I am alone in the study, but can still hear the echoes of their screams. My father. My mother. They told me not to blame myself, and I don't. I blame him. That craven coward who took my parents from me. The man who laughed as my father screamed.
The police did nothing. Would do nothing. And ever will it be the case.
The door opens, and they come in to face me.
"Your mother and I have grown apart, Bruce," my father says.
"The way your father reacted to that car on the freeway was just icing on the cake," my mother says, and he glares at her.
"The way I reacted?" he starts to shout, and I turn to the study window and the daylight outside. I'm used to this. They begin to argue about the truth, but I don't listen.
Because I know the truth.
If it hadn't been for the man who cut my father off on the freeway, my parents would stay together. We would still be a family.
There is a sudden crash as a baseball comes crashing through the window and rolls to my feet. Light streams through the clouds, illuminating the ball, casting its stitches into sharp relief.
My parents run to the window. I stare at the ball. It is a message. It is a sign.
Commuters are a cowardly, supercilious lot.
I will become the thing they least expect. I will wreak vengeance upon all those that flout the law by not using turn signals.
They will know the justice of The Ball. I will break the windshield of their villainy as they have broken my life.
I know who I am now. I'm Ball-Man.
The police did nothing. Would do nothing. And ever will it be the case.
The door opens, and they come in to face me.
"Your mother and I have grown apart, Bruce," my father says.
"The way your father reacted to that car on the freeway was just icing on the cake," my mother says, and he glares at her.
"The way I reacted?" he starts to shout, and I turn to the study window and the daylight outside. I'm used to this. They begin to argue about the truth, but I don't listen.
Because I know the truth.
If it hadn't been for the man who cut my father off on the freeway, my parents would stay together. We would still be a family.
There is a sudden crash as a baseball comes crashing through the window and rolls to my feet. Light streams through the clouds, illuminating the ball, casting its stitches into sharp relief.
My parents run to the window. I stare at the ball. It is a message. It is a sign.
Commuters are a cowardly, supercilious lot.
I will become the thing they least expect. I will wreak vengeance upon all those that flout the law by not using turn signals.
They will know the justice of The Ball. I will break the windshield of their villainy as they have broken my life.
I know who I am now. I'm Ball-Man.
That was very good! I am pleased.
Thank you.
Posted by: Q | October 01, 2007 at 02:46 PM
Oi.
Vey.
Posted by: Enna Isilee | October 01, 2007 at 02:48 PM
Bahaha! That was great! Genius! Too fun.
Posted by: Ruby Diamond | October 01, 2007 at 03:50 PM
Ball-man. Hmm, has potential as a Marvel comic superhero.
"And here comes Ball-man with his amazing radioactive bouncing balls..."
Posted by: flyyhigh | October 02, 2007 at 05:57 AM
Ruby Diamond said it all.
'Bahaha! That was great! Genius! Too fun.'
I think this is one of my favorite microstories of all time.
Posted by: Katee | October 02, 2007 at 08:48 AM
Your a good writer!
you should write a book
Posted by: charlie | October 13, 2007 at 12:55 PM