down the pikes to the ground.

"Oh my God" remarked Dana, as she half keeled over, trying to avoid the power of her nausea overtaking her. Before she could lift herself back up, she felt the slash of a Katana through her midsection. She turned around to see Ian, eyes piercing and aglow the same straw orange, right before she fell to the ground, torso separate from legs. From the bush rose Charlie, brandishing the bloodied Katana, grinning sardonically.

"I have nothing left to teach you, my pupil" gloated Ian, tapping Charlie's shoulder in pride.
neolithic pondered at 21:21
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