Man and a masacre (NSFW( (1799 hits)
Category: NoneRating: -0.19 on 36 reviews (Rate this item) (V)
Submitted by JesterLilt (View user info) at 2008-06-14 17:47:11 EDT
Why are these fuckwits looking at me? What the fuck do they want? I wish they'd all just fucking die! I fucking hate them all. Bunch of fucking losers, fucking shopping, fucking buying shit, fucking walking down the street, fucking walking their dogs, fucking fucked up retards, I hate them, every last fucking one of them.
Fuck it, I'm going to buy a fucking gun today... I'm going to buy lots of rounds and I am... I fucking swear to God... I am going to pump every last pompous ass on this street full of so many bullets, their coffins will rattle when their stupid fucked up brainless fuckwit relatives come to bury them.
Wait a minute, just hang on one minute and think man...
I know a policeman...
He used to be a soldier...
He owns a lot of big fuck off guns...
He keeps them in a gun cabinet...
And I know where to find the key....
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Martin turned away from the busy street; he replaced his woolly hat on his head and headed in the direction of his friend the policeman's house. It wasn't a long walk, only a few miles and Martin believed every step would be worth the outcome. It was late night shopping tonight, the perfect time to put his plan into action. His friend James, the policeman should be working. James had no family to speak of and lived by himself.
He strolled leisurely up to James's front door. A perfectly ordinary house situated fifteen minutes walk from the town centre with a neatly trimmed lawn, a nicely edged garden path, a brass door knocker and letterbox; not in keeping with the contents of the house.
Why does a guy with a house full of fucking guns keep a key to his front door in a shed? Stupid fucking cunt...
Tools hung on the walls dangling neatly from nails hammered into the wood. A pile of sawdust had been swept into a corner probably from a job recently completed. Martin headed for an empty flowerpot in the corner, dipped his hand in and pulled out a set of house keys. He smiled as he walked back to the front door to let himself into the house.
With every step his pulse was quickening with excitement. He'd never seen James's store but he'd heard him talk of it. He had a feeling he wouldn't be disappointed. He moved into the attic and to the middle of the floor. Kneeling down he lifted a loose floor board and pulled another set of keys out.
Jackpot!
James's gun store was kept on the ground floor in a room tucked into the back of the house. Martin climbed out of the attic, back down the stairs and unlocked the door to reveal the room of his dreams.
Rifles, handguns and shotguns lined every wall.
So many to choose from!
Martin pulled a MAG-7 shotgun from the wall. All the weapons were treasured objects, each impeccably maintained and lightly lubricated. Their working parts glided like silk.
Well, this baby will do me if any fucker gets too close.
Martin grabbed a magazine, loaded it with five rounds and slotted it into the pistol grip of the shotgun. He placed the remainder of the ammo box in the middle of the table as he began scanning the walls for his next steal.
Long distance... I have no intention letting these cunts get too close. I need something with a sight, something I can shoot from a distance...
Martin plucked a M24A2 sniper rifle from the wall rocking it back and fourth in his arms like his favourite childhood teddy bear. A bolt action sniper rifle accurate over 800 m again with a 5 round magazine. As with the shotgun, he collected the required ammo, loaded the magazine placing the remainder of the ammo box in the middle of the table. He found the case for the sniper rifle, disassembled it, gently placing the parts inside and the case on the table next to the ammo.
Martin also added a Kel-Tec P-11 semi-automatic pistol to the collection, magazine, 9 mm ammunition and a Bowie hunting knife. All were placed on the table. Martin smiled very pleased at his spoils.
Now all was needed was to rectify his attire. Faded jeans and a scruffy jumper given to him by his mother several Christmas' previously was hardly the kind of thing a would-be assassin such as himself should be killing in. He looked around the room once more and saw a locker in the shadows in the corner. He tested the door... unlocked... he looked inside.
Some PLCE webbing, combat trousers, jackets a black balaclava with only eye and mouth slots and even camouflage cream. A camouflage rucksack sat empty on the floor. Quickly he scooped up a jacket, trousers, the balaclava, camouflage cream, PLCE and rucksack and deposited them on the table. He neatly packed the clothing, camouflage cream, the shotgun, ammunition and knife into the rucksack. He could carry the sniper rifle in its case because it was discreet and was not suspicious.
He locked the door to the gun room, deposited the key back in the attic and left the house remembering also to lock up and leave the house key back where he found it in the shed. Confident and pleased with himself he began to walk back to the town centre.
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He decided to take a route back through a public park. It was a summer's night, the sun was just setting and dew was beginning to form on the grass and other foliage. The trainers on his feet were made of material and the moisture was just beginning to seep through and wet his socks.
