Death, by 1,000 Cuts

By R. G. Parker

Bobby was not unlike most guys who had just turned 18.

He had been born in a time of incredible change, and advancements, never seen before. In his whole young life he had never known anything but prosperity, and abundance. For the most part it was as if he was a young prince, waiting to some day, become King.

His, was the age of computers, electronic this, and lavish that, and the upper, middle class home he lived in, was a model of contemporary success, and affluence.

His parents were seen as, good, hard working people. On the cutting edge, and always "a head of the curve." as they liked to say. They had raised their only child under the direction of the very best, in childhood authorities. Bobby had been raised to excel, have high, self esteem, and to believe in himself above everything else. During his rearing, he had experienced the very same techniques as his peers. Time-outs for bad behaviors, and the reward system for good behavior. Bobby liked the program. He found out when he was quite young, he could do or say anything his heart desired, only to be banished to the very place he really wanted to be most, "His room". There, he was the master over all he surveyed, and none of his senses would be denied. In Bobby rooms were toys, games television, computers, cell phones, the Internet, a small refrigerator, stuffed with his choice goodies, every single thing a child could need or want , were in Bobby's room, right down to his full, privet bathroom.

But unlike his peers, Bobby really did, have it all. He was strong, good looking, lean, and healthy. He was on his high school dive team, and would some day, "win a gold, Olympic medal"all would say. He kept himself well trained, and in the peak of performance like a true professional athlete would, down to the last detail. Nothing was left to chance " Bobby would often say", as he sheared his entire body of pubic hair, to lesson drag as he swam in his competition meets. His trophy cases screamed loudly, bulging with evidence of his will, determination, and abilities. He was the envy of many, he knew, as the pretty girls drooled over him when he climbed the latter of the high diving board, warring nothing but his tiny "black Speedo."

Yes Bobby Clemens had it all. Including a very dark side. It was a secret only he knew about, and would never share with a soul. He would rather die "A death by 1,000 cuts.", he had whispered so many times to himself. "Yes he would", he once again concluded.

Bobby didn't know why, but he loved to do bad things. Some of the things were very bad other not so bad, but most things he had done, were not yet, heinous, and unforgivable. An example of that he could easily remember was when he was 10 years old, and collected for UNICEF. His Dad had preached to him early in his life about "being associated with the right causes, and appearing to care about the unfortunates of the world." Of course his Dad had ended that statement with a usual caveat, this time saying "Even if it's Bull Shit, it looks good on paper." So Bobby had out collected everybody at his school, in his town, and was given an award, put on TV, and had made a humble acceptance's speech, echoing the sentiments of the organization "For the greater good". In his mind as he said his closing statement it sounded like this: " So it is my sincere hope the little Useless eaters, choke on it and die." A wide departure from what his mouth had said. :" So it is my sincere hope, that some how, I have made a difference, in my small, humble way."

The memory made him chuckle out loud, and he quickly shushed himself, as he climbed the stairs of the Clemence insurance building. He couldn't be seen now! How could he explain what he was doing, and worse the items in his backpack. He shuddered at the thought of being caught, of being found out as to what, and who he really was. "Death by 1,000 cuts" he reaffirmed, and focused himself on the nights business at hand.

When he had reach the top of his fathers Insurance building, he looked closely at the roof access door. Nothing had changed in the last 6 hours. The, thin alarm wire, as thin as a hair, traveled from the doors striker plate for about 3 inches, and then into a steel conduit, hiding it from prying eyes. Not much room for error" Bobby whispered to himself. It didn't worry him though, because that was the truth about life really. "Not much room for error" in anything, so why should this be different. With that, he knelt down, and quietly removed his backpack. What he needed was in the front zipper pocket of the black, designer bag. He reached in, and retrieved a small strand of wire, with two, mini jumper cable at each end.

Bobby hands were steady, dry, and deft. He hadn't been given the nickname by his dive team "Iceman" for nothing. Everyone knew, nothing on earth could rattle Bobby. This was true Bobby thought to himself. Then, he heard it again "Death by 1,000 cuts." His hands had been only an inch from the wire, when the voice of waiting agony had spoken. He watched in fascination as his hands trembled uncontrollably, like a girl's would, at a scary movie.

