SmackDown: MadMike's Revenge!

Round 3, Hermaphrodeity: Toenails - @NimrodKirkpatrick

Toenails

by NimrodKirkpatrick

"Grandma, nooooooooooooo!" Tim screams as he watches his sugar-sweet grandmother get mowed down by a cackling guy with a machine gun.

Grandma collapses to the curb, blood leaking from a hundred and fifty-two holes, her glasses broken and her makeup running down her wrinkles. She reaches out to Tim, her old fingers trembling. Reaches to him and mouths something inspiring. Something like, "Achieve greatness, my dear boy. You have a strength in you." She would tell him something similar every morning before school. A single tear joins her mascara as it makes its way down to her chin.

Still she reaches.

But Tim is across the street. He can't reach her. The man with the machine gun is standing in the middle of the road, gunning down anyone who comes to assist the victims. He's got thick silver armour covering his whole body, with a network of tubes leading from his back to his facemask, which is a blank brown thing with haunting yellow eyes that glow. On top of his head is a flat-brim cowboy hat, which makes him look like some kind of gunslinger from hell. But Tim knows that's not what the guy is—he's a powerpeople. It's obvious. The guy's got no visible ammo belt, but yet he never runs out. The guy coughs up bullets and spits them into his gun as if he were his own personal armoury. He laughs while he kills. Screams about how unstoppable he is.

Tim doesn't hear him. Can't hear him. His focus is solely on Grandma. All he'd wanted to do was grab some ice-cream cones with his buddy Josh, then meet up with Grandma for a ride back home after she finished doing her errands.

The guy with the machine gun hadn't factored into those plans.

A siren wails in the distance. Someone called the cops, though there isn't much they can do—not against a guy with a gun and infinite ammo. Tim doesn't know why the cops don't join forces with some of the good-intending powerpeople.

More importantly, Tim wishes he could be a powerpeople. Maybe he could save Grandma. Maybe he could save a lot of people.

The man with the machine gun turns towards the siren's song. He says, "I'll see you fuckers later," and runs off down some back alleys. Leaves the dead behind him. Leaves them for the living.

A few seconds pass before anyone runs to aid the dead and the dying. A few seconds of doubt. Is it all over? And when Tim feels it is, he runs, too.

But Grandma is still.

Dead.

His mouth trembles and he drops his cone. It splats against the bloody concrete and the vanilla-flavoured ice cream turns pink. He whispers, "No..." But he knows there's nothing he can say or do. She's gone. Forever.

Josh shows up beside him, licking his chocolate-mango-mint-chocolate-chip cone. "Damn. She died, dude. That blows donkey dick."

Looking up in disbelief, Tim says nothing.

"How are we gonna get home, dude?" Josh glances around. "Does she have the keys on her? I've got my learner's permit."

"Not the time," Tim says. He can't believe he even has to say such a thing.

"Whatevs. I'm gonna walk. Sucks a fat one about your grandma, dude. Chill tomorrow and listen to some Nickelback, the greatest band in the history and future of music? Tell your grandma I said thanks for the cone. Oh, wait, sorry. Peace, dude."