《Bobby Burnt Toes Destroys the World》


 The World Ends

    It was my birthday when the world exploded. I think it was around 8:45 AM. I came to a few hours later draped across the piece of rubble that was the concrete bench I had been sitting on. I thought I had gone blind for a few seconds, but it was actually just so dusty in the cavern that was once the room I sat in I couldn¡¯t see. Also, the lights had gone off which hadn¡¯t helped. It took a few seconds for the fog in my head to clear and a few more for it to stop ringing, but when I saw what was around me I wished it never had.


    If I were to describe it in one word it¡¯d be chaos. Complete and utter fucking chaos. Paper was everywhere, electrical lines were flapping around erratically, I saw a man who had lost his hand trying to wrestle it back from a dog: it was well and truly nuts. Everywhere I looked people were standing in a daze, thousand-yard stares looking nowhere. Whenever I close my eyes I see that scene.Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.


    I was helping first responders rescue people from out of the rubble that was once city hall when I first saw him. He was standing amongst the debris, people streaming all around him and he was just standing there. I looked him dead in the eyes and I knew the second we made contact that he had done this.


    I ran over to him, or tried to run ¨Cturns out I had a piece of rebar stuck in my leg that I wouldn¡¯t find out about for a little while¨C and tackled him to the floor. I stared down into his eyes again and I saw the truth I had seen before.


    I screamed at him. ¡°WHAT DID YOU DO!¡±


    Then I punched him.


    He looked back at me with an insane glint in his eye, ¡°Where is Timothy?¡±

 Robert Hits and Runs

    Bob Smith sits in his car, waiting for his turn at the stop sign. He¡¯s been in the car for a while now, and, combined with the lack of sleep from last week, he begins to doze off at the wheel.


    The sun beams down upon his bald, egg shaped head, turning the milky skin on the left side of his doughy body a nasty shade of tomato red. Sweat begins to pour down his head. In addition to the sweltering heat outside of the car, in which the air conditioning unfortunately does not run, Robert is also running late.


    His phone buzzes, jerking him awake, and with that buzz comes the notification he had been dreading¨C ¡°Hey Bobby-Burnt-toes, in case you hadn¡¯t noticed, you¡¯re running a bit late.¡± Bob had noticed, but forgot. ¡°Was busy with something. Will be there soon. Go back to your mindless task, minion¡± He fires back. A few seconds pass, he may just be in the cle¨C ¡°What happened?¡±


    Nothing had happened, Bob was simply late. His response must be handled with care and grace: he chooses to simply ignore the text. An elegant response.


    Another text buzzes into his phone, ¡±What, did u stick ur toes in another BBQ?¡± Bob fumes silently. You stick your toes ACCIDENTALLY into a traeger grill one time and all of a sudden you¡¯re Bobby-Burnt-toes, the village idiot. Whatever. Bob would show them, he¡¯d show them all. Somehow.


    Bob looks around at the surrounding buildings, graffiti on the walls, and at uneven intervals there are even bits of litter. The city is going to ruin, Bob thinks.


    It¡¯s finally Bob¡¯s turn at the front of the line. The disgusting paint that covers the walls of the city extends even onto the stop signs; however they remain effective, controlling the flow of traffic. Bob eases onto the gas, the everpresent, albeit five minutes behind, clock on his dashboard reminding him of his lack of time.If you stumble upon this tale on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    Just as Bob¡¯s car crosses the threshold into the intersection, a man crosses onto the crosswalk. Bob slams onto the breaks, narrowly avoiding the man by twenty feet, adrenaline coursing through his middle aged veins. The man looks Bob dead in the eyes, and continues walking across the crosswalk.


    No wave.


    ¡°Hey!¡± calls Bob, out of his window, ¡°You¡¯re welcome for stopping!¡± The man continues walking.


    No response.


    No wave.


    I deserve a response. Bob thinks, incensed. ¡°I deserve a wave at least!¡± Bob yells. Once more, the man does no such thing.


    No response, No wave, doesn¡¯t even pretend to do a little half jog, which everyone knows is the bare minimum someone could do when crossing the street. It was like the man thought Bob was not even there. Like Bob was nothing.


