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WRITING.COM TIME

Friday
October 31, 2014
5:49am EDT


Rated: 13+ | Short Story | Drama | #1172523
Previously named: "But is it right?"
Sitting in his truck, windshield wipers on high, he wondered if this was right. The freezing rain fell heavy on the windshield; it was far colder than typical for this time of year. He watched the frozen flakes hit the windshield before melting and being pushed away by the wiper blades. Much as he had been pushed away by his employer.

Following a two week argument with his employers regarding his medical benefits, his employer had seen fit to inform him that his services were no longer required. Suspicious to say the least. God forbid an employee happens to have a wife stricken with Multiple Sclerosis. How dare such a person try to collect medical coverage. How dare such a company continue to exist.

He knew full well that a gun was locked in the console at his side. It did not tempt him though, as he did not intend to use it till much later. This did not require the snub nosed 38 that he typically carried. In fact he even left his pocket knife at home today. Today was an act of retribution, and also proof of their own folly.

Steeled in his plan he turned off the truck and exited into the freezing rain. Entering the building as he usually did, thought the rear plant entrance. He chose this way for the past two years so as to avoid the ignorant ramblings of the current downstairs receptionist. A bloated toad of a girl with a wide smile and a wider body, who was herself proof that ignorance truly is bliss. Her eager "How are you today?" greeting grated on his nerves to the point he could not bare it again without actually telling her. His was not a life a normal person would want, but his aversion to lying made it difficult to reply in a civil manner. So to avoid any issues he made a point to always enter through the plant, and in doing so passed un-noticed today.

He debated whether to bother going to his office or not. Did it matter? Tough call. Most of the people in the upstairs Corporate office were far too busy with their own mundane tasks to notice either way. Some of them would perish today, and this thought did not bother him at all.

Trudging up the stairs he decided a stop in his office would accomplish nothing. It was not meant to be his office any longer any way. Might even find it was already assigned to another idiot, stupid enough to work for these fools. No, the office gained nothing, on with the plan.

At the far end of the office was the Controller's office. This was the office of the single person who he had trusted, only to be betrayed in the end. That is where it would be begin, and that is what mattered. The hall was about forty feet of bland industrial boredom. The first twenty-five feet passed only restrooms and bare walls. After that was the upstairs receptionist's desk across from the main stairs. She would say "Hi", but pay no attention. All the better.

Beyond her was only one desk before the Controller's office. Even if she were at her desk it would matter little. She was shy, meek, and cowardly. Even if she knew his intent she would not be a hindrance.

Now one thing in his favor, oddly enough, was recurrent heartburn. Because of this he often walked down this very hall and into the Controller's office, just because the Controller always kept a bottle of TUMS in his desk drawer. This had become quite regular of late, so nothing was thought of it. The true convenience was that that very desk drawer was also where the Controller kept his knife.



Now in a company with signs posted everywhere regarding their "NO WEAPONS" policy, it might seem odd that the Controller himself kept a knife in his drawer. Odder still if one were to see the oversized folder kept there for "opening letters". More like a folding Bowie knife than anything, yet he felt perfectly fine having it at his side while supporting the strict "NO WEAPONS" policy. A two faced hypocrite would be one way to describe him, but that is only for people that didn't know him well. He had far worse traits than that.

Passing the receptionist with a simple "Hi" he lucked out and found the next desk deserted. He had only to stroll into the Controller's office now. The Controller was on the phone and didn't even look up as he passed behind him for the desk drawer. Opening the desk drawer he paused, looking at the TUMS, but only for a second. Silently he instead drew the large lock back knife from the drawer and quietly opened it with a subtle snick. His back to the door, nobody could see it. The Controller was still yapping aimlessly on the phone, still oblivious to the situation, when the knife was drawn across his throat. His only tactical training was from watching movies, but he was fairly certain that cutting deep enough would prevent a scream. It proved to be true as the Controller's head dropped to his keyboard, phone falling to the floor.

