Fight in the Park
The thugs had ambushed me when I was crossing the park. I supposed that I should have known better than to enter a park after dark. I had finally bailed out of my track chair. It wasn’t weaponized, a problem I intended to fix, and it just too damn slow and confining for unarmed combat. I'd streaked across the grass, over and under the picnic tables, the playground equipment and through the trees like a micro-gorilla. I had attempted to evade his attackers. I didn’t really want to hurt them, but they weren’t giving up. They weren’t taking the hint.
Elvira, in the the little dragon avatar, flew high guard behind me like a falcon, waiting for my go-ahead. Eventually she got it. There finally came a point where I decided to just quit running. No more Mr. Nice guy. If they wouldn’t leave me alone, then they would suffer the consequences.
I found a good place to fight, then Elvira and me turned the tables on them. We went on the attack. There weren’t too many of the young thugs, perhaps a dozen or so. Maybe even two dozen...it didn't matter. They hadn't been fine tuned in the tunnels of Cu Chi. I had. They didn’t have SoulStone tech...I did. How hard could this be? It was going to be like shooting fish in a barrel...the poor lads. Elvira and I meshed in the same way that the Voice and I had meshed in the tunnels. We became night terrors to the thugs. We were silent death from out of the dark, two deadly weapons sharing one mind, supporting each other and covering for each other.
No MORE Mr. Nice Guy. I had had a hard day at the shop so I took it out on them. I maimed and killed them without a sound.
Sheep to the Slaughter. The poor lads were not, really, very good fighters. Most of them were just bullies. They had been confident in their numbers against an old double amputee in an odd looking wheel chair. Perhaps they should have considered that oddness. Not every Disabled Vet propelled an unpowered Tank Chair across a park in the ghetto, at night. They might have considered the reason that I was different. They hadn’t stopped to think, and they were paying the price in blood and tears.
They were pathetic.
I was only three feet tall when I was standing straight up, torso on the ground. When I was leaning forward in Gorilla stance I was much shorter. Being very close to the ground gave me a provided a tremendous tactical advantage. Apparently the pathetic fools had some vague notion in their tiny little minds about revenge, retaliation or 'saving face,' relating to the incident of a few weeks ago. I had gently whipped their asses that time. That had been a slap on the back of the hand. No one had died. They should have heeded the lesson then. I was done being gentle. I was done with simply scolding. I was beyond just using the switch on them. They had proven to be unresponsive to a gentle slap on their butts. Very well then.
Game over. Time to take the trash out.
They had guns and apparently they’d thought that made them invincible. I had faced guns before. Guns held no special terror for me, especially since I was in their midst, up close and personal, and below their line of fire. They kept shooting each other. Some had knives and tried to use them. Naturally they hadn't the least clue of the proper way to do so. They were swinging long, ‘scary’, ‘tactical’ knives, almost swords in some cases and not touching me in the slightest. The term ‘circular firing squad’ came to mind. I was slashing with my fingernails and punching. My punches were so pile driver intense that they caved in ribs, ruptured organs, and broke bones. My fingernail slashes gutted them like trout. On occasion , just for kicks, I plucked out eyeballs for a change of pace. That made them squeal. Elvira had claws too, and teeth, and a tail with a sharp tip. Me and the little dragon were happily slicing and dicing the punks. It brought back old memories to me of back in the day.
We made them bleed.
These guys had clearly bitten off MUCH more than they could chew. They had a tiger by the tail and couldn’t let go for fear of being eaten. The thugs had attacked in the dark thinking it might give them an advantage. The reverse was true. Elvira and I could see in the dark as clear as day. The thugs could not. The pathetic infants were reduced to much stumbling around, in panic, slow and pitiful... crying for their momma, I was fast and remorseless. I was in the groove. I was a natural born killer.
Who’s your Daddy?
I was tearing them apart. They had pissed me off. Their bodies piled up and littered the landscape. Blood soaked the grass.
Suddenly there was light. Spotlights from several police cruisers illuminated the carnage.
To Be Continued
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The Hobo Picture is a Public Domain image from
Samantha at the Worlds Fair
by Josiah Allen's Wife (Marietta Holley)
Illustrated by
Baron C. De Grimm published by
Funk and Wagnall's Company 1893
Unless noted
All other Illustrations are from
Pixabay