A young girl sat on a bench in the park. She was just packing up for the day placing the book she had finished with because the light was failing back in her backpack. Martin paused behind a tree to look on in curiosity. He admired the girl from a distance; her dark ponytail tied tightly, high at the back of her head. Her fringe, slightly too long brushed to the side to keep it out of her eyes. She wore tight jeans, sculpting her petite thighs and small hips. Martin had begun to rub himself aroused as he watched.
I do not want her to get away. I want her! I want to fuck the little tart. Why not start the evening here with a warm up. I may as well take some enjoyment for myself, I should enjoy the opportunity.
An abandoned shed lay approximately 100 m behind the bench.
If I can get her there without her screaming then nobody will hear nor see anything, no chance of being interrupted if the dumb whore is silent. Serves her right being out in the park by herself. She fucking deserves this, if it wasn't me, it would be some fucker else!
Martin reached down for his trainers. He pulled them off placing one in his backpack and pulling the lace from the other. He kept the lace and deposited the other trainer in his rucksack. He removed his socks, keeping one and placing the other in his rucksack. In bare feet he crept around the trees and silently up behind the girl sitting on the bench. She was relaxed, taking one last moment of enjoyment from her surroundings before she retired home for the night.
With one swift motion he grabbed her ponytail yanking her head back, he shoved the sock deep into the back of her throat preventing her from screaming and then grabbed her hands before she had a chance to yank the sock out and scream. He released her ponytail and used the lace the bind her hands tightly behind her back, pushing her forward so that her head was between her legs. He pulled her off the bench dragging her towards the abandoned shed.
"Struggle and I'll fucking slit your throat you stupid fucking whore. Behave yourself and I might just let you go," he whispered malevolently in her ear.
The girl froze with fear. The shed smelled of urine. It was obvious that it was used probably at night by junkies looking for a place to shoot up and by homeless vagrants wandering the park. It was perfect; no curious member of the public would wander off the path to investigate.
I'm going to fuck this little bitch so fucking hard! She's going to feel my cock still inside her when she's standing at the pearly gates of heaven begging forgiveness for her whore crimes!
He pushed her face first onto the ground rubbing her face in a pissy smelling rag. Pushing her hands into the small of her back he tore at her skin tight jeans also ripping her thong from her tight buttocks. He wrestled with his own jeans unzipping them enough to slip his cock out through his boxer shorts. He prised her legs apart first inserting his fingers to moisten the hole before inserting his cock. He pulled her hips towards him using one hand to keep her head on the ground. He pumped her hard tearing at the walls of her vagina.
"Do you like that you tight fucking tramp? You fucking deserve this, you disgust me, fucking take it bitch!"
The blood was racing through him; he could hardly contain his excitement. With one last effort of self control he withdrew his cock from her vagina and inserted it into her ass. His cock was wet with the moisture and blood from her vagina. He tore at her ass like a man demented. Just before he was about to cum he reached for his rucksack and pulled out the Bowie knife. As he ejaculated into her ass, he yanked the girl's ponytail again pulling her head back and in one seamless swipe he slit her throat. The arteries burst and she bled out beneath him as he climaxed within her.
He let the throbbing pleasure subside before he withdrew his cock from inside her. He pulled his sock from inside her mouth using it to wipe the fluids and blood from his cock before putting it back on his foot. He then replaced his other sock and trainers, hoisted up his rucksack and left her sprawled on the floor framed by the widening pool of blood.
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Martin exited the park feeling exhilarated and ready for the night ahead. He had a good idea where he would go next. In the centre of town a shop was empty. It had once been a butcher shop but it had gone out of business leaving the premises empty until someone else took on the lease. It was a three storey building with nobody living above. It was the perfect place for him to camp and prepare.
He found the deserted building and located the rear entrance. There was a flight of rusty steps leading up to a fire escape on the top floor. He ascended the steps and found the fire escape was a rotten old door which he easily kicked in. He entered and moved towards the front of the building. He found a room overlooking the main street. Shoppers were still thronging in and out of the shops below buying up non-essential items.
Look at all the pathetic fuckers below. Do they think these things will make them happy? Their lives are already too pathetic, nothing will make them happy, I will be putting them out of their fucking misery, relieving them of their sad little lives...
