« From the Comments: Hubris | Main | The Eschatologist: The Greatest Show On Earth »

July 7, 2005

Volume 3, Issue 7

If you had a gun that would kill someone for ten minutes, and only ten minutes, and never work again, who would you use it on?

The person would be clinically dead, spiritually dead, brain dead. But in ten minutes they would pop back up alive and healthy. The only lasting effect would be that their hands turned bright, five-mile bright, orange. And your hands turned blue.

Bookmark: del.icio.us • Digg • reddit

Comments

I went to sleep with blue hands.

I woke up and looked at her, my vision somewhat blurred. She said, “Your surgery went fine. Take a look.” She pointed towards my hands that were propped up on pillows.

In my drowsy state I look down and see beautiful golden hands with silvery stripes accented with a Star of David on each wrist.

Doc Winston walked up. “I see a lot of these cases,” the doctor said. “Surgery techniques have advanced to where we can modify blue tones to gold and silver. It’s not much more complicated than removing a tattoo.”

Posted by: TL at July 7, 2005 5:55 AM · Permalink

I put the gun to my temple and pulled the trigger, in the name of science.

For ten minutes, I was gone. No sensation. No experience. No tunnel of white light. No relatives floating up to meet me. There was only an utter void that would have seemed to stretch eternally, if I’d had any sense of time.

Then, I came back. My body spasmed. My lungs sucked in fresh air. My head pounded so hard my eyeballs vibrated. Frantically, I seized my recorder and started dictating notes.

“In nomine patri et spiritus sanctum….” Uh oh. “Sic transit gloria mundi.”

Posted by: Formerly David at July 7, 2005 8:44 AM · Permalink

"It's time."
"Yes. We are 13."
"The power will be ours."

David lights candles.
I hand out the pistols, reserving one for myself.

We start chanting the words of power -- slowly, softly at first, then
with increasing speed and volume.

We form a circle. The chanting grows louder.

We each aim our guns to the right, directly against the temple.

We pull the triggers as one....

I awake. I look around -- we are all awakening.

We look down at our hands -- the left hands orange, the gun hands blue.

Joyfully, we resume our chanting....

"Let's go Mets! LET'S GO METS!"

Posted by: Randy Shane at July 7, 2005 9:38 AM · Permalink

He hefted the rifle in his hand. It felt good. It felt right.

The rules were going to be slightly different this time.

A shrug. A lot of things had changed over the decades. Why should weapons technology be any different? Tex – now, Tex would’ve had some fun with these babies.

He zipped up his protective suit and positioned his hat. Gotta get the angle just right, he thought.

A sudden noise from down in front caught his attention.

Holding his right index finger to his lips, he stared at the offender, eyes narrowed.

“Be vewwy, vewwy quiet...I’m hunting wabbits...”

Posted by: Elisson at July 7, 2005 1:21 PM · Permalink

The robber saw a window with no one in line, walked up, and presented his note.

The teller stared for a moment, then saw the gun in his hand. She raised her eyebrows.

"Freeze!" the hippie two windows over yelled, pointing an odd looking weapon at him. The robber pulled his gun and swung toward him, the hippie screaming, "No no no..."

The strange weapon went off, and the robber died. As he handcuffed the robber, silver cuffs around day-glo orange wrists, the undercover cop looked at his own hands, now blue. Damn, he thought, there goes my undercover career.

Posted by: hnumpah at July 7, 2005 1:26 PM · Permalink

They had to be given their own section in the prisons. Once we actually passed the law that criminalizing their behavior. A few had gotten off in court before politicians wised up.

I guess no one could believe that there could be a whole new perversion like this.

But once the TempDeath guns came out, the twisted result was inevitable. The permanent blue stains on the hands of these new criminals might be shameful, but so was the bright orange that forever branded their victims.

I mean, why not just tattoo on your forehead, “I was raped by a necrophiliac.”

Posted by: Mr. Parx at July 7, 2005 1:38 PM · Permalink

Whoops. Please change "criminalizing" to "criminalized" if possible. If not, everyone just pretend.

Best,
Mr. P.

Posted by: Mr. Parx at July 7, 2005 1:40 PM · Permalink

They called him Vinnie, the Short Term Assassin. With his Dirtnap 6000 at his side, he stalked the streets of the city delivering final warnings to the boss’s enemies. By his blue hands he was known, while his victims carried both reminders and warnings in their permanently orange mitts.

The beauty of it was that Vinnie could do his job without going to jail. He didn’t even try to lie to the judge. “Yep, I shot him, your honor,” he’d say with a smile. “Right in the head.”

Hard to convict a killer when the stiff shows up to testify.

Posted by: Formerly David at July 7, 2005 6:34 PM · Permalink

Yeah, I did 2 today. The second one came to me at lunch. I hope that's kosher.

I know I violated the "1 shot" rule specified in the challenge, but it was thematically necessary.

Posted by: Formerly David at July 7, 2005 6:37 PM · Permalink

“So where’s your big invention, George?”

George looked up from a stack of electronic odds and ends. Junk was scattered across the lab table, the desk, and in every corner of the office; strewn randomly even across the floor. His formerly white lab coat was a pattern of stains and deep wrinkles of neglect. “It’s here somewhere,” he said. “Have a seat and I’ll find it.”

It was on the chair. George ended up being okay and I don’t think he even cares about the orange hands. As for me, only baboons would ever again think my ass is sexy.

Posted by: Jim Parkinson at July 7, 2005 6:43 PM · Permalink

I scanned the forest around me. I waved my scout forward, and the squad followed. They had to be close. Suddenly my scout threw his hand up. We slowly took up firing positions.

Now we could all hear them, they were carelessly making noises. We didn't have to wait long.

The ambush went off perfectly.With the new guns, there were no arguements about who was hit, and who wasn't. The hour we had to wait for the dye to disappear from our hands was just long enough to drink a beer and brag about our accomplishments before the next round.

Posted by: Gahrie at July 8, 2005 6:32 AM · Permalink

Sorry for the late entry. I left it late because I went to a baseball game and my internet went out.

Posted by: Gahrie at July 8, 2005 6:33 AM · Permalink