He drew back, resting on his haunches, then laughed, quickly putting a gloved hand to his mouth. "Look at me!" He said feeling very foolish. "Come on Bobby boy! This is not brain surgery here!" And "even if it was, so what", the boy mused. With that, the crises ended, and he connected the tiny jumper cables on one end of the wire, then the other on the end of the wire, splicing in the battery operated power supply that he then, tucked into the door casing, pressing the self adhesive against the steel frame. He pulled his exato blade from his shirt pocket, removed the protective cap, and carefully cut through, the tiny wire that he had bypassed. He stood up, put his backpack on, capped the razor sharp knife, and pressed on the push bar of the steel door.

It opened quietly, and without incident. Bobby then , pulled a small roll of "Duct" tape from his jacket pocket, and taped back the hole in the striker plate in the door casing, disabling the self locking feature of the security door, and closed it, making it appear completely normal.

Once on the roof, the crisp, pre winter air was more than noticeable. It smelled fresh, and clean, the only exception being the faint aroma of burning wood in someone's fireplace, far away.

The Clemens Insurance building was nice, but nothing special. It was a typical three story office building, made out of concrete, and steel one could find in any town of thirty thousand people. The adjacent structures were lined up like dominos, appearing to be connected, by there close proximity to each other. For all purposes, they might as well been attached.

Bobby reached the end of the roof, raised his left leg, and simply stepped over the short dividing wall at the edge. He looked down as he moved to the other buildings rooftop, and saw the 10 inch gap that went down into the darkness. "No chance of falling to my death, but I could get my ass stuck in there if I slipped up" he said to no one. "Death by 1,000 cuts" The voice in his head reminded, and quickly finished stepping over the wall, walking ever faster to the old wooden box like thing in the middle of the dried, tar rooftop.

Once there, he took out a screw driver, and easily pried the old, wooden door open. This was Mr. Coswell's door. It led down to his "Old Time Toy Store." Yes that was what the old ass hole called the place, and it lived up to it's name. Bobby thought, then snickered. It was a throw back to 1950, and had not changed in any way since Coswell had opened it in that very year. "It would however, change tonight !" He Said aloud, mimicking Boris Karloff sarcastically.

As Bobby opened the door, that smell he had grown to hate since he was a little boy, filled his nostrils. It could only be described as a "Sweet, old, stale mixture of candy, aging wood, and the past."

He walked down the creaky wooden stair case, not caring about the noise. This was Coswell's store after all, and there was no one here, and no alarms. Nothing at all to prevent even the most stupid of burglars from ripping the place off, and especially nothing to keep a smart guy like himself out.

As Bobby stepped on the plank floor of the second level, he smiled. It was here Coswell kept all of the "good stuff." as he called it. It was a menagerie of things. Open bins of green, toy solders you could scope out, and buy by the pound. Of course surrounding the two bins, the other (the bad guys who were colored tan), were the trucks, tanks, jeeps, cannons. And what ever else a kid needed to wage a successful campaign.

There were balls of all kinds, and bats mitts, rackets, even flippers, and snorkels for a day at the lake.

Bobby felt small as he viewed these things of his past, and the ones that still cluttered his present. Having celebrated his eighteenth birthday only three days ago, the separation of boy to man, was yet to be complete. With that feeling of uncertainty, he walked faster through the isle's, letting the merchandise of childhood become the blur he knew it had to become.

When Bobby had reached the first floor landing, he was out of breath, and sweating. His walk had ended in a dead run. Now he stood in the middle of the first floor of Coswell's Old Time Toy Store", not knowing how he had gotten there so quickly. "Some laps in time." he suspected. "Just a distraction that's all", he comforted himself. At first he had a hard time believing his own thoughts, a hard time, because he was sure he was lying to himself. Then, he knew better :"Of course I'm distracted! I'm here to make some history, and forever change things in this ass hole town!" He shouted these things out loud, and was not afraid, because he knew he was alone.

Bobby walked to the front of the dark store that was lit only by a single, small light, that showed "it". Since 1950, Coswell has had a huge Santa, sitting on his wooden throne, slowly revolving in the giant display window. Every year without fail, Old man Coswell would wheel out the ugly bastard the day before Thanksgiving. "Bobby smiled his privet smile, and spoke to the wooden dummy, clad in it's Santa suit, as he would to any enemy. "This is your last dance you old fat, bastard! I'm coming for you, and I'm cutting off your fucking head! Then I'm going to burn the ugly thing, and roast marshmallows over it! Ha ha ha ha ha" Bobby laughed his brat like laugh until tears rolled down his face. Yes that was the plan, but first, business before pleasure. He took off his back pack, opened the main flap, and fished inside of it for his tools. Then his two hands surrounded them, the cold steel, making him feel warm all over, the memorable, rattle of the ball bearings inside of them, cheering him on.

