They had pressed forward in grotesque fascination, but now the drew back, full aware that it might have been their neck I had encircled in my hands. I looked them over, the sorry bunch of corporate types and trend-followers that they were. With a sharp jab of my left hand, another fell to the floor, this time a woman.
She may have been beautiful once, but lying there, her neck broken, her legs twisted under her body, she was nothing more than a side of beef -- less, even, since most people felt strongly against the idea of eating their fellow humans.
I wondered which one would begin crying first. Someone always did. Once one began, others would join in. Women, and men too, crying. Some cried like a baby hungry for its mother's milk; others quietly, aware the end was near and saddened by that knowledge. Some begged for mercy, or offered favors in exchange for their lives finally acknowledging at the end that their lives were worth nothing more than a cheap watch, or a quick lay. Others spent their time more wisely, savoring the memories they were most fond of.
A man, perhaps fancying himself the hero type jumped at me from my right, but too many years behind a desk and pretending to stay in shape at a yuppie gym had dulled his speed and reflexes. I stepped back and as he passed in front me, I struck his chest, collapsing his ribs. He landed heavily, and lay gasping for breath. I stepped between his legs and crushed his testes. He yelped, quietly, as best he could with a pierced lung, maybe two.
I watched him for a while, as did the others. I felt his pain with him, knew sharpness and the dull aches that racked his body as he died. After a bit, I leaned over and broke his neck, ending his final bout with manhood. No more the hero, he lay silently at my feet.
The others had huddled together for comfort. No one was crying now; the horror had overcome the fear. They were numb. I noticed a small stream of liquid on the floor; someone had wet their pants. I idly wondered if it had been a man or a woman.
Time was getting short. I stepped to the nearest one, a man, made small by his everyday fears, he was quivering pitifully. I reached out and grabbed his immaculately cut hair. His eyes opened wide and he said "No..." He kept repeating it, "No... No... No..." as I broke his fingers, one by one. He trailed off into silence as the last finger snapped and he passed out.
I pushed his body into the corner and left him for later. His fingers pointed in amusing directions. Just for fun, I kicked out, catching a woman in the stomach. Two other women gathered around her to comfort her, and I grabbed their heads and smashed them together, feeling the satisfying cracks as their skulls broke.
I broke their necks as they fell to the floor, then turned back to the woman I had kicked. I smiled as I realized that she wasn't fat, but pregnant. Two for the price of one! I kicked her again, and vomitted on herself. She stood there, crying quietly, waiting for the next blow. I reached out and lifted her chin to look into her eyes, then struck her in the neck. Unable to cry out, she dropped to her knees and looked up at me, pleading with her eyes for her life.
Her face was pretty, but not extraordinarily so. The kind of woman who spent most Saturday nights at home, yet somehow ended up getting married. Now she was pregnant, her greatest acheivement in life. I kicked her in the stomach again, feeling my foot make contact with life and life to be. Did the baby know what was happening? Did the baby realize it would never see the outside world, or get to play in a sandbox? Or more likely, never have its father beat it with a hot iron for failing a spelling test.
I smashed that pretty-but-not-too-pretty face with my knee, then bent down to look at the remains. I pulled my knife from my pocket, and quickly slit her throat. The blood spurted for a while, then slowed to a steady trickle down her neck. Someone behind me had screamed, when I cut her, and now I turned to see who it was.
A man and a woman were the only two left standing. They were huddled together, waiting to see what I would do next. Neither one was much to look at. Typical office workers. Meaningless little lives, the age-old repetition of eat-sleep-work-eat, until they fell over, dead, having accomplished nothing, having left no mark.
I stepped towards them, and the man stepped in front of the woman, as if to protect her. I stopped, and wondered if I should kill him first, allowing him to make his pitiful sacrifice, giving her a few more moments to live, or if I should take her out, letting him watch, showing him how useless he really was. I decided a little of both.
I stepped down on his left kneecap, tearing tendons and other chewy parts, as I brought my left elbow around to meet his neck. A quick jab to his stomach left him awake, but gasping for breath behind the pain.
This left the woman, breathing oddly, and I decided to take my time with her. I dangled my fingertips across the tops of her average breasts, then brought my hand up to her face. I pinched her cheek, slowly, gently at first, then harder. I watched the emotions play across her features -- confusion, fear, pain. I felt warm wetness, and saw her blood on my fingers. I laughed and tasted it.
She screamed and tried to slap me; I caught her wrist and broke it. She gasped and grabbed it with her other hand. I ran my bloodied fingers through her hair, then grabbed a handful and pulled upward. Her eyes shut tightly, she had forgotten her wrist and cheek. I made a bet with myself whether her feet would lift from the floor before her hair came loose.
I heard sounds behind me. I dropped the woman and turned, just in time to see the door open...
Of the twelve people to his left who had shared his experience, felt his every emotion, five were busy vomiting, three were sobbing uncontrollably, two more looked as if they couldn't make up their mind which to do, and the remaining couple were visibly reconsidering their opinions of their own civility.
Their deliberations took seven minutes, by no means a record, but certainly worth noting in the news reports. They returned to the courtroom somber, quiet, and much older than they had been a few hours before.
No one was surprised by the verdict they returned, nor the recommendation of the death penalty.
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