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Subject: KIDSNUFF $06 -- "Bobby's Ride" (Mb, abduct, nc, rape, sodom, pedo, snuff, pedosnuff).
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===================
KIDSNUFF $06 -- "Bobby's Ride" (Mb,abduct,nc,rape,sodom,pedo,snuff,pedosnuff).
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ORIGINAL PUBLICATION DATE: 08:57:50am EDT, Sat., 12-Nov-1994.
FILESIZE (Approximations): 525 Lines, 29,484 Bytes, 28.8K.
ARCHIVE-NAME: KidSnuff.06 is the name under which this file should be
stored by archivists.
CONTENT: This story depicts the forcible abduction, rape and murder of
a young boy by a grown man, and is only intended for consumption by those 18
years of age or older. If you are offended by this material or are underage,
please skip this article NOW.
STANDARD DISCLAIMERS: "Bobby's Last Ride" is *fiction*. All poeple,
places, and events in it are imaginary; any resemblence to reality is
coincidental. NO CHILDREN WERE, NOR HAVE ANY EVER BEEN, HARMED IN THE COURSE
OF WRITING THIS OR ANY OTHER OF THIS AUTHOR'S STORIES.
This story is offered in the hope that it may provide a catharsis for
those hapless individuals -- this author included -- who, whether by random
accident of malicious fate, the dark and capricious decree of a malevolent
God, or otherwise, are cursed with a sexuality which only finds pleasure in
fantasizing about the violent rape, torture, and murder of small boys. It is
this author's hope and intention that such unfortunates will derive their
pleasure from reading this article, and not from other, more destructive
means. THIS TEXT IS *NOT* INTENDED TO PROMOTE OR TO CONDONE THE COMMISSION
OF ANY CRIME!
COPYLEFT: This E-Text may be freely reproduced and redistributed, so
long as credit in authorship is properly given to KidSnuff Incorporated[tm].
FEEDBACK: Comments on this story are welcome, flames will be cheerfully
ignored. Either way, please send them to the current newsgroup; this article
is NOT being posted under a valid return E-Mail address.
-=- -=- -=- -=- -=- -=- -=- -=- -=- -=-
Story #06:
*** Bobby's Last Ride ***
Copyrighted (C) 1994 KidSnuff, Inc.
THE MAN WAS READY. After a long, tedious morning of searching the
town and preparing the best place for his "activities", he was at last
ready to obtain the next Participant in his chosen sport: Boy-Killing!
It was a gorgeous Saturday spring afternoon: warm, but not humid;
overhead, the sun played hide-and-seek with the silver clouds that
skittered across the sky. The weather was so fine that the Man was
surprised at how few children were about. He began to grow annoyed.
Just then the Man spied... yes! a little boy! And quite a cute one,
at that. About ten or eleven, the Man judged, and not much over four feet
tall: a short, thin, brown-haired beauty with wavy hair cut in "Mr. Spock"
bangs and wearing a dark red T-shirt with a picture on it, a pair of dark-
blue denim shorts, and dirty white sneakers. The kid strode briskly along
on pipestem legs, singing happily; at his side, a Scooby-Doo stuffed toy
swung back and forth in time to the music. Thoroughly aroused now, the Man
pulled up next to him. "Hey, kid!", he called out.
The boy stopped and looked up at him...
* * * * * * * * * * * * *
For Bobby Ragona, the day had started out pretty much like any other
Saturday. He'd gotten up, dressed, had breakfast, and walked over to
Donald's house, where he and Donald had watched Scooby Doo and Batman
cartoons -- their favorite -- and messed around with Donald's model train
before leaving. Supper would be in an hour, and Mom would want him home to
do chores. Macaroni and cheese tonight, too -- his favorite! He didn't
want to miss it, and was heading home at that very moment.
He never got there.
He was walking along, absorbed in his own thoughts and singing the
"Scooby-Doo" theme happily to himself, when a Man suddenly pulled up in an
large, decrepit, dark-tan car and called out to him.
"Yes?", Bobby asked, stopping.
"Do you know the way to Lake Henry?", the Man asked, all Smiles 'N'
Friendship.
"Um, oh yeah sure, it's over that way", Bobby said, pointing.
"Uh, look", the Man said, "I'm in a hurry. Could you get in and SHOW
me?"
"O.K., sure", said Bobby. He opened the back door, and clambered in.
"Now", Bobby said matter-of-factly as he settled down, "just go down to
the end of the street, and turn left."
