The alarm chimed softly, soothingly. He awoke easily. His equipment was set up and ready to go; he needed only to wait for the crashing of gears and grinding metal that would indicate his bane, his nemesis, that angry mechanical monstrosity had arrived. He swung his feet over the side of the bed and wriggled his feet into his slippers. He padded softly to the window and looked down to the street below. His Enemy always showed itself at this time; unsubtle, unyielding, angry.
He caressed the equipment softly, his fingers lingering lovingly on
The BUTTON!
marveling at the way the dim light reflected from the dials and switches. For the thousandth time, he checked it, telling himself that the examination was not necessary; the storage medium was ready; the device mounted properly. It was a very expensive piece of hardware, indeed. It gleamed blackly, ominously; its sheer violent cacophony restrained by a single open switch. He had but to close that switch and its song would blare into the night.
But that would not happen this night. This night, its purpose was to observe, to listen to the Enemy, and to remember.
In that remembering, his mechanical Enemy’s implacable master would be damned.
It came. With a clashing of gears and the unmistakable rumble of burning diesel fuel, the Enemy approached, blaring its own song into the night.
He placed the weapon into its observation mode and pushed its other button; one less potent but the results no less important for that reduced potency. The equipment observed, humming softly with restrained power. It performed its task well. Even the Man was surprised at how well.
With that finished, the man crawled back into bed, pondering his vengeance for several minutes before sleep claimed him.
2:00 PM
The day dragged slowly; the Man performing his mundane tasks for his unyielding corporate masters. These tasks made him impatient, for the unmistakable undercurrent of excitement caused the more unimportant details of his life to become cumbersome. The true purpose of his life awaited him that evening; for he had come to believe that his life had been building to this moment; to culminate with the blaring of released power that would come; since the time of his birth. At one point, he paused, concerned that his life would have no meaning once he discharged his purpose, but these were concerns for the future. He was focused on this one moment which would occur, fittingly enough, at 4:30 AM the next morning.
8:30 PM
He looked at the weapon, and hated it. It sat there dully, staring back at him; its twin slots resembling dull, unlidded eyes. He’d left the unit turned on and its power source was exhausted.
The Button was powerless, impotent!
This was an unforgivable delay and would set him back two evenings until he could scrape together sufficient funds to replenish it.
That night, the Enemy moved by his window again, mocking him.
Mocking!
10:30 PM; two days later
It was ready. The unit hummed softly, powerfully. Its LED readouts flashed angrily, almost as though the weapon was anxious to discharge its purpose. Remembering to shut down its power system this time, he crawled into bed and tossed and turned restlessly. He was anxious to carry out his purpose and be done with it. He eventually lapsed into a fitful doze.
4:00 AM
The alarm chimed angrily, insistently. He lurched to his feet, struggling to dispel the cobwebs from his eyes. This wouldn’t do; he must be awake for this. He jogged in place, attempting to get his blood flowing. With a deep sigh, he dressed and pulled his sneakers on. As he did so, the excitement began to build and the sleepiness slowly drained away from him. He was whistling as he picked up the weapon by its handle and stepped out of his apartment and locked the door behind him. It was a beautiful night. The stars shone from above. If those distant points of light held any judgment for the awful act of vengeance he was about to render, they showed no sign. He carried the weapon to his waiting vehicle.
4:05 AM
Start, damn you, START!!!!!!
4:20 AM
The vehicle hummed softly, never showing for a moment that it had tried to betray him; costing him a precious five minutes. He wasn’t sure if he could get there in time. He gritted his teeth. Everything stood on the verge of ruin. This was personal, timing was everything. He must attack the target at 4:30 AM. It could be no later.
Gritting his teeth some more, he yanked the wheel hard over and crashed through the fence surrounding the yards of the sleeping community. A voice shouted; a dog barked. He ignored these, destroying fence after fence in his mad quest to destroy his target. As he drove, he noted that the properties he was damaging were becoming more and more upper-class as he drove. Good, good. He was definitely on the right track.
Without warning, he burst into a circular court. This was a very upper class suburban neighborhood; a quiet community whose deep slumber had been disturbed by his sudden passage.
Slowing only to take note of the street marker, he sped up the street, racing towards his destiny.
4:27 AM
Time was short. He’d made it, but there was no time to savor the experience as he’d hoped. He stopped the engine and grabbed the weapon. It smacked sharply against the doorframe of his car and he paused briefly to make sure he hadn’t damaged it. It was a delicate piece of machinery, and the internal gears and cogs could be very easily damaged.
All was in order. He sprinted across the grass, wanting to be in position before it was too late. There! He skidded to a halt under the window to his target’s bedroom. He was out of time. He quickly positioned the weapon and
pushed the BUTTON!
4:30 AM
Roger Forbin of Forbin’s Trash Hauling and Recycling rested comfortably in his bed. He was exhausted; running a Trash Hauling Empire which covered three counties was tiring work.
That was why he loved this neighborhood. It was so quiet; it was relaxing. This home was the only place he could rest up from his daily travails. He nestled his head deeper into the soft, downy pillow and smiled contentedly.
So calm, so soothing... so restful.
The horrible cacophony caused his heart to nearly burst within his chest. It burst forth from the back lawn with an apocalyptic shriek; a horrible, mind-numbing cacophony of metal on metal. He lurched to his feet, screaming in sudden abject fright; all thoughts of sleep gone. He covered his ears against the sound, which strongly resembled...
One of my garbage trucks?
Stumbling to the window, he threw the curtain open and peered out at the lone figure in the grass.
The man glared back with a feral grin, waving a ThunderWatt SoundSystem 250 Boombox, a very expensive piece of hardware indeed.
He whipped the window up, rattling the glass in its frame. "What the hell is that racket??" he bellowed.
"Bass boost, mothahfuckaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhh!!!!!" the man bellowed back.
It IS one of my trucks!! He recorded one of my goddamn trucks!
"How’s it fucking feel, you bastard?? It’s 4:30 AM in the middle of the fucking night, and how does it feel to be blasted from your fucking bed by the fucking sound of one of your fucking trucks??"
The man on the lawn hopped around ecstatically for several moments. Forbin was at a loss. Numbly, he closed the window and shut the curtain. He staggered back to his bed and tried to sleep.
It was difficult. Every time he thought the truck was finished loading its garbage, it would start with a fresh roar of gears, clanging metal, and belching diesel exhaust. Even after the sound of the gears had faded and the recorded truck drove off into the distance, slumber refused to claim him.
The racket had completely jarred his nerves. There would be no more sleep this night.
4:40 AM
The man was pleased. Vengeance was sweet. He’d struck a blow for sleepless working men and women everywhere and his purpose was complete.
His throat was soar; hoarse from the screaming he’d done. The pain was Absolution.
He lovingly placed the weapon on the floor and climbed into bed. He slept more soundly than he ever had in his life.
Bio: I live in Altoona PA, where I am currently attending a PC repair and networking course. On my off time, I spend entirely too much time reading, writing, and web surfing. My first published short story runs more along the lines of horror with a good dose of black comedy thrown in for good measure. In spite of this, my true love is science fiction and fantasy, and I can be seen hanging out at the various Star Trek conventions in and around Baltimore and Washington, DC. " By the way, the "R" stands for "Robert."
E-mail:rmike@csrlink.net
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