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                  |   ________   |  (  {}  )  |    _____)
    /~~~~~~~~~~~  |  |        |  |   \____/   |    |______  ~~~~~~~~~~~~~\
    |  |~~~~~~~  /    \      /    \          /            |  ~~~~~~~~~|  |
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    |  |              Hogs of Entropy Text Files Present...           |  |
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    |  |                        "Satisfaction"                        |  |
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    |  |                                      By -> The Chickenlord   |  |
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        Curtis loved the way the sunlight reflected off the barrel of his
rifle.  So pretty.  He ran his hand down the length of it, then brought the
metal to his lips and kissed it.  So very pretty.  Curtis pulled back the
bolt, revealing the chamber.  Inside was a single shiny bullet.  It was
pretty too.  Curtis brought the rifle up to his lips again, and kissed the
bullet.

        Curtis lay his rifle across his legs and looked up.  He could see
nearly the entire campus from atop the belltower.  Students ran from building
to building, always seeming to be late for some class.  A few teachers walked
among the students, carrying large stacks of paperwork which was so precious
to them.   

       Who would it be?  The unfortunate student who bent over to pick up a
dropped book?  The out-of-place professor attempting to mingle with the
student body?  Or maybe it would be the outcast, the one person sitting in
the shade of a tree, reading a book.  So many to choose from.

        Curtis had to choose.  He picked up his rifle, his beauty, and
pointed the barrel toward the ground.  Curtis closed his eyes, and swung the
rifle to his right.  When he brought it to a stop, Curtis opened his eyes to
see his target.

        So it was going to be a couple, walking happily down the walk, hand
in hand.  But which one?  Curtis had but one bullet, one chance, and it just
wouldn't be fair to do one but not the other.  No, he had to pick again.  He
swung the barrel around again, this time to his left.  It stopped on an older
man this time, perhaps some professor Curtis did not know.  Yes, he would do
just fine.

        He pulled the stock of his beautiful rifle tight against his
shoulder, just as his father had taught him.  He raised the barrel to eye
level, and put the man in his sights.  Curtis brought his forefinger around
in front of the trigger, and squeezed it gently.  Just a little more.

        Curtis drew in his breath, steadied the rifle with an expertise 
usually found only in hunters and snipers, and tugged on the trigger.  Fire
blazed from the barrel, and the gun recoiled against his shoulder.  There was
a considerable amount of pressure, a great feeling.

        The old man below was violently thrown to the ground; Curtis' bullet
found its mark.  He could see the growing bloodstain on the pavement where
the dead man lay.  Nearby people ran for cover, some screaming.  One
particular shout rung in Curtis' ears.  It was a woman with an unbelievably
high-pitched voice, who was wailing as she hunched over the target.  It
almost made Curtis wish he had another bullet.  Almost.  But seeing the
people below panic and scamper for cover quickly rid him of this feeling.

                           He was satisfied.
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 Copyright (c) 1994 HoE Publications and Chickenlord          #53 --> 02/04/95
 All rights Reserved.