Cackling

The police had gotten there too late. It was suspected that they were in cahoots with the madman. That was not true. They were just incompetant. The media could be said to be in on the plan, advertise it as they did, live. But they only got there last minute, they too, insufferable as they were, were inefficient, incapable of doing their jobs properly. True, there was a man on the inside, but it was not a well thought out plan. It was just the accomplice’s idea to film the thing, and send it to the media later. That was how they got the whole video that they played, not saying that they filmed it, but not saying that they didn't. And it’s the things you don't say that really do get heard the most.

There was only 7 minutes, to the dot, of footage that was made. Seven minutes, and yet, it rocked a nation. It shocked the world. There were people outside the prison where he was being kept, protesting. For what, they did not know. Just that he deserved more punishment. The prison had more guests than it had ever seen in its forgotten lifetime. It had a new awareness in the public eye. People had been outside it for eleven days straight now, and it did not look like the throngs would dwindle. Hordes of humanity had been outside the courthouses during the trial, one of the fastest in modern history, for this kind of crime. The judge had received, not that the general public knew about it, countless threats of death in the event that the criminal did not receive the strictest punishment possible. Surprisingly, a lot of them were not from rednecks, though those had their share too, but a lot of them were from liberals from coastal cities.

Parents were rocking their children to sleep, those unfortunate kids that had seen the footage, and the ones that had not, they were traumatized at seeing their own parents be so scared, shivering, hugging themselves.

The nation was uprooted, its self formed character of itself shook.

The footage was grainy and blurry, shot on a disposable cell phone. It was dark, and a man was running after screams. He was cackling. That laughter itself was terrifying, transfixating people to their screens, glued, hearts shaking, thumping in their ears. It was a scene out of a horror movie, and yet they did not yet know what the horror was. The soundtrack was building up to a terrifying inhuman end. It was dark, yet it was the city. Pine Road in one of the busiest intersections, car lights glared, infrequently, street lights passed overhead. One of those pale yellow lights caught his face, pale, eyes wide and white, laughter stretching all the way to his ears. Forehead big. Hair long, like a rockstar’s. That terrifying cackle not stopping as he ran, swaying from side to side. His prey zig zagging from side to side. The laughter did not stop. Not as the viewers could feel the grass on which they ran, dew forming quietly. Not as they tasted the air which blew his hair back in waves. It did not stop. Even when they heard the crunch of skin breaking open, the squish of blood spurting out. The smell of the crimson liquid. The laughter continued. Cackling.