Martin unpacked the rucksack. He removed his jeans and jumper and replaced them with the combat trousers and jacket. He packed the PLCE webbing full of the ammunition he had taken from James's house and discarded his clothes in the corner of the room. He took the camouflage cream first applying a base coat to remove the shine from his face followed by striped of green and brown to break up his features. He then rolled the balaclava and placed it over his head like a hat so it could be easily pulled down later. He took the case containing the M4A2 sniper rifle and unpacked the contents. The components of the rifle slipped together clicking into place. He fitted the tripod followed by the scope. For a moment he panicked worrying that the rifle may not have been zeroed in some time and the shots would run awry but James's care and attention to his treasures pushed the thought from his mind. He had no doubt the rifle would find its targets with the pinpoint accuracy it was designed for.
He rested the shotgun against the wall within reach and holstered the Kel-Tec P-11 pistol on his webbing.
All set, it's now or never motherfuckers!
He struggled with the window for a moment trying to open a gap wide enough to see through with the scope and the barrel of the rifle. Martin kneeled behind the sniper rifle taking the butt firmly into his right shoulder. He cocked the weapon and removed the safety. Resting his cheek on the cheek rest he removed the scope covers and scanned the crowd below settling the cross hairs on one target followed by another.
I need a worthy pathetic target for my first kill...
The cross hairs settled on a buggy containing a sleeping baby. His lips curled upwards at the corners in a sneer.
This little fucking cunt won't have a chance to grow into one of these fuckwits, I'm going to make fucking sure of that!
Martin inhaled deeply in and out letting the rifle move naturally up and down. He concentrated on containing his nerves and steadying the end of the rifle barrel. After about five deep breaths, he paused, he held his breath and he squeezed with his trigger finger.
The shot went off and his heart leapt. He saw the baby's blankets jump as the bullet entered the tiny little bundle in the buggy. This followed by a gut wrenching shriek as the baby's mother realised what had transpired. The street turned to stare at the woman after hearing the shot.
Martin contained himself and took aim again. This time he aimed for the head of the mother. He settled her in his cross hairs and began to breathe deeply. He held it and released the second shot catching her in the left temple. She crumpled and fell to the ground.
By now the street was in chaos. People ran for the shelter of the shops screaming. A young man was looking around desperately trying to locate where the shots had come from. He pointed towards the shop where Martin was hiding.
Clever little fucker! Fuck you, come and find me, I fucking dare you, you spotty useless little cunt!
Many people were now on their mobile phones calling the police gibbering down the phone that a gunman was loose in the street.
Martin's next target was an old man sat drunk on a bench. An easy target, unmoving and nearly unconscious already. His shot tore the old man's face off pushing his head back. He fell forward off the bench, his legs bent at awkward angles beneath him.
The next shot missed a man walking quickly for a coffee shop just 200 m away. Martin adjusted his site on a young student leaving Summerfield's supermarket. This shot tore his shoulder blades apart sending the student headfirst into his trolley which went rolling down the street. The magazine was empty.
Sirens rung down below as Martin heard a throng of footsteps galloping up the metal staircase at the rear of the building. He abandoned the sniper rifle pulling the shotgun from its resting place against the wall. He turned towards the door taking aim.
A police officer came bounding through the door.
"STOP! Put your hands up, drop your weapon!" The police officer screamed at him.
Martin paid no heed. He released the shot gun spraying the head of the police officer across the door frame and over another police officer who had followed him up the stairs.
Martin stood up aiming the shotgun at the second officer pumping him full of lead sending him reeling back into the hallway.
"You fucking useless bastards! You think you can take me down? I don't fucking think so! I will kill every last fucking one of you. I will kill your children, I will kill your wives, I have no fucking mercy!"
"Who the fuck do you think you're messing with? I am here to cleanse the fucking world of you parasitic vermin!"
Martin dispatched another three police officers before tossing the shotgun aside and pulling the handgun from his webbing. There were no more police officers left in the building so he ran for the rusty stairs heading back round the building and onto the main street.
The stupid fuckers will ask why I did this. It will be in the newspapers. They'll say it was bad upbringing, I was bullied, that I am a psychopath. I am not a psychopath, I was just born evil. No fucking excuses, I am what I am and that is the end of it. These fucking scumbags are not fit to walk this earth. I was born to cleanse!
He grabbed a young teenage girl putting a bullet in her head in front of her best friend who was sitting on a wall smoking a cigarette. He ran on as people howled crying preying to God they would not be his next victim. Martin ran for a church a short distance away.
He pushed back the door, foaming at the mouth looking like the devil incarnate. Men, woman and children cowered in the aisle having expected to find refuge in the church from the horrors of the street.
In one last killing effort, Martin switched the pistol to automatic and let loose the remainder of the magazine on the occupants of the church. Screams bounced off the stone walls and reverberated off the stained glass. Blood ran in a river down the aisle to the alter. Martin stood crazed admiring the carnage he'd caused. His hands on his hips, he stood like the antichrist on the cusp of Armageddon.
