The story of a woman who can kill with her mind.
By Lucas McCain
A sidewalk: two joggers ran, happy and high,
But neither stepped over to let Lyla by.
They blocked up the sidewalk and ran proudly on,
Until, just moments later, they both were long gone.
Their bodies lay crumpled and dead on the ground.
Their jogging was finished, they made not a sound.
And Lyla stepped over them, cool and quite sane,
And casually went on her way to the train.
The subway was crowded, but quiet and calm,
And all of the passengers relished the balm
Of silence and stillness in morning's last ticks,
When on came a mother and child of six.
They sat next to Lyla; the six-year-old screamed.
It snapped Lyla out of the dream she had dreamed.
She looked at it coldly; it chose to ignore
Her clear, direct warning, that noise-for-toys whore.
It sat on its mother and screamed in her face.
It squirted its juice box all over the place.
Then, suddenly, silence, the child - asleep?
Its head on mom's shoulder, it made not a peep.
Its mother looked grateful for such a respite,
But something, she noticed, just wasn't quite right.
It seemed too relaxed, too loose as she saw,
And no breath emerged from its overslack jaw.
Soon Lyla stood up, the mother stayed seated,
As the train pulled up to the stop Lyla needed.
Behind her the mother gasped and cried out,
And Lyla walked off and continued her route.
She walked in the office a minute past eight.
Her mini-dicked boss smiled meanly. "You're late,"
He said, and continued, "Let's call it a warning,"
"You always know just how to brighten my morning."
His grubby white hand reached around and behind her
And patted the small of her back: a reminder
Of bosses long past who had touched her behind,
And paychecks delayed when she killed them with her mind.
She grabbed at his arm and she pulled it down hard.
He followed and fell like a wheelchair retard.
"Don't touch me, old man." Her voice was like ice.
"I'll kill you at once; I'll not warn you twice."
The little rotund middle manager stood.
"You get here on time because I said you should!"
He blustered as Lyla walked coldly away,
Then he went back to ruining everyone's day.
The idle workday uneventfully passed,
The clock spun its hands round and round 'til at last,
Lyla stood up to leave for her free time so fleeting,
When, suddenly, a voice, "MANDATORY ALL-STAFF MEETING!"
Shriveldick the Middle Manager sat comfy and wrinkled.
"I've got an announcement to make," his voice tinkled.
"Because of an error that wasn't my fault,
The paycheck printer has come to a halt."
The whole office groaned, some shouted in anger.
A pregnant woman longingly eyed a coat hanger.
"I'm sure it'll be fixed," resumed the boss man,
"In a year or so. At least, that's the plan."
The protesting voices of the office-folk grew,
But something was happening that nobody knew.
For the only reason the manager was not yet dead
Was Lyla's next paycheck, as was previously said.
The manager smiled his prickish grin,
Then he slumped and he fell and he landed on his chin.
His eyes were wide open, his head to the side,
And, heavy and limp on the carpet, he died.
The office went quiet, the room went cold,
And Lyla glared proudly, her eyes clear and bold.
Everyone stared at the formerly-faux-regal
Ex manager who lay on the floor spread-eagled.
Their faces wore shock, or confusion, or fear.
Lyla alone bore the room's only sneer.
Nobody noticed, they all were distracted,
But Tom from accounting, who was always attracted
To Lyla was looking, instead, at her face.
And she saw his, and couldn't quite place
The look he gave her: one of surprise,
But mixed with desire behind his eyes.
The crowd dispersed, the EMT's arrived
(Their presence pointless as the boss had not survived),
And Tom approached Lyla, and he asked her whether
She might like to take the Six home together.
She nodded, and turned, and walked out the door,
And never looked back: there was nothing to look for.
She knew Tom would follow, and, of course, she was right.
He was two steps behind, following her into the night.
Together, in silence, they sat on the train.
The whole car was quiet except the refrain
Of the rumbling wheels on the old steel track
With the weight of the train and the world on its back.
