You pull out the SWEAR JAR. It's finally time to make use of all of it's pent-up rage. You heft it back to throw at the CANDIMP and--- wait. It's only 2/3 full! Oh, come on! COME ON! There's no way that you're going to let yourself get delayed by this stupid piece of
Oh, hey, it's full! You let it fly.
(If you want to hear the rest of this post narrated aloud, here it is! Feel free to read along below.)
The SWEAR JAR arcs through the air, graceful, suspended in the ether as a planet, its slow rotation mathematically pure, its course across the heavens destined by the unseen forces of gravity, of the interaction of bodies which causes things so small to become so great, so graceful, so beautiful in their autonomy, their automatic, unthinking natural path. Motion, though its motive power is so far behind, forgotten now, forgotten as unnecessary. Who could appreciate this beauty? Who indeed?
The CANDIMP was named CLETUS-ED SKITTLES, named such by those who thought he had a future beyond their own. He was not what was expected of him, though he was dressed in a simple BLUE COVER-ALL. He was as erudite, as educated, as passionate for learning as any CANDIMP, any CANDAEMON, any CANDARK ONE, but he was never viewed as such. He was viewed as an idiot, a red-neck among those with literally bright red necks. They mocked him, quoting Jeff Foxworthy jokes from a century long past. And he held it all inside, doing his duty, guarding or patrolling, sometimes wondering what it was all for. He did not question his masters openly, to do so was death. So he lived a life of quiet learning, of quiet knowledge, secure in himself despite their barbs. Sometimes he felt that they did understand, that they truly could recognize the spark deep inside of him, but if they did, they only cut him all the deeper for it. CLETUS-ED watched the spinning SWEAR JAR, watched it in its course.
Was this his destiny? Was this what it all came down to? He had so much to live for, so much to see beyond the crude cruelty of his breathren. There was a whole world out there, ripe for the taking, not by violence, but by the application of his mind and will, to shape it for the betterment of all, CANDIMP or HUMAN, RED-NECK or PEACH-COLORED-NECK. There was a whole world out there, just beyond his grasp.
No. Not beyond his grasp. No. This time he would stand up for himself, he would not be passive, not stand idly by and let the world take its course. He dropped his GUN, a small green TEAR falling from his eye. This time... this time he would choose for himself. No more orders, no more fears. This time, he would choose his life.
CLETUS-ED reached out for the SWEAR JAR, his hands clammy, wet with sweat. For a moment it was in his hands, its grim potential, its deadly plans halted by his action. He. Would. Live.
But no.
No.
The SWEAR JAR slipped, a moment from safety. CLETUS-ED watched it fall. He dropped the F-BOMB.
There was a flash of light, of energy, and as CLETUS-ED felt himself engulfed by the EXPLOSION OF RAGE, the WAVE OF EMOTION, he quietly, gently asked the universe to let him live, to let him try just once more!
But then there was blackness and nothingness. And CLETUS-ED passed from the HUB unmourned and alone, with just an uncaring HUMAN GIRL and a DUCK as his audience.
(You loot the VARIOUS MONIES and RADIO.)
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