Blam!!

Im'a start off by posting one of my favorite short stories that I've ever written because it contains references to Batman, vampires, and spaghetti westerns, but mostly because I wrote it fairly quickly and, unlike most of my older writing, I don't hate it yet. Enjoy.


BlamBlamBlam!!!
In comic books, when the street thugs are shooting at Batman or whoever, the guns always say “Blam!!”
BlamBlamBlam!!!
Three Blams, and Miz Evans’ brains are all over the chalkboard behind her. The globs are covering the equation she just wrote. Jason raises his hand,
“Miz Evans, I can’t read the board.”
Miz Evans, her eyes rolled into the back of her head, falls forward and smashes every single one of her teeth into powdered milk.
My classmates look around, bored. The lunch-bell rings and we all file out and head towards the cafeteria.
“I’d like to speak with you after school,” Miz Evans says.
-
Wouldn’tcha know it? Stacey Benson, head cheerleader, president of the S.A.C.K. (Simple Acts of Care and Kindness) club, and currently the only student with a passing grade in Señor Langston’s Spanish class is secretly a vampire!
As she cuts in front of me to grab the last red (blood red) Jello, I jab my yellow number two pencil right in her black vampire heart. Her scream sounds like a badly worn cassette tape played through some little kid’s My First Boombox™. Her pretty blue eyes melt and dripdripdrip out of their respective sockets like a pair of broken faucets. Her hair rapidly turns grey and then proceeds to fall out on to the floor. As she continuously vomits up all of the last red Jellos she ever stole, I can’t help but feel sorry for the janitor that will be responsible for cleaning this mess and making sure she receives a proper vampire burial.
I grab an orange Jello and head over to the table where my friends are sitting. From across the room Stacey stares at me, confused, and maybe a little bit frightened. Perhaps she knows that I’ve discovered her horrible secret.
-
Later at home, I’m taking our trashcans in from the curb when my neighbor from next door, the giant, elderly, blob-like woman who’s name I don’t know demands to speak to my mother and or father because my dog was in her backyard again and completely destroyed her patio furniture and this time she intends to do something about it. As if anyone or anything would ever be willing to go anywhere near her backyard anyway.
I take one hand off the trashcan and make a gun with my thumb and index finger. The neighbor blob scowls at me, a bag of corn chips in one hand and half a two liter of diet root beer in the other. I feel the heat of the sun on my neck as I hold my handgun steady, waiting for her to draw. Will it be the chips or the soda? Both are lethal weapons in her puffy sausage fingers. I spit in the dirt and narrow my eyes. Our neighbors stand watching on their porches, it’s been quite some time since they’ve seen a good-old-fashioned showdown. On my own front porch I hear my mother hollerin’, “Kevin?! Miz Evans is on the phone, you have detention on Friday. I swear to God Kevin, if you don’t quit screwin’ around in class I’m gonna throw your tv in the closet and you won’t get it back till school’s out. We’re gonna have a long talk about this when your dad gets home. Kevin? Are you even list-”
The neighbor blob loses her patience and starts to say something to my mom, but I’m too quick for her. I fire my handgun.
Blam!!
It’s a direct hit! The neighbor blob goes down, her left leg blown clear off. She drops the cornchips, the diet rootbeer splashes onto the harsh desert floor. She grabs at her stump and tries to stop the blood from spouting forth.
BLAM!!
BlamBlamBlam!!!