FRESH OFF THE BUS FROM CREEPYTOWN: Foolproof

 

By

Al Bruno III

 

By the time anyone sees this, it will be too late, and I will be at peace.

I am not the first person to find themselves tired of life, and I won't be the first person to put an end to it all. Some people commit suicide via handfuls of pills or with warm baths and cut wrists. That isn't for me. That's too gentle, too clean. It doesn't show enough contempt for what this world makes of you. I'm going to cut my own throat, left to right, ear to ear, and I'm doing it in the morning. I would have liked for there to have been a sunrise for my final moments, but the forecasts are cloudy with a chance of rain.

One more disappointment.

The blade is in my hand, a well-used boning knife with a serrated edge. I've been preparing for almost half a year, studying medical journals and tracing the path the knife must take. This isn't the kind of thing you can practice easily, but I think I've developed a foolproof technique. One clean cut will sever both my carotid arteries- just so long as I don't lose my nerve or fumble the job. The last thing I want to do is survive and have to explain what I have done.

I've decided to do it in my home while wearing my best suit. I will be standing in front of the window with my favorite album playing, Abbey Road, and I will make the cut in the pause between 'The End' and 'Her Majesty.'

A gravesite has already been purchased, and a closed casket and a quiet burial have been requested. My will specifies that my estate will be liquidated and dispersed to whatever charities might be interested.

Don't think I've chosen this path because of some kind of mental illness; this may be the sanest decision I have ever made. Life has its joys, but I think that if you really keep track, the tragedies always outweigh the triumphs. We all try so hard, but in the end, what is it worth? Everything dies, everything rots away; the evening news gets bleaker, and the nights grow longer. The old sayings like "Better to have loved and lost" or "If you first you don't succeed try, try again." are cruel platitudes created by one generation to pass their misery on to the next. 

Some philosopher said it was better to have never been born and I can't say I disagree with him. Better never to have been born at all but in absence of that better to die.

I'm sure you're shaking your head at this, wishing you could have told me how wrong I was. You probably think life is sweet, and you might wonder why I didn't reach out to my friends and family. To someone that might profess to care about me.

But that would be impossible because they're all dead already. 

I had to practice my foolproof technique somehow.

 

 

 

FRESH OFF THE BUS FROM CREEPYTOWN: My Love Is Vengeance

by

Al Bruno III

The old saying is, "Before you embark on a journey of revenge, dig two graves," but in the end, I only needed one. I have no regrets for my years spent planning and executing my vengeance upon Creighton Tillingshaft Jr.

It should never have come to this, and I like to think that if he had just paid for his crimes, I would have tried to move on, but that man did not take responsibility. There was no denying that my thirteen-year-old son was dragged beneath Creighton Tillingshaft Jr's car for 180 yards; there was no denying that Creighton Tillingshaft Jr had fled the scene of the accident, leaving my boy to die by the side of the road like an animal. The authorities thought he was driving under the influence, but by the time they caught up to him, there was no way to prove it.

The trial was a sham; the Tillingshaft fortune saw to it that his team of doctors and psychiatrists spoke of 'dissociative episodes' and addictions. His lawyers questioned my parenting, scolding me for allowing my boy to be out delivering papers at five in the morning. In the end, all my son's killer received was a hefty fine, community service, and twelve years probation.

Was that all my boy was worth to them?

It is a painful thing to outlive your offspring; my wife had died in childbirth, and the thought that my son would not attend my grave as I attended his mother's left me not entirely sane. I bought a gun and tried to decide if I wanted him dead or if I wanted to die myself. Eventually my perspective changed, I became colder. I let my love for my son twist into a dream of vengeance. I vowed to never rest until I saw my boy's killer on his knees.

Years were spent watching and planning; I came to know his life better than I had known my own. Finally, shortly after his fortieth birthday, I began to move against Creighton Tillingshaft Jr. At first all I did was let him know he was being watched by using the skills I'd spent years honing. His family heard footsteps echo through the house at night. They would investigate to find a door or window open. They started finding newspapers delivered to their front step, though they never subscribed, and their mansion was behind walls and a gate. Those papers were not new; they were from the year my son died. He began to panic; he hired security guards that never found anything amiss and bought guard dogs that disappeared to be found dead weeks later.

Once the Tillingshafts were good and rattled, I backed off; I waited a year; I could afford to. Then they found Creighton Tillingshaft Sr. dead; everyone said it was a simple heart attack, but I was responsible. The old man wasn't even a week in the ground when I struck again. Seventeen-year-old Creighton Tillingshaft III took a tumble down one of the crowded stairways of his college. His injuries left him a paraplegic; months later, an opportunistic infection took care of the rest. That blow made my son's killer turn his back on the sobriety he had embraced twenty-five years ago. That drove his wife away, leaving him alone in that big mansion with just his servants, but I soon took care of them. For all their professed loyalty to the Tillingshaft family, a few well-planned accidents and some threats from the shadows were all it took to send them running.

After that, I waited again, knowing that eventually, despite his near-constant drunken stupor, my son's killer would realize what I had done. It was a cold February morning when he came to me. He screamed and cursed until he collapsed into a sobbing heap.

Does Hell await me as punishment for what I've done? I don't know, and I don't care.

It was worth it to have the once great Creighton Tillingshaft Jr fall to his knees on my long untended grave.

 

 

 

This is Channel Ab3 Episode Twenty-One: DOUBLE FEATURE My Love Is Vengence/Foolproof

My Love Is Vengance: The loss of his son drives a father to seek revenge on a wealthy and powerful family, no matter what the cost.

 

Foolproof: The ultimate act of defiance and contempt for the world.

 

'My Love is Vengeance' was written by Al Bruno III 

It was read and produced by Aiko van Wingerden

Music was by

Kevin MacLeod

Nicolas Gasparini

And Abysmii

 

'Foolproof' was written by Al Bruno III

It was read and produced by The Wandering Voice Actor

 

 Channel Ab3's unpaid scientific advisor is Adam J Thaxton

The Channel Ab3 theme was written and performed by Rachel F Williams

Channel Ab3 logo was designed by Antonio G 

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