The development of new skills by an impressionable little boy.
| Jimmy Smart goes to bed each night with a hammer in his hand, claw side up to inflict considerable damage on those who might come his way. His mother keeps him locked up in his room behind thick metal doors and solid reinforced bars on the windows for his own protection.
Jimmy has hysterical large wide eyes that never close. He has jagged sharp teeth that come to a point when he smiles but not to worry. Jimmy never smiles. He never sleeps.
In the morning he slips through floor boards and makes his way downtown to school, wearing his long gray coat and utility belt beneath it. He keeps his hammer and a new screw driver that comes to a tapered point for his enjoyment on the ready as you never know when circumstances might call on him to do some business upside someones head for disagreeing with him or saying the wrong thing. Being wrong carries heavy consequences as far as he is concerned.
Jimmy is so so fragile. Just ask his mommy and she will tell you so in so so many words.
On the way he robs the local convenience store with his handy revolver which he pulls out on special occasions such as this because he is special in oh so many ways. Naturally the store owner disagrees with Jimmy and his actions so he produces a baseball bat from behind the counter and starts swinging at the boy. Jimmy moves quickly. The gun proves to be mightier than the stick. Bullets move much faster than the bat. Bye-bye Mr. store guy.
Jimmy is smart. He grabs some breakfast candies, some aspirin and some band aids. He figures someone is going to have a head ache and perhaps some injuries before this day is done. Cigarettes and matches complete the trip. Just what the doctor ordered for a 10 year old boy.
As he was nearing his destination going down the street in NYC, two blocks from his school, he was stopped by a uniformed police officer. The man questions him. “What are you doing walking alone young man?” “You are too young to be out here on your own without adult supervision.” The boy looked up at the puzzled man, shakes his head in agreement then pulls out his hammer, hits the man flush on his foot with great force. The cop cries out in agony. Jimmy draws the gun, shoots the man between the eyes, which instantly stops the pain and crying. Jimmy hates to see people suffer so he was glad to be of service in that regard. Police officers normally wear a bullet proof vest for protection. The boy would have none of that on his streets. The head and feet make perfect targets. He secured his weapons beneath his coat, slipped away between a narrow near by ally way undetected.
Shortly after that incident Jimmy was at school sitting in class with other little boys and girls, happy as a lark. The teacher told him to take off the coat. Things went south rapidly from there. The lad pulled out his gun and opened fire on everyone. The teacher was the first to go. He was fat and bald and wrong. Being bald is unforgivable. On top of that he was disagreeable. He had to go. Jimmy walked up to the man lying in a pool of blood and said, “What was that teach?” “I couldn’t hear you over the loud noise and shooting.”
So Jimmy talks to dead people. Does that make him a bad person? If he is the cause of their demise than maybe the answer is yes.
Some people say the boy needs help. He needs medication. Others say prison. He just needs love and understanding according to the mayor of NYC and his own mommy who loves her little snookums.
The child made his way home beaming with joy and a spring in his step that turned into skipping. He hoped that his mommy was making the right choice about dinner. If she made hot dogs she had better hide her head and duck for cover. He wants a jelly and pickles sandwich with mayonnaise on the side.
Even if she does the right thing she might never be out of the woods. His screw driver is secure in the utility belt, waiting there as pointy as ever and just as shiny. His trigger finger is itchy, stationed on his gun, resting in his pocket safe and warm. You never know exactly what Jimmy has on his little mind. He is so little and shy but never mind.
Eventually, inevitably, his dad had to come to some harsh conclusions about the boy so he took the lad to see a priest but the man of God was nervous and unhappy to see them as the child’s reputation and behavior preceded him in the community. Father Fitzpatrick told the dad they no longer perform the rituals of exorcisms in his parish. Jimmy grinned at the pastor through those gremlin greenish teeth, pointy as ever in need of cleaning, which clearly had not happened in some time in ages long gone by.
The child had just graduated to the proper use of hatchets; not exactly the practice of proper oral hygiene or tooth brush action but exactly what the doctor ordered to get things done to bring and brighten a young boys smile. His weapon was a new one sharp and fun, precisely what he needed to cut up men into their tiny parts and send the little bits on to a final trip.
He chopped the two men up and down and tossed the pieces into the river. “Such a good boy” says Jimmy to himself as he wonders what’s for dinner this fine evening, remembering his mother too went missing for some reason not so long ago, somewhere down the river where bodies seem to float.