The Plastic Pyramid

The Plastic Pyramid

A Story by kealan

Story about a massacre in Manchester.


The first three bodies dropped within ten seconds.

The psi was at 3300, an astonishing feat considering Anthony Hara had built the pressure gun in his freezing cold bedsit in Bury inside of three days.

A black woman screamed at the back of the shop, a fatal screech. Ant turned toward the roar, raised the long PVC tube, and flicked down the release clasp.


A steel ball-baring went shooting out the plastic barell, striking the woman in the mouth, disintegrating three of her top teeth, and exiting out the back of her neck.

Muffled screams could be heard inside the tanning shop, but Ant failed to notice; his attention was on to the red mist rising from the four corpses lying on the white tiled shop-floor.

'I knew it,' he said to himself, a small grin on his lips, his eyes calm.

And then the mist began to soar toward him as it always did when Anthony Hara witnessed the Grand Exit of the Soul from any being's body. He drank the mist down serenely. The sight was the most beautiful thing Ant thought humanly possible to perceive. But that's not why he was here, on this great endevaour. Those reasons were more complex, and far darker, than his need to replenish his energy.

He stood there with that slight grin for a minute waiting for the pressure to return to his homemade artillery. No heroes lunged forth. Everyone was too stunned and there were clearly no alphas or daredevils in the area. Maybe if they had known how many more would perish they might have made a move.
Because Anthony Hara was just getting started.


The little boy sat in the broad, sun-lit lounge, eavesdropping on the conversation in the kitchen between Charlotte, his social worker, and his new foster parent's whose names he had forgotten.

'If you give it another few weeks he might settle down...,' Charlotte was saying, ' cases of extreme physical and sexual abuse it will, of course, take longer for the child to adapt...especially in the early stages. Now if-'

'I take it we'll be compensated,' said a man's voice.

Ant was playing with the cat, the little plastic pyramid his grandfather had given him lying on its capstone on the carpet. The cats claws dented his skin, cut beneath.

'Of course,' said Charlotte, miserably.

'This won't affect your salary even if you decide to say enough is enough, you still get your back money.'

She sighed.

'But please, just wait it out, deep down he's a really good kid and I'm sure his behaviour will....normalise.'

There was silence for a moment. Then a cat's pained wail pierced the air.

The foster parents rushed in and arrived at the doorway first, followed closely by Charlotte. They stood there for a moment in awesome horror.

A nearly full-grown cat had been squashed into a pint glass. His face was set into a mask of fang-bearing agony, his neck twisted impossibly. Though already dead, one of his legs still twitched on the rim.

Ant looked at the three stunned adults gawking in the doorway, a proud smile on his sweating face.

'I made it fit,' he said. 'Look at the light.'


There were still people in the tanning shop but Ant wanted to branch out his expedition, so he exited through automatic doors and stepped onto the main walkways of Millgate Shopping Centre.

Somebody shouted, 'He's got a...' Then trailed off as he saw the strange contraption in Ant's hand.

'Its a gun,' said Ant, and set off towards Boots pharmacy.

He knew that soon all the entrances would be possible entry points for armed tactical units, so he wanted to explore the shops close by first, before the authorities were alerted.

Most of the shoppers down this way were oblivious to the vicious happening just around the corner. An elderly couple sitting on a bench people-watching were the first to get it.

Because they were old, Ant's estimation was about 600 psi per person. He let loose, flicking the release valve less than halfway down.


The Baring soared. It hit the man first and his head lolled swiftly to the side, smashing his wife's false teeth clean out of her mouth. He slumped. The old woman cringed painfully with what Ant assumed to be the opening credits of a heart attack. When he realized there was probably not enough pressure in the gun to finish her off, he paced ambitiously toward her.

'Please,' she said, 'please, I- I...'

Ant raised the heavy steel-plated PVC tube with both hands and slammed down directly on the crown of her blue-haired head. The sound of her skull cracking echoed along the tiles. She slumped backwards; her skirt lifted to reveal varicose legs and soiled underwear.

One arm jerked spasmodically.

Just like a cat, thought Ant, and giggled.

He then took the gun by the elbow and set off toward the chemists.


'Anthony Hara,' the twins discreetly sang.
'Doesn't have a father.
He smells like s**t,
His parents split,
He's weird and im glad he got battered.'

They giggled loudly, glaring at his pale face. Ant was sat at the end of the table, the new foster-parents having since retired to the other lounge, the private lounge, inside which he alone was forbidden. The two foster-sisters sat on either side of the table, staring him down with jealousy concealed as malice.

'Why aren't you eating your dinner ant-boy?' one of them said.

'Your real parents fed you dogfood so I thought you would've appreciated a nice human dinner.'

They high-fived each other.

One of them raised a hand as if to high five Ant and Ant in turn did likewise, a hopeful grin forming. This brought more laughter from the twins.

'What the f**k is wrong with you?' said the one whose hand was now back on the table.

'F*****g eejit.'

One of them scooped up a baby potatoe and flung it to the floor.

'Get crawling, insect boy,' she said.

Ant got crawling.