The Man DID go down to the end of the street -- but he turned right,
not left. "Hey!", Bobby protested, "That's the wrong way!"
In response, the Man reached back and slapped him -- HARD. Bobby
looked out of the windows fearfully; but he remained silent. He began
hunting for the door handle -- and discovered, belatedly, that neither
door had one. The Man noticed the boy's distress... and laughed...
* * * * * * * * * * * * *
They drove to the outskirts of town, and stopped at a large,
abandoned building. Bobby knew the place, which increased his terror: it
was the old abandoned slaughterhouse, where he and many of his friends
played. At the moment, it was deserted, for all the kids would be home for
supper. That he himself wasn't among them gave him a knot in his stomach
that was not entirely due to hunger.
The Man, meanwhile, shut off the engine and stepped out, opening the
rear left door from the outside. Bobby shrank back. "Please, don't hurt
me. Leave me alone."
The Man ignored him. "Lay on your stomach", he ordered. Bobby did not
move, and the Man came after him. Bobby backed up against the far door and
tried to kick the Man away with his feet; the Man pushed them aside and
grabbed Bobby's wrist. The Man gave a TWIST, and Bobby screamed. "Lay
down", the Man repeated; this time Bobby obeyed. The Man pulled Bobby's
other hand behind him, twisted something that felt like wire around his
wrists, and Bobby found his hands immobilized behind him.
Now the Man searched Bobby's pockets. From one, he retrieved his
wallet, and stopped to examine it. Inside was a library card in the name
of BOBBY RAGONA, a cheap "Robin" sticker affixed to a piece of cardboard,
a bubblegum card with a picture of an old-fashioned airplane on it, two
single dollar bills, six quarters, a nickel, and three pennies. In the
other pocket he found a bright-yellow comb with a picture of Mickey Mouse
on it; another quarter, almost bald with age; a multi-colored "Superball";
and a crystal-clear marble. All these the Man quickly dropped into a paper
bag, along with the stuffed "Scooby-Doo" toy that Bobby had carried with
him into the car. Then the Man rolled Bobby onto his side. Bobby looked up
fearfully. "Please, PLEASE, let me go home", he pleaded. Instead, the Man
pulled the youngster up onto his lap, and wrapped his arms sensuously
around the boy's waist. Now that he had the boy up close, he could see the
baby-smoothness of the kid's face, with its smattering of freckles; the
small nose, the small, thin mouth, and the huge, terrified, baby-blue
eyes. He smoothed his hand softly over the youngster's green T-shirt
(there was a picture of Robin of "Batman and Robin" fame imprinted upon
it), and down to the boy's tight-fitting dark blue shorts. "So", the Man
said, "Your name is Bobby". Bobby nodded, fearfully. "How old are you,
Bobby?", the Man asked. "Ten", Bobby answered. "You're cute", the Man
said. Bobby swallowed hard.
Owing to the lack of legroom, Bobby's legs were splayed widely apart,
and the Man couldn't help noticing how long and thin and smooth they were.
In his current position, the boy resembled nothing so much as a huge human
frog. The Man ran his hand and fingers softly up the boy's right leg,
starting at the ankle, just above the dusty-white sneakers, and on up to
the thigh; Bobby squirmed. "Such long legs you have! Are you a Boy, or a
Frog?", the Man asked. Then he tried to slide his hand up inside the leg
of the boy's shorts; finding them too tight, pulled Bobby's T-shirt out
from his shorts with a gentle tug instead (Bobby HATED it when his shirt
hung out) and caressed the boy's bare chest and stomach, pausing only a
moment to tickle the child's "innie" belly button; Bobby squirmed once
more.
Impulsively, the Man suddenly pulled the boy close, and French-kissed
him deeply. Bobby struggled at first, but at the Man's growled "Stop your
damned squirming!" became still again.
Finished, the Man pulled out a roll of gauze and stuffed it into
Bobby's mouth; then, taking out a roll of duct tape, taped Bobby's mouth
shut.
Now the Man unfastened the boy's belt -- a thin belt, in both width
and thickness, and made of brown leather -- and unbuttoned his shorts. He
slid his hand inside his underpants to stroke the tiny penis. The
youngster stiffened, squirmed, and whimpered, but the Man held fast. "Why
don't we go inside, Little Bobby? Would you like that?", the Man cooed
softly in Bobby's ear. "We'll have a lot of Fun today. Yeah! C'mon,
Bobby... let's go Play, just the two of us!"
