10 years later. . .
It is May 17, 1990. Up on the top floor of
the Tai- Tastigon Mental Institution, Bob sat cross- legged in the padded
white room, coloring on the walls with his brand new box of 8 crayons.
Drawing pictures of his favorite foods on the wall, making it seem so much
longer for something good to eat (none of this institution crap).
He was busy scribbling something on the wall
when he heard the familiar sounds of the computerized voice offering commands
to whoever approached and the sound of the doors opening and closing like
clockwork.
". . . Outer door open, access to Bob-1 granted.
. ."
Exactly 2 seconds later, the outer door closed.
". . . Inner door, access denied, please enter
entrance code. . ."
It was a rookie they had sent. Bob was more than
pleased.
". . . Inner door access denied, please enter
entran. . . inner door access granted to Bob-1, hostile. . ."
Instead of the usual 2 seconds this was 4,
who ever it was, was having second thoughts. The door finally closed.
". . . Food-service personnel entrance access
code DF4-67I-FS accepted, access to Bob-1 granted. . ."
Bob stood up hurriedly, packing away his new
box of eight crayons, eager to see this new rookie.
The small door to his room opened and
the quaky little person entered carrying a platter of food,
"Dinner's served!"
Bob rushed the door and took the little person
hostage, removed a crayon from his box and put it in her ear and whispered,
"You're going to help me out of here and if
you don't I'll put this so far through your head I'll pull it out the other
side. Now we leave or you get this through your little hand."
She and Bob walked to the inner door.
". . . Inner door access code required to
leave this area, please enter access code. . ."
"Well, Gimme your code!"
"3-7-6-8-*-1-#-4- enter"
The door to his cell closed and the inner
door opened, this led to another hallway to the outer door. There was her
cart, complete with silverware, including steak knives. Bob put his crayon
away and used the knife instead. There was a door at the end that resembled
a prison-bar door with another keypad.
". . . Outer door access code required to
leave this area, please enter access code. . ."
"Open that door! Better than that, Gimme the
code."
"1-3-1-.-9-5-enter" the outer door slid open.
"Whoa! That's my favorite number!"
". . . Outer door access granted, have a nice
day. . ." the inner door slid shut.
The two then proceeded down a long white hall
to a steel prison door.
"Unlock IT!"
She unlocked the door, and another hallway
opened up. A very warm, sweet smell filled Bob's lungs, the smell of fresh
baked cinnamon rolls.
"Keep walking."
There was a window in the wall, Bob walked
over to one to see a starry sky and the bright city lights 19 stories below.
"How long have you been in that room?"
"10 years today."
The next door was guarded by two large dogs,
easily dispatched with the black and brown crayons jabbed into the eyes
On the door was a retina code lock.
"Open this door."
She looked into the scanner and the door opened.
It opened into a room very similar to a living room. Two more tried to
stop him but died with the violet and blue crayons in their ears.
They walked down the stairs and into the elevator
where Bob used the phone to make a reservation at a local steak- house.
A reservation for two in about forty- five minutes.
"Forty- five minutes?! You still have at least
four more security doors."
"I do not."
"Huh?"
"We're getting off on the third floor, we
can jump out of the window there, into the pond below," the elevator stopped,
the door opened and Bob stood there staring at the mass of people waiting.
A familiar face was first, who was it? It was that judge!
"Die you merciless bastard!"
Bob used the knife to slice the skin right at the
carotid artery, then he pinned the judges hand to his breastbone, bent
the knife over on itself and then spit on him.
"Hurts, doesn't it? I told you so! I told
you I'd kill you! No thanks to you, my kitchen is under elven rulership
now!"
The judge lay bleeding profusely on the floor
with a slice in the carotid artery and his hand pinned to his chest. His
aides scrambled to help him, but it was too late.
"That'll teach you!!"
The two ran towards a window when all of a
sudden the girl stops.
"What the hell are you waiting for?! There
are going to be guards all over in about ten seconds!"
