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IN MY HEAD
A Story by Hawksmoor
In my head, I grow the balls to gather my resolve, hitch a grim sneer onto my face, and then pay a visit to my former
employers. The unbelievable fucks.
In my hands as I enter the door are two things. A white piece of paper and a gun.
There they are, hustling the humble worker bees back and forth like there will be no tomorrow. On every face but two,
there are strained looks, stress where stress shouldn't have a foothold. Pack it up, put it down, put it right, and set it
Perfect!!!
Two voices, one oddly deep and masculine for a woman's voice; the other, slick, toothless, and country. Hick.
They see me walk in, the things in my hand, and with twin looks, they come for me. The gun is raised, and they stop coming.
"You", the head bitch whispers, but she can't say anymore because that's when the butt of the gun swings in an arc
and suddenly she's on the floor, bleeding like a stuck pig from a tear in her scalp.
The other bitch is frozen solid with shock and fear. Just what I wanted to see.
"I'm the last person who'll walk through these doors who'll be treated with disrespect. The last one."
It seems impossible that the words have fallen from my mouth;hell, it seems impossible to have gotten this far at all.
Me, of all people, shoved to violence.
Impossible, yet, not.
"You're going to shut the fuck up and you're going to hear what I've got to say, and you're not just going to
hear it, you're going to listen. You're going to take what I'm going to say and use it in the very near future. You'll start
to do this the moment I walk out of here."
One frozen bitch bleeding on the shining floor, (glazed to perfection by worker bee hands no doubt) one frozen and incredulous
bitch standing rooted before me, her lips quivering. Couple of fuckin lesbian pricks.
The pleasure in this for me isn't in seeing blood, or in knowing that I've brought harm or fear to others. No, that's
not it at all. To me, the pleasure comes within understanding that they know I mean what I'm saying. I know they'll always
remember this occurrence, this moment, this rage and sadness and anger.
This disappointment.
"What do you want?" says the bitch on the floor, her face furrowed with pain, uglier than ever before,
a real feat to pull. She's scared, but as I said before, I take no pleasure in her fear. Only a dim sort of pity.
I throw the piece of paper down in her face. On it, spelled in letters cut out of magazines, are the words "YOU SUCK"
Bold, black letters.
"The next time you decide to use human beings as slaves, the next time you speak to an employee in the way
you've spoken to me and others, the very next goddamn time I hear of your horrible treatment of people who work too goddamn
hard and too goddamn much, all to please you and help keep this shitraft afloat, I'm coming back here."
The mannish bitch standing before me twitches a bit, but not much. She's afraid I'll put a bullet in her gut if she moves
too suddenly. The way I'm feeling, I just might.
"You'll respect people because they're people, you understand me? You'll love their work even if you don't
love them, because hard work and dedication should mean something in this day and age, when average people in this country
still aren't being paid enough to keep themselves in decent toilet paper month by month. You'll do it because it's the right
thing," I say, training the gun's point on the mannish woman's sweaty forehead. I don't know if she can see the hate
in my heart for her, but she damn well ought to be able to.
"This sheet of paper will hang in the office, on the big board, until you understand that this is the only
correct way to treat other people; because they're people, you grimy fucks."
I back out of the door slowly. I nod, and then spit on the floor. I say "fuck it", nod again, and then spit
into the floored woman's slack-jawed, red-neck face.
THAT brings me satisfaction.
"If you don't do right by these people," I nod at each of my former co-workers in turn, good and genuine
people, "I'll be back, and the next time I have to step back through this door, I aim to use this weapon."
In a flash, I'm gone.
It's as if I'd never grown the balls and been there.
Hawksmoor...From the Bleed.
a dear friend of ours, a great writer, and a damn good time to be around.
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