ShadowCast Flash #7 Bradley Sands is a Dick

Bradley Sands is a Dick

by S.T. Gulik

read by Jason Warden

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“Sic simper tyrannis,”

Chase’s massive fist came down hard on the podium, splintering the wood a good deal more than he had intended and filling the dank sewer air with debris which sparkled like fairy dust in the dim glow of the sparse assortment of bare yellow light bulbs. This was the third podium pilfered that month, so he was trying to go easy on it without it seeming that his piss had been drained and his vinegar used to compliment a salad. Beneath him, a lake of lobster fisted youths pumped their mighty claws in the air and chanted, “Sic simper tyrannis. Sic simper tyrannis, Sic simper tyrannis.”

He looked out at the pasty, pimpled faces of the revolution and spoke with conviction, “No longer shall we live in the shadows. No longer will we be forced to sustain ourselves on the garbage of the normals. I say, here and now, that we are not inferior monsters and if the normals persist in treating us as such we will show them what being a monster truly means.”

He brought his fist down once more and with it the podium. The crowd let out a high pitched roar of concurrence and chanted again, “Sic simper tyrannis! Sic simper tyrannis! Sic simper tyrannis!”

His bloodshot eyes darted over the crowd as he paced back and forth; sweat dripping from his crimson cheeks. Baring his teeth, he raised his fist and chanted with them. Behind him the jogger twisted and cried.

The stranger’s forehead was still damp with dew from his morning run. His face, paler than the white stripes on his jogging shorts was contorted into a mask of panicked confusion. Only fifteen short minutes ago he was smiling and waving at his little girl as she climbed the oversized steps of the school bus. Twelve minutes ago he had finished his daily protein bar and embarked on his morning jog. Now, bound to a weather beaten picnic table in the midst of an angry mob of Iites, he could only think about how late he was going to be for work.

Ignoring the noises of irritation which continuously spewed from his hostage, Chase basked in the ethereal glow and flexed his muscles subtly. “Looking out at all of you, I don’t see lobsters. I see the next step in evolution. I see free men who are ready to do what it takes to break free from the chains that society has foisted upon them. This is our day, brothers. Today will go down in history as the day the Iiites reclaimed their liberty!!”

The hobbledehoy revolutionaries cheered and jumped clumsily around like clockwork gorillas in the dashboard of a moving minivan. The sweet smell of justice clung like a pungent cider to the back of their throats as sugarplum fairies flew wildly about their heads frantically waving inspirational posters like flags.

The jogger, unable to bear the ambiguity any longer, gathered his strength and bellowed over the crowd, “Excuse me, but what the fuck is going on here? Why did you tie me to this table and what are you all doing in the sewer?”

Chase cracked an amused grin and turned, “Oh, I’m sorry. I suppose this is a tad unusual. Allow me to explain. We are sick of the way you people treat us. Your abuses have gone on for far too long and now we’re going to take back our lives by any means necessary. My unfortunate friend, you have been chosen to be the metaphorical hymen of injustice and we are going to bust you.”

“Why me? What the fuck did I do? I don’t have a problem with lob… I mean Iiites. I always thought you guys got a bum deal.”

“Sure you did. That’s why you almost called us lobsters just now. Tell me, why should we be second class citizens just because our DNA reacted differently to the radiation than yours did?”

“You shouldn’t. Just like I shouldn’t be ritualistically brutalized for the same reason. Nobody knew that the Ii controllers contained radioactive capsules. Everybody was at risk. Some people mutated, others didn’t. Nobody should be punished for the way their bodies reacted. If you want to get revenge go after the fucking Japanese or the government. It’s their fault, not mine.”

The decoupage roach wings of Chase’s shirt shimmered like death’s fingernails as he placed his enormous hand on the Jogger’s arm, “True. It’s not your fault that we were forcefully evolved, but that’s not the problem here. We’re proud of the fact that we’re stronger and smarter than you. However, it is your fault that we were shunned from society, fired from our jobs, taunted and victimized. Whether or not you participated, you’re guilty of sitting idly by and letting it happen. This isn’t about you personally and please do accept my apology for the inconvenience. This is simply what happens when a society allows it’s self to indulge in rampant bigotry and hate crimes.

“It’s bad enough when one country pays another to take their radioactive waste and the other bottles it up and sells it back to them in the guise of a family oriented gaming system, but you people had to go and make it worse by persecuting everyone who was affected by it. Your petty jealousy at our physical prowess dragged us from the spotlight of professional sports into the darkness of the sewers. A society so jaded, heartless and insecure doesn’t deserve to exist. So, today we’re taking a stand for justice and making it possible for Iiitis to be the blessing that it was meant to be rather than the curse that you people made of it.”

“But, I liked it when you guys were in professional sports. Bradley Sands is my favorite baseball player ever. I always thought what happened to him was bullshit.”

Chase’s lips curled into a cruel smirk, “Bradley sands? That toe headed motherfucker owes me fifty dollars.”

The crowd began to murmur in agreement.

“Yeah, that guy’s a fucking dick.”

“He owes me money too.”

“He donkey punched my sister.”

“He gave me anal warts.”

“I’m pretty sure he ate my cat.”

Near the back of the crowd, one young man slammed his slurpy to the ground and yelled, “Get ‘em,” And soon they were all gathered around the breakfast table pulling the helpless jogger apart like a cheap chocolate bunny.

Chase stood apart from the rest, giggling as cold black blood clotted on his lips. “So this is what fruition looks like,” he thought as he slinked away.

Countless months of repeating adaptations of Mein Kamph had drained him of all his authentic fervor leaving only the knowledge that it was his destiny to lead the revolution, change the world and become the new messiah. Iiites the world over would worship him as a god. Normals would panic and kill themselves at the mere mention of his name and that was just the beginning. Some day soon he would clutch the whole world in his indomitable mitt and when he did it would squish like an over ripe kiwi.

Find more of S.T. Guliks work at http://myspace.com/stephengulik

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