#ThursThreads Week 315 : I Recognized My Handwriting.

The next day was more of the same. Everyone stayed at home, and the internet went crazy. Videos turned up of police officers refusing to work on Michelle’s murder case. Evidence being put on a shelf, never to be examined. It was endless.

Officer Johnson said, “I won’t work on that case. I’ll walk off this job before I work on that.”

Officer Matthews, “I’m glad it’s dead. Whoever did it, they did us a favor.”

Dr. Richmond, the medical examiner, talking to someone, “I recognized my handwriting. No evidence to be found.”

So it went. One excuse after another. One reason after another. Person after person. The case was put in the cold case cabinet at five days old. Everyone forgot about it. No one asked questions.

Then there was Officer Morgan, once again. Saying the same words she’d always said to some strange man who asked, “A transgender victim? Nothing has been done.” The way she shrugged, and didn’t even look up the case told the story. Only this time, there was another scene, where Officer Morgan screamed at the sheriff, “There! That’s him! That’s the guy!” He pointed at the picture of a man leaving the police building. “He’s the one causing all the trouble! Get him, and it all stops!”

The internet watched as the town’s police started a manhunt for the guy who asked about the case no one wanted to work on.

238 Words
@mysoulstears


The next part of the ongoing Armor 17 story. It’s Week 315 of #ThursThreads, hosted by Siobhan Muir. Please go read all the entries in this week’s #ThursThreads. They are always fun to read. And there are some great writers who turn out weekly.

 

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#ThursThreads Week 314 : You’d Really Let Me Fall Into That?

The attacks stopped. People stayed home. The police cruised the streets, looking for anyone suspicious, and scaring anyone who wasn’t obviously white out of their minds.

Everyone was on the internet, chatting with their friends, texting like crazy on their phones. The world had gone insane, and they wanted everyone to know it.

That’s when Michelle’s murder showed up on every internet news site, and every social media site. Even a full video of the discovery of her body turned up on site after site. No one could block it. No one could stop it. It kept showing up.

There were pictures of Michelle going to work, above words that asked how she looked, if she looked dangerous, like a murderer, a killer, a rapist, a thief. Then pictures of her remains, tied to a lamp post, while the words asked if she deserved to die that way. Other pictures showed her helping at the local food bank and local nursing home, how she dressed as a princess and visited sick children at the hospital in the city to the north.

The last picture showed her remains, and the words, as a quote from the Sheriff, “This is what happens to people like that. We should kill all of ‘em. We’d be better off.”

The Sheriff made the news that night. “You’d really let me fall into that? Blame me for that? Let me be the scapegoat for a hate crime?”

I laughed. The Sheriff knew his days were numbered.

250 Words
@mysoulstears


The next part of the ongoing Armor 17 story. It’s Week 314 of #ThursThreads, hosted by Siobhan Muir. Please go read all the entries in this week’s #ThursThreads. They are always fun to read. And there are some great writers who turn out weekly.

#ThursThreads Week 311 : I Think We Pushed To Far

It was 0245 hours when I reached the apartment of Sue and Linda. It was in flames, of course. And the police, and sheriff were there, making sure no one tried to stop it from burning. I had the armor scan the building. The remains of two humans. Sue and Linda.

After reloading every clip for my guns, I started my response. The sheriff was standing next to three police officers, talking about what a shame it was, all the violence in town, and what needed to be done to stop it.

I started with the police who were keeping everyone a safe distance away. I didn’t shoot to kill, only to wound, and disable. It took a few seconds before anyone realized what was happening, then everyone went stupid. People watching the fire started running in all directions. The police kept getting wounded, and unable to do anything.

After I’d dealt with crowd control, I moved to the police cars. Shot every one of them. High velocity, armor piercing rounds. Took out engine blocks everywhere. I set fire to the sheriff’s car.

The sheriff hid behind a tree, the police with him kept their guns drawn, and ready to shoot anyone. One of them glared at the sheriff. “I think we pushed to far! Now, they’re pushing back.”

Once more, I displayed the hologram of Michelle’s body, and right beside it, Officer Morgan, still sitting at her desk as she informed someone, “A transgender victim? Nothing has been done.”

249 Words
@mysoulstears


The next part of the ongoing Armor 17 story. It’s Week 311 of #ThursThreads, hosted by Siobhan Muir. Please go read all the entries in this week’s #ThursThreads. They are always fun to read. And there are some great writers who turn out weekly.

#ThursThreads Week 310 : It Can’t Be Too Late

Case Street Fords had been a good car dealership. Small, but with a good set of cars on the lot, mostly SUVs and trucks. The service center was behind the sales building. One automated garage door, and room inside for six vehicles at a time.

The service center was on fire. The fire department hadn’t responded. A F-350 was pulling a dead body back and forth on the street next to the dealership. Men with guns cheered, “We got him! We finally got rid of him!”

The body had been Simon. The best mechanic in town. Everyone knew that. Simon had been shot in the leg, so he couldn’t escape. Then, beaten. Then, tied to the truck that was dragging him around.

Simon’s mate, Doug, was running down the street, heading toward the chaos, when I stopped him. “They’ll kill you.”

