Latest update: December 2019
Big Villain, by Hana Aianhanma, December 2019.
This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License.
This story is made up. Any and all resemblances to real people or animals are truly coincidental. The author would like to emphasise that this story should in no way be taken as an endorsement of villainy as a career option.
Big Villain
Samuel Snortinsdotter had a grievance. Not his name, though he would have liked a few minutes of loving conversation with a crowbar and the Snortin in his ancestry who had had a daughter. Nor had he that much anger to direct at the fellow pupils who called him Snorty during his time at school, much as he wanted to pin some red-hot needles into them in embarrassing and painful places.
No, Samuel´s biggest discontent at the world was that Santa never brought him what he wanted. When he was six, he wanted an electric train set. Santa brought him a tea cup that was decorated with drawings of cute bumblebees. At seven, he wished for a remote controlled car. He received a wind-up toy with an accompanying one-foot track. At eight, he was seen salivating at the games console section of his favourite toy shop. Santa decided that a digital watch would be good for him. One that was branded with the logo of the company his father happened to work at.
The first time, when the electric train set had failed to materialise, Samuel had written a polite note. Surely the gift had been an administrative mistake? Could Santa please correct it before the end of January? Santa sent him a response that dripped in sarcasm at Samuel’s expense. Santa, it concluded, does not make mistakes. Samuel stopped complaining about Santa’s presents after that. Still, he fumed inside at the injustice of it all. Mentally scarred down to the soul.
Samuel Snortinsdotter was going to get his revenge if it was the last thing he ever did. He held a cup of coffee and thought about his plight. Unfortunately, the world was filled with evil people. He needed to not only figure out some unspoken horror, it also would have to be something less common. His first Evil Deed would need to be original to make a splash.
So Samuel considered, watching the table next to him. The student sitting there slurped his cappuccino offensively. Samuel bet he always got what he wanted from Santa. That student was smugly wearing a new suit and exhibiting an obviously new laptop for the world to see. The back of the gleaming screen was only marred by the picture of a cute little dog.
That was it. Samuel was not going to take that. He was angry enough to kill puppies.
Yes!
The more he considered it, the better the idea seemed. A truly dastardly deed. Attention grabbing amongst the world’s horrors. Appropriate for the announcement of the arrival of a modern humble Big Villain. He would find the dog shelter with the most puppies in town and blow it up this Christmas. Let’s see, what would he demand in his threats?
The shelter in question was a lone building next to Percy Park. Samuel had sent the announcement of his intentions to all the newspapers in town. Not a single animal shelter seemed to have increased security. Did they not believe he could do it, or did they simply not care?
There were no people at the shelter. Just the dogs and not that many puppies at that. No extra treats for Christmas, it seemed. Samuel shook his head before he descended into the cellar. He carefully placed the explosive, plugged them into a wall socket, and set the timer.
Samuel climbed the stairs back up. Before he could reach the front door he passed the dogs. They drooped in their cages, an occasional whine emphasised their misery. They barely reacted to his passing. Clearly, the shelter’s owners were either unwilling or unable to take proper care of them. Their failure to be present during the festive season suggested the latter. Pathetic. Samuel opened the door and looked back. Oh well.
The newspapers were satisfyingly alarmist in response to the explosion. The screaming headlines declared that some madman had actually gone through with his threat to “blow up some puppies”. Luckily there had been no victims in the explosion, they said. No mention of what happened to all the dogs. Typical. The threatening letters were dug up. Neighbours were shocked. Questions were asked. Fingers pointed. Samuel could hardly contain his evil grin. He had made an impact. From now on, no one would dare ignore his threats. All would cower in the glow of his villainy. He finished his celebratory macchiato, folded his newspaper, and left the coffee shop.
When Samuel arrived home he was greeted with welcoming jumps and barks. It had been exhilarating and frantic near the end, but he had managed to move all the occupants from that shelter before the blast. They would do fine as his new henchmen. Or should that be henchdogs?
Đ DPmWiuXEuPcc3CKUYfaejStnNHEdFxfyN8