"That window is laced with a thin steel mesh
that has enough electricity going through it to cook an elephant!"
Bob looked at her then the window and then
kicked the window for everything he was worth. The window shattered and
the mesh sent 650,000 volts of direct electrical current through his body.
Dropping him like a fly and a bug- zapper. The smell of singed hair and
charred cotton filled the air.
He sat up, picked up the crayons that had
fallen out of his pocket and threw the girl through the window and then
jumped through himself.
They landed in a small pond underneath the
window and about one hundred feet from the front gate.
"How did you. . .are you . . . what the hell
. . ."
"Immortal, fine, escape from this institute."
The two ran towards the gate, but were stopped
by two large men with large guns and even larger personal hygiene problems.
Bob used the green and yellow crayons on those
two. They ran the rest of the way to the gate.
". . . Keycard please. . . keycard please.
. ."
"Gimme your keycard!"
"I don't have one!"
Bob had to think fast. So he went back and
grabbed the card on the guards belt.
". . . Keycard code accepted, enjoy your evening.
. ."
"We have twenty minutes to get to the restaurant
before the give up my reservation. I need new clothes!"
Fortunately there was a new store right next
to the restaurant. Bob walked in put on new pants, a new shirt and walked
out of the store.
"Thir! Excuthe me thir, buts you forgot to
pay for your clothes! You forgot to paye meeee."
"Shove it!"
The two walked into Diablo's Steak House were
seated immediately, and ordered immediately.
"Thirty- six ounces of pure beef tenderloin,
served cold in the middle and two bottles of the most expensive wine you've
got, " a slight hint of giddiness was in his voice.
"I'm sorry sir, but that's illegal."
"I don't give a rats ass! DAMMIT I said cold
in the middle! NOW!"
"Yessir"
"I'll just have a baked potato."
Bob looked at her angrily and ordered her
any steak- medium.
After dinner Bob looked at the ticket.
"One hundred dollars!? I demand to speak with
the manager!"
So the waitress took them back the his office.
"Gringito" the plaque read, Bob smiled.
They walked into the office sat down and the
waitress left hastily.
"What the hell is the problem folks?," the
chair swiveled, "My policy clearly states that I don't. . .BOB!! What,
they let you out already? Has it been six hundred years already?!"
"Nah, ten years today. But I had a craving
for a cold- in- the- middle steak, and came here."
"Who's this?"
"This is the lady that helped me out, she'll
also be helping me back in."
"How's that?!," she turned very pale.
Bob took out his crayon box.
"Do you like red or orange?," Bob winked at
her, "Well? RED or ORANGE!?"
"Uh, red, I guess."
Bob jumped on her and rammed the red crayon
into her ear.
"Still using crayons?!"
"It's all they'll give me."
"I suppose you want me to call the police
huh?"
"If you please," Bob said with a smile on
his face.
The police came and arrested him and put him
the squad car to go back to the institute, way up on the nineteenth floor.
On the way Bob asked if they would buy him
a box of 8 crayons. Even though they were going to the police department
first to do paperwork.
The chief of police met them there, he escorted
Bob to a small room where the chief asked him questions.
"What is this red crayon for?"
"They won't let me write with anything else."
"Who won't let you?"
"The voices in the box on the ceiling."
"Will you please fill out these forms," the
chief sounded even less sure about him.
" I will if you give me something to write
with."
"Here's my pen, my daughter gave it to me,
so don't lose it."
"Could I have my red crayon instead?"
"Sure."
Bob picked up his red crayon and a piece of
paperwork and got up from the table. Then he proceeded pull the chiefs
head back, ram the crayon up his nose and then use the pen to break the
membrane and shove the crayon into his brain.
"Ha! I've committed another eight murders
today!," he yelled at the mirrored glass,"And this one is a murder with
the eighth crayon, again!" then he proceeded to laugh. He laughed a laugh
that sent chills down the spine of every person who watched the evening
news and heard the tape of Bob Goldenarrow. Bob Goldenarrow, laughing at
the murder of the cities' most powerful person.