He brought the pair out, and into the dim light. Two ordinary, spray paint cans. Color, Hot Pink. Bobby stood, and walked over to the sitting Santa, shaking both cans feverishly. He waited until the Santa had come about, and was facing him, then he showed the Santa the paint cans, waving them in it's face. He had to reach up high to do so. If the statue could stand, it would have easily been ten feet tall or more. It's hands were 16 inches long at the middle fingers from the wrist, and 8 inches wide at the palms. Bobby felt intimidated by it's massive presents, and swallowed hard. With his voice catching, he taunted it "Well you big prick these are in honor of you! Do you know what color I picked out to represent you, oh king of Bull Shit? Hot Pink! Do you know why? Because you are a Pussy boy! And anyone who believes in you are pussy boys! That's why!" Bobby turned to walk away, but turned back because he couldn't resist the temptation, and sprayed the bright pink paint on the Santa's crotch area. "Now your perfect ass wipe! Time for business." he said matter of factually.

Bobby went about the store painting the most insulting words, phrases, and sentence every where, and on anything he could reach or find. It had taken an hour, but he had done it as he had planned, and now stood back down stairs, admiring his work. Everywhere the eye could see, the vandal had done his deed, and bright, pink paint, ran down the walls, accenting the angry words he had written .

Bobby placed the evidence back into his pack. He would dispose of the paint cans later. Now though it was time for the Coup de Gras. For some reason, perhaps nothing more than his sense of humor, Bobby climb up on the Santa's lap, and said mockingly "Oh yes Santa! All I want for Christmas is your fucking head. Is that so much to ask? As they revolved together, Bobby almost expected an answer from the thing. "And why not? he thought. The bastard has been interrogating me all of my life, every fucking Christmas since I was 7 years old!", he said no one. Now he spoke directly to the object he hated so badly. : " Yeah you knew didn't you? You saw me do it! I know you did, and to get even, every time my dad brought me here, you gave me that fucking look of yours! How did I know? Simple you fat ass hole! Every time we came in, you turned just to look at me, at just the right time! That's how I knew! But here's something you didn't know fat boy. "My dad knew I took the stupid baseball card!" And know what he said? My dad said "Well I don't like you stealing, but that old fart deserved it! Only an absolute idiot would put a baseball card worth 25,000 dollars out where someone could take it. So the hell with him! But what ever you do, never ever get caught. That would be a death by 1,000 cuts!"Bobby spat his fathers words at the image before him. "So you see Santa shit head, it doesn't matter what you think!", Bobby sneered, with a grin that screamed "hit me." "Today like every day, those automatic awning will roll up, and uncover this big bastard of a window at exactly 7 am, and all of them little kiddies are going to be out there, looking in at you, but guess what Santa ? You wont have a head!" Bobby became quiet, and stared into the , dull, blue eyes of the hapless dummy, then just for fun, spit into it's old face. He jumped down, off the enormous lap, and reached back into his bag. With out fanfare he brought out the small hand saw. He waved it in the figures face, while dancing in place, when he suddenly stopped. "Gee mister King of the Pussy boys, I forgot! I need something to put that melon you call a head in. I'll be right back, and please, don't go away." The last part of the one-sided conversation made him laugh hard, as he ran down the isle's, looking for a container of some kind..

He knew what would do the job. It was just a matter of finding it in the near darkness. A simple Duffel bag would do. So he searched

Bobby was half way up the row of shelves, when he heard a noise. With cat like movement, he froze, and got close to the floor on one knee, never making a sound. He could feel the beat of his own heart in his neck, and could not release his breath. He stayed that way for what seemed hours, never hearing another sound. Finally, because of his strict time table he went to check on what it could have been. He Checked his indigo watch. It was 3:30 A M, and he knew he had to be out before sun up at precisely "5:56." So with the pressure on him, he made his way back to the front of the store. He walked forward in a crouch, his lean divers body casting a narrow shadow on the floor before him. He reached the end of the isle., and carefully peered around in both directions. Bobby could see no one or for that matter, anything that had changed. He was about to relax when he looked directly in front of him. There in all of his glory was the Santa, sitting on his throne in the window. "Yes, just like before", Bobby croaked, but he was no longer turning.

