When Desmond Lewis was released from prison four days ago the first thing he did was go to a women’s clothing store and buy five dresses, a mini skirt, four pairs of pantyhose, and two blouses. He then proceeded to a men’s clothing store for pants, a business type button up shirt, and a stripped tie. He drove home smiling to himself for the party that he had planned when he arrived.
He pulled into his driveway. Stepped out of the car with his bags in tow, opened the front door and was shot in the face and died. The shooter bent down grabbed the dead man’s wallet and stashed the bills in his pocket. He next searched the bags, found nothing of interest, kicked the bloodied mess and exited the premises.
Escrone Harris had no idea that Martin Hamburg was a sharp shooter but he thought that just maybe if he ran fast enough that he could out run the bullets by pure will power alone. But sadly that was not the case. A bullet ripped through the calf muscle of his right leg and sent him barreling face first into the ground. Once there he tried to decide which hurt worse, the bullet in his leg or his nose being pushed to a right angle. The blood from his nose seeped into his mouth. It tasted a little like pennies and he decided right there that he wouldn’t die from having sex with a man he hardly knew. He saw no sense in that. If anyone was going to kill him he thought that at least it could be a family friend or someone he knew better.
He met Martin Hamburg in one of those thirty-second speed dating shindigs. He met the man and fell instantly in love. They had one date that in turn became an all night sex masquerade. It was while laying there the next morning that Martin asked Escrone if anyone had ever shot at him. Escrone took this as just one of those getting to know you questions so he said no. Martin smiled and told him that he’d love to shoot at him. Escrone made an innuendo that he had beat him to it. They smiled and kissed and made love once again before Martin stood buttoned his shirt, zipped his pants and walked out of the room. Escorne shouted some expletives about not just being a piece of ass when Martin entered the room, now holding a rifle. He points it at Escrone. Escrone asks what is going on. Martin says something about being a black widow, that he must kill those he fucks. Escrone tells him to stop joking, though not knowing what good it would be to say that to a man with a gun who looked very serious about shooting him. So he stood, followed Martin’s orders of putting on clothes and driving them both to a wooded area where then Escrone was shot and his nose was broken.
Escrone then stood holding a hand underneath his nose catching his blood. He hobbled to a tree and stood hoping that Martin had not seen. Unfortunately Escrone now heard the rustle of dried leaves and broken twigs from the passing of booted feet. Escrone was in a panic. He bent down to acquire the broken tree limb that had fallen to the ground, to fashion it as some type of weaponry when he was shot in the chest. It took him a minute and a half to die.
Bear Grubson hated blacks with a passion. He had no real reason for the hate but the fact that his daddy hated blacks and his daddy before him. So when his daughter came home with a black boyfriend, hand in hand, when he saw them kissing that night as the black boy left he vowed to kill him. In his sick little mind he could not let that boy infect his daughter. When she was told this she asked infected with what and he couldn’t give a logical answer. She told him that he was a stupid redneck who couldn’t think for himself and that if all he could do was live his life by what his daddy did then he was a sad little man. She told him that if all he could do all day was sit around hating someone for no good reason that someone should put him out of his misery. In turn he responded with the fact that he was quite happy with his life and that he tried to warn her when her little nigger rapes her. She walks away crying. He shows no emotion.
That night his daughter awakens and goes to the kitchen. She grabs a knife and ascends the staircase that leads to her fathers bedroom. She enters and he is sound asleep. Standing beside the bed she raises the knife and brings it down into her father’s throat, who dies after a few gurgled attempts at breath.
Christopher Coconutleaves was deathly afraid of everything. He lived his life in a state of constant fear. Always looking behind himself whilst walking down dark streets, believing that there were steps falling in tune with his steps and that if he turned at just the right moment he would see a psycho with a knife aimed at his heart.
It was because of his fears that on October 19, 1983 he died of his own precautions. It was like any other day in this kooky man’s life. He went to work in the morning, came home for lunch with consisted of a bologna sandwich with mustard and potato chips with a tall glass of cola.
After lunch he traveled back to his job and sat for another four hours doing what he did best before he was sent home for the day and told, “Great Job!” He then would stop at a bookstore and peruse the true crime section. Reading the horrific malice that man could create upon man (he saw this as a way to prepare himself when the time came that a psychopath would purge their grotesqueries upon him).
After his bookstore adventure he would finally travel home. Entering his house he would then close the door, lock the multitude of locks and place a slab of oak that he made himself to fit directly under the doorknob and rested against a notch in the floor preventing anyone from pushing the door inwards. He would then check the locks on all windows (even though they were bolted shut). He then would check the remaining doors and work his way upstairs for a teeth brushing and urination, after which he would climb into his pajamas, make a dinner which usually consisted of a meat and two vegetables eat said dinner and make his way to the bedroom (for which he locked and placed another homemade oak slab under the doorknob) for some television and sleep.
It was on this night that he accidentally left the television on, which overheated and caught fire. The fire spread to the floor and curtains and filled the room with a lung seizing fog. It was this inability to breathe that finally woke him. He immediately jumped out of the bed and scrambled to the door. Not being able to see or breathe hindered his progress, though he finally did reach the door and unlocked the locks. It would be fruits of his invention that would be the bringer of bad news. As much as he struggled he could not get the oak slab out from under the doorknob. Until eventually he passed out and burned.