When a Suicidalist Loses Everything: Revenge

A suicidalist, named Bob, practices chronic suicide.

Bob begins to carry out his plans for revenge and kill the people responsible for killing his family.

Hey everyone and welcome back.

Today is part two of Episode 9 in The Chronicles of Bob: The Chronic Suicidal.

Here, Bob begins his quest for revenge. Even though in this world, this isn’t his family, so to speak, it is his family, and it’s real. The pain is real. Everything is real. So, too, is the revenge. The chain of cataclysmic events begins here.

Have you ever seen Oldboy? I’m not a fan of the American remake. . . I prefer the original South Korean film. I also like where it’s one man who is incredibly pissed off and has a thirst for blood, versus numerous enemies. Read on to see what I mean. . .

Tomorrow concludes Episode 9.

Until next time,

RJM


The Chronicles of Bob: The Chronic Suicidal

Episode 9 – Nothing to Lose

[Part Two]

Bob sat on the edge of his hospital bed. His wounds healed enough to where he could be discharged.

I gotta tell ya, folks. There really isn’t a rhyme or reason for me to stay alive anymore. The kids, my wife, they’re gone. They’re dead. All dead. I—I just don’t know.

Bob cries for a moment.

I can’t believe it, and I don’t want to believe it, but when I saw their lifeless bodies at the morgue…

Bob grits his teeth, rocks back and forth, clenching his fists, struggling to maintain composure as the vivid and horrible pictures flash back on his eyeballs.

Those sons of bitches! I’m gonna make them pay…I’m gonna make them wish they were never fuckin’ born; to have never messed with my family or with me!

Bob looks down at a family picture of him with his wife and kids. Tears stain the photograph and the handgun. 

***

“C’mon man! I don’t know anything about no kids or woman! Just let me go!” the man pleaded as he stared up at the barrel of a handgun that was pointed between his eyes.

“No, no, don’t you dare fuckin’ play that shit with me. You and your boys murdered my family in cold fuckin’ blood.” Bob pistol whipped the man across the jaw, then grabbed him by his mangy hair, “Now, you’re goin’ to tell me who and where they all are. If you do that, then I won’t end your pathetic life right here, right now.”

“I don’t know man. I don’t know what you’re talking about. I just got in the gang last week. I don’t even know where they meet up; it’s always changing.” the man cried.

Bob knew he was honest, rare in a street thug but it was something. “Let me tell you somethin’. You get out of here, you don’t even, even think about doin’ something like this, or bein’ a part of some gang, ya hear me? If you do, if you fuckin’ think about it, I will find you and kill you. It doesn’t even matter if you think I’m lyin’, I will find you and I will fuckin’ kill you. Got it?”

The man nodded as snot and tears streamed down his face. He scurried off into the streets, eventually out of sight.

Bob caught the eye of a witness and decided to give chase. He figured someone had been tailing the newbie, making sure he wouldn’t foul up. Now that he had, he was going to go back to the rat’s nest and tell all the rats about what had happened. Bob counted on it.

Eventually, he was led to an apparently abandoned apartment building. The odds that he would even hope to survive the encounter were slim, but he didn’t care. Death wasn’t threatening to him as much as what the wraiths had promised.

Meandering through the hallways and going into each room, Bob took note of the gang’s residence. They’re here alright. 

He came at last to the top floor of the building.

“You got a lot of balls for comin’ here, old man, ” a man yelled.

“You assholes killed my wife and my kids. So now I am here for your lives,” said Bob.

The gang all filed out from every room, surrounding Bob. They all clenched various weapons. Some had masks on, while others he could note their sadistic grins and smiles. “You ain’t gettin’ it, buddy. You’re dead meat.”

Bob could feel the anger swell up within. “Death offers no comfort for me. I pray it holds torment for you, just as much as you’ve caused for me,” he said.

The gang’s leader stepped forth, a young man donned in a skull mask and garbed in black. “I could kill you where you stand. Your life belongs to me now. You know that, right?”

Bob closed his eyes. He envisioned how the forthcoming events would play out. “I belong to no one and no God.”

“Kill him,” said the leader with a sly grin.

THE CHRONICLES OF BOB: THE CHRONIC SUICIDAL IS A WRITING PROJECT BY ROBERT J. S. T. MCCARTNEY, HERE AT A.B. NORMAL PUBLISHING.
THIS STORY IS A WORK OF FICTION. DO NOT TRY THIS AT HOME.

Author: Sincados

Writer, gamer, foodie, brew enthusiast, and awesome dad. Also likes to make explosions...but not in any particular order.

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