Bang,,, Bang...
Martin's knees crumpled, he fell on all fours to the ground. Two exit wounds gushed his life's blood comingling it with that of his victim's. A priest stood, his arms outstretched in front of him shaking with a Browning police issue handgun. The handgun fell from the trembling hands of the priest to clatter off the floor sending a bullet ricocheting around the pews. It finally lodged itself in a pillar half way down the aisle. Martin gargled on last breath before life finally left him, the priest collapsed sobbing as the police again came storming through the front entrance to behold the bloody scene.
A police officer stood over Martin, "I know this man..." He then looked at the gun which had fallen from Martin's hand and his face went white. James's future disintegrated before his eyes.
User Reviews
Submitted by psikosismc (user info) at 2008-10-11 14:58:24 EDT (#)
Ranking: -2
No Comment
Submitted by devildog (user info) at 2008-09-04 15:22:16 EDT (#)
Ranking: -2
Fat bitch.
Submitted by Naplander (user info) at 2008-08-30 14:47:40 EDT (#)
Ranking: -2
No Comment
Submitted by WhiteBearalicious (user info) at 2008-08-25 16:42:41 EDT (#)
Ranking: -2
No Comment
Submitted by spidy (user info) at 2008-08-18 15:28:19 EDT (#)
Ranking: -2
Linus is a jerk
Submitted by Linus (user info) at 2008-08-18 15:20:18 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
+2 BOOM -- Dunno how much this is gonna do since I've +2d most of your posts anyway =P
Submitted by jayjonze (user info) at 2008-08-12 17:44:23 EDT (#)
Ranking: -2
You messed up the title.
Submitted by sambo13 (user info) at 2008-07-26 17:08:13 EDT (#)
Ranking: -2
No Comment
Submitted by Linus (user info) at 2008-07-26 12:10:27 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by Skware (user info) at 2008-07-26 11:53:14 EDT (#)
Ranking: -2
No Comment
Submitted by joosyloosy (user info) at 2008-07-24 18:28:21 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by myshit (user info) at 2008-07-23 09:29:28 EDT (#)
Ranking: -2
shit
Submitted by F.J.Bell (user info) at 2008-06-16 11:48:38 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
I'll put it on my 'to-do' list.
Although I fear the exercise will betray how pitifully little I know about women.
Submitted by Banjo (user info) at 2008-06-16 11:43:54 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Submitted by F.J.Bell (user info) at 2008-06-16 09:17:30 BST (#)
Ranking: 2
Ah, the old cross-gender narrative. I don't think I could ever write a convincing lady character, but you've done...yeah, not a bad job.
I bet you fantasize about that rape scene, you little perv.
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Just what I've always aspired to happen to me... to be fucked up the ass, get my throat slit and be left for dead on a pissy shed floor...
Its difficult thinking like a bloke. Try do a girl story F.J and see how you get on, I'd be interested to read it.
Submitted by AlwaysAnEagle (user info) at 2008-06-16 11:20:49 EDT (#)
Ranking: 1
Good writing, galling misogyny.
Submitted by Brdn_Nkd (user info) at 2008-06-16 10:10:54 EDT (#)
Ranking: 1
minor problems but mostly entertaining.
Submitted by skrapmetal (user info) at 2008-06-16 08:30:31 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Also, it's "massacre".
Unless you're Arlo Guthrie, in which case it's "massa-cree".
Submitted by 8track (user info) at 2008-06-16 08:25:00 EDT (#)
Ranking: -2
No Comment
Submitted by sexualchocolate1984 (user info) at 2008-06-16 07:55:40 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
This is kind of thing i enjoy reading.
I'm so that guy, the one who given the chance would have shot up his school. just for kicks.
Submitted by F.J.Bell (user info) at 2008-06-16 04:17:30 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Ah, the old cross-gender narrative. I don't think I could ever write a convincing lady character, but you've done...yeah, not a bad job.
I bet you fantasize about that rape scene, you little perv.
Submitted by pandora (user info) at 2008-06-15 15:37:55 EDT (#)
Ranking: 1
Sweetie, if your boss can ever stand over your shoulder while you're sitting there reading Ubersite, I want your job.
Submitted by Circe (user info) at 2008-06-15 11:39:11 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Meh.
There's no... there's nothing special in it. Rape, kill, gun, blood, death. You haven't put in something extra, some little edge to make it interesting.
Submitted by Ltap (user info) at 2008-06-15 10:06:43 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
I liked it.
Submitted by Banjo (user info) at 2008-06-15 09:50:52 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
For Schlongy...........
