A Tasteful Past
By Galen Cunningham
My name is Larrigous Molly Heisman Mansworth, I go by Petty, I’m heading into my mid thirties, I’m still unwed, and still fatherless. I won’t go
into the extents of my name or its origin or my relationship status. I’m a parole officer, my job is boring and though I’ll tell people I enjoy it
immensely, I hate it. I deal with the scum and the diluted. Day in and day out I deal with people that belong in jail, people that should be confined
and isolated from this world. After work is where I get my inspiration, my drive to continue my treacherous job. And tonight I will find my
enjoyment. Tonight I will find Jerry Sprung, a child killing rapist. He hasn’t been following the rules of his parole, he hasn’t abide by my rules or the
governments, and this is why I must remove him from this world.
About twenty five years ago by the Boston Harbor Jerry Sprung found two eleven year old boys fishing on the docks. One being considerably bigger
than the other, but still small boys. He asks them if they wanted to go out farther into the sea in a boat. Being the innocent, unknowing children
that they were they said yes. It was out in the sea in Mr. Sprungs stolen boat that the children realized that they weren’t fishing. The man, the
pedophile, Jerry he had no fishing rod, and he told the children to go skinny dipping with him. The children refused, it was cold and they felt
uncomfortable undressing in front of each other and in front of a stranger. He then put his hand into his pocket and pulled out a small five inch
switch blade. And in his monotone he told them either he was going to take their clothes off or they would do it to each other. With tears streaming
down their cheeks the children followed his orders. Jerry Sprung just watched them with not a smile or with a frown; he stared at them with
unexpressed enjoyment, and his elbows on his knees.
After the children were done undressing they asked if they could go, he just shook his head and put each of his hands on either ones knee. He
started with the smaller boy; he said if there was any noise then both of them would get their throat sliced. The boys oblige to his menacing rules.
Both the kids wishing a hero like Aquaman would protrude out of the ocean and save them from this monstrous man. They waited for their savior
with both tears and prayers.
The bigger of the two boys unwilling to wait for his haunting future, took out his fishing hook between his fingers and walked over to the
pedophilic monster. Hovering above the man who hovered above his tainted friend the larger boy plunged the hook into the middle of Jerry’s eye.
After jabbing the hook into the monsters eye the boy took a stumbling step backwards. Falling on his back with the fishing line in his hand, causing
the hook r=to rip blood across the chilling monsters eye. The hook found resistance on the side of the man’s cheek bone, which sent him roaring in
pain.
The man then tossed the smaller boy to the side of the boat before tearing the fishing line out of his agonized socket. The larger boy then shuffled
to the corner of this small fishing boat with an immeasurable amount of fear. The man wrapped the fishing line over the boy’s neck and held it
tightly until every ounce of oxygen was expelled from his body. With the dead boy in his hands the man through the body into the river, he turned
around and did the same to the smaller boy. Leaving the two boys behind him in the sea the pedophile calmly and swiftly rowed his way back to the
shore. A day later one of the two bodies was found by a fisherman, and after a week of piling evidence and witnesses, Jerry Sprung was confined to
jail.
Lately I’ve been observing Jerry Sprung, following him, and he’s been touching little boys again, and I know it. Now it’s up to me, the destroyer of
criminals, of their sins, of their infidelities. I end the corruption I destroy killers, rapists, thieves, cheaters, drug users, drug distributors, drunks, and
pedophiles. Now some of these people can reform and sometimes I allow them to and part of my job as a parole officer is to reform people, to
change them in a good way. But very seldom would I find someone worthy of that transformation. Very seldom would I find someone crying in
my arms wanting something better, wanting a sin-free life, wanting a good life. To those few I allow them to live. I allow them to seek a better and
fortunate life, I allow them to seek God’s deliverance, but for the rest the ones like Jerry Sprung I will kill. I can’t let these sick bastards live by me,
sleep by me, and enjoy a heavenly afterlife with me. No I must distinguish them.
Tonight I wait for Jerry Sprung. I wait in his apartment I wait for him to barge on in with a camera in his hand filled with kiddy porn. I walk into
his bedroom, it’s neat, nice and plain, (aside from the apparent star wars posters, and star wars action figure aligned on the window Ceil). I venture
into his bathroom where I find a snarling black lab. I put my hand into my coat pocket where I have stashed a half eaten slim Jim, I take it out and
waiver it in the dogs snout. The black lab takes a step forward with all four legs, so I take out my razor sharp knife and pluck the Slim Jim to the end
of the knife. I take a step closer to offer my knife and slim Jim to the dog and he accepts the offer. He takes his long, wet pink tongue and licks my
slim Jim from the knife, but I don’t let him taste the slim Jim without tasting my knife. I stick the knife into the dog’s mouth, through the
squealing, gurgling and barking I jam the knife farther down the dogs until the edge of my bloody knife emerges from the bottom of its throat.