    Like he did not think of Bob at all.


    And that. Won¡¯t. Do.


    Suddenly, the ruined city, laborious traffic, and above all ungrateful citizens became too much. The city needed saving, and only Bob could do it. Only Bob could save his city.


    Turning up his music, Bob slams his foot on the gas pedal. The city blurring around him as he sped up, Claire de Lune by Claude Debussy crescendoing alongside him. Crossing the intersection, one could almost imagine he had gone over a speedbump. Bob craved more. Justice will be served, he thought with a smile.


    Looking at his phone, Bob¡¯s triumphant smile turns to a frown: Justice will be served after work.

 ROBERT BREAKS AND ENTERS

    The night was dark, and a cool breeze flowed through the city, his city, as Bob peered downwards from his rooftop perch.


    ¡°Hey Bobby, are you going to come over here and help or stand around like a jackass?¡±


    Phil, his unfortunate coworker, called out from behind his shoulder. Bob turned back towards the rooftop; Phil stood, mop brandished towards him.


    Bob had to clean.


    ¡°What were you looking for anyways; another Traeger?¡± Phil leers at Bob from the other side of the half cleaned rooftop.


    This roof was especially gross, soot and oil covering much of it.


    ¡°No,¡± Bob responds, ¡°I was looking for criminals.¡± Like a hero, Bob thought heroically.


    ¡°Well you should be looking for dirt to clean, cause we have two more roofs to get after this one and I want to get home before my wife watches Survivor without me,¡± Phil says, irritation creeping into his soot-covered face.


    Bob doesn¡¯t respond. ¡°Why do they keep pairing me with this freak?¡± Phil says quietly, but not quietly enough for Bob to miss.


    Bob continues looking out at the city, but his resolve is starting to waver. It was a huge city, how is one man going to make a difference?


    Minutes pass in silence before Phil once again jerks Bob from his contemplative reverie.


    ¡°Anyway, I think the company¡¯s having another BBQ cook-off tomorrow, but I¡¯d understand if you don¡¯t want to be around that.¡±


    Just the words ¡°BBQ cook-off¡± send Bob into a whirlwind of emotions. Screams, fire, pain and an earth-shattering, unquenchable hatred for assorted BBQ equipment flash through his mind as he is reminded of his his darkest moment.Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    Phil chuckles, but Bob is struck with a bolt of inspiration: the next step in his quest to rid his beloved city of evil. To find justice. The Traeger.


    Feigning a sudden bout of sickness, which, despite his best acting abilities, hardly seems to convince Phil, Bob rushes through the rooftop door, down a flight of stairs, takes a ten minute breather, contemplates continuing down the stairs, runs into the elevator, clicks the bottom floor, rushes out and into his car, and then drives back onto the road.


    Bob arrives at the roof cleaning company¡¯s main office as the clock strikes 9:30 PM. Althought the office is nondescript on the outside, Bob knows the evils that lurks within. He creeps in through the back door, empty office none the wiser, and into the warehouse, the location of tomorrow¡¯s cook-off.


    Entering in a crouch, he rounds a corner and spies his prey: The Treager. It stands mockingly in the center of the room, unpunished for the crimes it has committed. Bob stalks up to the Traeger, the pain in his burnt toes magnified by its aloof stance.


    ¡°Hello again,¡± Bob says, ¡°I bet you thought you could just get away with what you did.¡±


    The Traeger stares back at Bob defiantly.


    ¡°I will not let your presence tarnish this great city any longer,¡± Bob says with a triumphant flair walking to a crowbar lying on a shelf nearby. ¡°Your rain of terror is at an end, any last words?¡± Bob glares at the Traeger.


    It says nothing, just like the man on the street, contemptuously robbing Bob of his existence. A dull red creeps into Bob¡¯s vision, his flabby arms bringing the crowbar above his head, vengea¨C justice would be his!


    Bob hammers the crowbar into The Traeger, scratching the paint off its circular top; the crowbar rebounds off and nicks his shin. Bob squirms in agony, however manages to avoid screaming, lest he be heard by any night cleaners in the office.