The angle of the outside desks would prevent anyone from seeing him unless they were passing his door. Not being a risk worth taking though, he needed to move fast now. Blood was flowing across the desk from the wound across the Controller's throat, and would soon spill across the front of the desk.

Quickly he opened the center drawer of the Controller's desk and withdrew the shears he knew were there. Typical office scissors, but still balanced well enough. Turning he exited the office and saw the shocked look on the receptionist's face. With a flick of the wrist the shears cut through the air and plunged into her throat. Higher than planned, but still lethal; almost done, must keep moving.

Along this row of offices he had only to make it to the end. There were others, and all were upset by now, but none were of issue. Sissies, cowards, and wimps would not be able to stop him now. On his way past the Human Resources office the HR "Manager" made the mistake of rushing out to see what the screaming was about. Her timing was poor and a swift swing of the Controller's knife brought her screams to a rapid stop.

As could be expected the final target had not even bothered to leave his office. This pompous man's feeling of total superiority left him deaf to the happenings going on, even though his very own daughter worked in the offices beyond. His failure to react caused a bit of an issue, but not enough to over power the adrenaline rush. He crossed the office at full speed, hesitating for nothing, and practically beheaded him with a swing of the Controller's knife, retribution was complete. Leaving the knife still sticking from the Vice President's neck he exited the office.

Women were now screaming and some might even have bothered to call 911 by this point. It was time to leave. Rushing down the hall toward the back exit he had the misfortune of running into the Marketing Manager. Having left the knife behind he was currently unarmed, but refused to pass up an opportunity like this. This man had likely been an instigator for everything. The whining little bitch of a man did not deserve to live. Before the Marketing Manager could utter a word he grabbed his head and with all his might smashed it through the glass panel of the copier. Blood spurting proved a sufficient gash from the broken pane, but to be sure he yanked downwards, tearing across his throat with the jagged glass shards. When he let go the Marketing Manager hung there, supported by his flesh hooked on the protruding shards of glass.

Now onward, toward the stairs, must make it in time. Down the stairs, breathing hard, screaming behind, adrenaline rushing. Across the plant, luckily the plant personal were so isolated from the corporate office that even had they heard the screams they still would have ignored it. Across the plant and out the rear door, no issue, no interference, all is good.

In the parking lot the rain is still falling and still freezing, but no police have made it yet. In the truck, unlock console and retrieve revolver, then quickly start the truck. Now, what way to go? There is only one exit to the complex and the police may already be there. The complex does go the other way, or there are the woods, behind the parking lot which border the highway. Shifting the truck into 4-High he hits the gas and heads toward the rear of the complex. From there he will be able to see if the police arrive and judge his next move from there.

Before he even made it out of the drive the sirens burst onto the scene. Three patrol cars closing fast. Hitting the gas the truck screamed around the corner, out of the driveway and then towards the cul-de-sac at the rear of the complex. Two patrol cars followed the fleeing truck while the third went to the plant. Perfect.

The road went only a short distance before the cul-de-sac. Once there he floored the truck once again to spin sideways and then stopped the truck across the back of the cul-de-sac, giving the patrol cars ample opportunity to block him in. As the patrol cars screeched to a halt, blocking all exit, he jumped from the truck wielding his revolver. The policemen exited their cars, guns drawn, yelling commands, just as planned.

He got off two shots before he was dropped by a shower of gunfire. He had only moments to wonder if he had done the right thing, and passed before the officers made it to his side, let alone the ambulance arriving.

The next day the local paper reported a disgruntled worker having killed multiple co-workers before being taken down by the police. It was never mentioned that his revolver was loaded only with plastic bullets, and was never covered by the national news. It was a non-issue.

The insurance company investigated thoroughly, but was unable to get out of paying the claim.
© Copyright 2006 J. Sarcasm (UN: garg at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
J. Sarcasm has granted Writing.Com, its affiliates and syndicates non-exclusive rights to display this work.
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