Killing the Anti-Christ, A Short Story

I thought I’d try something new today.   I debated sharing this because after re-reading it it’s kind of scary in a disturbing way.  I’ve written a lot of weird, scary, slightly disturbing stuff but this one… it kinda takes the cake.  In fact, I would crown it the wedding cake of bizarre and disturbing.  Let me say for the record I wrote this when I was young.  I would also like it noted that  I wrote it after a nasty breakup with a very evil guy.  I’m not going to change any of the references; however, since it was originally written in 1990 some of them may not make sense to anyone born close to that date!  Also, it was written before school shootings became the unfortunate frequent occurrence that they are now.  But, as I said, I didn’t go through and re-edit so what you’re seeing now is what I wrote all those years ago.  You have been warned; read at your own risk…

Killing the Anti-Christ

“And as we have heard so many times before commencement means ‘the beginning’ and not ‘the end’.  So as we graduate and begin our new lives, remember that today, Commencement is not the end; it is the beginning,” I said to the fellow members of my graduating class.  I looked out into the rows of hapless students and 200 pairs of watery blue eyes with sunken red faces and blond receding hair lines looked back at me, dully.  The stupid expressions on their faces cut straight to my heart and at once I was sickened by the sight.  “Yes,” I thought to myself, “this should be the beginning.”  And then I looked at those pitiful souls- the ones who would do nothing at all with their lives because they were all too stupid to do anything except lie and cheat and give birth to exact replicas of themselves.  Those words danced in my head.  “STOP RIGHT THERE!” I shouted.  “I haven’t finished my speech.  Commencement is the beginning-”

“We’ve heard it before.  This speech is doing nothing for me!”

I  shot my heckler a look of burning hatred.  I hoped it burned through his ugly little retinas, leaving him blind forever.  “Commencement means the beginning, not the end- EXCEPT FOR YOU!” I screamed, pulling the Uzi out from behind the podium.  The rapid spray of bullets took out the front row immediately.  Others scattered for shelter.  I laughed cruelly.  “I can see you all from here.  You can’t hide from me!”

I stomped down into the crowd, my graduation robe flapping in the wind, my Uzi grasped tightly yet confidently in my hand.  I confronted the heckler.

His eyes looked up at me, pleading.  He cowered in fear, his mouth a blubbering mess as slobber spilled from all corners.

“Is this doing anything for you?” I asked before spraying him with a round of bullets.

I should have felt guilty, pouring the bullets into his pale face and skinny, worthless body, but I didn’t.  I was doing important work.  I was killing the anti-Christ.

I woke with a start.  It was the same dream that had haunted me ever since Dick entered my life.  I should have known something was amiss when his name described his only admirable feature, not to mention personality.  I think his parents should have named him Lucifer.  It fit him better.

Lucifer, I mean Dick, was a pinball wizard.  I met him one night at the arcade.  I was playing an innocent game of Ms. Pac-Man and he was ferociously playing a game of pinball.  I was soon to find out his whole basement was filled with the damn things.  I blame them for the demise of our relationship.  It got to the point where he never wanted to have sex unless we were doing it on one of the pinball machines.  it was hell.  Unfortunately for me, along came a pretty young thing who had a penchant for that kind of thing.  Last I heard, they were trying to add Space Invaders and one of those race car video games to their repertoire.

He was a lowly snake; he didn’t deserve to live.  I felt this intense need to kill him, mutilate him, scatter his body across the country.  Call me insensitive, but I truly felt that arrangement would work best for both of us.

One day I invited him over.  It wasn’t too long after commencement- you know, the beginning, not the end.  I promised him a good time on the pinball machine and he was over in no time.

“Look, Serena, just because I dumped you for some little bimbo who likes having sex on a pinball machine doesn’t mean you need to complain about it incessantly.  I mean, I can’t help the way I feel.  She makes me happy.”

“But what does she have that I don’t have?”


Dick was such a bright boy.  I paused a moment to reflect in his brilliance.

“Okay, but what else?  I mean, is she smart?”

“Who needs a woman with brains?  It only detracts from their body.  Give a woman a brain and a mouth and what do you have?”

“A person?” I thought to myself.

“A fucking pain in the ass.  If I wanted someone to talk I’d get a dog.  What I want is a fuck machine.  Just lay down and spread your legs.  Don’t ask questions; don’t comment on social issues.  I won’t know what you’re talking about anyway.  It’s like I always say:  Women have it made.  They can make a living laying on their backs, so why don’t they?  They get married and forget what they’re all about.  They kinda start living outside their standards; they start thinking their worth something.  They need to get knocked down a peg or two; show ’em who’s boss.”

“Yes, well, we digress, Dick.  Does this girl have any musical talents?”

“She moans well.”

“But does she know any songs?”

“Like what?”

“Oh, I don’t know- Old McDonald.  Ever hear it?  I love it!  Sing with me, Dick:

Old McDonald had a farm


And on this farm he had an axe


With a whack whack here

And a whack whack there

Here a whack, there a whack

Everywhere a whack whack

Old McDonald had a farm…

My voice trailed off and I looked fondly at his severed head.  Blood covered my clothes.  It was a nice feeling, not quite unlike hopping naked into a warm waterbed that’s set at about 100 degrees on a cold winter night.  You just snuggle under the covers and while the frost threatens to freeze anything in its way, you lay there all toasty warm, sweat running off your body.  That’s what this felt like.