Her stop was announced and Lyla arose.
She took Tom by the hand and his fingertips froze.
She pulled him along like a toy on a string,
And a chill spread inside of her brand-new plaything.
They came to her building, and she pulled him inside,
And they kissed, and something inside of him died.
His eyes narrowed tight from the icy cold thrill.
Then Lyla said, "Tell me who you want to kill."
He thought for a moment with his hand at his brow.
"Al Roker," he said, "Let's kill him right now."
Lyla smiled and nodded. "He's gone," she said.
And Tom felt himself warming, and his cheeks flushed red.
He grabbed her and kissed her and made her feel warm,
She chilled him inside like a cold winter's storm.
At last he came down from the murderer's high,
But Lyla could tell, and asked, "Who else needs to die?"
"MC Hammer," he said, "And yippie dog owners,"
"And all of those self-righteous schmuck organ donors,"
"And Markie Mark, and whoever invented the high-five,"
"All of those people need to stop being alive."
"Let's kill Margaret Thatcher and the main cast of Friends,"
"And what's left of the Beatles can come to their ends,"
"Chuck Norris has to go after one too many facts,"
"And the Arquettes can all end up flat on their backs."
"People who quote the Simpsons more than five times an hour,"
"And anyone over twelve with a subscription to Nintendo Power."
"And very loud people, and anyone who mumbles,"
"And everyone who cries when their football team fumbles."
"Hardcore Republicans, and Democrats too,"
"Anyone too dedicated to a red state or blue."
"And people who are yawning right now, just for fun,"
"And street racer assholes should all be undone."
"Is that it?" asked Lyla. Tom nodded his head.
Lyla closed her eyes. "Okay. They're all dead."
They ripped each other's clothes off and fucked on the floor.
And when they were finished, they did it some more.
They lay on the couch and turned the TV on.
The newscaster: "A tragedy: Al Roker is gone."
"And new in haircare- wait, a special report!"
"It's the end of the world! Pray to God, time is short!"
They laughed as they lay together. "And kill that guy, too,"
Said Tom. Lyla smiled, and her cold eyes flashed blue.
"Stay tuned to CNN for updates on the-" Dead.
The newsman's eyes rolled back inside of his head.
Tom and Lyla made out as the newsroom went frantic.
And Wolf Blitzer's death broadcast from Pacific to Atlantic.
"Let's kill Toledo," said Tom. "Or South Carolina."
"Or Canada!" Then Lyla said, "Let's kill China."
Tom laughed and he nodded, and he sucked on her neck.
And Lyla killed what they'd named, from Henan to Quebec.
They killed all the researchers studying ED.
They killed everyone watching reality TV.
"You pick out a few," said Tom with fire in his eyes,
Then he buried his face in between Lyla's thighs.
"It's your turn," he said, muffled. "It's only fair."
"Alright," said Lyla, and she pulled at his hair.
She moaned and she wriggled and she pushed up her pelvis.
"I'm killing anyone who's never listened to Elvis."
"All religions, all tribes, all cults, and Paul Simon,"
"Anyone who got surgery to reseal her hymen."
"I've just killed an advanced alien civilization,"
"And now I've killed God, and now I've killed Satan."
She pulled him in harder as the blood of the world
Ran down her hands onto him as their bodies were furled.
"I think we should finish our plate," Lyla said.
"Buwhuh...?" grunted Tom, and she pulled up his head.
"Let's kill all the leftovers. Clean up the scraps."
He nodded, then went down for a few final laps.
"Everyone born, and everyone not,"
"Everyone known, and those time forgot,"
"The afterlife's populace, and dimensions outside,"
"Theoretical beings on the astral tide,"
"The future, the past, the world that we know,"
"And all that has stopped, and all that might grow,"
"Everything. Anything. Existence in all,"
"It all ends now. Everything shall fall."
She screamed in pleasure and the world went black.