Turn Tables

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Having tracked and cornered Arthur, the detective has the tables turned on him.

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Static charged, the manic man at large wrecks havoc as he travels far
Terror through fear, like the fuhrer from years ago, then goes steers clear and disappears
Near the sand he stands, hands in the sky, he’s mad, the detective failed his plan
Didn’t matter how hard he tried, the crazed guy got the jump, now the good’ll die
Cries and pleads for life, but the look in those evil eyes say, “nice try”
The gun fires, it’s dark like he’s tired, visions of his dead father he admires
Volume down, all goes quiet, total absence of a riot
Memories fade, euphoria fills the brain, insane malice won the day
  

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The Investigation, Part 1

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After Arthur managed to escape the asylum and ravaged a small family the state designated his recapture a priority and an investigation into his psychology was initiated.

The detective roams the house in search of clues.

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The rooms smells of burnt carpet and charred coal. You’d think the scent would have faded by now. If not for the dust and dry air it’d be easy to confuse as fresh.

Candy wrappers, crinkled up papers and broken glass crackle beneath my boots as I move through the abandoned house.

Shattered picture frames and porcelain dolls rest on the coffee table center of the living room. Yellow tape still play the roll of bedroom doors. No one’s stepped foot in the house since the tragedy occurred.

His bedroom is the only part of this godforsaken place that isn’t a complete disaster. It’s untouched. As if he’d not once been inside. As if every waking minute was of each day were wasted compulsively cleaning and organizing personal belongings.

Minus the excessive neatness, nothing seems off.

The report said the family was quiet. Private. Then the incident happened.

What could drive a man to so brutally…

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In Bed With Arthur

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Arthur, after having liberated the evil from the corrupt family, was once again caught by the corrupt police and returned to his prison. The cage where they accuse him of insanity. He knows the bad guys don’t win. And he’s the hero of the story, so he will not lose.

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Eyes open, I’m in bed
Six years, been like I’m dead
Tech sticking from my head
Strapped, chain down
Dark room, no sound
Mind rush, go round
Fear, possessed now
No exit near while held down
Tears, the scream bounce around
Leering gaze from the shadows of the room
A crooked grin, hazy, sharp teeth, it’s hungry too
An abomination, with no hesitation it…

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Miriam

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...catastrophic pileup on the highway by a middle school in the middle of an afternoon. “Fucking asshole! Ugh!” She walks off in the opposite direction and shuts the front door that was apparently open the entire span of the argument.

The kids are already upstairs avoiding dad’s angry yelling. Hiding in the best most quiet hiding spot.

Moments later Miriam is back in the kitchen eating the wine bottle through a frustration induced tomato face. Vibrant deep red wine drains into the glass and then out, over and over in rapid succession. Throwing the empty bottle in the...

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Arthur

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...he spots a small town up ahead. The incoming road welcomes newcomers with a large green sign reads Welcome to Pleasant Valley.

Customers come into view going in and out of a small bodega near the sign. Upon closer inspection Arthur finds it’s a plaza at the entrance of town. A small shopping center for the kind folk of Pleasant Valley and any kind visitors who might come through.

A small family of four catch his attention. He remembers having a mom and dad, and he’s always wanted a brother and sister, so he figures he’ll introduce himself. Arthur knows they’ll love him because he’s extremely caring and very sensitive. Those are good characteristics...

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Zoom Out

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...grip is tight, firm, nothing will loosen it. If he gives in he’ll go off edge.

The deafening ring in his ears lingers infinite stretches of time before they gradually fade revealing drowned out scream, cries and pleas.

Whimpering resume, he sniffles globs of mucus to the back of his throat before swallowing and whimpers more.

“I-it was y-y-you wasn’t..

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