Insanity grew intolerant, desperation overwhelmed the senses, and only punishment would ease the voices. DMK http://t.co/3UF4PlxHXA— David M Karder (@slantedk) September 7, 2013
He assured concealment of his weapon. The bar had two open seats. Bartender, tits barely contained in her push-up bra, beautiful hair, duel ponytails, daisy duke shorts torn in the perfect spot to see her red thong.
“Black and tan, boilermaker, use Jack.”
“High octane tonight, huh?”
He nodded, panned the room, the pool tables, each in use, a band sets up for the night. The mind viewed each individual as if through a rifle-scope. Drink set on the bar, turned, chugged half of it. Patron next to him took notice. Old man, tattered military jacked, looked like he owned the bar-stool.
“Damn, son, tough day?”
Slight turn to the inquiring individual; elbow on the bar, made no eye contact.
“Been sitting on that stool long?”
“Shit, came back from Korea and sat here.”
“Then you should have the sense to know when someone needs to be left alone.”
“Shit, I got ya, I got ya.”
Remaining beverage slammed.
“Another one, Honey?”
“Pint of Bass shot of Jack.”
The mind’s eye ran a slide show of his previous sprees. The blood red tint excited him, a bullet rips flesh, blood streams out the back of the head and puddles while the eyes go black. A smile appeared on his face. Licked his lips, turned back to the bar, downed the shot and chased it with half the pint.
Another patron took notice. Has the ability to recognize trouble and took a defensive position.
Crazy sought a challenge, brutality entertained his instability and he knew shock would freeze the crowd. Voices scream. “Pick someone, do it, do it now!”