He screamed, he struggled, “Let me go! I’ve got to save Simon. It can’t be too late.” Doug collapsed to his knees on the asphalt. “It can’t be too late.”

“Stay here, Doug. Stay safe.”

The truck driver was the first person I shot. I kept shooting until none of the men with guns were left standing. Doug ran to Simon’s remains.

“I’m sorry, Doug. I was too late.”

There was an apartment complex I needed to visit. I hoped I wasn’t too late. If I was, well. “I am the violence. And the violence will respond. Will it ever.”

241 Words
@mysoulstears


The next part of the ongoing Armor 17 story. It’s Week 310 of #ThursThreads, hosted by Siobhan Muir. Please go read all the entries in this week’s #ThursThreads. They are always fun to read. And there are some great writers who turn out weekly.

#ThursThreads Week 309 : Answer Me, Damn It

I stopped at Shelly’s Diner, to find her inside, with her two daughters, hiding behind the counter. Shelly had called the police. The police hadn’t come. Angry men were outside, with their guns, getting angrier.

All it took was one of them, shooting out a window, and they all went nuts. Guns shooting everywhere. And one gun shooting back. One that didn’t miss. “Because, guns are clearly the answer to your problems.”

I left bodies all over the road outside the diner. My armor scanned the diner, to verify Shelly and her daughters were safe.

Outside was pure chaos. People were screaming, and running toward the bodies in the road. “Oh, my God! Oh, my God!” Police sirens suddenly started going off. Police cars arrived, and officers hopped out, guns drawn. There was no one for them to find. No bad guy for them to capture.

A woman across the road screamed, “We know you’re there! Somewhere! Why are you doing this! Why are you killing everyone! Answer me, damn it!”

Everyone stopped, and it became silent, when I displayed a hologram of Michelle’s brutalized body in the street. Next to it, another hologram, of Officer S. Morgan, sitting at her desk as she said, “A transgender victim? Nothing has been done yet.”

And everyone heard a voice whisper, “I am the violence. Now, something has been done.”

I moved on. There was a car dealership I needed to visit.

240 Words
@mysoulstears


The next part of the ongoing Armor 17 story. It’s Week 309 of #ThursThreads, hosted by Siobhan Muir. Please go read all the entries in this week’s #ThursThreads. They are always fun to read. And there are some great writers who turn out weekly.

#ThursThreads Week 308 : I Need You To Take A Deep Breath

Julie, Samantha’s neighbor, was hiding under the bed in her room when the white men with guns broke the front door to the house, and charged in. She heard them screaming, “We’re gonna kill everyone! We’ll put a stop to all this crazy shit that’s happened since that thing got what it deserved!” She heard them screaming about finding the little bitch girl who was friends with that thing down the road.

Julie tried not to cry. The armor told me she was stressed. I wondered how her parents were doing, if they were OK. I knew, all I had to do was wait.

I heard the angry men come storming up the stairs. I heard their guns going off all over the downstairs. I waited, until the door to Julie’s room slammed open, and two fat, balding, white men stood there, with AR-15’s pointed into the room. “She’s in here! Under the bed!”

One took a step forward. It was his last step. A 24 inch long knife blade ran through him, and stuck out his back. His buddy stood there in shock, but not long, before he joined the first one.

“Julie. I know you can hear me. I need you to take a deep breath. Close your eyes, and take a deep breath.” With that, I stepped into the hall.

Not one of the white men with guns walked out of Julie’s home.

It was time to protect others. And kill who I had to.

247 Words
@mysoulstears


The next part of the ongoing Armor 17 story. It’s Week 308 of #ThursThreads, hosted by Siobhan Muir. Please go read all the entries in this week’s #ThursThreads. They are always fun to read. And there are some great writers who turn out weekly.

 

#ThursThreads Week 306 : I Can’t See Anymore

I waited patiently for morning rush hour, knowing it was the best time to set chaos free. To respond to those who had used guns and violence the night before.

George was waiting patiently for the light to change from red to green when I shot the windows of his car.

Frank was driving on the city’s main street, heading to the warehouse outside of time, when the loud cracking sounds happened, and his tires went flat, and he lost control of his car.

Tom was turning left across the busiest intersection in the city, when more loud cracking sounds turned up, and the radiator of his heavy duty truck blew up, and the engine stopped working, and started making all kinds of ugly sounds.

Sam stood motionless wondering if he was still alive, on his front door step, the door, and the wall behind him full of bullet holes.

There were gas fires in kitchens with natural gas. Shatter glass windows in living rooms, bedrooms, and dens. Cars with flat tires, blown out windows, ruined engines everywhere.

Mark stood frozen in his doughnut shop as the windows imploded and the display case turn into a mass of glass, icing, and doughnut bits.

It was an escalation of the violence each person had participated in the previous night. “Violence grows. A peaceful ending. I can’t see anymore.” It was time to protect those I could.

And be vengeance for those I couldn’t.

242 Words
@mysoulstears


The next part of the ongoing Armor 17 story. It’s Week 306 of #ThursThreads, hosted by Siobhan Muir. Please go read all the entries in this week’s #ThursThreads. They are always fun to read. And there are some great writers who turn out weekly.