The Shattered Shooter With One Lost Shoe

Deviants. That’s who he hated. Hated more than anything. Deviants aren’t normal and that which is not normal destroys what is normal. And then what was deviant would become the norm. This can not be allowed.

He had always looked for what is Approved. Things must have obtained approval for a reason, he reasoned, and thusly must be protected. Who was he to question this – and who was anyone else to? He hated the questioners, the thinkers, the curious, the disobedient or troublemakers of any kind. It’s when he saw the smile on the face of a superior he knew his path was right.

He liked being called a useful idiot, for he stopped listening after the word “useful.” In his world of blue melancholy, he removed all mirth. Perhaps he would laugh if all the others did, but to laugh on one’s own, never. His mission was forever seeking the proper way of living, honoring the ordained, being the good child. The dreams of the individual must be sacrificed for the common good.

Clothes were his one seduction. To be properly attired, now that cannot be beat! He bought only the best, forging himself to the peak of classic fashion. In early morning fog, he’d often wake to an unacceptably rebellious mind. It was a panic to invert the soul. “No, no,” he shivered. “Must build a bigger wall.” Then in meticulous consternation he disguised all doubt in dapper dandies. A look in the mirror provided confirmation. “Who couldn’t love that look!”

As a Deviant Killer, he never failed. His superiors would tell him the insidious trouble of odious non-conformists who must certainly be eliminated. And like a single-minded robot, he carried out his duty with ruthless efficiency. And why not? What else is there to think about? For him, his perfect-ness was his life. It what’s kept his heart beating.

The assignment today was truly delicious – the greatest function ever! A non-conformist had infiltrated the highest ranks of the establishment. Oh, the damage his disagreement could do! And the best part was he was to kill him in the great Hall of Power, with all the glorious heads of state watching in nodding approval. Never had his pride felt so alive.

Brimming in his own world on the way to the execution, he failed to notice the Mockers in the street.

“Ain’t you a spiffy one!”

“I can’t tell if he’s a man or a mannequin!”

“Looks right proper with that corncob up his arse!”

The three mockers laughed in self-amusement and at the dazed look of this tormented deviant from nature. The puzzled shooter just couldn’t understand how anyone could mock him on the greatest day of his life, the day filled with more purpose than any other, a day to save society! Who in their right mind would mock that? These creatures must be evil. They must be deviants.

In helpless silence, his ears continued to echo.

“Who ya trying to fool, guv’nor?”

“Yeah, pulls that corncob out and relax.”

“No crime it is to be yourself. Be happys with the way God made yer!”

With head twitching, the killer fought off their words. A seduction they be! Turning him against himself, trying to sway him from the path he knew served him best. Oh, how he wanted to lay down right there in the street and rest his weary heart! But he clung to his iron will and slowly edged away. He must leave these Mockers or become their apprentice. Run. Run!

The Mockers watched in bemusement. “How long before he catches up to himself?” Curious, they started to follow.

“Damn them!” cursed the deviant man. “They’re coming to finish me off with their satire.” So the shooter ran as never before. He ran to keep the very meaning of his life. He ran, literally, out of his shoe. But he dare not go back for it…

Looking back, seeing he was safe from the truth, time dripped into slow motion in front of the Hall of Power. As if trapped in a dream not of his own making, the shooter stood frozen. Before him lay the chance to cement his legacy forever. And yet he stood paralyzed. How? How could he do it now and be Acceptable? How could ever enter the great Hall of Power with one shoe missing?

At first, he decided this could not be happening and ordered his iron will forward. But it was happening. Then he searched for all possible scenarios where one shoe missing would be acceptable. But could find none. Like a giant pendulum, he swung back and forth between going and leaving.

Until the deviant decided no matter what choice he made, his perfect life was lost. Approval swept away with the wind. Dreams dissolved to dust. Hopes morphed to hells. What other way was there for him to live? Sucked into a whirlpool of tears and fears, with a bang the shootist’s eyes closed forever.