Strange Days

This was actually all a little disturbing, in a fun sort of way, and probably has quite a lot to do with a documentary about mental asylums I watched the other day.

Or it could be I should be in one!

--
Inside a classroom, I have a case open on my desk. My hand is hidden behind the open lid, fingers coiled around the handle of a knife. The blade is almost white in the sunlight leeching through the window. I stare across the room at the man in the white lab coat as he shouts at the people around him. I watch the little flecks of spit spray out from his mouth as he stabs his fingers into the girl's shoulder as he snarls his anger at her.

Sideways into his ribs is where I plan to stick the knife, perhaps with a little twist for that extra flourish.

Then perhaps downwards to gut the fucker.

He turns towards me, striding across the classroom knocking over desks and chairs as he bears down on me. He looms over me and I can smell his breath, count the hairs in his nostrils and see the veins bulging in his neck.

I don't hear what he says, I just smile as my hand moves, meeting only the slightest resistance as his eyes balloon open, a look of horror spreading across his face.

Gunshots from the other room.

The classroom is gone and I stand in a dark hallway. Through a doorway I can see people standing around a table, all dressed in black. One of them stands head and shoulders above the others, a giant of man, the flickering light from the failing neon tube reflecting off his dark skin. He is grinning and the air around him shivers.

I walk to the doorway and into the room. A number of people are scattered about the place, scrabbling for places to hide. Some are trying to push past me out of the room, some slither beneath the table for protection. At the far end, two figures stand pointing machine-pistols at everyone. One has a look of utter terror on his face.

The other raises his gun towards me and fires, his eyes wide with fear. People scream, but for me it's easy. I wave a hand and the air around me shimmers and the bullets deflect away, peppering the ceiling and the floor either side of me.

'That's impossible,' wails the man as his gun clicks empty.

'Not for me,' I reply. 'Or them,' I add nodding to the giant man. 'I taught them'

'Them?' he replies and then quite silently he drops to his knees and falls to his face and a short figure also dressed in black, wearing darken glasses steps from the shadows behind me. As he does so, the large man clubs the other shooter around his face and in an instant he vanishes.

The short man and the tall man step up either side of me and nod slowly. They are The Angel and The Clown. They are my enforcers, bringing my will to the world which I control. Together the Universe fears us.

And so it should.