S.T.F.U

Copyright 2008, Mike Shaw

The sun is out today, and I want to go out and enjoy it. My laptop and I ought to be able to get an interesting word or two banged out with such nice weather. The back deck is south-facing and there are always birds in the trees, squirrels scouring the ground for their buried nuts and cars passing by beyond the back fence. The traffic din rarely bothers me, and in fact I like watching cars sometimes. This evening will be a nice one, methinks. 

            Ginny fell, and glanced back. He was still following her. The gushing wound on her leg kept her from standing, and it was as much as she could manage to grasp at branches and pull herself along the forest path, away from him. He walked quickly, and his eyes were shielded by a tall hat. The long, silver cutlass emerged from beneath his cloak once again. It still shimmered with Ginny’s blood. Thrashing at the forest floor, Ginny screamed, “WEE WOO WEE WOO WEE WOO WEE WOO!”

            A police cruiser speeds past my house, with the siren blaring. Rush hour hasn’t started yet, so the siren can’t possibly be necessary. I suppose it’s best he get it out of his system now, lest he disrupt my sleeping at 3am. That happens a lot. The sun is beginning to set now, and everything in the yard takes on a warm orange colour. Dusk is my favourite time to write, but it would be nice to have some quiet. Three cheers for suburban living? I think not.

            Thrashing at the forest floor, Ginny screamed, “What do you want?” The man did not answer. He slowed, and each step echoed through the trees. Closer he stepped, until he was nearly on her. Ginny’s hand touched something hard, and cold under a bush; a rock? She hoped so. With a grunt the rock was lifted, but the sword caught her wrist before she could throw it. The glinting steel caressed Ginny’s chest and pressed against the bottom of her chin. He smirked and she was afraid to speak. Only terrified whimpers escaped. The cutlass pressed harder and drew blood as the man leaned in towards Ginny. With that same awful smirk and a gravelly voice he whispered, “Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you!”  

            My neighbour turned 43 today, or so I gather from the bits of legitimate human speech that escape the horde’s fits of shrieking laughter. Do I care about her “special day”? Not in the least. In my ideal world, I’d be perfectly within my rights to hop the fence and slam my fist down in the middle of their cake. Then there would be an awkward silence, but I’d play it cool. I’d look each of them in the eye as I backed away. I would turn to hop the fence, but double back to slap the glass of grape juice out of the birthday girl’s hand. Then I’d leave.

            With that same awful smirk, and a gravelly voice he whispered to her, “I want to see your insides.” The blade shifted down to her waist, and slashed a hole in the white blouse. Just as the evisceration began, it ended; an arrow sliced the night air, invisible in the darkness, and thudded against a pine tree. The cloaked man pointed his cutlass from whence it came, but the next arrow did not miss. Clutching the protruding shaft, the man tripped backward into a bed of ferns. He didn’t get up. The bowman stepped into the moonlight. “Rowan!” Ginny said. “Rowan, I’m hurt.” Rowan helped Ginny to her feet, but said nothing. As they hobbled towards the nearest town, there was a noise from the fern patch: Da- DING!

            An MSN alert steals my attention. “New e-mail from Facebook.com! Bert has sent you a Priv...” Click. Click. “Hey mike, whats ur MSN?” I heave a heavy sigh. Click. Click. IT’S IN MY DAMN PROFILE, MORON!!! Shift-backspace, shift-backspace, shift-backspace. It’s mike-shaw08@lolmail.com. Cya tomorrow. Click.

            As they hobbled towards the nearest town, there was a noise from the fern patch: Hrugh-kshh! Rowan reached for his bow, but stopped; the man had not moved. The wolf, however, had dragged him slightly as it tore through the cloak. The hobbling continued, until a grassy clearing became their campsite. A small fire warmed them, and as they settled in for a short sleep Ginny spoke. “Rowan?” He looked up. “Thank-you.” She smiled at him, and for the first time in years, words sprang from Rowan’s lips: “No problem. I just wish the world would shut the fuck up!”