Dear god! It’s… it’s a masterpiece! The perfect murder! And thanks to the shoddily run government, there won’t be any future reports! They’ve no money to examine the bodies further, muhuhaha! Ellington, you damn genius. What a foolhardy move he pulled. And yet, it has served me wonderfully. Well, perhaps the Asian man didn’t need to take a knife to the gut, but casualties of war are to be expected.
I’m off scot-free! And as an added bonus, you wouldn’t believe it! Another incredible turn of events. One I’m actually happy to see. Apparently this has caused quite a stir in the community. The old biddies are concerned for their safety. Old bags and worrying mothers the city over are rallying behind a cause to revoke the release-a-con program! Terrific! Yes, blame those filthy degenerates. These vile scheming rodents who plague society to no end! The square nosed, tattooed, alcoholic and morally depraved scumbags must be stopped! I have never seen a more iniquitous or perverted man than Lionel Ducard. And I’m sure the thousands like him are no better! Lock up the odious miscreants and throw away the key! Imprisonment! Execution! Whatever it takes! Dispose of the rotten, shameful, villainous rabble!
AFTERMATH
A man plots to murder his boss one day… the reason is completely absurd. A clanking glass bowl? The story is so unbelievable that no true crime collection will include it in their pages. The murderer cackles gleefully to himself…
The beautiful Natasha is walking down the hall. Her hair is flowing freely, as if being blown by a heavenly breeze. She’s wearing a blood red blouse and short black skirt. It’s exhilarating. Intoxicating. Besotting. I assume she will continue walking by, ignoring me completely as always… but that’s not what happens.
She does something entirely uncharacteristic. Natasha stops. Not only that, but she stares me straight in the eye – like a tiger observing its prey. There’s a condemning look on her face as if she knows what I’ve done. Yet, I’m certain she couldn’t possibly. My tracks are covered. There is no trail. Perhaps she suspects? Oh well, it doesn’t matter now. All the players have been taken care of. Death befell all those who deserved its final judgment.
As far as the goon squad goes? Well, Ellington Fairfield hasn’t breathed a word about our adventure to anyone. And I’m sure it will remain as such. He is a new man. With Wilmer out of the picture the ol’ paranoid nut has nothing to fear anymore. Except for Percy Sullivan’s new partner… that’s for another story.
Fatheaded water jug man, Todd Storton, completely forgot about the errand I had him run. The beautiful but vapid Georgia has effectively erased his memory (what little he had to begin with). This was a most unseen, yet fortuitous event. I couldn’t have planned it any better.
Percy Sullivan informed me he’d be taking on a new partner – some new guy coming in tomorrow. I met him once, nothing to rave about… This means my position will be evaluated and the decision of whether to keep me on or not lies solely in their unscrupulous hands. I couldn’t care less at this point. I’ve committed the perfect murder. Nothing can bring me down off this high. Go ahead and try. But be careful, you might just end up being my next victim!
Sexkitten69 sends me a message. She’s requesting a game. I accept, lean back in my chair and begin to play. A perfect day. My opponent sends out another a message. However, before I am able to read her comment… a strange thing happens. I hear a noise. Clip-Click. Clip-Clack. Clip-Click.
It’s a sharp, piercing, and continuous sound. Like daggers being stabbed into my ears.
Clip-clack. Clip-click.
My head throbs from the pain. The desk and room become blurry. I can’t even see the monitor screen any longer. Not again… What is this infernal racket! Where is it coming from!
A flash of motion catches my attention. I throw my glance upwards – and what I see makes no sense. It is merely Natasha sashaying her way through the hall. The hellish sound seems to coincide with her footsteps. Each time her foot lands, there is a distinct Clip! and when the next foot hits the floor I hear a Click! or a Clack! She passes by the office door, as I unknowingly shift my gaze to her feet. There’s a pair of red high heeled shoes on them.
Clip-clack. Clip-click.
The End…
The Author
Draven Madpen… The maniacal man of madness, the moonlit masterpiece, the merry melodist… and every other exaggerated superlative heaped upon his unbefitting, yet terribly endearing and modest mind.
Author by day, unapologetic dimwit at all hours, and megalomaniacal scribbler when the full moon rises. As a child, his school principal characterized him as a boy “complacently stupid and absurdly overweight.” Not much has changed since then.
Draven Madpen graduated with honors from the esteemed, world renowned Picayune University. He holds a degree in idling, a master’s in procrastination, and is currently attempting to establish himself as a fulltime loafer. Mr. Madpen fancies the thrilling, psychological things of this world. He has been labeled a master of the mental workings (despite his own meager intelligence). It’s rumored that Draven has also uttered an insightful thought now and then (although, his mother has always passionately denied this claim).
An irreverent author of the lowest order is Mr. Madpen. He lives his life according to a single maxim, “And remember children, the goofier your hair is the better you’ll write.”
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CLANK: A Book of Madness (Psychological Satire Novel) Unsettled Office Worker Loses the Last Screw Page 22