    Bob uses the pain to fuel his anger, and he resumes his onslaught.


    Bob lays into the machine, gouging holes through the side, the machine squeaking and squealing in agony, oil splattering onto his face and clothes. Bob throws a mighty swing, and disconnects the chimney from its side, knocking it to the ground with a clang. Bob grins as the machine is destroyed part by part, until only its creaking carcass remains, lying in a pool of its own oil.


    With one last thrust, Bob stabs The Treager through the lid, into the grill, and out the coal slot, the irony smell of rusted metal fills the room as Bob stumbles away from the grisly scene, picking up the dismembered chimney on the way out. The smell begins to make Bob¡¯s eyes water, however the pain in his toes is gone. The Treager is no more, and Bob vanishes into the night.


    As he drives through the night sky, the cool air cools his raging emotions, allowing him to think rationally of the day¡¯s events. As the cold creeps into his bones, so too does a sense of conviction, to save the city from the woes that he alone can identify.

 Robert Litters

    Bob arrives back at his apartment, the humble abode of the city¡¯s protector. The apartment consists of a single room and a bathroom. Bob stumbles to his bed, and falls into a deep and restful sleep.


    Robert¡¯s apartment would have been described by almost anyone as squalid. As a part time roof cleaner, and a crappy one at that, he barely made enough to support his dreadful existence. The single yellow light illuminated three quarters of the room, although you¡¯d wish it showed nothing.


    Trash and unused junk littered the room on either side of the bed, which is actually just a pull out couch. A borderline relic of a TV sat across from the bed, connected to a cable box that Robert had long since forgotten to pay the bills for.


    In addition, a bulletin board hung on the wall at the edge of the room. It looked like it should have held christmas cards, or important notices, or perhaps anything of use at all, but sadly, Robert had no friends for christmas cards, and was involved with nothing important enough to warrant a notice. Besides his feeble connection to his roof cleaning company, at which everybody viewed him as a weirdo who stuck his toes into a barbeque, Robert had connections to absolutely nothing.


    Bob opens his eyes at the crack of noon, and shoots out of bed like a bolt of electricity had been shot through him, Traeger chimney still in hand. Rushing to the window, he flings it open, filling his room with the warm daylight of a new day, a new opportunity. Another day, and another chance to start spreading his code of justice.


    Turning in circles, Bob analyzes his room meticulously before coming to the conclusion that it can, and must, serve as his new base of operations. Gathering anything he did not view as absolutely essential, Bob opens the window and flings his former belongings out, ¡°Here you go citizens, a free gift from your savior!¡± He yells magnanimously. No response. No matter, these things take time, they take patience.This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.


    Looking at the bulletin board, Bob saw his new leads board, allowing him to track his soon to be found crimes. Turning to the television, another idea crashed into Bob¡¯s head, here is where I will hear of my achievements.


    Looking over his new headquarters, Bob knew he was ready, the only problem was time: There were 24 hours in a day, twelve of which Bob spent sleeping, and six of which he toiled at the roof cleaning company. That left only six hours in which he could fight for his city, which was simply not enough time.


    Pondering this conundrum, Bob paces his lair, perhaps I could fake my death, no that would be too difficult, maybe I could sleep less? No. Impossible. Maybe I cou¨C Bob¡¯s phone call jerks him from his thoughts. His boss is on the line. Bob is confused, his boss had never even talked to him, much less known his phone number. .


    ¡°Hello?¡± Bob says


    ¡°Is this Bobby-Burnt-toes?¡± His boss asks.


    ¡°I would prefer not to be referred to in that way,¡± Bob fires back wittingly.


    ¡°Well Bobby-Burnt-toes, we caught you destroying the Treager on the security cameras last night.¡±


    Bob is shocked; he had been so sure of his secrecy.


    ¡°Anyways, you¡¯re fired, and we¡¯re going to take the cost of a new Treager out of your last paycheck, please never return to our office.¡±


    The boss ends the phone call, leaving Bob alone with his thoughts, and the now unaccounted for 6 hours of time. Problem solved, Bob thinks, walking out the door.


