GALLAGHER

A short story from /r/worstory

It finally happened. I cracked. It cracked as a result. Times had been tough and my longtime assistant couldn’t take anymore; retired. Now here I was hiding in the janitorial closet of a trashy comedy club. I’d always considered myself to be a resourceful fellow. Got my life going with nothing but a sledgehammer and a thirst for splatter. Now here I was wondering if there was any escape, any chance of fighting my way out with a few mops and cleaning supplies — no, I kinda effed myself over.

I was used to the crowds chanting my name. “GALL-A-GHER! GALL-A-GHER! GALL-A-GHER!” But now it was not for an oncore but out of lust for me strapped in an electric chair. There was only one play. The insanity defense. Which wasn’t an act this time. When that woman at tonight’s show told me, “give me back my baby!” I thought she was joking. After all, who brings a baby to a show like mine. Flying watermelon bits can be dangerous. I crackled with laughter and the the audience gasped with shock — I thought maybe my sledgehammer finally broke. Even then, it all looked like watermelon bits on the faces of the girl scouts in the front row. Without my assistant placing a fruit in front of me and not a baby, I didn’t realize how dangerous I was.

Finally, a knocking on the door. This wasn’t hiding, just delaying the inevitable. “Gallagher! It’s the police! Come out with your hands up!”

I didn’t know what else to say, so, “getting dressed! BRB!”

Then the door was kicked down. A familiar face in front of me with a small pistol. “Yakoff?”

“It’s Detective Smirnoff to you now, scumbag. And don’t laugh at my gun. It’s one of the only times I’m jealous of the old country. In Soviet Russia, police have assault rifles; revolvers best used as nutcrackers!” He gave his distinctive laugh but slow and intense this time — ehhh ehhh ehh ehh

I was a caged animal had just one last request: one last splatter. I lunged for my sledgehammer and lunched for my good friend, but he shot the weapon out of my hand before I could hear that satisfying splooosh sound. Yakoff pistol-whipped me across the face and handcuffed me. “It’s so sad. In America, there are so many chances to seek help for your mental conditions, what a country. But you ignore them all and instead do this with your life. I pity you, Gallagher.” I pitied myself too. But didn’t at the same time. Yakoff always said America is the land of opportunity, and I had mine. Thousands of watermelons splattered. Maybe millions! As he drove me to the station, I thought of my best smashes and chuckled to myself.