I saw the "No Guns Allowed" sign, but didn't care. I had a license to carry, and no pot-smoking hippy was going to put up a sign and keep me out. I opened the door, and walked inside. Enemy territory. Would they know? What would happen if they saw that most hated of tools, the bringer of death to this world, The Gun?
"Hello!" One of the hippies said cheerfully, unaware of the horror that had just walked into their presence.
"Good morning" I replied, knowing that this was anything but. This was a morning that would cause screams that would echo through time, screams normally reserved for Elder Things.
I walked over to the wall of DVDs. They were alphabetical, and not sub-divided by type or genre. Typical of hippies to know only one way of organizing things. I'd stopped by the shop to find a rock documentary, but it wasn't there. Probably too loud and angry for the store owners to handle.
A dilemma presented itself. I could stop by the music selection, I'd been looking for a certain Collective Soul album, but one of Them was there, and they might not have it, either. I could destroy this man's sanity by my very presence, and yet it might be a waste of my time. Perhaps I should leave immediately?
I decided to risk it. This lesser creature was not worth worrying about, and could easily be replaced.
I sauntered over to the bins and found that these, too, were only sorted alphabetically. The store's selection was actually decent, and I grabbed several other albums that I had been looking for.
"Have you found what you're looking for?"
I glanced over at the hippy that had spoken to me, and he suddenly appeared to be sweating slightly. He tugged at the already-loose collar of his polo as I politely responded "Yes, thank you."
Realizing I had a limited budget, I walked past the man towards the front of the store. I heard him collapse behind me, giggled gibberish pouring from his mouth. The overwhelming horror of The Gun had taken his sanity by sheer proximity, even without him being directly aware of its presence.
"Hello!" One of the hippies said cheerfully, unaware of the horror that had just walked into their presence.
"Good morning" I replied, knowing that this was anything but. This was a morning that would cause screams that would echo through time, screams normally reserved for Elder Things.
I walked over to the wall of DVDs. They were alphabetical, and not sub-divided by type or genre. Typical of hippies to know only one way of organizing things. I'd stopped by the shop to find a rock documentary, but it wasn't there. Probably too loud and angry for the store owners to handle.
A dilemma presented itself. I could stop by the music selection, I'd been looking for a certain Collective Soul album, but one of Them was there, and they might not have it, either. I could destroy this man's sanity by my very presence, and yet it might be a waste of my time. Perhaps I should leave immediately?
I decided to risk it. This lesser creature was not worth worrying about, and could easily be replaced.
I sauntered over to the bins and found that these, too, were only sorted alphabetically. The store's selection was actually decent, and I grabbed several other albums that I had been looking for.
"Have you found what you're looking for?"
I glanced over at the hippy that had spoken to me, and he suddenly appeared to be sweating slightly. He tugged at the already-loose collar of his polo as I politely responded "Yes, thank you."
Realizing I had a limited budget, I walked past the man towards the front of the store. I heard him collapse behind me, giggled gibberish pouring from his mouth. The overwhelming horror of The Gun had taken his sanity by sheer proximity, even without him being directly aware of its presence.
I made eye contact with the hippie that appeared to be the manager, and indicated with a nod that I needed to pay for my goods. He directed his remaining subordinate to the till, then began clawing his eyes out, whispering formless words of horror at what he had just seen.
I glanced down, but my heavy jacket was still concealing The Gun. I wondered what he had seen, clearly simply being a Bearded Man could not cause that kind of reaction, but shook off such idle thoughts as I approached the register. I had more important things to do than ponder the inner workings of the hippie mind.
"Did you find what you were looking for?" the cashier shrieked as he began biting his own lip off.
"Yes, thank you."
"Would you like a bag for this?" He shrieked again, I barely avoided the spatter of blood that came with this question, his lips were tattered, and he now appeared to be chewing on his tongue.
He held out the receipt to me, but I declined, not wanting to risk contaminated hippie blood in my car. Suppressing a smile, I walked to the front door and paused to put my sunglasses on, which gave the now-eyeless manager time to cheerfully giggled out the words "Have a nice day!"
"You too, sir" I replied, knowing that the rest of his life would be marked by nightmares of this day. I pushed the door open, smiled at the sunlight that streamed in, and left the store.
I glanced down, but my heavy jacket was still concealing The Gun. I wondered what he had seen, clearly simply being a Bearded Man could not cause that kind of reaction, but shook off such idle thoughts as I approached the register. I had more important things to do than ponder the inner workings of the hippie mind.
"Did you find what you were looking for?" the cashier shrieked as he began biting his own lip off.
"Yes, thank you."
"Would you like a bag for this?" He shrieked again, I barely avoided the spatter of blood that came with this question, his lips were tattered, and he now appeared to be chewing on his tongue.
He held out the receipt to me, but I declined, not wanting to risk contaminated hippie blood in my car. Suppressing a smile, I walked to the front door and paused to put my sunglasses on, which gave the now-eyeless manager time to cheerfully giggled out the words "Have a nice day!"
"You too, sir" I replied, knowing that the rest of his life would be marked by nightmares of this day. I pushed the door open, smiled at the sunlight that streamed in, and left the store.
******
Author's note: This was written entirely as a writing exercise (because H. P. Lovecraft is the man), dramatizing a completely normal trip to a record store. No hippies were hurt in the making of this story, nor during the actual events that took place.
The moral of the story is that those signs are pointless, and stop absolutely nothing from happening. I'm a nice guy, and that sign might as well have said "no germs allowed" for all the actual effect it had on me. Guns go wherever the people who carry them want to take them, and as long as people are willing to walk past the signs, the signs don't matter.
Yeah, but you're a good guy. Such a sign would most CERTAINLY have kept an armed bad guy from entering.
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