Bobby walked toward the thing on what now felt like "wobbly stilts" instead off his usual strong legs. His arrogance had been replaced with the humbling tonic of fear. The Santa stared through him with it's dead, blue eyes. "So! After all these fucking years, now you decided to break down? You dirty bastard!" Bobby voice was full of hate and rage. It sounded as a plaintive, spoiled child, who just heard the word "No!" for the first time in it's life. Worse, far to late for it to do the child any good. Bobby was in a tantrum now. He shook his fist at his nemesis, and yelled "Well fuck you! It won't save you anyway!" He turned, and ran back down the luggage Isle, now more angry than scared. This time he threw each thing he found in any direction possible, not caring where they landed. Then there they were, the "duffel bags." He reached down, grabbed a black one , and began to go back to the front, when this time it was a loud, grinding noise he heard. He froze again, but this time with an audible cry that came out on it's own mouth, without warning.

Bobby's mind was racing, analyzing the possibilities. Trying to figure out what could cause such a sound. "Maybe old man Coswell showed up early" he worried. "No he hasn't changed anything he's ever done once! No that's not it!" "Maybe some burglar choose today to rob the place? No!. This place has never been robbed!" And when Bobby thought about that little piece of trivia, he decided that was : "Very fucking weird too" But he didn't have time to worry about that now! He wasn't alone in the store. He was sure of it.....until. "Yes! that's it! That fucking dumb ass Santa thing must have become un-jammed!" He sat on the floor, feeling relieved, and laughed at himself. "Oh this is one for the books Bobby old' boy! The Iceman pisses his pants over nothing!" That made him laugh hysterically as he dragged himself off the floor, feeling exhausted. With a swagger, he strolled down the Isle. to the front of the store. "Okay ass hole! Good one! Now it's my............turn?" Bobby's face went ashen as his mind struggled to believe what his eyes were seeing. Bobby stood, just twenty feet from the throne, feeling faint. This time it was no figure of speech, and a dark spot formed on the crotch of his pants, then began to drip on the floor. Bobby didn't notice as he pissed himself. All he could do is stare at the huge, empty, throne.

As if suddenly turned on like a startled toy, Bobby screamed, his arms flailing, and turned to run. He got two feet, and ran into something firm, but soft. He bounce off the obstruction, and flew backwards, landing hard on his butt.. His eyes traveled on what was before him against his will, starting at the size twenty five boots, and then up the tree trunk like legs. When his eyes finally reached the top of the towering Santa. Bobby could see it was staring down at him, smiling.

Bobby screamed "Oh my God! No!", and got up on his hands and knees to get away. Before he could go any further, something strong, wrapped around his right ankle, then effortlessly, raised him into the air, where he squirmed, and dangled, like a puppet on a string. "Let me go! Put me down! Please! No! Nooooooooooo!" These things he begged with real tears, as his voice cracked like a boy's would despite his 18 years. Bobby was about to learn what "Pay day" meant.

He saw a huge hand come at him, sure it was about to rip off his head, he nearly fainted. Instead, the hand grabbed at his jacket, and ripped it off him like it was paper, and threw it a side. Next the hand grabbed the seat of his tight, black corduroy pants, pulled, and tore them to shreds, in a downward motion, taking his sneakers, and socks with it. Bobby hung in the air, still by his right ankle warring nothing but his Jock strap, and "T" shirt. As Bobby panicked, and struggled, his pristine, hairless small, dimpled, butt cheeks flexed, and put on their own show for the Santa, So deserving, so inviting it must have thought.

Bobby's thin, but muscled, taught legs moved with a poetic license, that only a diver could portray.

The Santa seemed to want more, and ripped the " T" shirt off, exposing Bobby's "V" shaped torso, and washtub like ab's. Although Bobby only stood 5 feet 9 inches tall, his narrow build was totally proportioned, and his physique, well defined. Yes Bobby was perfect in every way, but that perfection would soon be altered. This, the young man couldn't know, "but the Santa, seemed to."

The Santa hand grabbed the elastic waistband of the "" jockstrap, and pulled it beyond it's breaking point, and with a stinging snap, it separated from Bobby. "What are you going to do to me?" Bobby screamed. The giant Claus didn't answer. It took the squirming, naked punk in both massive hands, turned him around, and tucked him under his tree limb like left arm, so Bobby's butt was facing the front. The Santa began to walk, taking seven foot strides, carrying him under his arm like a sack of potatoes.

