gripping the pepper spray as if it were the edge of a cliff before a sheer fall, Michael walks out his front door. Richard is waiting there. waiting there in the Cadillac that his dad and his drug money has bought him. there it is just like he said he would bring, an aluminum baseball bat. armed with the bat and a torrent of false accusations, richard blindly rushes up michael's driveway. the aggressor uses the next twenty seconds to point at Michael with the bat and describe what he's going to do using the word fuck gratuitously. however during these twenty or so seconds he doesnt take time to note his surroundings, or the lack of sirens in the air, or the pepper spray for that matter. half way through the first swing Michael unleashes a blast of fiery liquid into both of richard's retinas. the thought of gripping the bat is massively over powered by the thought of clawing his own eyes out as mike stands above him on the driveway emptying the bottle into both of this presumptuous asshole's blue eyes now gone red as the devil's dick. grabbing the bat in one hand and rich's foot in the other he drags both into the garage, looking around to make sure that the neighours hadnt been disturbed by the forty second confrontation. of course they weren't. nothing bad happens here in b town. as the garage door closes Richard regains his ability to spew wild threats backed up by nothing. "fuck you man, im gonna beat the fuck out of you!" apparently he wasn't aware he no longer had a baseball bat, or that he had a whole can of mace in his eyes. whatever the case, the man had done nothing his whole life but try and intimidate otheres. this whole time mike hadn't said a word, finally he decides he shall grace him with some wisdom "you disrespected me...". "fuck you!" richard interjects, but is quickly silenced by a blow from the bat to his knee cap. you can almost hear the months of a squeaky wheel chair that would be positively necessary. mike embarks on a second try (doesnt this kid want to learn something?) "you disrespected me, and believed that shit lie that your whore of a girlfriend spun. now, i told you what the truth was, but you decided to believe the whore. so all this; the obliterated knee cap. the permanent loss of some vision(didya know your only supposed to use one spray to stop someone? guess i should've read the can....) and for whats about to come. this, you can thank your harlot of a girlfriend for. while pontificating all of this to Richard, mike had been restraining his slightly crippled captive in an old lawn chair. the ones that look like they're made out of wood, but the truth is that they're plastic. just like the truth is that richards life will be drastically changed. changed becasue he "loved" his girlfriend. because he was enraged with jealousy. because mike was done taking shit. richard starts to plead and beg as mike explains quite graphically what is going to happen to him. there is more fear in his tone and eys than that of a middle school kid standing before his classmates giving an oratory report on stem cell research or abortion or whatever. mike decides to not say anymore to let fear set in like mold sets into a house. slowly it takes hold, then once it gets set in, it blitzkriegs. salvation from it is impossible. you can not reason with silence. mike picks up two bricks, setting one near richard. the other he holds firmly in his fist. its held firmly with rage and anger and fear. but all this gives him strength to do what normally one would not think about. he forcibly places the one brick in Richards mouth and continues to hold it in place, the shouts turn into animalistic cries. humming a few bars from some pop tune that's on the radio at nearly any given moment, mike picks up the other brick. the left hand firmly holding the the one in place and the right held down at his side, in and under hand motion he swings his right hand. arm fully extended. he swings with all his rage. with all his anger. with all his fear. the brick connects to the bottom of richard's chin. immediately bone is reduced to fragments. teeth are swallowed whole. a fine last meal for this piece of shit. "you see the problem with curb stomping" mike begins " is that although despite its gruesome nature, it doesn't make the victim suffer enough. they die much too soon." Richard no longer cries out, nor does he shout copious amounts of threats. its more of a whining sound, similar to the sound that dogs make when they hurt their foot or are swiftly kicked. his mouth will never form words again, let alone consonants or vowels. "with the entire bottom part of your noggin bleeding like that" mike says in a voice he would use to talk to children "youll probably die within the hour. let me know if its due to blood loss or suffocation form drowning in your own blood, ok can yah do that for me? thanks buddy." mike leaves the garage, turning off the lights to save energy. you know, reduce, reuse, recycle. its important stuff, saving the earth. unlike whatever happens after that this whole ordeal. it is unimportant.
