#SilenceIsGolden
#AnExtremelyShortStory
#ByMRenéLee
#4thWallUniverse
Muffled sounds can be heard as multicolored lights flash through the cracked glass window of a defunct factory building. Inside, a 55-inch LCD TV sits on a metal crate as the picture on the screen quickly changes from one channel to the next. Around the TV sits several men in black suits with red ties. Some are sitting on the floor and others on the arms and seats of an old couch placed directly in front of the TV. One of the men on the couch sits hunched over as he channel surfs, looking for something interesting to watch.
Towards the back of the large open room, a tall bone-thin man sits beside a desk and pops three large white pills into his mouth. Sitting behind the desk is a ghostly pale-faced man with a deep scar on the left side of his face looking over several maps and diagrams. He reshuffles them and moves them around repeatedly as he surveys them intently. Every few minutes he looks up from the papers on the desktop and at the ceaselessly changing high-definition screen. With each glance, his aggravation grows. Finally, he slams the palms of his hands down on the table and throws his head back. He aggressively loosens his red tie and stares ahead at the still-changing television.
"You alright, Mimesy?" Stick, the man sitting at the desk popping pills asks. He sits up, alert from his boss's surprising attack on the desk. Mr. Mime turns to Stick with bloodshot eyes and begins quickly forming signs with both of his hands. Stick nods his head and turns to the men watching TV.
"Ey, boys, the boss wants you pick something and stop jumping from channel to channel." Stick paraphrases the translation of Mr. Mime's sign language.
The thug with the remote turns his head and looks over the couch.
With a remorseful look on his face he says, "Oh, uh, sorry Stick...I mean, sorry, boss. Well, sorry to both of yous. I'll hurry up and pick something." Stick looks at Mr. Mime for an answer of some sort. The nearly-voiceless man nods and sign languages before looking back down at the desk.
"He said it's fine. Just hurry up and pick something," Stick relays the message. The thug nods, then turns back to the TV and starts changing the channels again. After a few channels, he stops and turns around to face Mr. Mime and Stick again.
"Hey, uh, do you guys have anything you want to watch?" the thug asks. Mr. Mime slowly raises his head.
Through a rough and raspy voice Mr. Mime grumbles, "Just...pick...something. I'm...I'm busy."
"Just pick something guys. Anything," Stick reiterates. "The boss needs a little bit of silence while he figures out our next hit," he adds.
The thugs all nod and the one with the remote turns back to the TV. He resumes his channel surfing. Channel after channel fly across the screen. Audios and conversations are cut off as he continues jumping channels. Mr. Mime looks up with gritted teeth. Before he can say anything, the thug turns around again.
"You guys have a particular genre you like? I mean, I can't find anything. It's ridiculous." He chuckles a bit as he looks as his boss and his translator, apparently unaware of Mr. Mime's growing frustration.
Mr. Mime jumps up and begins signing with his hands manically. Stick barely keep up with him as he translates. "I don't know if you realize this or even care, but I am extremely busy right now. Unless you idiots have a new hit and a plan to get it already laid out, I need you all to shut up," Stick says. He pauses to give himself time to keep up with Mr. Mime's frantic sign language. Stick continues, "Just pick something and shut up."
After Stick stops speaking, there is a stillness in the air as all of the men in the room sit scared to move. As Mr. Mime slowly lowers to his seat, they all turn back to the TV. Stick keeps his eyes on Mr. Mime and on his hands just in case he has something to add.
The TV screen begins changing again. After a few clicks, the TV stops on the Fox news network just as a swoop-haired presidential candidate sits down with the current show's host. The thug then turns around and looks at Mr. Mime. Other thugs in the room turn with him, but instead stare at their comrade, unsure of what he is about to do.
"Is this alright, boss?" the dim-witted thug asks. Without saying anything, Mr. Mime jumps up and snatches the Glock off of the desk. Without hesitation, Mr. Mime raises the handgun and begins firing repeatedly at the thug as he approaches the thug. The thug slumps over and falls off of the couch. Mr. Mime stops at the back of the couch and watches the blood drain from the dead thug. He picks up the blood-splattered remote and tosses it to the adjacent thug. Just as the thug catches it, Mr. Mime raises the gun and points it at him.
"Pick...something," he says, with the gun still trained on the thug. The thug, with sweat steadily pouring down his forehead, presses several buttons on the remote. The TV lands on the sports entertainment network just as the two anchors begin interviewing the quarterback of the professional North Carolina team in preparation for their Super Bowl game. The thugs nervously smile as Mr. Mime deliberately looks at each of them. He lowers the gun and walks back over to his desk and resumes his planning.
The room grows silent and motionless as everyone sits on edge. A smile creeps across Mr. Mime's face as he looks over at the still-shocked Stick. He simply says, "Si...lence...is...golden."
YOU ARE READING
4th Wall Universe
AdventureEvery hero has a beginning and every villain was once a regular person... Well, most of them were, but you can find the pieces to their puzzles here.