    ¡°My city is dirty,¡± Bob declares, ¡°and I¡¯m going to clean it up.¡± He joins the throng of people walking down his street. A silent guardian. Nobody, but a hero nonetheless.


    That was the biggest problem with Robert. He was a nobody. No connections, no relations. It¡¯s what made it so hard to catch him. But I did, I always do. Too bad this time it was too late.

 ROBERT ASSAULTS AND BATTERIES

    It has been two weeks since Bob first dedicated his life towards solving the crime wreaking havoc in his town, and Bob is quite honestly a bit stuck. What seemed like such an easy plan had begun to sputter out underneath him. The only thing keeping him going was the praise he saw the local news had shown for taking out that ne¡¯er-do-well on the crosswalk so long ago, sure the news had to pretend that it was some horrible crime, but Bob knows the truth.


    However, the lack of new justice to dole out has been extremely trying to even Bob¡¯s massive attention span. In search of a solution, Bob hunts the night with an even fiercer vigor than usual, desperately attempting to find something, anything!


    As he crawls over a guard rail and onto a roof, briefly snagging his jacket on a hook and falling to the floor, Bob gains an excellent view of his city block for the night, and sits down to watch. Thirty minutes pass and Bob is about to pass out, the strain of watching an entire city block is starting to hamper even his prodigious stamina. However, at thirty one minutes, Bob sees what he is looking for, a man robbing an ATM.


    Bob can tell even from his vantage point that something is amiss; sure the man may LOOK like he¡¯s simply pulling out cash in a completely normal fashion, but Bob knows. Bob cannot be fooled by such machinations, his clever eyes pick up the man taking far more money than even Bob has taken from an ATM machine; he must be stealing.


    Bob climbs down the fire escape behind the man, and jumps from the bottom level towards the ground, already poised in an heroic stance. Bob misjudges the distance slightly and falls on his face.


    The ATM caper now notices Bob and rushes to him to perform aid, or so he says, Bob knows he is only trying to cover up his devious doings. Bob stands up, warm liquid flowing from his nose and mouth onto the ground. Blood, its nlood. The blood feles good on Bof¡¯s fave. Bon fels so warm ight sow.


    WAIT, THE ROBBER! Bob thinks, jerking him from his reverie. He is still trying to pretend to help Bob, that scoundrel.This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.


    ¡°Unhand me you scoundrel,¡± Bob says triumphantly. ¡°And hand over your ill-gotten gains.¡±


    ¡°What?¡± the man replies. Like a liar, ¡°You need to go to the hospital man, your face looks disgusting.¡±


    ¡°The only thing disgusting is your theft! Now hand over the money or I will bash you with this crowbar!¡± Bob yells nobly.


    ¡°What crowbar?¡± The robber says.


    At that very moment, Bob realizes he has forgotten his crowbar at home. Confound it, he thinks, time to improvise.


    ¡°Maybe I have a crowbar, Maybe I don¡¯t,¡± Bob says, ¡°All I know is that if you don¡¯t hand over that money that you stole, then justice will prevail, crowbar or not.¡±


    ¡°Sir you desperately need to go to the hospital¡± the man tries with one last dastardly attempt.


    ¡°So be it rapscallion, I shall retrieve the money from your cold fingers!¡± Bob declares, and with that he launches into a dazzling array of punches: right, left, another right, right again, one more right!


    Somehow, the man is able to dodge them all, nimbly slipping in and out of Bob¡¯s blood-soaked reach. With one more mighty burst of adrenaline, Bob surges forward to hit the man with a surprise right-handed punch. The punch rockets out, and nearly clips the man on the chin.


    The robber, sensing his impending doom, throws the money to the floor and shouts out, ¡°Enough! Take the damn money and go to the hospital, Jesus.¡±


    Victory is mine, Bob thinks, blood pouring out victoriously from his nose, mouth and eyes. Suddenly the earlier warmth retrns to im and he is once adgain on the groaund, a pool of blod surrounding him. He loks acroass the puddle to tdhe stack of money lying on the ground. Wow Bob thinks, ¡¯ve never senen two hudred dollars in cah before. With that thought, Bob falls gloriously into unconsciousness.