Bobby did not like seeing where the Santa had taken him. It had stopped in the downstairs, sporting good isle, in front of the paddle ball paddles, and had taken one. Then it headed back to it's throne.

Bobby started to put it all together, at least the paddle part, and that realization almost made his heart stop. "A naked guy, a wooden paddle, and a freaked out giant Santa could only mean one thing. " Bobby concluded : "It's going to beat me to death!" Had Bobby known his approaching future, he would have preferred that fate, but he was not the one in control of his destiny.

The Santa, with Bobby in tow, came to a stop in front of his Throne. He then, pulled the naked young man from his left arm, and stood him on his feet. Bobby saw a ray of hope, and prepared to run. Standing there in front of the Santa, Bobby's nose only came up to where it's naval would be, if it had one. He shuddered at the incredible size of the thing, and felt so small, so helpless.

Bobby was about to make his move, when the store music system came on. Out of the old fashioned ,metal horn speakers, a song began to play. "You better not shout, you better not cry. You better not pout. I'm telling you why. Santa Claus is coming to town."

The song played on verse after verse, and then ended, and the store became quiet again. Quiet with the exception of the noises "The Wooden Santa" was making as it sat down on it's throne. They were creaky sounds, splintering sound, sounds like nails, being pulled out of planks, that resisted the hammers claw. Bobby stood trembling in silence's as red, and white velvet, and fur, passed like an elevator in front of him. It finally came to it's rest, but Bobby had to still, crane his neck up as high as he could to look into the Santa's eyes.. It had a huge smile going across it's face, and this time Bobby could see giant, yellow teeth.

Both Bobby, and the Santa stood glaring at each other, both seeming to wait for the other to make the next move. Bobby decided a different tact might work on the thing, and went for it. "So what is it you want to do to me? Spank me! Is that it? Because if that's what this is all about, then get it over with so I can go home, and you can do what ever it is you do, when your not scaring the shit out of people!" It didn't respond in any way. This made Bobby wonder if it : " had killed it's self sitting back down. Sure sounded like it." he thought. It just sat there, staring at him, smiling. Bobby decided to chance it, and test the waters. Without a warning, he jumped backwards, putting a good 5 feet between himself and the Santa from Hell. "Ha! There Santa! Your going to have to be quicker on the draw than that to spank my ass! Without realizing it, Bobby hands had gone to his taught flanks, and were rubbing them as he had mocked the Stone faced Claus. "You may not know this "Hardwood", but my mother didn't even allow the doctor who delivered me to slap my butt! So spanking me is not an option Santa!" Still nothing from the grizzly thing, Bobby became confused. "So what's with you? Blow a gasket or something? Not that I mined though if you did. You really had me going for a while, but if you'll excuse me I got to find some cloths to ware thanks to you, and get the fuck out of here. Sun up is in an hour. We will consider this one a draw. I keep my ass, and you keep your big, ugly head. Partners?"

It didn't answer him, not directly any way. From a shelf in the back of the store came a sound. Once Bobby realized what it was, it infuriated him. Out of the darkness came "Cluck, cluck, cluck, cluck, cluck... ." from some unseen toy chicken. " Why you old sack of shit! I'm not a chicken about anything! Okay you want it you got it!"

Bobby reached down and grabbed his hand saw, and with murder in his eyes, the naked eighteen year old, charged the Santa. Now the Santa Finally moved. It stuck out it's right leg, and tripped Bobby. He went flying through the air, and came to rest over the Santa's knee. "Why you dirty bastard!" Bobby screamed, but this time there would be no reprieve. The Santa grabbed Bobby's right arm, and tucked it into it's left arm pit, locking it there for good. It's huge right hand rested against Bobby's butt, covering it completely. Bobby could hardly move. He was stuck. " Let me go you prick! Let me go!" His voice cracking, with a squealing sound, he continued his useless demands.. Then, the old music system began to play again. This time it was "Rudolph the red nosed reindeer." At first Bobby thought he knew what the Santa wanted, So sarcastically he said "Okay I'm sorry!", but when the song got to the word "Glowed", the board like Santa hand whacked him so hard on his butt, that he couldn't find his breath to speak or scream. Searing, hot, burning pain traveled instantly from Bobby butt to his brain. Before he could catch his breath, there came another, and another! Bobby couldn't believe how much it hurt. He felt like his butt was sitting in a hot, frying pan. Now the spanks began to sound like "popcorn popping" as the Santa blistered Bobby's butt, raw. The game was now a foot, and Bobby played his part perfectly, he begged, he promised, he apologized, everything one does when ones ass is in a real jam. The Santa however, seemed unimpressed, and pored the spanking on even harder. At this point only "No", and "Please stop", could be distinguished in Bobby loud, horse wailing.

