You know what makes me mad? Rich babies dressed up like men who come out here to "take in the sights."

This one fellow, he rides his bicycle up the road passed here every day for a month. Ringing that damn bell all the way.

He’s staying in a tent out on the beach. They have parties down there. You can hear their music going all night. They make a terrible racket. These people are here the first week of July and don’t leave until the last week in August.

I’ll go down there with a huge trash bag. You should see the crap they leave. Dog shit and empty bottles and baby diapers full of shit and all kinds of disgusting garbage that their lazy asses can’t be bothered to clean up.

This guy now, I wanted to kill that sucker, take a hammer and bust open his coconut.

I mean, why the hell not. At some point a line has to be drawn. At some point you have to say enough is enough.

So that day comes. He rides his bike up the road and stops in front of the house and says he needs to take a leak in my john. Might he just do that? It’s a long bumpy road to the gas station where there’s the only other toilet in ten miles. He figures he might split his bladder. "Too many beer," he laughs.

I just look at him for a minute. As if he hasn’t been pissing against trees for the last month.

"sure, you can use the can. Go right on in. Left at the end of the hall."

Once he’s inside, I go along to the shed where I keep the axe.

Well he comes out of there and says thank you, sir. And could he give me a ten dollar bill for allowing him to make use of the facilities. Those were his words. He saw the axe and that wiped the smug grin off his face. There was a question mark in his eyes, but he didn’t say anything. Not until he saw his bike.

"What did you do to my bike?" he whimpered like a little boy. "Goddamn it, my bike."

All I’d done was I’d taken a nice big set of bolt cutters and had some fun. I thought that might make my ornery feeling go away, but it hadn’t.

So, I was holding the axe, just looking at him, like he was a fly on my wall and I was going to swot him.

"What is this?" he says.

"What’s it look like?"

"You’re crazy," he says. "You’re some kind of a crazy bastard, aren’t you? You like to frighten people? Is that it?"

"Will see," I say.

He fishes out his wallet. "Let me give you some money." I can see the sweat on his upper lip.

"Keep it," I tell him. "Keep your damn dirty money."

So he says, "I’m leaving." He starts to walk down the road away from me.

I have to break into a bit of a run to catch up . He puts on a burst of speed like a jackrabbit. I eventually get one good swing at him .

The blade bites into the flesh of his shoulder and he screams blue murder at the top of his lungs. Then he turns, and what does he do?

He grabs the axe and jerks it away from me, flings it onto the side of the road and then clobbers me in the face with his fist.

He hits me so hard, little lights pop behind my eyes and I fall on my ass.

Then he kicks me in the face and I feel my nose crunch. Then he kicks me again and teeth fall into my mouth. Then he starts running again.

By the time I get up, he’s half a mile down the road.

I pick up the axe, but he’s too far away. My head rings and my face throbs.

"Next time," I say to the axe. "Don’t you worry. That was just the warning."

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Edmonton-based writer of scifi, fantasy, horror, and other weird fictions. No publication credits. Read at your own risk.

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