After a few minutes of crying and struggling the dog is finally dead. I’ve never killed a dog before so I rip open its belly to see what its hiding,
nothing interesting, so I don’t investigate any further. But what I do, do is smear its blood all over Sprung’s wall, all over his bed, on his table, on
his refrigerator and on his once yellow wall I paint and replace the yellow mustard with warm dog blood and fur. I’m having fun now. There’s a
lone deer head above his kitchen table, I dismantle it and replace the head with his dogs. It’s not perfect, it’s sloppy, but I’m having one helluva time.
Now after playing with the dog, I sit in front of the door in Sprungs chair. After clipping my fingernails the hinges of the door squeaks and in comes
Jerry Sprung. Jerry’s mouth is gaping open, he’s shocked, and he doesn’t know why his parole officer is grinning like Ronald McDonald, covered in
blood and tiny dog hairs. It’s when he sees the newly made dog head mantle that Jerry screams, and with the scream he takes a step forward. I meet
his step with a full out run as I tackle him like a NFL superstar banging his head onto the hard, red smeared door frame. For a few seconds he’s
knocked out cold, so I pull his body farther into the apartment and shut the door. When he comes to it he gets up on his knees, but I knock him
back down with a chair. With him stirring on the floor with a massive headache and drool slurping from his mouth I pull down his pants. I then
grab a wooden- witch-flying-broom, which I use to insert into his pooper shooter. I jam harder and harder, until he flies like a witch or until I see
blood slurping out. He screams and tries to stop me, but with a kick in the head he complies. When I pull out the broom, I see blood covered feces
matters fallout from his bottom. But with a closer look I see that their not his feces matters but his bowels. It’s his small intestine, and I can see he
had corn for lunch, maybe even Doritos. I don’t look too close. He’s still alive, but only for a bit longer. I move over into the next room where I
find duct tape and my once clean, now dog contaminated knife.
Walking back into the kitchen Jerry Sprung is standing up, blood like cool aid fills his mouth, the blood drips from his chin. There’s a piece of his
chip tooth under his lower lip along with more blood. His bowels hang out behind his back like he’s some kind of devil, and that’s exactly what he
looks like right now, a damn devil, or maybe the tail is some magic trick from his newly found witch powers. Behind him the door fly’s open. I don’
t have much time, I pull out from behind my pants a Grand Puissance hand gun and let loose two bullets into Jerry Sprung’s chest, and a third one
into a bewildered, mouth gaping, sixty-five-year old Asian man. The bullet lands directly in between the old man’s slanted eyes. With the two of
them dead I put the gun back into my back pants and walk out.
I’m what you call a saint, an executioner, a reliever of bad deeds. I relinquish the evils of others, I rid the world of its scum, of its child molesters of
its preys, both of whom prey on the weak. I destroy killers, petty thieves anyone who disrupts society and Gods works. Now them the corrupted
law, their trying to prosecute me for murder. For the murder of a seventy year old Asian land lord and his pedophilic tenet. Of course I will plead
innocent. Because I am, if Mr. Chang kept his nosey pecker in his own pants and in his own kitchen then maybe we’d both be alright right now.
Besides that his death was necessary, necessary for a monsters death and for any monsters that may follow.
Plus I think the murder of this innocent man can be forgiven, if you tallied all the monsters I killed in the past I think a few innocent deaths can be
accepted. But I should have known this would happen, I should have prepared myself for this, and usually my murders last only a few minutes,
usually I make them too look accidental or make them look suicidal. With a drug abuser I may shove pills down his throat to make it look like an
accidental overdose. With a rapist I may cut his major exponent off and let him bleed to death. I’d then leave the meat cleaver in his hand and write a
letter on his computer saying “I can’t let any more girls suffer from my obsession.”
I could have done either one of these, I could have freed the breaks in his car, but no he had to suffer. This one had to last long, this one was
personal. Because to tell you the truth I was the little boy. I was the boy sodomized, mutilated, molested. I changed my name, I’ve grown and
change appearance, but I still have the same past. And in that past Jerry Sprung haunts it, but not anymore. Now he is dead, I’ve come back from
my proposed death in order to put misery, suffer and ending on to him. And finally I finish the job that my bigger friend Luke had set out to do,
so many years earlier, in the Boston Harbor.