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I
Bart squeezed the trigger. He dove behind a tree as younger brother Lonny let a blood curdling scream: “ow! You megasona- hellabitch!” Bart laughed to himself, opening eyes wide behind welder glasses. He belly wiggled, positioning a follow up shot, stared oddly at a blade of grass, then blue jeaned knee, safety goggled eye, and ventilated barrel of repeating air rifle. Bart aimed quick, knew he scored. Another curse sounded from around the corner, two hightop soles showed, occasionally moving. Bart, wary of a trap, harassed the twitching soles, believing brother occupied with “metal zits.” He crept across yard mulch, intent on sneakage to the corner. pumped all ten shots down, and a quick glance horrified to the bone. An empty pair of high tops tied to a length of fishing line disappearing around the far corner. A crippled cricket struggled in dirt. Stabbing back pain signaling near point blank pellet fire made Bart whirl and drop the empty gun to shield his face. Back to the wall, helpless, he did not like the feeling. There was a chance, he remembered the air pistol in one spurred combat boot. Lonny approached warily, intense with finger on trigger. He dragged a leg behind, tourniquet tied above the knee. Chewing a wet, fat cigar butt, cherubic warrior wore leaf covered motor cycle helmet, lurching to insert the rifle barrel into Bart's mouth. Bart looked with keen interest at elongated reflections of blue hues glinting from the steel barrel. Bart was autistic. His love of insects incredible, often he wept upon site of a particularly pretty butterfly or fluttering leaf, focusing in intense curiosity and wonder so much so that flapping or fluttering leaf or bird seemed to freeze in air, Bart often drained from what felt like hours of study after watching only a moment. Trees also amazed him greatly, he marveled with intensity at varying barks and danced slowly, arms wide as urban forest swayed in winds. He had passed out at a rushing river once, often ejaculated to thrash metal he and Lonnie cranked. Quiet times Bart spent lying cheek down in the driveway, watching caterpillars and absently humping. In the warm driveway, Bart would study the natural wonders with no thought of bodily function or toiletry, and then to sleep, and dream of supernatural beauty... Mother very beautiful; exclusively for mock pompous in-laws she dressed with seclusion hats, oversized glasses and scarves seemed to draw attention to striking features. She was looking almost their age in flannel at dinner. Father bitching to someone eight hundred miles away about the football bet, he had blown half a days pay. The boys stood in his way watching tv. They knew he sold illegal drugs for extra money, and what a contact high was, and not to discuss this knowledge with anyone. "Hey!" he yelled, each moved quickly on. Father followed into the bathroom hall overlording washage while keeping tabs on the game, telling his friend loudly about an intimate sexual argument between him and their mom, "she won't go down less she's crampin' maybe a vitamin A trip could melt her reward system, hey I got some chronic that is so kind." Though Bart older than Lonny, he took longer doing things, worked hard to be thorough, watching sparkling water hypnotically a moment, then disdaining the clinical purity. Wonderful mother helped in many things. "Yeah I met a physical woman when I twin peaked with her, just call me sir real." Bargain night at the neighborhood movie house. Bart enjoyed sitting low in the back seat of the sedan, observing suburban night life, getting scary images of furtive evil somehow detecting extra perception, meeting X-ray gaze with eyes glowing. They pranced into crowding building; even father twisted a jig and bounced his head with glee, mother busy sorting her purse and issuing tickets. The show action packed adventure, crazy blondes and adrenalin junkies wreaking havoc on crooked cops. Buzzing crowd filed happily out. Bart, overly excited, needed to relieve himself, and agreed to meet the others outside. His parents exchanged quick glances of slight worry, they disliked leaving Bart to himself in public, surges of focus signaling autism unpredictably frequent, they worked to treat him like any child, even hiding the fact from teachers. He was maxed on the bladder, and eased into an incredibly long urination. That's when the rocket launcher/flame thrower gang came down the sidewalk. A huge Republican Petroleum tanker truck pulled up beside as the family waited in a small sedan just outside the theater. Punks berserk, and with a scream: "Kennedy killers!," shot a rocket, dropping the weapons and sprinting away. The entire area sucked into a mushroom cloud. Bart felt the pull of air, huge marquee windows scattered in burning wreckage of the street. He ran screaming to the parking lot, finding nothing but a wall of heat and clumps of flame, circled the hot area, three lumps of recently exploded vehicle blazed strongly. As sirens neared, he stumbled over weapons left by the vandals, and fired the flame thrower high. He attacked the smaller fire, blowing back flames to see outlines of three burning corpses in a car. When police arrived, they slammed him roughly to pavement. No witnesses survived. Bart driven away, struck mute, stared blankly, ignored few police inquiry. He read the door sign of a large luxury car allowed passage through restricted area: Republican Petroleum. |
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