    That was actually the start of the trail to get to Bob. That guy who Robert thought was a robber? Turns out he¡¯s a middle-school teacher ¨Cgood guy too, volunteers at a food clinic on weekends, donated his kidney to his best friend, his name is Ronald, called an ambulance to go pick Bob up. Ambulance never found anyone, but the police did make Ronald file a police report, which was the very first thing that introduced me to Robert Smith.

 ROBERT BREAKS HIS LEASE

    Agony.


    Bob lies in ludicrous amounts of pain for what seems to be an eternity, every waking moment is torture as it feels like the skin on his face has been scraped to the bone. Bob knows in his heart that these are prices he must pay if he is going to save the city, however, he does not know if that will be possible for him.


    For what seems like days, Bob lies dormant, patiently waiting for the pain in his body to subside to a tolerable level. At this point, Bob only has the strength to sometimes order a well-deserved pizza to the house, to serve as sustenance. In need of funds, Bob must also turn to the cash that he retrieved from the robber stealing from the ATM.


    Bob feels guilty about this for a second but then realizes that the city would of course permit him to use its funds in order to secure his health. It is probably not long before they are rewarding me handsomely for my efforts as it is, thinks Bob. After his second family-style pizza, he falls into a coma of food-induced lethargy still asleep in his chair.


    From what I can ascertain, this period of Bob¡¯s life lasted about five days. Regarding the injuries, he definitely should have gone to the hospital, and I think that is part of the reason why things started to really escalate. Another thing: he stole about 200 dollars, and he spent the entirety of that on pizza that week. Based on the boxes, unless he threw some of them away, Bob ate 20 large pizzas from one of those cheap pizzerias. I know he hurt a lot of people, and hey I hate him more than anyone, but Jesus ¨Cyou have got to respect how this guy put those pizzas away.


    ROBERT HOUSES UNSANITARY CREATURES


    After a certain amount of time unclear to Bob at this point, he is woken up by a licking sound. Cracking his eyelids open, morning light filters in through his somewhat unkempt room, he sees a dark shape licking at the crumbs around his mouth. His head is on the ground; it appears he fell out of the chair he had fallen asleep in.This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.


    ¡°Who is that?¡± he murmurs, the sleepiness of the pizza not having released its clause from his brain.


    The licking continues.


    Bob forces his eyes open in a gargantuan force of effort,  opening his eyes to see the largest rat he had ever seen.


    Shrieking, Bob jerks his head away from the rat, slamming the back of his skull into the chair behind him. Wincing, Bob gets up, making sure to keep his eyes on the rat that was now watching him with curiosity.


    ¡°I¡¯m not afraid of you,¡± Bob says, clearly not afraid.


    The rat stares back at him, quirking its head. The beady black eyes stared at him, staring up at him, and the crumbs on his face with emotions that could only be described as love.


    ¡°You¡¯re not afraid of me either¡± Bob looks down at the creature and, tentatively, offers it his hand. The rat begins to lick his fingers, Finally, Bob thinks, somebody with a little bit of respect.


    It nips him, but Bob can tell it is in a playful way.


    Reaching into his old pizza box, Bob fishes out a discarded piece of crust, and proffers it to the rat. Gently, the Rat begins to nibble on the piece of crust before it, before sitting back on its haunches. Bob joins the rat on the floor, finishing the piece, since he had gotten a bit hungry, Bob looks down at his new hairy friend.


    ¡°I think I am going to name you Timothy,¡± Bob says.


    Timothy does not respond, however, it creeps over to Bob¡¯s lap and begins crawling up his arm.


    ¡°Woah there,¡± Bob says, starting to shake the rat off his arm, before allowing himself to trust the furry creature. Timothy climbs up onto his shoulder and promptly falls asleep.


    ¡°Sleeping is the most important part of the day,¡± Bob says knowingly, ¡°You know Timothy, I think we¡¯re going to be really good friends.¡± With that, Bob falls asleep, head resting against the rat¡¯s body.


    Robert wouldn¡¯t know this, but as it turns out, he got rabies right around then. I¡¯ll let the reader guess how that happened.