Wednesday, December 18, 2002

In which the diarist goes postal.

Mordant Carnival's eyes narrowed. From her vantage point on a hill of snow, she saw a rotund white figure approaching. Her heart beat a little faster-- the quarry was in sight. She took careful aim with the shotgun and fired, both barrels. There was a small, localized blizzard. As the flakes settled on the ground, corncob-pipe, button nose and eyes made out of coal dropped on top of the sad little heap.

Mordant smiled grimly. It would take more than the magic in that ol' silk hat to bring Frosty back now-- assuming they could ever find it.

The noise had attracted some unwanted attention, however. A group of diminutive blue creatures were scurrying up the hill. Mordant dropped to her belly behind a snowdrift, waiting.

"What the smurf was that?"
"I don't know, but it was smurfing loud!"
"I don't like this. One minute we were smurfing in our winter wonderland, the next--"

Mordant stood up. The shotgun again? Nah. This was a job for the M16. Pieces of rubbery blue flesh spattered across the pristine whitness of the snowfield. Mordant paused, scanning the hillside. Had she got them all? No! A single survivour was wheezing his way up the hill, oblivious to the fate of his fellows. The lone gunwoman waited until she could see the white of Papa Smurf's beard. Their eyes locked.

"Oh, smurf--" was the last thing the evil blue geriatric said before a short burst of automatic gunfire turned him into a stain on the ground.

By now it was growing dark. Drawing her PVC trenchcoat more tightly around her she strained her eyes, trying to see if anyone else was coming. Out of the dark sky, a single spark of red appeared. Mordant pulled an antique Derringer from her stocking top and aimed a couple of inches above the light. There was a satifying thud as the reindeer plummeted to the ground. Santa would just have to get foglights, she reflected.

A satisfied smirk flickered across Mordant's face. The night was young, and she hadn't even broken out the grenades yet. She cocked her Smith & Wesson and waited for the red, red robin to come bob, bob, bobbing along.

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