And so Bobby -- bound, gagged, cute little Bobby -- was dragged
sobbing from the car. The Man paused to take the bag holding Bobby's
belongings, then marched the boy up the steps to the front door. The gate
which the town fathers had installed on this door when the plant was first
closed still stood. It was supposed to keep out trespassers, and as such
had originally been padlocked; but time had rusted the lock, and
eventually it was broken off by exploratory youngsters, and posed no
barrier to their entry now. Once inside, the Man led Bobby deeper into the
building... and then his REAL terror began...
* * * * * * * * * * * * *
The interior was dank and musty, and reeked of the blood of thousands
of animals which had died while the plant was operating. The floor was
littered with bones, dried hay, and the occasional tool; but all the
equipment had been removed, leaving nothing but vast, empty floor space.
The walls of the building were interspersed with large divided windows,
all broken; the spring breeze rustled gently through, making a slight
moaning as it passed the window frames. The Man -- obviously familiar with
the place -- led Bobby down to the basement. There, the Man pulled open
the huge, rusty furnace room door, shoved Bobby inside, then went in
himself, shutting the door behind them with a hollow BOOM...
The furnace room was pitch-black except for the Man's flashlight,
which, amid eerie, drunken shadows, showing a tiny, dingy room. The small
window, set in a concrete "area" three or four feet below ground level,
had been covered over with cardboard; only a sliver of sunlight entered.
The hulk of a rusty, disused furnace dominated the room, while a large oil
drum lay over on its side in the corner. The Man turned to a small shelf
on the door's right, and lit the portable fluorescent lamp waiting there;
and Bobby realized for the first time just how carefully the Man had
planned things. The Man dropped the bag holding Bobby's possesions next to
the door, and Bobby drew a long, shuddering, fear-filled breath...
The Man pocketed his flashlight, then approached Bobby. "Now then,
Bobby", he said softly but excitedly, "It's time to play some Games
together..."
The Man pushed Bobby up against the far wall, then grasped Bobby's
left foot, lifted it, and pulled off Bobby's left sneaker and tossed it
aside. Then he removed the right sneaker in the same way. Bobby, who wore
no socks, was now barefoot.
"On your stomach, Bobby", the Man said with exaggerated pleasantness.
Bobby hesitated, and the Man yanked the youngster forward. "I said, get
DOWN!", the Man said, thrusting the boy heavily to the concrete floor.
Holding Bobby's right hand firmly, the Man undid the wire binding
Bobby's hands. The Man pulled Bobby's shirt up and over his head; then, by
changing hands, pulled the right sleeve off of Bobby's arm. Then, with a
mighty TUG, he yanked the shirt free of Bobby's flailing left arm, and
tossed it aside. Then the Man bound Bobby's hands behind him once more.
The Man stood up, then reached down and grabbed Bobby's left arm.
"Get up!", he demanded, yanking the boy up; and then, while the boy
sobbed, pulled down the boy's shorts (still unfastened), revealing a pair
of Batman and Robin Underoos! The Man stared, then burst out laughing,
rubbing his hand up and down the child's rump. "I don't think Batman and
Robin are going to do you very much good today, Bobby Boy", said the Man
amiably. He slid his hand inside the Underoos as he said this, to rub the
bare rump inside them; Bobby cried harder than ever. "And since they're
not going to help you", the Man continued, "why not let's get rid of
them?" The Man removed his hand, and pulled the underpants off altogether.
A moment later both shorts and underpants had been tossed aside, and Bobby
was completely nude.
"Lie down on your back, Kid", the Man said. "Now!" Fearfully, Bobby
obeyed, reclining on the rough, rock-hard, ice-cold concrete floor. The
Man pulled something from his jacket pocket, then straddled the boy's
midsection, facing away towards his feet. Bobby felt something draped
loosely around the base of his penis. The Man began stroking it gently,
and an erection was slowly formed. Abruptly, something tightened --
HARD! -- around his penis, and the boy arced miserably beneath his
tormentor, as his agonized cry of pain issued forth, muffled by the gag.
The Man continued his manipulations making whatever it was ever and ever
tighter, until it was like a band of iron. Finally, the Man got up. "There
now!", he said "Take a look." Bobby did, and saw that the object which
bound his penis was a multi-colored neon shoelace; but tied so very tight,
that his penis was completely choked off, leaving it painful and
grotesquely bloated, swollen, and purple. Bobby cried gustily.
