Writing Prompt: Michael Myers style serial killer goes shopping for a new mask/costume.
By Ravi Hayashida Prompt Submitted by Jeff Smith He really loved it. It was his favorite. It felt good on him, pressed against his face he felt a closeness with it, like a well worn baseball mitt that had shaped itself around a hand. From the shape of it; from the feel of it; even the smell of it, reminded him of better times. One whiff would take him back to when he was a child, running away from his father who had a tendency to chase him around the house with a chainsaw. Those were the days when he realized he was fast, and also small enough to hide in small nooks in the house so that his dad couldn’t find him. Even if Pops did, he would never have been able to reach him. At least, that’s what he believed back then. In hindsight, it would’ve been perfectly reasonable for Pops to actually use the chainsaw to get at him, and he would’ve succeeded. Good thing dear old dad never found those hiding places. With a shrug, he let his mind wander off to other fond memories. Camping, he reflected, was a great way to get outdoors and feel close to nature. It wasn’t a huge ordeal for his family to just get away for a weekend, or even a week, and head to the old lake. There was fishing, some hunting, and people watching, which was his favorite. He wouldn’t call himself a voyeur. He thought of himself more of a naturalist, observing the societal behaviors of everyone who visited his local campgrounds, including some of the more intricate mating rituals. It sometimes made him blush, but he couldn’t take his eyes away from these people engaged is such exhausting rituals culminating in a quite messy end. But they seemed to enjoy it. Sometimes, he would accidentally make himself known and ruin their natural behaviors, and that just killed him. There was always such a commotion, usually accompanied by screaming and yelling. And the running. Why was there always so much running involved when that happened? It’s not like he wasn’t in shape and able to keep up. Even then, he knew the forests better than the tourists so it was easy for him to run circles around them. The combination of the fresh air and exercise always made him recall these days of his youth fondly. But, alas, he was forced to make a change. Walking around the local market, he had to find a replacement. He may not be as agile as he once was, all that running around for the past few decades have worn his joints more than he would like to have admitted, and a slight limp was forever attached to his right knee. He wasn’t sure if it hurt, but it was an inconvenience and sometimes it did frustrate him so much that he wanted to yell at the sky, but of course, he hasn’t spoken a word since he was a child. Instead, he would beat things in frustration and this would, of course, scare off smaller animals nearby, but also seemed to rattle any remaining visitors to the area. Not his problem. Shopping with a limp sucked. It was like one of those grocery carts with that one wheel that was a bit off, making the cart lean one direction or another against the driver’s wishes. Still, he was mobile enough and had no problem getting around. He struggled to find the aisle that he was looking for. He kept finding himself in the women’s delicates section. He wasn’t sure if this was a subconscious thing, or just how turned around he gets in these large markets, but he had to giggle a little when he came around again by the third time. He let out a muffled guffaw, then recovered himself, slightly embarrassed. For some reason, he looked down at himself and realized that he still had some stains on his jumpsuit. Now he was embarrassed and felt motivated to complete his shopping as soon as possible so he could get out and return home. His mind working faster, his motor started to run a bit more effectively, he reoriented himself towards the right section in this monster of a market. He saw the directional signs hanging above the aisles, then moved quickly, his limp temporarily forgotten, and sped to his ultimate destination. And then he found it: swimming goggles. It was there, on the shelf, like it was waiting for him to come all this time. The black band was clean, the lenses lightly tinted with blue, reflecting artificial light like a jeweled treasure calling to him. In his right hand he held what remained of his old one, googles that he had found in an abandoned car years ago, during one of his camping trips near the lake. It wasn’t as nice as the new one, but it had served him well. He remembers trying them on that first time. No adjustments necessary. It was amazing. But after many years of protecting his eyes from various elements and fluids, the lenses were cracked beyond repair, the elastic band was frayed and close to breaking. The original yellow-tint had turned orange, though he had to admit that might have been due to how he was using them. It was sad to see such a treasured article fall into such disrepair, but he knew it was time. He grabbed the new ones and tried them on. Just like before, not adjustments were necessary, and he could see so clearly through these new ones. It sparked his imagination at the things he could now attempt without the distraction of things falling into his eyes. Taking them off, he smiled and smelled the rubber and plastic odors that combined to an amazing mix of artificial pleasure that seemed to rejuvenate him. It had been a few months since he had been out and about being his naturalist-self, people watching from huts, behind bushes, around corners, or even from secret nooks that people seemed to always forget about in their own homes. He was ready to start again. And he smiled.
1 Comment
Jeff
10/14/2020 05:41:02 pm
Creepy. Add awesome! Well done!
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