Hard Bite and Other Short Stories by Anonymous-9 Read Free Book Online Page A

his head out the door. The senate chamber was a scene of depravity as members tore the flesh from a fallen man. They all seemed gaunt under their fine business clothes, and the energy they summoned to tear at the man betrayed ravenous hunger.
    “ Has the world gone mad?” he shouted. “Stop this at once!”
    “ That’s what we’ve been trying to tell you sir, there’s no food. People are starving. Even politicians!”
    “ What?’ he spluttered. Tap the emergency fund─”
    She spat back at him, “Every cent is gone. We were trying to spend our way out of the recession.”
    “ Then raise taxes,” the governor howled, as a great spray of blood and fluids flew out of another victim’s neck ten feet away.”
    “ Taxes are at a hundred percent,” the aide screamed back. Her pretty blonde hair misted with crimson, but her eyes held the governor’s bulging stare. Her words came distinctly, as though speaking to a child, “Taxpayers left the state long ago. All that’s left is this legislature, and millions of hungry—” Her words were drowned out by cracking and groaning at the senate doors. The wood heaved and buckled under tremendous strain. A massive grinding engine roared behind it all.
    The governor put his hands out beseechingly. “What about Washington? A bailout, TARP funds, anything!”
    “ That’s how we got here,” she screamed back. “The President kept promising foreign backers would keep loaning—EEEEEYAAAHHHH!”
    The great carved doors burst and a military tank rumbled through the chamber. It came to a stop, smoking and chugging, under a pair of gilded Corinthian columns. For a moment, carnage paused. Senators stopped, mid-bite, and let blood trickle down their chins and onto their fancy suits. Above their heads, a Latin motto, lettered on the wall in gold said, “Senatoris est civitatis libertatem tueri.” It is the duty of the senators to protect the liberty of the citizens. But no one was paying attention.
    The lid of the tank creaked open and a small man poked his head up, with an AK-57 in his hand. Aiming the assault rifle at the governor, he shouted, “We are the People’s Republic of China. And we want our money—NOW.” The rifle spit red and gold, as screams spiked the air.
    A gentle tapping on the governor’s arm coaxed him awake. “It’s time for your speech, sir.” The governor checked the front of his suit for traces of gunfire. There was none. He blinked a few times. No tank, no Chinese military, no cannibalistic chaos—nothing unusual.
    The governor reached into the breast pocket of his elegant suit and retrieved his speech. He looked at it for a long moment before tossing it in the trash. Then he walked out to face the cameras.

 
     
    The Master Bedroom
     
     
    Mornings, Ozzy awoke in the small upstairs bedroom of the stately Victorian house, threw the covers off his childhood bed, and opened the same, scratchy blue drapes hanging over the windows since he was a boy. The sturdy oak floor creaked a bit, as it did every morning, shuffling down the hall to the master bedroom where his parents were stirring.
    Ozzy entered without knocking. Mommy and Daddy lay in their old-fashioned bed with its imposing, carved headboard. They were hogtied and gagged under the covers, but their eyes were wide open, gleaming with defiance. Another few minutes and they’d begin to grunt and struggle. Even in their weakened state, Ozzy was afraid of retribution if they somehow freed themselves. He stepped to the walnut highboy, opened a drawer and withdrew a syringe and small glass bottle.
    The needle entered the cellophane seal. He pulled the plunger till the cc amount was met, then pulled a little extra. Turning down the sheets he watched them squirm like fresh- caught fish. The needle submerged in flesh. He murmured, “There, there,” and felt the tension leave his shoulders, watching their eyelids flutter and close.
    Mommy and Daddy are safe in their bed.
    I am helping them not