#ThursThreads Week 326 : Just Let It Flow

“Well, Pastor Greg. You have a rather nasty brother, don’t you.” It was true. His brother was part of Crew 38, and new Harry very well. “Little Jimmy has a gun fetish, doesn’t he?” I left a note to Pastor Greg trapped to his TV screen, “Little Jimmy did a bad thing.”

Crew 38 got word from Harry of a transgender thing people wanted gone. They gave Jimmy the job. “Kill it.”

Jimmy had. He’d gathered a few of his friends, and told them what they were going to do. “We’re going to take back our world. One step at a time. We’ll be safer when it’s gone.”

The idiots had taken pictures with their phones, and had them in a photo album at the Crew 38 single wide trailer in one of the trailer parks outside of town. The entire gang was disturbed to find all those pictures spread out on the kitchen counter one night, and a computer printed note that said, “I know who you are.”

Jimmy called Pastor Greg every time another note turned up. “I wonder when I’ll kill you.” “Was it fun to use a knife?” “I’ll cut off your fingers. One at a time. While you watch.” “Was it fun to watch the blood? To just let it flow?” “Tell the others, I’m coming for them.”

Pastor Greg called the sheriff. They moved Jimmy to a safe house. Jimmy still got notes. Tapped to the TV screen. “It’s almost time. It’s almost time.”

247 Words
@mysoulstears


Getting closer to the end of this Armor 17 story. Maybe 6 parts left. It’s Week 326 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 324 : And When Will That Be?

On the fourth day, the messages on the internet changed. The pictures of Michelle’s mutilated body showed up again. But the message tied to them was different. “Dear, Michelle. I know who did this to you. I know who took your life from you.” There were several pictures of Michelle, walking in the sunshine, at a botanical garden, with roses everywhere. She was smiling, and happy. “I know who took this from you.” Pictures of her in line with a friend, buying movie tickets, and laughing. “I know who stole your life from you.”

Then, the sheriff’s voice spoke, “I said, lay low for now. Stay out of sight. I’ll take care of it.”

A muffled voice answered, “I’ll talk with the boys. See what they can stir up. Stop the guy.”

“But…”

“Would be a shame if Janie knew about you and Shelly.”

There was silence for a moment, then the sheriff’s voice, “Try not to kill anybody. OK.”

“No promises. We’ll take care of this.”

Then the text changed to say, “Oh, sheriff… I think Janie knows about Shelly now…”

Lastly, there was a picture of a house, in a good neighborhood, with a big tree in the front yard, and roses along the porch. Beneath that was a timer counting down from eight hours. Beneath that the text asked, “Almost time for more trouble. And when will that be? When time runs out.”

It was almost time to give Michelle the justice she deserved.

247 Words
@mysoulstears


Getting closer to the end of this Armor 17 story. Wonder what I should do with it when the draft is finished. I think of something, I suppose. Anyway. It’s Week 324 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 322 : It Was Up To Them

The police checked every hotel. Ever bed and breakfast. Every campground, park, parking lot, vacant house, empty building. They held the greatest manhunt anyone in town had ever seen. They found nothing. I had to chuckle about that. After all, I was a dead man. A man who didn’t exist. Encased in an armor that diffracted the entire electromagnetic spectrum, and rendered me invisible. I couldn’t be seen, or heard. Even their camera systems were of no help.

They went door to door through the entire town. Nothing. No one had ever seen the man in the picture from the video. They found no car. No motorcycle. No taxi use. Nothing.

As they searched, the internet went insane for a third day. This time, it showed those who wished Michelle didn’t exist, so they never had to deal with that thing, Michelle, again. How so many of them smiled, and laughed, and cheered when they found her mangled body that day.

“I’m glad she’s gone.”

“I don’t have to be nice to it anymore!”

“Now, I can use the women’s room again!”

Those words were why I’d come to their town. Why I’d acted. Why I would finish what I’d started. It was up to them, to their actions, to their deeds. They’d acted with violence, hatred, and intolerance.

I’d responded in kind.

And revealed their hatred to the world. Like the saying goes. Nothing on the internet ever really goes away.

243 Words
@mysoulstears


The next part of the ongoing Armor 17 story. It’s Week 322 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 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.

 

#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.