Bobby wasn't sure how long the thing had beat him. As it had started, it had ended the same way, without warning. He lay across the sprawling lap of the Santa trying to catch his breath, whimpering, and shuttering. His entire butt felt like someone had just put a blow torch to it, and it throbbed like a giant toothache. After a long while, he checked to see if he was still stuck on the Santa as before. To his sadness, he was, and when he tried to back out, his swollen buttocks came in contact with the mammoth hand, making him nearly gray out in pain, and he recoiled back to the Santa's lap.

Bobby wanted so much to just get away, to run someplace, and cry. Just cry, and be done with it, but the Santa didn't seem to be finished with him, and he lost all of his hope of getting out of the mess he was in with just a hard spanking. And he knew why. 'It was, because he deserved more." The revelation, made him cry bitterly, and he felt something uncommon to him, "Shame."

In all of his young life, Bobby could never remember feeling it before. It felt awful, and was like "having your soul spanked" He thought. "Yes just like that. It hurt awful too."

He felt his face flush with embarrassment as he remembered the bad things he had done just for the kick of it. He remembered something his dad had said once, that he had never understood. When he was 13, a close friend of the family killed himself. He had been one of Bobby's dad's best buddy's. When he had asked his father "Why would uncle Fred do such a thing when he had everything anyone could want!", his dad had said "Sometimes a man comes to the point, when he just can look at himself in the mirror any more." Bobby could not fathom what his father meant, and his dad tussled his blond hair, and said "Never mind Bobby, that will never happened to you." "Well, I guess you were wrong about that one too Dad." Bobby said tearfully. Yes, Bobby understood now, and he was sure it would be a long time before he ever wanted to see his own face in the mirror again.

The sun had risen nearly an hour ago, while Bobby had been caught up in his repentance. It was almost opening time, and Bobby was still in the store, worse he was bare ass, and over the knee of a Giant, wooden dummy. "How could things get any worse" he thought. The Santa, as if reading his mind decided to show him, and began the slow revolving to face the big, display window. Bobby screamed "No please. Please No! Not that! Please!" The Santa's smile seem to broaden, as the burglar struggled to free himself from his lap. It was relishing in Bobby's restitution, and it wanted payment in full.

All Bobby could do was beg, in a quiet, humble voice, to deaf ears, that knew no pity. He knew in minutes, the Automatic Awnings would rise that covered the windows, and doors, and it was the Day after Thanksgiving, the biggest shopping day of the year, and out side of the store would be half of towns people, waiting in line for Mr. Coswell to open at 7 Am. He shuddered as the vision of all those people seeing him the way he was, and worse he would be arrested for this.

The last part of the vision made him cry out loud: "Oh no please Santa! No! Don't make me go to jail! Please Spank me some more, but not that! Pleaseeeeeeeeee!" As if not wanting to disappoint Bobby's worse nightmares, the Santa reached down, and pulled a small, wrapped red package from the pile around them, and stuck it in Bobby's only useable hand, his left. "Your giving me a present?" he said with honest disbelief. The thing did nothing, but stair into Bobby's eye, with the same teethe smile.

"I guess you want me to open it. All right." Bobby said this with a conciliatory tone in his voice. Once again, something new, and uncharted in the young man. With a little effort, he managed to open the package, but the gift did anything , but bring joy to his heart. There, sitting in the bottom of the small box, was the Baseball card he had stolen so many years ago. "What does this mean? He asked, bewildered. "I stole this card about 11 years ago. Why is it here now?" Then, from the counter next to the cash register, Bobby's voice played back to him from a cheap boom box. Bobby's face went completely pale as he heard his own words " But here's something you didn't know fat boy. "My dad knew I took the stupid baseball card!" And know what he said? My dad said " that old fart deserved it! Only an absolute idiot would put a baseball card worth 25,000 dollars out where someone could take it. So the hell with him! But what ever you do, never ever get caught. That would be a death by 1,000 cuts!"

