"Downpour"

I've been dragging my heels, kicking and screaming all the way, hoping that SOMEBODY would make an entry thread for the contest before me. (Especially because I'm none too proud of my work) But I'm altogether too anxious to be done to hold off any longer.

Comments and criticisms are welcome, particularly if you like being disemboweled.
Please enjoy.

Downpour I smiled, looking into the bright reflection of my face. I was almost finished; all I needed to do now was the windshield. It was an almost forcefully sunny day, families were walking down to the park at the other end of the street, an elderly couple were trimming the hedge in their front lawn, and I had decided to let the car dry in the sun. Childish laughter reached my ears and I couldn't help but turn my head around. Just some kids from down the block; nothing out of the ordinary. I picked up my bucket of soapy water and yellow rectangular sponge, and walked over to the car again. Something hit the back of my head with such force that I fell face first to the ground, and the bucket flew out of my hand and rolled down the street. I gathered myself, and then looked behind me; lying on the floor was a small butter knife with a heavy handle. I picked it up and looked around the neighborhood for someone to stare accusatively at. These kinds of antics were things that I only had to deal with when my little brother was around, and the confusion showed on my face. It seemed to be implausible that any of the people around could have intentionally thrown the butter knife at me with the level of accuracy required, so I scanned the second story window of my house before looking up. The clouds were beginning to turn grey, but that wasn't out of the ordinary, perhaps even a little welcome. Then, something shimmered, just for a second, against the dark grey background of a storm-cloud. This was followed by a crash of sound, the scraping of metal. I looked to my left, and sticking out of my car was what appeared to be a machete. It glinted as it wobbled slightly in the sun. Another sound, this time blunter, followed by a scream. Across the road, an old woman contorted in visible fear and pain. Her husband yelled for help as his sight met the polished black handle of the lobster knife sticking out of her crumpled body. I looked up again, and the whole sky was shimmering as if it had been powdered with glitter, or as if the stars had come out early to dust the day with the dark of night. The first downfall came hurtling into view, and I ran to the house, momentarily fumbling with my keys and then slamming the door behind me. The walls almost felt as if they were shaking. I stumbled into the living room just as it began to rain. Bread knives, table knives, oyster knives, daggers, meat cleavers, rapiers, katanas; every kind of knife, sword, or blade imaginable rained down on the street, stabbing into the pavement or adjacent front yards. Through my bay window, I was now watching my neighborhood; my illusion of safety, collapsing before my eyes. The old woman on the other side of the street was pinned to the ground by the lobster knife. She opened her mouth, but her screams were drowned out by the piercing sound of a thousand blades hitting concrete, metal, and flesh. Within moments she had been disassembled. The families that had made their way to the park were now running back to their houses, and didn't even consider knocking on a neighbor's door for sanctuary. I could only look out the window in perverse voyeurism. From what I could see, all the knives landed blade down, no matter how heavy the handle was. A blue car swerved and skidded down the road, long-swords and scimitars sticking out of the roof, making it look like a demented metal porcupine. In a matter of minutes, most of the people on the street had been chopped to pieces, save for a few. Some, a middle aged woman, a toddler, the husband of the old woman across the street, were unscathed, and so stood still, hoping, like me, that the downpour would stop before they were torn apart. I'm not sure how long it had been happening, but only then did I become acutely aware of a low, continuous stream of chuckles coming from the empty bedroom upstairs. Frozen in place, I could only manage to listen in silence as the chuckles became howls of laughter, and the deep undertone became a higher pitch that was all too familiar to me. I closed the curtains and listened to the knives hitting the roof of my house; the way it groaned from the weight. It was almost comfortingly louder than the laughter. Leaning against the wall with my eyes closed, I wondered how long it would take for the roof to collapse this time.

comment

This time? What do you mean, this time?

Imply what you will from it. I just like writing things in such a way that people can take away whatever they want from it. I especially like seeing other people's opinions on its meaning. My own opinion is irrelevant.

Vivi wrote:

Imply what you will from it. I just like writing things in such a way that people can take away whatever they want from it. I especially like seeing other people's opinions on its meaning. My own opinion is irrelevant.

Surely you had something particular in mind when you wrote it.

Of course I do, but that is irrelevant. Its boring to just tell people everything when I can let their imagination put together the pieces in whatever way they like best anyway.

O_O. This is "Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs" meets Quentin Tarantino. I dig it, very good use of imagery.

I like your comment about just writing things to get a reaction out of people, not necessarily because there is a meaning out of it, I like it when authors use that mindset because it usually produces some interesting material.

Mr. Kroc wrote:

O_O. This is "Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs" meets Quentin Tarantino. I dig it, very good use of imagery.

Easily the best compliment I've received in a few months. Thank you

Very good. Best entry I've seen yet in this contest. Above and beyond, young man. Above and beyond.

It reminds me very much of the beginning of King's Rose Red (movie, haven't read the book yet, unfortunately), only raining knives instead of stones of water freezing in the pipes. I assume from the ending, the laughter and particularly the finishing line that the brother is to blame.

Well done!

Why, danke schon, Lisa!

I'm like 15% sure I've seen that movie before but I really do remember very little of it, if any at all.

Thanks though!

No problem, I meant every word.