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Submitted by Banjo (user info) at 2008-06-15 05:28:24 BST (#)
Ranking: 0
Possibly because its full of rape, killing and guns. I toyed with the idea of leaving the tag off seeing as there's no pics but then I've seen posts which are only writing with NSFW. Also, I wouldn't like my boss to be standing over my shoulder when I read this. Comprehende?
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ICO - agreed, not brilliant but I usually only discover that after I post something and read it back to myself properly, usually a day later. I should have probably left this one a couple of days, read it back to myself and polished it off before posting but I'm skint and having a boring weekend so what the hell.
Although I am re-watching Firefly which in my mind is a fantastic way to spend the weekend.
Submitted by Shlongy (user info) at 2008-06-15 08:40:13 EDT (#)
Ranking: -2
Why isn't this safe for work?
Submitted by Director (user info) at 2008-06-15 07:11:09 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Yeah. Oxford.
Nuuuur.
Where else can you get a Rhodes scholarship?
Egads.
Sunday morning coming down indeed.
Submitted by Director (user info) at 2008-06-15 07:08:24 EDT (#)
Ranking: 1
Sunday morning coming down.
I'm a Kris Kristofferson fan. He's a fellow Texan. He went to one of your universities on a Rhodes scholarship. Oxford, I think?
I have a headache.
And it's Sunday morning coming down.
================================================
Well I woke up Sunday morning,
With no way to hold my head that didn't hurt.
And the beer I had for breakfast wasn't bad,
So I had one more for dessert.
Then I fumbled through my closet for my clothes,
And found my cleanest dirty shirt.
An' I shaved my face and combed my hair,
An' stumbled down the stairs to meet the day.
I'd smoked my brain the night before,
On cigarettes and songs I'd been pickin'.
But I lit my first and watched a small kid,
Cussin' at a can that he was kicking.
Then I crossed the empty street,
'n caught the Sunday smell of someone fryin' chicken.
And it took me back to somethin',
That I'd lost somehow, somewhere along the way.
On the Sunday morning sidewalk,
Wishing, Lord, that I was stoned.
'Cos there's something in a Sunday,
Makes a body feel alone.
And there's nothin' short of dyin',
Half as lonesome as the sound,
On the sleepin' city sidewalks:
Sunday mornin' comin' down.
In the park I saw a daddy,
With a laughin' little girl who he was swingin'.
And I stopped beside a Sunday school,
And listened to the song they were singin'.
Then I headed back for home,
And somewhere far away a lonely bell was ringin'.
And it echoed through the canyons,
Like the disappearing dreams of yesterday.
On the Sunday morning sidewalk,
Wishing, Lord, that I was stoned.
'Cos there's something in a Sunday,
Makes a body feel alone.
And there's nothin' short of dyin',
Half as lonesome as the sound,
On the sleepin' city sidewalks:
Sunday mornin' comin' down.
Submitted by ICO (user info) at 2008-06-15 06:23:14 EDT (#)
Ranking: 1
"The trainers on his feet were made of material and the moisture was just beginning to seep through and wet his socks."
I only wear anti-matter sneakers myself. Material trainers are so last tuesday.
Entertaining yet harrowing read. Not fantastic, though.
Submitted by Banjo (user info) at 2008-06-15 00:28:24 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Possibly because its full of rape, killing and guns. I toyed with the idea of leaving the tag off seeing as there's no pics but then I've seen posts which are only writing with NSFW. Also, I wouldn't like my boss to be standing over my shoulder when I read this. Comprehende?
Submitted by Doodles (user info) at 2008-06-14 23:54:38 EDT (#)
Ranking: 1
Soooooooooooooooooooo what is nsfw?
Submitted by PhillipTheGreat (user info) at 2008-06-14 19:44:53 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Was pretty good.
Submitted by skrapmetal (user info) at 2008-06-14 18:48:01 EDT (#)
Ranking: 1
I can think of a number of reasons to +2 this and a number of reasons to -2 it. In the end, it works out to about a +1. Gun control means hitting what you aim for. What the world you describe in this story needs is crazy person control.
Submitted by Banjo (user info) at 2008-06-14 17:58:43 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
And you've been around for such a long time have you? What is your problem?
Submitted by tloshjohnson (user info) at 2008-06-14 17:57:01 EDT (#)
Ranking: -2
*girly sulky voice*... 'might you have'
You'll be OK... you can ramp your own post up with mindless 'banter' with all the other 'cool' n00bs.
Submitted by Banjo (user info) at 2008-06-14 17:54:32 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Might have guessed you'd be first here.
Submitted by tloshjohnson (user info) at 2008-06-14 17:52:24 EDT (#)
Ranking: -2
No Comment