That night he crept downstairs to the cutlery drawer. He opened it quietly and took out two forks. The girls were sleeping noisily upstairs, snoring alternately on two parallel beds. Ant stood there, speculating in the silence, working out the best approach as he waited for his eyes to adjust to the shade. Finally he was ready.

He positioned the forks, one in each hand, and raised them so that they were both mere centimetres above each sister, and stabbed down.


One woman was trying out eyeliner on the make up aisle. He shot her purposefully in the breasts. He had no idea why she caused such a stir of resentment in him, but he did know why he laughed: the sound.

Hoompf! she went.

He stood over the attractive woman's wreathing form, patiently awaiting the return of pressure in the weapon. The woman's eyes got bigger and bigger as she fought to cough up air.

And then: Floomp!

Her eye socket splashed wide open in a shower of blood and vitereous fluid.

'Jesus Christ!' A man screamed and set off toward the Just For Men aisle as if the stress of the sight was greying his hair on a second to second basis. Ant shot him in the back of the head, his red hair becoming even more scarlett.

'Not Jesus,' said Ant. 'Just little old me.'

Auras rose through him in a gust of joy and relief. He reached the prescription counter and knew by the terrified squirming noise that someone was hiding behind it.

'Here, you down there. Anything nice for me? And don't say Aripiprozol or I'll do you slowly.'

The middle-aged woman slowly rose, her trembling arms raised.

'Well? ' said Ant.

'T-There's morphine.'

'Good, good,' said Ant and waited as the pharmacist unsteadily collected the long boxes from the shelf.

'Thanks, ' he said with a winning smile, and shot her in the nose. The ball baring clicked on the ground, still whole, and came to rest in the thick, sticky blood.

After completing the ritual of receiving the energy of death, Ant leaned against the counter and, after putting Rejuvenation by Killing Joke on his phone, gulped down eight tablets.

He knew not the favour he did himself for, soon enough, if not for the tablets, he would've been in serious pain indeed.


'Cmon Anto,' said the boy, 'we all do it here, don't be weird.'

Ant started him down, then looked away.

The younger boy was much tougher than he was, having spent most of his life here in the care home. His scars told stories of stabs and fights.

'Just try it and see what you think.'

'I really don't think I'll like it. '

'You can't say that unless you've done it.'

The little boy was getting annoyed; you could tell by the way he dragged on the cigarette. He threw the smoke away and produced a knife. Waved it at penis level.

Ant began to cry.

The other boy was shocked.

'Keep it down you stupid f*****g fagott.'

He thrust his free hand forward and began to caress Ant's testicles.

'See?' he said. 'It's not that bad.'

Ant cringed as he realized he was getting hard. He closed his eyes and two tears fell down his red face.

'Now,' said the boy, setting the knife down.

'Turn around.'


Anthony Hara stumbled out of the pharmacy with a big grin on his blood-spattered face. All of the shopprs had come upon the corpses by now, and had scattered. However one man, a thirty-three year old guy who went to the gym six days a went decided to hide behind one of the pillars. He lunged when Ant emerged.

Ant's reflexes were far from tip-top; however he never felt the first two punches. His nose exploded with stringy vein-blood. The third knocked a tooth loose. He ducked the four though and grabbed the man by the back of the head, then sunk his battered mouth into the neck-flesh feeling more teeth crunch asunder.

He then got to his feet and picked up the pressure-gun but the weapon fell in his oily hands. There was no time. He staggered after the man, caught him, and swung him through the huge bay window of Poundland. He got on top of the man and began stabbing his elbows down directly onto the face. In no time, the wannabe hero's whole face was like a half-eaten bowl of cooked mince.

The consequential light which rose was the most potent Ant had ever seen. He sucked it up leisurely, feeling the warmth stream through his sweetly sedated system.

With that huge intake of energy, there was little time left for the final act of this glorious play. He just needed to prepare the device. Soon he'd be gone forever, but not alone.

Just free.


'Everybody does it,' said Ant. 'You'd have to, if you lived here.'

Charlotte, his social worker, was present, along with a distant blood cousin, and several of the senior staff members.

'How long has this been going on?' asked his cousin.

Ant ignored the question.

'I do it to others too."

'It's not your fault, ' said his cousin, his shoulders low.

'You'll have to go to court and...they'll be able to see.' said one of the staff members, unsure.

'Even the staff?' said Ant, hopelessly.

The room became tense.

'His cousin said, 'what do you mean?'


Tactical Unit 9 of the Manchester Met Police arrived in the East entrance, just off Bury outdoor market. By now cameras and reporters flooded beyond the quickly set-up perimeter. The vanguard of the unit peeped their heads behind each corner, splitting up each time to cover more ground. All they saw was a strange red mist. And all they would ever find is a little toy pyramid beside which was a small letter in handwriting alien to Ant's which read: what did you expect?

Anthony Hara remains number one on the most wanted list to this day.


Kealan Coady November 2017

© 2017 kealan

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Nice one Kealan, it's good. Good pace, interesting back and forth. For me the ending comes too quickly.
A hint I got this year was: show, don't tell. Not entirely sure how this applies but it sounds good.
Keep up the good work, and read Dostoyevsky (he's incredible).

Posted 11 Months Ago

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1 Review
Added on November 5, 2017
Last Updated on November 6, 2017



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