Fanfic Friday – “Violent Child”

7 Sep

Kevin screamed into his headset until the veins in his neck stood out. His parents called him a “violent child”, and he knew this was why. But it only made him angrier. He stood, flinging his controller against the wall, smashing it to pieces. The TV was still on, still showing the match results, and he couldn’t bear to look at them for another second. He spun around and stomped from the room, aiming for the kitchen and the promise of a soothing Red Bull.

The doorbell rang as he passed the front hall, and he stopped. It was probably Cory, no doubt wanting to show him “a really cool video, no seriously bro this one’s totally hype”, or ready with a “hey man let’s go chill at Best Buy”. Kevin rounded on the door and prepared to launch a venomous verbal salvo at his irritating friend. I’ll show them “violent”.

It wasn’t Cory. When he flung open the door, he found himself staring into the sternum of a massive leather-clad man. He took a step back and regarded the visitor properly: the man was roughly six and a half feet tall, with a studded motorcycle jacket, tight jeans, great clomping boots, and black biker gloves. His eyes were hidden behind dark sunglasses, and his expression was as unmoving as stone across his slab-like face.

Kevin cocked an eyebrow. What the hell was this? Were those Jehovah wackos trying some weird new tactic or something? He stood for a moment, unsure what to say, and settled for “Uh… hi.”

As soon as he’d said it, the teenager became uncomfortable. There was something wrong about the way the man stood, and the way his head inclined mechanically to look down at him. In a voice as deep and flat as a foghorn, the man said “Kevin McNeil?”

Kevin nodded. In the background, his game had resumed without him. Virtual gunfire rattled through the living room and masked the sound of a machine pistol barking into his gut. He fell backward with a blank expression frozen on his face, and the man took a single step over the threshold. He raised his hand and fired, again and again until the chamber was empty and the trigger clicked. He knelt next to Kevin, whose leg was twitching. He pressed a meaty finger into the teenager’s neck, and stood again, turning on his heel and striding out the door without so much as a backward glance.

The pretend war raged on. Kevin’s headset, crumpled on the floor, bleated with tinny insults. Kevin stared at the ceiling.


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