Baked Scribe Flashback : Mind Of It’s Own

“We will open fire.” The voice was authoritative and threatening as it blasted through the megaphone. Jenson waved the sword around in wild circles, trying to get it to release from his hand. He stopped when it occurred to him that the action could be misinterpreted.

“You don’t understand. I can’t drop it!”

“Yes you can, son, just let go.”

“For the hundredth time, it physically won’t leave my hand. Look!” He unwrapped all of his fingers to show that he wasn’t even trying to hold on to the hilt. Jenson had to again resist the urge to start shaking his arm back and forth, as if some kind of sticky substance was clinging to his hand, instead of an ancient samurai weapon.

“Just tell us what you want. Let us try and help you.”

“I bought the stupid thing at a yard sale. When I drew it out of the sheath, it just went haywire and I couldn’t control it.”

“Son, that’s just—”

“I know how it sounds. But I didn’t kill all those people. The sword killed them. What reason would I have to—“

This time he was interrupted, as the sword pulled straight up into the air, as if issuing a challenge to the crowd. The blade dropped down, and stabbed through the air repeatedly, jabbing in the direction of the police line. Jenson was dragged forward, stumbling to keep from falling, as the sword whipped from side to side.

“This is your last warning.”

Jenson was jerked back and forth as the sword started swinging around in even crazier arcs and thrusts. He screamed at them to help him, to make them understand that this all had a perfectly logical explanation. They needed to understand that he was innocent. They needed to rescue him from this thing.

The last thing he heard after the hail of gunfire took him off his feet was the metallic clank of the sword hitting the ground after falling from his now limp hand.

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