I grabbed his head and slammed it against the wall a few times, laughing as I did this most obscene, disrespectful thing.  I then took it outside and climbed my favorite tree, high into the sky.  I stuck his head up there, right beside the bird nest.

There were eggs in it and I chastised Dick, “You be quiet up here.  And look after those eggs.  You’re getting free room and board.  Put yourself to use!”

I climbed down and walked calmly into the house.

I chopped his body into small pieces and then called to my three huge dogs.  “Here puppy, puppy!  Dinner!”

Two days later I was innocently washing my car when who should happen by but Dick! I was told this would happen.  Like the Phoenix who rises from the ashes, the anti-Christ will refuse to die.

“Serena, you’ve gotta quit killing me.  Now give me back my head!”

Reluctantly I climbed into the tree and threw his head down at him.  “Catch!” I called playfully.

I needed a new plan.  How do you kill the anti-Christ?  I thought and thought until my brain burst and my head exploded in a fiery ball of fire.

“Damn!  I hate it when that happens!” I said to myself, collecting my head.

I thought some more.  And the more I thought the more I liked the idea of tampering with his brakes and steering and watching gleefully as his stupid little ugly Beretta crashed into a tree.  With a little luck, it would decapitate him and his head would roll into the middle of the busy intersection.  Then the car would explode into fiery brilliance, charring his body beyond recognition.  And then, just to make sure no would ever know who that charred corpse was, a Mack truck would come along and run over his head, squishing it like a meatball into the pavement, forever etching him into the road.  Dead.

I liked it.  But it would never work.  I needed something more sinister.

“Dick,” I said, handing him a glass of juice laced with Liquid Plumber, “we need to talk.  We really should try to resolve things.”

I watched as his body retched and rolled along the carpet, trying to expel the vile chemicals.

“Get your feet off of my coffee table!” I shouted as his feet struck the expensive oak table.  “And didn’t I tell you no shoes on the carpet?”

Men can be so insensitive.

I waited until I was sure he was dead.  I kicked him a few times in the ribs and stomach to really make sure.  Then I went into the kitchen and got out my new set of carving knives.  I cut his penis off and glued it on his forehead.

“No one else is ever going to mistake you for a nice guy.  Why, you could say you have ‘I’m a dick’ tattooed on your forehead,” I told him.  I proceeded to carve the rest of him into little tiny pieces, sawing the bones in half.

Then I added him to a nice creamy broth, added some shrimp and crab, baked it for an hour and ate him.

“There!” I said to myself triumphantly, patting my full tummy.  “Just let them try to pin this one of me!  They’ll never know where he went to- unless I burp.”

I took his head with penis attached to it and threw it inside the bird house.  I covered it with bird seed and left it to rot.  “No one will ever find it,” I said out loud to no one in particular.  And then, just because it felt good, I belched.

I was holding him under water, drowning him. I only kept him under long enough for him to lose consciousness.  Then I would bring him back and strap him to the table so the first thing he would see when he awoke was my smiling face.  I tried to get right up in it so my head looked huge.  Then I’d smile a big smile so my teeth looked like giant white knives.  He would scream in terror and beg me to let him go. I’d just shake my head, not really sympathetically, but just because he was so stupid-looking, and then I’d lead him over to the water again and proceed to drown him again.  It was a fun two weeks but eventually I tired of the game, and so with a single bullet between those watery blue eyes I ended his life.

Of course there was the time I electrocuted him.  We played a stunning game of pinball and discussed the value of women in the world.  Dick, of course, felt they served no purpose except as penis receptacles.  I disagreed.  A huge argument resulted and he hit me.  The stupid sonofabitch slapped me across the face and told me to go make him his dinner.

I waited until he climbed into the jacuzzi and then I approached him.  “Dick, what did you want for dinner, honey?”

His head was draped back across the edge of the hot tub.  “I don’t care.  Just make it quick or I’ll beat you again.”

I put my hand behind the jam box, and gave it a little shove.  “How about something fried?” I asked, watching his body jump and jerk and sizzle.

Nothing, it seemed, could stop him.  I tried everything.  Stabbing, eating, poisoning, electrocuting, decapitating.  I needed a plan.  A good plan.  I thought it over carefully and decided the only way he would stay dead is if he wanted to stay dead.  I needed to put him a place that he would enjoy forever.  Eureka! I had a plan.

Yes, I admit it:  I poisoned the steak.  I poisoned it and I fed it to him.  Then I chopped him up into a million small pieces and put them through the garbage disposal.  I collected them, in even tinier pieces, and burned them.  Finally, I took the axe and broke open his most prized possession- his Bart Simpson pinball machine.  I scattered the ashes inside and stuck his head on top of a sharp pike attached to the pinball machine.  His sightless eyes stared vacantly off into space, not a real big change from when he was alive, and I proceeded to play a nice game of pinball.  “Who, Mama!” I screamed as I achieved the high score.  “It’s radical, dude,” I said to his picture as I left, leaving Dick a.k.a. Lucifer, the anti-Christ, with his most valued possessions- his mouth and his pinball machine.  Finally the anti-Christ was dead.

The End

I sincerely hope I haven’t scared anyone off.  I promise I’m a really nice person even if I do have a macabre sense of a humor.  This was a dark time in my life.  Not unlike the dark time I’m going through now.  Hmmm….. I promise this is about an old boyfriend and not a current husband, however delightful the thought may be.

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