Bobby went limp on the Santa's lap. He would learn at the end of his trial three weeks from this day, that this very confession had added eight more years on to the 2 to five years he had already been sentenced to in state prison, since the state had a twenty year statue of limitations. Bobby would also discover, that committing such crimes in a small town, leads to strict punishment from the local jury. He would be tried as an adult, and sent to adult prison, with the maximum sentence allowed. In all he would spend the next six years in prison, nine years parole, five years probation, ten thousand hours of community service, and double financial restitution to Mr. Coswell.

His father would be arrested as well for conspiracy, leading to the delinquency of a minor, and grand theft. Mr. Clemens would lose everything they had, including his business, and his wife keeping himself out of jail. Bobby's defense would be handled by a public defender named Carl Fisher who hated Bobby for what he had done. Everyone believed that Bobby, and an accomplice who was never caught, had acted out a sick, perverted S&M sex scene in the old store. "The Santa coming to life indeed!" Fisher had spat indignantly. Fisher had gone out of his way to cut the worst deal possible for Bobby with the prosecutors office.

Bobby also would endure the jail doctor's revenge, who turned out to be Bill Coswell. Doctor Coswell decided to repair Bobby's badly damaged buttocks without painkillers, as pay back for wreaking his brother Fred's store. Even worse, he would always be referred to as "Santa's little helper", as the men in the cold walls of the prison would abuse him, in any way they pleased, because they all knew "Bobby liked it rough.".

But in the here, and now, all he could do is moan words only a truly hopeless person would or could say without doubt. "I'm dead. My life is over. This is going to ruin all of us. Why Santa? Why do you have to be such a hard marker? Why do you have to kill people to get your point across? Why? Okay! Yes were bad people, and we do bad things, but so does everybody! So why me? Why us?" Bobby stopped asking. He already knew why, and he knew that the Santa knew it too.

It was simple."I brought all of this on my self, and my family. I came here to do harm Just like I did when I was seven, and stole the baseball card. Bobby wept as the truth battered him with the facts. He kicked his feet in the air, and howled, as he realized that the thing had tried to let him go at the last minute. It had been willing to let me off with a real good scare, but when it had tested me, I had failed the test. So now it's going to grind my butt into dust." He moaned at this realization, and his whole body shivered at the thought of it all. All of these things he confessed, with bitter, contempt for himself. His tears, streaking his too old looking, young face.

There it was again. Something else new in Bobby's character. "Acceptance", "Honesty", Remorse, and the frightful knowledge, that there was indeed "Justice", even for the mighty of this world. Bobby felt different. He felt like he had some how awakened from a deep sleep, and was seeing things he had overlooked before, for the first time. Then he did what would have been the unthinkable, only a short while ago. With sincerity, he looked up at the Santa, and said : " I knew it was wrong when I stole that Baseball card. For that I'm as sorry as I can be." He felt better, but he was far from through. "If you don't mind Mr. Claus, would you spank me for steeling it?" Bobby couldn't believe he had made such a request. His butt hurt so bad now, he was sure he needed a doctor, and he was right, but he didn't care. He steeled himself, sure that this time, the Santa would use the paddle it had grabbed, and kill him, and he wished with all his heart, that it would.

The Santa however didn't strike Bobby's butt. Just as well, for the once pristine, small, dimpled mounds were now swollen, covered with blisters, black and blue, and full of splinters. He would spend weeks trying to sit down, without crying out or wincing.

It instead, just held him prisoner, seemingly waiting. Bobby lay over the huge lap, thinking he could not be humiliated any worse, when the electric motors began to do there age old duty, and began raising the protective window awnings. Bobby could only whimper "Oh please God I'm sorry, I'm so sorry! Please help me please!" But the awnings continued to go up. Like a child caught with his hand in the cookie jar, there Bobby was naked, spanked, and over the knee of a Santa dummy's lap, as a crowd of shocked people looked on. He could hear the comments, the laughter, and someone saying "Call the police", another saying "Isn't that Bob Clemence boy!" He didn't want to, but he forced himself to open his eye, and look back at the people. His face was hot with shame, and tears streamed down his young face, and there, written with "Hot Pink" spray paint. on the display window was " Death by 1,000 cuts"

end

R. G. Parker

12/02/99