Tag Archives: hint fiction

Painter

To say it caused a sensation in the art world would be an understatement.

The first painting from Laurent Saint Michiuex in over 30 years. An infamous recluse, Michiuex had a meteoric rise to art-world notoriety with his first exhibition, simply and bluntly titled: ART.

And then he never painted again. Until now.

A single painting. A single stroke of red paint. A singular masterpiece, the critics agreed.

It would break all of Sotheby’s records for a painting.

Decades later on his deathbed, Michiuex would make a terse confession to his nurse. A confession people either did not believe or did not want to believe.

“I was born Earnhardt Jones and 20 years ago a bumped into a table, spilled some paint on a piece of canvas, and became a millionaire.”

And then he died.

Title

His name was The Grand Supreme Leader Of Everything That Is, Was, Or Will Be.

He promised us inner peace, knowledge of things heavenly and worldly, a profound sense of purpose.

We could have all of this, The Grand Supreme Leader Of Everything That Is, Was, Or Will Be said, if we just trusted him completely.

That trust, he said, could be earned easily, quickly, and with a few strokes of a pen.

Just sign on the dotted line. Don’t read the document, just sign.

And so we did.

After two weeks of intense seminars, meditation, fasting, we signed.

And now we are the proud owners of a pristine beach-front property.

In Kansas.

General

“Alright, listen up you maggots! There’s no room for weakness in my platoon. You got that! I said do you god damn got that?!

We will advance on the enemy. We will fight the enemy. And yes, some of you may die. And some of you may lose an arm or a leg. And some of you will never be the same.

But ask me if any of that matters to me and my answer will be that it fucking does not matter to me what happens to you. Not one god damned bit. Do you understand?

What matters to me is that you don’t act like a bunch of motherfucking, cocksucking, wet pussy wimps. That’s what matters to me.

Do you understand, maggots?”

Reflected in the beady, black eyes of the bears and giraffes and one white and pink bunny was the image of a six year old kid in a way-too-big-for-him Army uniform, perhaps belonging to a man 30 years older than him who never came home.

Organise

It was all wrong. The face didn’t look quite right. The proportions were somehow…off. And one of the arms seemed to be longer than the other, which didn’t make any sense. He’d been trying to arrange the parts for what seemed like hours, but still. It was all wrong somehow.

He couldn’t try much longer. His hands were sticky and slippery and the parts kept slipping through them. He had to get it right. He knew they were on his trail and would find the body soon enough.

Climate

Sure, the seas were boiling and some of the water in some of the lakes had turned to blood and locusts were eating all of the crops and on some days it was too hot outside for human safety, but the new portable Bluetooth speaker Max ordered on Amazon Prime just arrived, so he really wasn’t concerned right now.

Origin

“Good evening and welcome to another episode of Voices of Villians. Tonight, we’re very happy to have our guest, Fast Foe, join us in the studio. Welcome, Fast Foe.”

“Thanks for having me.”

“So, as our viewers probably know, you’ve been quite busy lately. What drives you to your acts of villianry?”

“You, know Chuck, I think it’s just sort of a passion. Like, you have to really like what you do. And, like they say, find something you love and you’ll never work a day in your life. I think I can say that’s true for me.”

“And for me, Fast Foe. And for me. Very true words. So, I have to ask a question that is definitely on my mind and I think on the minds of a lot of our listeners too.”

“Ok.”

“Why or how did you choose your specific targets? Why fast food chains like McDonalds or Dairy Queen? Is this some sort of health crusade? Which would be a little odd for a villian.”

“Haha. Yeah, I think that would be a little weird, Chuck. And that’s definitely not the case, not the reason. I think, like most villians, my main motivations all go back to my origin story. I think that’s true for a lot of us.”

“Interesting. And what, may I ask, is your origin story?”

“Glad you asked, Chuck. A lot of my fans seem to be confused.”

“Oh, so you have a strong fan base?”

“I do. I just hit 30 followers on Instagram.”

“Well, that’s not–“

“Like I was saying, and to answer your question, it all goes back to my origin story. You see, some years back, I was driving back home from a really long road trip. Like 8 hours straight, or something. And, boy, it was hot that day. Like 90 degrees. And I didn’t have AC in my car at the time. I do now, but anyway. I didn’t have AC then and it was hot and it had been a long drive, like 8 hours or something, and at this point all I really wanted, like what I was really craving, was a milkshake from a McDonalds.”

“Those can be quite refreshing.”

“They can! But, Chuck, and here’s the thing, I couldn’t get one.”

“There isn’t a McDonald’s in your town?”

“Oh no, there most certainly is, Chuck. But when I pulled up to the drive-thru window and tried to order, they told me their milkshake machine was down. Can you believe that? On a day like that? No milkshakes?!”

“That must have been disappointing.”

“That’s putting it mildly, Chuck. Putting it mildly. So it was then and there, sweating and unsatiated in my car, that I decided I would put an end to all of them. It was then that I decided to become Fast Foe.”

“Because you couldn’t get one milkshake?”

“Chuck. That’s not the point. It’s not about just one milkshake. Plus, I went to four other places that day. Four, Chuck! Four! And all of them, all of them, said their milkshake machines were down.”

“Still, it seems a little–“

“Chuck. Chuck. I’m not liking your tone, Chuck. This is my origin story. It’s mine. And I have my reasons for becoming Fast Foe. For becoming a Super VIllian.”

“I couldn’t help but notice–“

“Yes?”

“Well, I couldn’t help but notice that you added the word ‘Super’ in front of ‘Villian’ this time.”

“Well, that’s what I am, Chuck! That’s what I am. Fast Foe is a Super Villian. That’s what I am.”

“I think your ego may be a little Super-Sized there, Foe.”

“Chuck.”

