Tiberious

The weather outside was hot and humid but idyllic nonetheless. Tiberious stood seriously before the corpse with a dash of delightful but detached indifference. Examining the mutilated body intensely, Tiberious allowed his imagination to run circles in his mind.

The inescapable scent of blood filled the air. A blood river that did not know where it was going streamed along the soft ground. His depraved inner thoughts took him into the nether regions of his subconscious. He marveled at how the victim was meticulously cut by the ingenious hand of its perpetrator. What an inglorious act it would be to put such an artist behind bars!

The sweat expunged itself from his forehead down to the side of his face profusely. He wiped his face slowly and rigorously. He shook his head thinking he could jolt himself back into reality. It did for a second but the sudden thought of the terror in the dead stranger’s eyes that remained evident captivated him.

It reminded him of those hazy, lazy days when he used to go fishing alone for mud minnows and stone cats as a kid. It was so peaceful it frightened him to the very core of his dubious existence. He carefully collected his catches. The skeletons of their tiny corpses remained in a jar next to the jam and coriander at home. He recalled the day he saw his first body by the riverbank of his youth, 36 years before. He closed his eyes and smiled lightly.

“Detective. Detective!”

His eyes opened.

“Tibs, are you ready? The Chief wants to see your report about the murder ASAP.”

He took a deep breath, looked at the body one last time and nodded. In the background he could overhear the Chief. “Yes sir. Tiberious is our best investigator.”

Barely turning his head he told his colleague, “I’ll be right over.”

“We’re still on for fish tonight?”

A gleam came to Tibs’ eye.

“Yes. Fish.”

He laughs.

Die, Fishy, Die

With her eyeballs wide open, Greta was watching television on her couch in cold comfort when her balmy existence was turned upside down as the man of the house walked in. Their home was tastefully decorated, it should be mentioned, with a certain artistic panache. He, her lover, friend and husband, glanced over at his dilatory wife. Their eyes met. At that laborious moment they were both overcome, for just a second, by how much they legitimately loathed one another. She gave him a sarcastic smirk as she inelegantly chewed on s’mores and slowly directed her eyeballs to the television set.

He breaks the silence. “Traffic is just getting worse. I was cut off five times today.”

Keep in mind this is all here say. For all we know he cut off six people himself. For the sake of this horrible story we must assume he is telling the truth.

Greta ignored his lament. “I’m having a hard time at work. I may have to quit,” he said with his back turned to her as he walked away. Rather than bite her bitter lips she answered with a blunt remark. ” Well, you’d better shape up ’cause I am not going to live with no deadbeat.” It was then the steam shot out of his salient ears. You could also hear something snapped in him. It sounded like a twig.

“It’s always about you, isn’t it? Never about me!” he sobbed into his hands. “You never cared for me or my dreams!”

His wife met the opening of his heart with a stoic roll of the eyes. “Stop steaming. You’re fogging up the windows.”

“Don’t push me, Greta!”

She did not heed the warning and provoked him with a “What are you going to do?” look. She then added, “You’re weak and you’re pathetic. I shouldn’t even fuck you anymore. I should fuck that friend of yours. Now there’s a real man.”

It wasn’t supposed to be this way. Once upon a time they were the most envied couple created out of bigamy among their friends and colleagues. But something disappeared long ago. Time can corrode the best worthless intentions.

Suddenly and without warning, in a moment of natural rage, he took hostage of her fish bowl. The bowl included 3 gold fish and a special little black gold fish called Montgomery. He took whatever he knew she loved.

Writer’s Note: Montgomery was Arnold’s favorite pet black gold fish on Diff’rent Strokes. I don’t know why I chose to honour him. Not Arnold; the fish.

“You always loved this savoury submerged species more than me!” This was clearly a broken man. What man could possibly consider describing goldfish as savoury?

“Honey, p-put the fish down. We can talk this out. But I can’t concentrate with you holding that toothpick!”

“You don’t want to talk. You just want to shut me up. I swear. I’ll stab them one by one.”
“You wouldn’t have the balls you gutless ferry.”

It was a poor diplomatic move on her part. He picked one off clean. It jittered on the stick for a few seconds and died. “Die, fishy, die,” he yelled in a cold sweat. His parents often expressed concern but his German was just fine. Staring at her lifeless fish filled Greta with dread as she screamed in disbelief. She thought about dandelions. She’s always loved dandelions as a child. She also realized that she forgot to thaw sausages for supper.

“I will place their heads before me just as Vlad the Impailer had done,” her husband giggled. It is safe to say that the lascivious part of their lives was now gone.

The absurdity, the horror and madness was too much for Greta to accept. “You will pay. So help me, God.”

“God? God? What do you know about God? Fool! You have no soul. You’re Catholic!”

“And you’re a murderer!” Greta shouted.

“Murderer? Against these pointless things?” He grinned and looked at her. He stabbed another. “They are under the law. No one can convict me of any crime here. It’s not my fault. I will deny everything. No court would rule against me!”

Greta called the police nonetheless. You can hear the laughter on the receiver from where he stood. He looked at her with a satisfactory smile. She came back dejected and with her head bowed. “Please don’t.”

“Things will change ’round here. I want a plane and $200 000. Go to the bank”

She stared at him curiously. ” He yelled, “Now!” “But…” Just then, she realized he was losing his mind. “And bring back some bacon bits!” he bellowed off the top of his lungs,

But what was Greta to do? He was holding fish, of all insignificant things, hostage. He wanted Greta to withdraw his own money from the bank? How will she sign, as it wasn’t even a joint account? Does he even have $200 000?”