Next, the Man pulled the boy to his feet, eyeing him up and down for
a moment or two; then undid his own belt, and unfastened his own pants. He
let them drop, and stepped smoothly out of them. The Man wore no
underwear, and his penis and scrotum were in plain view. Bobby stared,
horrified yet fascinated -- the Man's penis was ENORMOUS, and its base
VERY hairy; the scrotum was huge, and swung. "You like that, huh kid?",
the Man said, grinning wickedly. "Well, let's just SEE how much you like
it. Go drape yourself over that barrel", ordered the Man, indicating the
oil drum.
Bobby obeyed slowly, moving over to the drum, but looking back over
at the Man pleadingly. The Man merely shoved the boy forward, so that he
almost FELL across the barrel. The Man approached from behind. "Spread
your legs, Brat", the Man commanded; but he didn't wait for Bobby to
comply, but spread the boy's legs himself.
And then the Man was shoving himself up inside Bobby's rectum;
burning, tearing, pushing and thrusting, in and out, in and out, again and
again and again and again. It hurt like anything, and Bobby could only cry
out in pain, and struggle vainly against the Man. The Man's thrustings
became slowly deeper, more intense, and more and more rapid; Bobby was
almost screaming through his gag now, but the Man kept on! Suddenly the
Man gave a strange groan, grasped frantically at Bobby's shoulders and
pulled the boy forcefully towards himself, while at the same time giving a
last series of ferocious, thrusting HEAVES; and even as the boy screamed
in new agony, he could feel jet after jet after jet of hot, sticky liquid
spurting deep inside his anal cavity!
At length, the Man gave a sigh and collapsed atop the youngster, who
sobbed hysterically. The Man lay there, catching his breath for a moment;
finally, he stood up. Bobby promptly slid off of the oil drum and
collapsed, sobbing uncontrollably, into a fetal position on the floor.
"If you think THAT was fun", the Man said, "you'll just LOVE what
happens now!", the Man assured softly. The Man grasped the child by the
arm and pushed him up against the wall. The he ripped the duct tape from
Bobby's mouth and pulled out the gauze; Bobby could do nothing but cry.
The Man thrust himself forward. "Suck me, Brat! Suck me hard!" It was
all Bobby could do to shrink away from him. And every time the Man
approached, he turned his head. "So! You think you can refuse me, eh Brat?
Think again!" The Man yanked Bobby by his feet out into the middle of the
room, shoved the gauze back into Bobby's mouth, sat astride him (as he'd
done while tying his penis) and began SQUEEZING BOBBY'S LEFT TESTICLE!!!
The youngster writhed and arced ferociously, and screamed in horrible
agony, but the Man kept on going -- one minute, two minutes, three! Each
minute an eternity! Finally, he let go, and the boy was able to stop
screaming, though he still moaned and writhed with residual pain. "You
gonna do what I say?", asked the Man. Bobby miserably shook his head
vigorously. "You sure?", the Man asked. Again Bobby nodded. "You
ABSOLUTELY POSITIVE?" Again, the vigorous nod. The Man tossed his head.
"Well, guess what?I don't believe you!", he said, and began SQUEEZING
BOBBY'S *RIGHT* TESTICLE!!! The child began screaming and writhing all
over again... The Man continued this torture for several minutes; but
finally let the boy go.
"Now then", said the Man brightly, "LET'S TRY IT AGAIN, shall we?
Suck me, Brat!" This time Bobby put up no fight as the Man forced his
penis deep into his mouth and down his throat, thrusting as before. The
boy choked, gagged, gasped and gurgled -- he was finding it hard to
breathe -- and struggled hard, but to no avail. The Man "came" again soon
enough, and thrust DEEP into the boy's throat; so deeply in fact that he
cut off the child's air completely, leaving him barely conscious, and
coughing and gagging, by the time he had finished.
But Bobby's ordeal wasn't over. The Man dressed, then pulled
something from his pocket, which he began to unfold: it was a length of
coat hanger wire.
The Man re-taped Bobby's mouth, then rolled him onto his stomach,
grasped him firmly by his wrists, and pulled up and forward so that the
boy was "pushed" into the floor, while his arms were held up out behind
him. Holding the boy thus with his left hand, the Man began to whip Bobby.
