263 Assassins' Academy

At the Squeaky Fromme School of Assassins, today was our Final Exam. I was just one test away from getting my double-aught degree, my 00º.

Fromme's was a fine school; I had chosen it for its famous Silent Strangulation program, my area needing improvement. Also, its Laser Marksmanship, Creative Impaling, and Untraceable Toxins classes were hidden-world renowned.

The faculty were very imaginative. The Kill-Off Challenge was a great annual event where they even supplied the blasting caps. Last semester I won the award for the Best Mortal Blow, a much-sought-after prize for which I've already apologized to two families. (The guy was an excellent bigamist, for God's sake; now he's a dead Mormon.)

This year I took Ninja Murder and Bleaching Forensics. I was a bit surprised when my lab partner returned, because one of the most sobering things about coming back to school each day is seeing who doesn't make it back.

The final exam was a written one—and considered a formality.

Our proctor, none other than the notorious Col. Heineas McSanguin, Assassin Emeritus from the Dallas Grassy Knoll Institute, handed out the test booklets.

The room fell silent.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Col. McSanquine announced, to which we all laughed because there were no ladies—and certainly no gentlemen—in the room, despite our stirred, not shaken, vodka martinis. “Open your booklets,” he continued.

There it was:

“Should you consider assassinating the classmate sitting to your right or, alternatively, the one of your choosing?”

A trick question?

Was this code for actually doing it as some sort of loyalty test?

So, yes, I considered it. So far.

I looked to my right, where “Mouse” Munson sat, living off of his estranged uncle’s fame—the guy who had done the Tylenol murders. Was it me, or did I smell almonds?

There was a moment shrouding the room in indecision, confusion, and half-baked intents. Then, a next moment: decision, straightforward intent, and suspension of conscience.

Everyone began shooting, slitting, stabbing, choking, pommelling, and bludgeoning.

McSanguine collected his things and walked out of the room, shaking his head.

What a disappointing class! He reached into his pocket to shake out two extra-strength Tylenols, because death throes always gave him a headache.

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AUTHOR'S NOTES:

For Thursday, September 19, Day 263 of the 2024 Story-a-Day Challenge

366 WORDS (without A/N)

Accompaniment photo as AI derived, but Squeaky was not.

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ABOUT THIS STORY

Lynette Alice "Squeaky" Fromme, was a member of the notorious "Manson family." Nicknamed for vocalizations during sex, she was convicted of the attempted assassination of President Ford in 1975 and sentenced to life imprisonment.

In 1979, she attacked fellow inmate Julienne Bušić with a hammer. In 1987, she escaped from a Federal Prison Camp in an attempt to meet Manson but was recaptured two days later.

She was granted parole in 2009. She was still in love with Charles Manson until his death. Go figure.

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THIS CHALLENGE KEEPS KILLIN' IT, 366 ASSAULTS AT A TIME.

There are currently three surviving, strategizing, deadly Vocal offenders at the Squeaky Fromme Assassins' School, still skulduggerin' in the 2024 Story-a-Day Challenge:

• L.C. Schäfer ("Cheeky")

• Rachel Deeming ("Meeky")

• Gerard DiLeo ("Geeky")