Sci-Fi Short Story Smack Down

Round 1.1: Hand Guns

Author's Note: I'm in group H and based this short story off of the emotions/general tune of the third song prompt: "The Anthropologist's Club" by Abney Park in their album The Circus At The End Of The World (video posted above). The story itself is almost at a 1000 words! Fun fact, I had to cut it down from about 1,600 words. Anyway, hope you enjoy!

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Mark clipped on his badge and joined his partner in the parking lot. "What took so long?" John accused as he unlocked the cop car.

"Administration wanted me to carry," Mark replied.

John laughed, "You? Carry a gun?" He struggled getting the keys into the ignition he was laughing so hard. "Bro, you always carrin'," he squeaked out through gulps of air.

"Haha, very funny," Mark added sarcastically, but double checked that no one overheard what John had said.

John pulled out onto the main road that was jammed packed with traffic. Mark sighed, leaned over, and flipped a switch on the dash board. The sirens cut on and the lights glinted off surrounding cars that parted like the Red Sea.

John gave Mark a sidewise glance as he sped down the opening, "A week into duty and already pulling a joy ride?"

"We got to get to Abney Park," Mark defended.

Soon after, the cop car was parallel parked on the curb side. John swirled the key ring around his finger as he shut the door. "They need to make a cop uniform with shorts and a short sleeve shirt," Mark said already overheating.

John chuckled running a hand through his chalky brown hair, "I've been complain' about that for years."

The cops turned to the booming crowd and overheard old timey circus music. He noticed a couple candy cane striped tents scattered around the trees, but there was no one big tent like circuses normally did it. Instead, the main stage was in the center of Abney Park in a clearing.

John walked to their post at the side of the of the main stage and Mark followed. A small breeze rushed across bringing in the smell of popcorn and cotton candy.

Eventually they made it to the left side stage where an exasperated women cop guarding a taped off area approached, "Where you been? I've been defendin' this entrance all stinking evenin'." Her right eye was angrily twitching.

"Stuck in traffic," John lied convincingly.

She nodded her head, "I'll be joining Kenny on the right stage side if you need me. Enjoy the show," she said disappearing into the crowd.

"Don't wanna piss that women off," John whistled seating down on the only chair. "I call dibs by the way," he said referring to the chair he was sitting on. Mark silently cursed.

A spotlight clicked onto center stage. "Ladies and Gentlemen," a clown with a bald head and thickly painted features shouted. "Tonight's show will be an extra special event. As most of you know this is our last show do to recent contracting issues and we're planning to go out with a bang."

There was an evil glint in his eyes, Mark thought. But then again, Mark didn't like clowns.

The show started up, but Mark didn't bother looking.

John knocked him in the arm part way into the fifth act, "You alright alone man?"

"Yeah," Mark said staring off into the crowd.

"Good, cause I have to go to the bathroom," he said walking off toward the porta potties.

Time slowly passed and Mark was getting tired of slapping away mosquitoes. Where was John? No one stays in a porta potty that long. Mark glanced over through the hula-hoop act to realize the other two cops weren't at their post. A sinking sensation grew in Mark's stomach.

"-and for our next act, we have can-a-man! A man able to be launched from a cannon!" The ringleader clown smiled unnaturally.

They went on to demonstrate as a clown vanished down the barrel of the cannon.

"To spruce it up a bit, we are going to add a little... flare," the creepy-bald-ringleader said having an assistant throw in a heavy metal ball. A string was weaved around the stage and the contortionist clown used his toes and a lighter to put the string aflame.

Something isn't right. Mark stepped up the first stair to go on stage and someone grabbed him from behind and dragged him back down to the grass.

"Get your hands off of me," Mark growled.

"You can't be going up there," a clown with a worn out electric blue wig spoke.

"It kinda dangerous in this kinda act," the clown started laughing maniacally.

If I wasn't wearing a police badge, I'd be out of here in a-

There was a concussion and Mark was flung to the ground. His ears rang as he spun around to see some of the crowd running and the rest sprawled out on the ground. A fine red dust settled over his face. Mark spat some out as it landed in his mouth. It was blood.

"Let's have a lil' fun," the ringleader smiled and what made it worse was that the smile was genuine.

"Lil' bombs have been scattered around Abney Park," he pulled out a button and clicked it. "All of them are now motion activated, I'd be careful where you run, but I would certainly run." His said as and his clown buddies started chasing people.

Mark took cover behind the backstage curtain when he heard the first bomb go off. He reached for his walkie talkie, but it wasn't there. Crap.

The ringleader watched delighted at his work from center stage. Mark swallowed his fear, stood up, and ran on stage.

"Put your hands up!" Mark shouted forming his hand into a gun.

"Ooohhh scary," the clown said with dripping sarcasm.

A blue glow pulsed out from around Mark's hand gun. Confusion flickered across his face and Mark pulled his thumb to his fingers in a trigger motion. An electric blue object flung out of the "barrel" of his gun and dug right into the clown's head.

Mark grabbed the switch from the clown's pocket and deactivated the bombs.

***

The head of the police department came up to him, "All this destruction from one person and you stopped them alone. How?"

"My guns," Mark replied confidently as he flexed his arm muscles.

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