Captain Evil

His spitting sounded like "thud" without the "d." Boots scraping on the concrete. His heels leather but hard as if they were steel plated. Whip crack, spit, scrape, scrape, scrape; whip crack, spit, scrape, scrape, scrape. On infinitum. From distant to passing by, his wind flapped coat tails like a flag trailing him. A black flag with no skull and cross bones.

His dark almost colorless eyes dart ahead to find the next victim. He walks as if in slow motion, enjoying the momentum of steady unstoppable power.

A moth on a big green maple leaf, floating there on the end of a low branch that just drifted over the sidewalk. Hands like lightning, Whip crack, spit, scrape, scrape, scrape. The moth blown apart into moth pieces floating in all directions, shredded leaf still attached but done for.

The brood-ish chuckle sounded like evil with no energy to boast, as he watched a moth wing float past. Whip crack, spit, scrape, scrape, scrape. The moth wing snapped into dust. His accuracy with his weapon of choice was perfect.

"Man, I'm good," he said in a forced gravelly voice.

His search for nothing in particular through the streets continued. The image he portrayed was so dark and cloudy that even his shadow was lighter than he.

He felt invincible and powerful. He was in control. No one could stop him from his evil plan of taking over the world now. Extra evil laughter thrust from the depth of his soul into the early morning air and echoed through the quiet neighborhood.

"Jimmy!"

Crap. Why couldn't he have a moment's peace?

"Jimmy… there you are young man, is that you? You get back upstairs and untie your sister. We have told you a hundred times, when you tie up your sister, and then lose interest, don't leave her tied up for us to release. Its not fair."

"Yes, dad." Jimmy lowered his hat almost over his eyes, deflated, and skulked towards the house. Whip crack, spit, scrape, scrape, scrape (with less gusto). A bit of paint blown to smithereens, from the fence in front of his house at the crack of his whip. Jimmy's dad rolled his eyes. He watched as his son began to pretend to sneak into the house like a secret agent, holding an imaginary pistol in the "kill shot" position stretched out in front of him.

"That boy," he said to himself, as he walked towards his front door shaking his head. He chuckled as he kicked the neighbors dog high into the air, the poor dog yelping as it flew across the fence back into its own yard, bouncing off the big oak tree in his neighbors yard. "I just don't spend enough time with that boy. "

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