Free This Rotten World (Book 1) by The Vocabulariast Page B

your own eyes out with a butter knife.
    His chair
creaked as he leaned forward in it, springs popping from the strain. Every
channel was a variation of the same thing. Special news reports populated the
five channels, except for the WB. That channel only ever played teen dramas and
infomercials. As tempting as it was to watch the skinny guy chop food and
repeatedly say, "You're gonna love my nuts," he decided to check out
the news reports. After all, he was like anyone else... he loved a good bit of
disaster.
    As he
flipped through the channels, he settled on Channel 8 because they seemed to
run the most legit news operation in town. They didn't spend as much time
running human interest shit or scare tactic pieces about what fruit or
vegetable was currently linked to cancer according to a "new study"; just
news... news and a weather girl with a rack that wouldn't quit.
    A reporter
was standing in front of a raging fire. Firemen were in the background, hosing
down the flames that were burning out of control. The scrawl underneath read,
"A plague of crime strikes cities across the country."
    Goddamn,
terrorists, he thought to himself. As the reports flooded in, Rudy couldn't
tear his eyes away from the screen. It seemed people were dying left and right
up and down the east coast.
    There was a
commotion behind the reporter, who was doing a fairly standard job of reporting
the fact that there was a fire in an apartment complex. You could see her
complete lack of concern shine behind her dead eyes. A flaming shadow emerged
from the building, and paramedics and firefighters rushed to help the victim.
How the figure could still be walking was anyone's guess. The cameraman zoomed
in on the figure, and for a second Rudy thought he had mistaken a horror movie
for the news. The victim's face was burned to a crisp, his eyes were gone, and
yet, he was still walking, his jaw opening and closing in a mechanical manner.
A couple of firefighters rushed the man, tackled him to the ground and began
smothering the flames with a fire blanket.
    The
reporter droned on, "There appears to be a survivor. He looks to be very
badly burned." The reporter and the cameraman rushed in to get a better
look. Trust the heartless reporter to take advantage of some poor human's last
moments.
    The figure
in the fire blanket was still struggling, which was no surprise. Anyone that
had ever had a burn larger than a Skittle knows just how terrible a deep burn
is. The amount of nerves that were firing on that poor guy must be in the
thousands, maybe even hundreds of thousands. It wasn't surprising that he would
struggle so badly.
    "Firefighters
here have just rescued a victim from the fire," she said, almost
believably. You could see the excitement build in her lips and her cheeks, not
the excitement that comes with doing a good job, but the excitement that comes
from finally attaining a goal. You could see her dreams of prizes and
promotions dancing behind her soulless eyes.
    Rudy had
seen enough. He picked up his chocolate bar, shoved the last chunk in his mouth
and then changed the input over to his X-Box. Just before he switched the
input, he thought he saw the burn victim chomp down on the arm of a paramedic
that was trying to help him.
    That
coldhearted bitch would probably actually win a Pulitzer Prize. As his X-Box
booted up, he decided that he would pretend that everyone he shot tonight was a
vulturistic news reporter. He was just about to enter an online lobby when he
heard a door in the hallway slam.
    As silently
as he could, he walked on his tiptoes to his door. He could hear clumsy
footsteps in the hallway. He looked out of his peephole, straining to see
anything. He waited patiently; the barely visible pulsing of the neon lights in
the hallway played tricks on his eyes. Just when he thought there was nothing
there, a shape rushed past the peephole.
    It was the
neighbor from next door, a relatively nice woman who tended to look at him as
if his entire