He wasn't what I had imagined. He had tricked me into thinking that he was a real man. A young, handsome, wise, little beauty with rippling muscles and bronzed skin. He was, in fact, a short ugly semi-cripple.
When we entered, he leered at us.
'So you've found me then,' he said.
'Hah! You idiots, you nerds, you geeks, you sad wasted morons. Hah! Look at me, a decaying freak, then look at yourselves. Are you not the same losers? Morons! It was so easy, so bloody easy to ruin you all.'
I watched, like all the others. Sitting in his little chair, the cold light of our dreams scrubbed into his face from the computer, he was laughing at me. I hate to be laughed at! I am a gentleman of the highest breeding and I refuse to be mocked! I ran at the cad screaming 'stop it, stop laughing, stop it!'
I don't remember much of the next few minutes. Only that there was sweat and that there was blood. I remember the flesh on his lower arm coming off surprisingly easily in my hand.
They all joined in. It wasn't just me, I mean. We were all equally responsible. I distinctly remember Overlord using the victim's hand to write a short piece of chamber music. The result was slow and haunting and reminded me of summer.
When we had finished, Emerald's various bits and pieces coated the entire room. His head was decoratively placed on top of the monitor.
There followed a moment of embarrassed silence, perhaps a little guilt as we stood, bloody and aching.
Finally K pointed at the head and said, 'Well. It's true. He certainly was ahead of his time.'
At which we all laughed heartily.
Back to Kids on the Net Writing With a Difference