Dave was just minding his own business when this all started a few days earlier. Walking out of a games shop when he copped a wallop right in the gut - winded, down on his knees. They grabbed his wallet and bag and ran off before he could even catch his breath, which admittedly took about five minutes thanks to his sorry state. Inside that bag was a good $2,000 worth of rare cards he'd managed to slip in without anyone noticing.
Being Dave was really a full time job. It took dedication. He was an angry man and having such an unfair thing happen to him enraged him beyond words. He stormed home swearing a lot, and then sweating a lot as he impotently punched cushions in his room. He hated that anyone would dare do such a thing to him and angrily masturbated to the most violent pornography he could find on short notice while plotting the deaths those men would suffer at his hand! If he wasn't, well, him... Then he lay down and slept for a while, only to go back to playing his games.
That should have been the end of it. Problem was, Dave really wasn't himself. No, try as he might to pretend otherwise, Dave was well and truly gone - heart attack, mid climax about three months back. And the Dave that sat there playing his games like nothing had happened, that Dave had options. That Dave could make Dave's usual impotent plotting quite real.
Looking into matters a bit further found a fortuitous twist of fate. Turned out the guys who mugged him were irrelevant members of a moderately relevant gang that partook in some quite relevant criminal activity. Drug dealing, weapons and more interestingly - for Dave at least - some human trafficking for prostitution. No one cares when petty drug and arms dealers get taken down, but human trafficking - even just a handful of people - now there's a news story! He promptly created a new Twitter account; @Moistman. Saving lives, killing those wretches who dared accost him, superhero Twitter handle. Dave's fantasy world come to life. Delicious.
Until he was stabbed the third time.
Being killed I can live with. Being outdone by a bunch of thugs, uncouth peasants, I can not.
YOU ARE READING
A Step Too Far
Short StoryIt isn't the bad things you intended to do that come back to haunt you. It's the ones you never meant to happen, that you can't bear to take responsibility for, that fester and grow over the decades. When you know you have nothing to lose, mistakes...
