The Psycho And Richard

Backstory: This is the first bit of flash fiction I ever did. I was on the bus on my way home from school my freshman year with my friend Richard. This guy got on the bus, somebody we were sure we didn’t know, and he said “I know you, you’re Richard.” We chalked it up to how frequently we rode and how loud we were in general when on our way home. I told Richard it could be the start of a funny story, and he said I should. And that it should make as little sense as possible. I had roughly 30 minutes between that stop and his, and this is what came of it.

The man sat on the bus looking around, the restraints on his arms were hidden under an oversized jacket.
“I’m out.” He said to himself. “I’m Dave and I’m out.”
The woman next to him glanced over to see what he was talking about.
“She’s bad.” A voice in Dave’s head told him. “Very bad. Kill her.”
Dave stood and walked over to the woman. “You’re bad.” he said. “The voices said to kill the bad.”
The woman just stared in surprise as Dave snapped her neck. He arranged her as if she was sleeping. He’d throw her out of the window when no one was looking.
Dave looked around at all the other people on the bus. The voices told him that 3 out of 16 were bad. He’d have to get rid of them later.
About 15 minutes later he and the body were left. The others would be back, he knew that. It was a bus. They always came back to the bus. Dave picked up the body and shoved it out the window, but held on to the hand so he could drop her when they were moving again.
Dave stayed on the bus alone until about 11:00. The bus driver didn’t bother him, or even look his way. Well, of course not, Dave was invisible. He had on his magic invisible shoes.
About 11:05 a couple of people got on. Dave knew he had to kill one of them. The one he had to kill had a bowie knife in one hand. It would cut through the restraints. He could be free completely!
“Scuse me,” Dave said “that’s a nice knife, may I see?”
“Sure. Here.” The man handed over the knife he had been holding (and don’t ask why he was getting onto a public bus with such a big knife, it’s a short story, damn it, and I don’t have time to go about it any other way.)
Dave made a swift motion and cut through the restraints, without making it obvious.
“My stop.” the man said. “My knife?”
“Sure.” Dave replied. He stuck the knife in the man’s belly and shoved him out the door.
Another man got on.
“Hello.” Said Dave “You are bad. The voices say to kill the bad.”
The man looked him in the eye. He was very short and weak looking.
“I know you.” Dave said. “You’re Richard.”
Dave screamed. Richard wasn’t short, in reality. He was tall and scary. He was the only one who could stop Dave. He knew how to control the voices. And he could see Dave even when Dave was invisible.
“Long time no see, Dave.”
Dave tried to kill Richard long ago, only succeeding in removal of his arm. But obviously he’d gotten it fixed.
“Why didn’t you die?!” Screamed Dave.
“I couldn’t die knowing you still lived.” Richard stated.
Dave pushed aside Richard and reached out the door and pulled the Bowie knife from the dead man.
“Good thing we didn’t move.” Said one of the voices.
The bus started moving just as Dave got back to his seat. Richard noticed Dave’s new toy and reached for the gun in his jacket holster.
“Don’t move, midget boy!” Dave called “I’m armed!”
“Well, duh. So am I!” Richard replied.
“At least both my arms are real!” Dave taunted. “Unlike someone we know.”
“Shut up, crazy man.” Richard retorted. Richard whipped out his gun.
“Shoot! Go on! You know you want to!” Screamed Dave. “I’ll give you until the count of five, then it’s my turn. One.”
Should I? thought Richard.
“Two.”
But what would my reason be?
“Three.”
There isn’t one.
“four”
Unless I say it was because he took my arm.
“Five. Too late.” Dave cackled.
Richard pointed the gun.
Dave threw his knife and got Richard in the chest, but as he went down, Richard fired and hit Dave in the chest with a bullet.
Before he died, Dave wrote with blood on the window

I AM DAVE, I DIED FREE.

Richard tried to write “It was all his fault” but he died too soon and only wrote “it”

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