How Bobby thrashed and squirmed and cried out! The Man whipped him
gleefully, and with tremendous force; again and again and again and again,
thwap, thwap, thwap, thwap against the naked flesh; it whistled through
the air as it went. With every impact, Bobby writhed, and his muffled
cries and pleadings filled the room. The Man whipped the youngster
carefully -- no random beating this! He began systematically, starting
with the lower thighs, working his way slowly up through the backs of the
knees, to the rear upper thighs, to the buttocks, to the lower back, then
the upper back, and on up to the arms themselves, the child thrashing and
screaming the entire while. Then the Man tilted Bobby's arms forward so
that the boy's right side was exposed, and began whipping him there as
well, up the whole length of his body. Next the Man stepped over the boy,
still holding him by the wrists. He switched the wrists to his other
hand -- he was ambidextrous -- and, tilting him forward to expose the LEFT
side, whipped him there as well.
Finally, the Man withdrew a cloth belt with a friction fastener --
adjustable to any girth from inches to maximum width. This the Man
fastened very tightly around Bobby's ankles, rolled him onto his back,
lifted the boy's feet by the ankles -- and began the whipping anew, but on
the child's FRONT side this time! There were places here that the Man
carefully avoided, due to some peculiar scruples -- the feet were immune,
the shins and knees were immune, the genitals, hands, shoulders, neck, and
head were immune. But just about everything else was fair game. He began
with the boy's thighs -- carefully avoided his penis -- continued with the
abdomen, then the stomach, and finally the chest! Lastly, the Man
unfastened Bobby's ankles and lifted each leg to whip the insides and
outsides of each leg individually.
And then he was done.
Bobby lay on his back on the floor now, rocking back and forth in
residual pain, and crying softly. The Man looked down at him for a very
long moment. Then he moved quietly over to a corner of the room and picked
up the crowbar which he had laid there earlier in the day; then he picked
up the youngster's shorts, and extracted the belt, which still ran through
the belt loops. He dropped the shorts.
"All things come to an end, Bobby", the Man said quietly, as he
fashioned the belt into a loop. "Even cute little boys like you."
The Man pulled Bobby back up onto his feet, and draped the loop of
Bobby's belt over the child's head and around his neck; then, standing
behind the boy, he inserted the crowbar into the loop, and began to twist,
cutting off the blood to Bobby's brain as well as the air to his lungs.
The boy made rasping, gurgling sounds, and thrashed and writhed
ferociously in his death-throes; but the Man held tight to both ends of
the crowbar, and Bobby struggled in vain. At length the boy lost
consciousness, and the Man relaxed his grip, allowing the child to slide
quivering to the floor. Once there, the Man inserted the crowbar through
the wire which still bound Bobby's wrists, so that the belt would remain
twisted around the boy's neck after the Man let go -- which he now did.
Now the Man donned a pair of white cloth gloves, and collected all of
Bobby's belongings. The Man began wiping all metal and plastic parts items
with the gloves. The wallet, its contents, and every coin, had to be
wiped. So too with the comb, Superball, and all other oddments Bobby had
carried on him. When the Man came upon Bobby's stuffed "Scooby-Doo" toy,
he gave a grunt; then, on impulse, stuck it in the crook of the the
Bobby's arm, so that it was held tightly against his body. "Here's your
dog, Kid", the Man jeered. The Man checked his watch: ten minutes had gone
by. Bobby Ragona, age ten, was dead.
Now The Man dumped the bag of Bobby's stuff out onto the floor, right
by the pile of clothing; then he turned to Bobby himself. He removed the
crowbar, leaving the belt still cinched around the boy's throat; then he
rolled the body over onto its back, straightened it out, and spread the
legs slightly to showcase the boy's tied and still-swollen penis.
Then, standing there in front of the child's body, the Man unzipped
his pants and brought out his penis. This was his favorite part of the
killing -- what he called "Splattering". He masturbated slowly, building
to orgasm; he "came" suddenly with a gasping moan, sending multiple jets
of fresh, hot semen shooting onto the child's naked little corpse, where
it glistened and dribbled. One globule even landed on the "Scooby"'s nose,
where it was slowly absorbed by the fur. The Man sighed with pleasure.
Finally, the Man gathered up his things -- the bag, crowbar, and
fluorescent lamp -- and prepared to leave. He turned at the door, to enjoy
one last look at Bobby's corpse. "Hope you had a good time today, Kid",
the Man said, "because I know *I* sure did!" He laughed to himself as he
departed up the stairs...
And then there was silence.
* * * * * * * * * * * * *
When Bobby failed to come home for supper that night, his parents
began to worry, and then to grow frantic; by midnight, they had called in
the Police. Within minutes, several Police cars, their lights flashing,
had gathered outside the Ragona home as a door-to-door search was begun.
