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

go to hell.
    I am making them clean for heaven.
    Quiet hushed the house. Ozzy prepared to leave for work.
     
    ***
     
    Once, he’d had an old-fashioned name. Osvald. Now, he was just Ozzy.
    “ Ozzy, can you take this over to the plant and get the manager to sign? Now?”
    Ozzy dutifully took the document from his boss’s admin-assist. His work was data entry and occasional office errands—for a meat packing company that called itself Farmer Jones. Pigs were slaughtered on-site and processed into sausage, bacon, bologna and luncheon meat.
    As he walked the document over to the slaughterhouse, the smell of old blood and rotting by-products got stronger with every step. It took effort not to wrinkle his nose or make a bad-smell face, but Ozzy knew that was an improper thing to do. You didn’t make a face in an area where other people had no choice but to work. So Ozzy controlled himself.
    Inside, a whistle blew and people began to file past. Ozzy called to no one in particular, "I have to find the plant manager.”
    “ He’s getting coffee with the rest of us,” someone answered. Ozzy followed the crowd to a break truck chugging in the sawdusty yard. A cup of coffee sounded good since he’d have to wait anyway. Before him in line was a plant worker, a Mexican girl. She slipped out of her plastic hair cap and latex gloves, and Ozzy stared at the shiny, plaited hair spilling down her back. When it was her turn to order, she stumbled over the words.
    “ You’re a nickel short, miss,” said the server inside the truck. He repeated it in Spanish.
    Ozzy rummaged in his pocket, and dropped a coin in the server’s hand. The girl smiled shyly at Ozzy. Fighting the urge to move away, he smiled back.
     
    ***
     
    After returning home, Ozzy ate Farmer Jones sandwiches for dinner and then administered the nightly lesson.
    “ You have to learn,” he shouted, as Mommy and Daddy shrieked and struggled against their restraints. His routine was to let one arm or leg loose at a time, so they could thrash and flail their muscles in a simulation of exercise. “Learn! Learn! Learn!” he howled, just like he was taught as a boy. Back then, Ozzy mostly learned how powerless he was; how useless and unimportant. Lots of alone time in his room helped. Now Ozzy was grown, it was Mommy and Daddy’s lesson-time.
    Mommy and Daddy are safe in their bed.
    I am helping them not go to hell.
    I am making them clean for heaven.
    News events affected Ozzy greatly. Greatest of all were the school massacres where young people ran amok, killing fellow-students and teachers. He felt the young killers’ frustration and pain, but had to admit, they were misguided. They always killed the wrong people.
    Out of all the massacres starring youths, he felt closest to MacIntire, Kirker and Leng. The duo of MacIntire and Kirker had planned for months to blow up their high school. Leng had shot up the technical institute where he studied information technology and mowed down dozens of students and teachers, including Professor Rosebaum, a senior on the faculty. The white-haired professor survived Auschwitz as a boy and was Leng’s only serious resister during the entire semi-automatic-and-explosives rampage.
    Rosebaum’s faculty picture revealed nothing. He had large, sad eyes and a birdlike neck. Frail was the word that came to mind, but the old Jew’s actions disproved frailty. Singlehandedly, he barricaded a classroom door, absorbing bullets with his own body, allowing several students to escape out the windows with their lives. The thought sent a thrill of fear through Ozzy, and he felt secretly relieved not too many people were around with reflexes like that anymore.
    Feeling safer, Ozzy lowered himself into Daddy’s big old living room chair and got comfortable. He loved to spend the evening hours watching news footage of massacres on tape, imagining an audience facing him on the couch; the young ones, MacIntire, Kirker and Leng.
    “ Such a waste of