The stark brutality of the whole moment was too much for her. She let out a yelp and stuck a toothpick that was used to kill one of the fish in her neck. The blood squirted out but it was not enough to kill her. In her pain, she noticed him talking to the fish. He was now building a castle with some legos. A feeling of faint overcame her. Greta’s face and neck swelled. She was having an allergic reaction! She was suffocating. He scarcely noticed. She fell to the ground…and died! How tragic!

The thump jostled his mind back into reality. He was filled with sudden anguish. ‘But I loved her! Why must you do this God? Why?! I denounce you, damn you!” He killed off every other fish, including Montgomery. “Now to finish this act.”

He quietly turned and left to end his own life discreetly. An existence of eternal pain waited him in hell. Montgomery lay listlessly floating. What was that? Oh my, eggs! Montgomery had been pregnant! A new generation of black goldfish had been hatched among the carnage. Will these fish inherit the madness? Will they be mutant fish who talk and walk? No one will ever know for sure. Unless…..

Red Fury

It has been ordained upon me to convey a story of grand importance to you all. It is a shocking story. A stupid story indeed, but one that needs to be told lest we all make the same mistake. It is a fable about a man, his stuffed peppers and one mean red pepper.

Mitch had been happily perusing the produce section in a local grocery store. He had just been promoted at work and felt like making his favorite meal – stuffed peppers. He was examining and considering a pack of peppers: one orange, one red and two yellow.

Peppers at the time were very expensive. Only the green ones seemed to go on special. But never the other colours. In the pack he saw value and decided to buy them.

“Congratulations, sir! You picked the secret family pack! Smile!”

It was a promotional scam but Mitch didn’t care.

“Here’s your picture.”

He looked at himself holding the peppers and he liked it.

“Your name will go into a grand prize draw at the end of the month!”

He remained oblivious.

He could not keep his eyes off the peppers while they sat in the carriage. The perfect smooth contours and their bright colours excited him. The family of peppers stared back at him.

“Ooo, I could just eat them up now!”

On the way home, he watched the peppers in his rearview mirror. It was a difficult ride for him.

It is obvious at this point during my story that Mitch had an unhealthy obsession with peppers. Who are we to judge?

Carefully, he placed his peppers on the counter. With the precision of atailor he began to weave and cut the top of the peppers. He smelled them with glee.

Normally Mitch cooks four peppers but for some reason on this day he decided on three. He figured he could use the fourth in a salad the next day. He glanced over to the sky, which was orange, and continued to prepare his meal.

Soon he was eating in ecstasy. Later that night he went to bed. He forgot to put the last pepper in the refrigerator. Let this be a lesson to you all. Never leave a pepper to roam free.

The next morning he noticed the pepper was still on the table. He did not realize it had moved three steps to the right from its original position! He was about to wrap it up but the phone rang and distracted him.

“I’ll be right over.”

He grabbed his coat and hat and left in a hurry.

There sat the pepper.

Suddenly and strangely the pepper spoke. “He murdered my family. I shall exact my revenge.”

His tone was fiendishly evil. This pepper was scorned. It looked around the kitchen and noticed an eggbeater. He also spotted some knives, a wooden spoon and a marble rolling pin.

“Any of these will do,” he chuckled.

The pepper moved but fell awkwardly to his side and was angered by what he saw. That is, the half-eaten corpse of his yellow brother. He could barely contain his emotions. He recalled the time when they were picked as a family by the farmer to be packaged off. They thought it was to be the start of something beautiful together. Instead, it ended in debauchery.

“Revenge is a dish best served cold. Not micro-waved,” he said.

Mitch came back home one hour later. Once again, not being attentive, he had not noticed the pepper had moved again. Let this be another lesson. Be alert. Society and nature punishes the dimwitted.

Mitch went to bed that night with an uncomfortable sense of foreboding. He brushed his teeth and removed his pink slippers. He stared into the mirror and wondered. He did not notice the angry red fury of the pepper in the background.

“Damn, those peppers were delicious,” he reminded himself as he jumped into bed.

Minutes past. The pepper waited for his moment.

“Rapid eye movement. REM. When he’s there I will take his life.”

With Mitch in deep sleep, the red pepper quietly and disturbingly began his ascent. He moved up to Mitch’s chin like a rolling kamikaze.

“Hello!” he shouted.

Mitch opened his eyes and was soon engulfed with fear. He began to scream. Like this, “Arghh. Arghhh.”

“W-who are y-you? Wh-what d-d you want?”

The little red pepper mimicked Mitch’s nervous stutter. “S-s-shhh,” he answered with a giggle.

Then, nothing. Blood splattered everywhere as the red pepper furiously cut Mitchell up. The blood could not be distinguished from the red pepper as the two meshed. It was a warped Dali scene.

The little red pepper held Mitch’s heart in his hands. Holding the organ seemed hilarious to him.

The cold knife lay peacefully between Mitch’s eyes. Minced meat and rice was scattered all over the body. The little red pepper looked back at Mitch’s corpse with a smile and a tear as he quietly left the room.

He headed for the kitchen. “I got nothing,” he uttered to himself.

He sat up on the counter and looked straight into the trash compartment in the sink. He looked up for a moment and jumped.

The picture taken at the grocery store lay crumpled on the table.