The Challenge: The power just went out and all Asylum doors are unlocked.
The power just went out and all Asylum doors are unlocked.
Tonight my horrible honeys I’ve made you a murderer.
You writing challenge is this:
A short story or poem.
You get 1 chance to commit only 1 murder.
Make it count…
Silence 2.0 by Richard Bell
“L O L A Lola, Lola, L O L A…”
“Quit singing that fucking song! You know that I enjoy the extra surprise underneath the skirt, Streeks. These walls are thin, even with the soft furnishing and our psycho ponchos. The storm is on the way, my sinuses are never wrong. It’s going to be a big one, as in ‘lights out’ big one.”
The brick and plaster bounced echoes around the corridors of Rothenburg Asylum, delighting some of the more lucid guests with the conversation and eliciting furious howling from the ‘way beyond help’ crew in the Extra Tight.
Permit me to introduce myself, I’m Yakuza Streeks, former head of catering at Jim Jones…just kidding…I ran my own business delivering meals to the old folks. One day I just stepped out of my skull and added a dozen Carolina Reaper peppers to the risotto and the rest, as they say, is history. Forty seriously ill and two dead. The arresting officer had a grandma that I gave the fire shits to so he pepper sprayed me on the hour for a week. They tested me and threw me in here to cool off! The guy I’m singing Lola to, that’s Cold Slab. He liked the boys dressed as girls but wasn’t much of a conversationalist. When they finally raided his home, they found three chest freezers full of transvestites and his whole house was painted in lipstick – even the windows. That’s when they dubbed him the Decorophiliac! No sense of humor and a cock like a midget’s thumb. I’m not politically correct so don’t expect Germaine Greer. We’ve got them all in here, the snapped, the ground down, the ragers, a few deities and then there’s Silence.
Now there is the top of the psycho’s pyramid.
Silence amassed a body count of around a thousand, so they estimate. He started when he was ten and was a ghost taking hitchhikers up and down the west coast, killing two or three at a time and always with the same MO. He took the tongue and the little toe on the right foot. They only caught him when his lock up where he kept all the trophies got prime-time exposure when they opened it up on Storage Hunters.
“So the storms coming, eh? What time will it hit, Cold Slab…Cold Sla…”
The power is out and, yes, the door is open. I’m going to upgrade my status from mischief-maker to outright unhinged, full on lunatic. I’m going after Silence.
The black corridors are a walk in my memories and I figure two more turns and I’m at the cage door to Extra Tight.
I can hear Silence snoring.
I’ll sneak in like Ramirez and powder choke him. Got a fist full of plaster dust and I’m stuffing it into his throat like he’s Linda Lovelace.
I have a better idea. I’m going to skin him and walk out of here in a Silence suit.
Got my shiv and I cut and cut in the darkness. Following the contours then just peel back and step in. He smells bad skinned like fish fart breath on a week old corpse. I used to find them delivering my meals.
Door after door just swings open with no power and I find a bag in the laundry truck to secrete myself.
Tomorrow, when the storm is gone, another one will start. Silence will resume the spree as me.
Original written work by Richard Bell aka Rick Nightmare
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