The Edge
Created | Updated May 14, 2003
Part Ten
E146 section A sub-section 28 year 201389. Done.
Y743 section Z sub-section 51 year 194511. Done.
And done. Not that there was any need to fill them in. If the man (or so he appeared to be) filling them in had his way they would never be processed.
Graham put the final form away, clicked his pen for the last time and enjoyed the final rush of almost orgasmic joy that always followed filling in paperwork. Earth's obsession with bureaucracy was one of the few things he liked about this god-awful planet. Order and efficiency pleased him, reminded him of home. So did pin-striped suits. Their sleek lines, double breasted pockets and slightly frightening lapels couldn't have been improved any further and during his second week on Earth he was overjoyed to learn that there were such things as pin-striped pyjamas.
He opened the bottom drawer of his huge oak desk and started placing its contents into his red leather briefcase.
One machete, with crocodile skin handles.
One bow and arrow.
Two pistols, with two eagles on each handle and six bullets tipped with cyanide.
One roll of garrotte wire floss.
One navel plunger.
A set of testicle clamps.
And a bottle of whisky. Finally he would get revenge for the injustice done to him so many years ago. Finally the 38 years of McDonalds, daytime soaps and pop music would be at an end. Finally he was going to screw the Earth the same way he'd been screwed back home. And he was going to screw the man that had made four of those years a living hell.
He closed the briefcase, placed the flight tickets into one of his double-breasted pockets, got up, allowed himself a brief look in the mirror at his sleek form in its sleek suit, switched off the lights and left his office for the last time.