It wasn't long before everyone on the block knew of Bobby's disappearance.
Well, ALMOST everyone.
At the corner of Bobby's street stood the home of the Correll
household, consisting of Tyrone, age 13, his 11-year-old brother Horace,
and their parents. The boys were pretty close, as brothers go; for
example, Tyrone had, in typical brother fashion, assigned his younger
brother the nickname "Whore" (for Horace). On this fateful weekend, the
Corrells had been visiting their grandparents, and they did not arrive
back home until the wee hours of Sunday morning. The parents, dead-tired
and with only one day left to relax before work, had immediately gone to
bed, and were sleeping late the next day; while the boys, having rather
more energy, got up that Sunday morning and pedalled off to play while
their parents slept -- by no means unusual behavior in that quiet
neighborhood. Thus, they never heard a thing about Bobby Ragona.
As ws their wont, they went to the Slaughterhouse to play. And you
can just guess what happened next!
When they got there, they were surprised to find the place deserted,
as it was usually full of rambunctious kids on the weekends; but they set
about to roam its empty halls anyway. It was Horace's idea to go down to
the basement; Tyrone stayed upstairs.
When Horace opened the furnace room door, the first thing he noticed
was that the interior was pitch black. "Hey!", he protested, "Who the hell
covered the window!?" Annoyed and grumbling, he moved blindly into the
room to uncover it -- and tripped headlong over some sort of large, soft
bundle on the floor. His hand might have been badly skinned on the rough
concrete floor, had it not landed on a small piece of cloth. Horace picked
it up and felt of it in the dark. He couldn't figure it out -- oh, sure he
knew what it FELT like, but that made no sense -- what on Earth would a
pair of UNDERWEAR be doing here?
"Hey, Whore, where are you?", Tyrone called from above.
"Oh -- uh, down here, Ty", he called back. That reminded him of what
he'd come in here for in the first place; he turned to examine the window.
It seemed to be covered with a piece of cardboard, held in place at the
corners with duct tape -- the work of some older kids probably, the stupid
jerks. With rather some difficulty, Horace managed to pull it down. Light
streamed into the room once more, and Horace could look down at the object
in his hand.
It WAS a pair of underwear. In fact, it was a pair of Batman and
Robin Underoos! He was still puzzling over this when he turned to look at
what he had tripped over when he came in -- and stiffled a yell!
To literally stumble upon the naked body of a small boy just your own
age would be pretty tough on ANY kid -- but Horace KNEW this boy, and
which only increased his horror. Hell, they'd even played together in this
very room! The kid lay face up in the middle of the room, his blue eyes
wide open and staring, a look of pure agony on his face, and dry tear-
stains running down his cheeks. His mouth was taped over with duct tape,
and his hands appeared to be tied behind his back. Welts an whip-marks
covered him almost literally from head to foot, and his penis had been
tied off into a grotesque, swollen parody of itself. And as if to complete
the gruesome scene before him, the boy's Scooby-Doo plush toy had been
tucked under his arm! Horace felt nausea rising within him, and he was
finding it hard to breathe.
"Hey, Whore! what's keeping you, you dumb--"; but Tyrone broke off as
he entered the doorway and saw what had silenced his brother. "Omigod...!"
There was stunned silence for a moment. "Who is it?", Tyrone whispered.
"Oh, my God, oh my God, It's Bobby! It's Bobby Ragona!", Horace
croaked miserably.
"Is he... dead?", asked Tyrone. Horace didn't answer directly. "Let's
get the hell OUT of here!"
Never had two boys left that building so quickly... but not quite
quickly enough for Horace to keep his breakfast.
* * * * * * * * * * * * *
More than 200 people came out to pay their final respects to the
murdered little boy all nicely decked out with serene face and rosy cheeks
in his pretty little white coffin, wearing the suit and tie his parents
had purchased especially for the funeral, and contentedly clutching a
Teddy Bear not his own because the cops insisted on keeping his Scooby-Doo
toy for evidence. At least they had a suspect -- if only the could CATCH
him!
In the days and weeks that followed, editorials would be written,
outrage expressed, guns purchased, martial arts classes taught, doors
locked, and tongues wagged. None of it made the slightest difference to
anybody, LEAST of all to Bobby, and still less to the Man who had killed
him. Indeed, only one thing more needs to be said: The kids don't play in
the slaughterhouse any more.
***** The End *****
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