“Yes?”

“Don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

“Look, I’m feeling like you don’t respect me. Like you don’t respect what I do. I think this interview is over, Chuck.”

“Oh come on now, Foe. Don’t leave. This is my first interview with a Super-Sized Super Villian.”

“That’s it! So help me god, Chuck. So help me god. You will never drink another milkshake from a fast food chain again. I’ll see to that!”

“I’m lactose intolerant.”

Just

I reject the notion that he was found not guilty by a jury of his peers.
There weren’t any mothers on that jury.
I reject the notion that evidence is inadmissable.
They couldn’t see the photos.
I reject the notion of double jeopardy.
There are some things that make you forever guilty.
I reject the notion of cruel and unusual punishment.
There might come a time when I let him out of the cage I put him in.
I reject the notion that “Do Unto Others” advocates exclusively for kindness.
There are times when cruelty begets cruelty, when violence demands violence.
I reject the notion of a minimum or maximum sentence.
I will surgically remove a piece of his skin for each and every day that I have had to live without my child.
I reject the notion that I have somehow become a monster.
There is a universal principle, an eternal law, an innate righteousness guiding and condoning what I am doing.
I reject the notion that I should give a fuck what you think.
There might come a time when you find yourself in my shoes and only then can you judge me.

Summary

An open letter to the people of Waterstown, Indiana,

Listen, the long-and-short of it is that there’s nothing really to talk about. Things happened, as they are want to do from time-to-time. I mean, things happen every day, am I right? I don’t see why y’all have to make a big to-do over this.

Yes, I’ll admit that shit went down at Bob’s Bar on Main Street. We all know they did, so there ain’t no point in me trying to deny it or say otherwise. But, and I think y’all all know this is true, Bob’s been having it coming his way for a long time. A long god damn time.

I can’t say it was self defense or that I was defending somebody’s honor or that it was a wrong-place-wrong-time type of deal. It weren’t. It weren’t none of them things. Fact of the matter is, I just couldn’t stand that son of a bitch any longer. So, yeah, we got into it. I hit the man. More than a few times. The only thing I slightly regret is pouring that bottle of Glenlivet 18 year all over that man’s body. That scotch deserved better.

And yeah, since we’re being honest, we all know about Greg’s tractor. Hell, there’s photos on Facebook about the whole ordeal. Listen, since we’re being truthful, I don’t rightly have a good explanation on that one. In short, I may have had one too many, I saw a tractor, and it seemed like a good idea at the time.

I do apologize to Mary Walton’s mailbox, Steven Altman’s picket fence (lord knows he just finished painting that thing), and to little miss Julie’s dog (may that pup make a speedy recovery, God willing and the creek don’t rise).

And I’d like to issue a formal apology to Marsha Winston and her husband Mike. I know it weren’t right what I did. To stand out front of a married woman’s house at 3 in the damn morning holding up a boombox like in that John Cusack movie. Well, I know that weren’t right. And I should’ve left when I was asked to. I know that now.

But listen, y’all. The short of it is that nothing’s really changed. Yes, some things happened. Ok, yes, I done did some things I ain’t to proud of. But which one of us hasn’t?

Ain’t nothing really changed, folks. If you take a good and hard look at it. Our town is still the best in the whole of Indiana, our property taxes is low, and local businesses have been thriving of late (that reminds me, I will pay for the repairs to Ike’s Ice Cream Parlor on 5th. On my honor, I will).

So, for fucks sake, can’t we just all move on from this? Live and let live and all. I think it’d do our little town a world of good.

Sincerely,
William P. Hallstad
Mayor of Waterstown, Indiana

Rifle

Aim: Align your sight with your target. It’s important that you keep both eyes open so you can see clearly and without distortion. This will also reduce the stress of eye strain. Keep your aiming time brief. This is the moment. Don’t second guess yourself. Align your sights on your target.

Preparing the Body

Wash the body in a disinfectant solution. Massage the limbs to relive stiffening in the joints and muscles. Shave where necessary.

Control Your Breathing: Your breathing can move the firearm enough to make you miss your shot. When you’re ready, and you are, draw a deep breath, feel it inside you, and exhale about half of it. Hold your breath as you squeeze the trigger. Remember, today is the day. The excitement of this fact might make your heart beat faster and increase your pulse. If this happens, just relax and remember why you’re here, and try again.

Set the Facial Features

Close the eyes with glue or use plastic eye caps to hold the lids down.

Hold Steady: It might be hard for you to hold the firearm steady. This is understandable. Focus your attention on the movement of the target and try to minimize the area that the target can move around in.

Artierial

Remove the blood from the body through the veins and replace with formaldehyde-based chemicals through the arteries.

Squeeze the Trigger: When you’re ready, and you are, hold the gun comfortably and grab the wrist of the stock firmly and with purpose. Remember to squeeze the trigger without jarring the gun. This requires slow, steady pressure. It was slow, steady pressure that brought you here. It is slow, steady pressure that will end the slow, steady pressure.

Cavity

Make a small incision in the abdomen. Insert trocar into the body cavity. Puncture the organs in the chest cavity and drain gas and fluids. Inject chemicals. Suture.

Follow Through: After the bullet fires, you must continue. You must continue to squeeze or follow-through to avoid the gun jerking before the bullet leaves the barrel. You must continue. You must follow-through.

Pluck

I know. I know there are things such as razors and electric shavers. I know these are things and that they exist.

But this is more than a morning routine to get rid of an unsightly five-o-clock shadow.

This is a transformation.

If I have to pick each one of these little bastard black hairs from my arms and shoulders and stomach and legs, then I will.

I will pluck and I will hurt and at times I will bleed.

You wouldn’t want to know somebody that’s never been through an ounce of pain.

When I’m finished, everybody will want to know me.