Midas Gold

Everything is going perfectly, more perfectly than I could have hoped for. With my cane perched on my shoulder, I enter the warehouse where I've been staying in for the past few months, flipping on one of the many bright lights. The place isn't big, nor warm, and it didn't have much inside it either, but it provided me what I needed so it worked.

I wiggle my fingers in their tight gloves, scanning the warehouse around me and the gold covering most of it. The warehouse wasn't originally built with so much, or any, gold in it. It was utterly bland. Until I moved in. At a young age, I was gifted with the ability to turn anything I touched with my hands to gold. It had been the miracle I was waiting for, and after discovering my newfound power, I didn't hesitate to get rid of anyone I didn't care for. Changing my name to Midas Gold, I left my home town to search for something that I could have a little bit of fun with.

My gaze was drawn from the walls of the warehouse to a small, rusty cask sitting near the entrance. Approaching the cask, one of the few things I hadn't yet turned to gold, I slip my glove off and place my hand on the smooth metal. From my fingers, gold sprouted, spreading outwards―like ice―over the surface until I finally remove my hand from the point of impact. My shoulders rise and fall, and my heart beats a little faster inside my chest, but I reach out, focusing on the golden cylinder. Immediately, the cask contracts several dents, crumpling until it's no more than a small, golden ball lying on the warehouse floor.

With a satisfied smirk, I pull my glove back on and swing around, turning my attention from the former cask.

A voice suddenly calls from the darkness, "Midas." I stop, a hint of a smile forming on my lips. Right on time.

I turn to see a young male, about my age, emerge from the shadows of the warehouse. He's holding a gun at shoulder height, and is so tense that I could probably just shove him over if I could get close enough.

I drop my cane from my shoulder and place it in front of me, neatly folding both hands on the golden head.

"What do you want?" I ask, my deep, gravelly voice booming throughout the place. I already know what this kid wants, but that isn't going to stop me from playing with him for a little bit. I probably hate him the most out of everyone trying to stop me, and I want to make this last as long as I can.

"You've killed dozens of people," he replies, stepping even closer to me so we weren't more than an arms length apart from each other. "I want you dead."

Shifting my weight heavily to my left side, I lie my cane on the ground next to me and slowly shake my head, clicking my tongue against the roof of my mouth. "Oh, no no no. That just simply won't do, Mikey," I say. "You see, I still have a lot I need to accomplish here before I go."

Looking down at my hands, I carefully begin tugging again at the glove on my right hand to loosen it. I invented the gloves myself a couple years ago, so I wouldn't turn things to gold when wearing them. It had gotten annoying trying to use objects when I always made them golden. The downside was that I also couldn't manipulate gold with them on.

"Yeah, well try telling that to the countless number of people you killed before their time was up," the boy, Mikey, says. I glance up at him through the corner of my eyes and my curtain of blonde hair as I slowly remove the glove from my hand. He's trembling by now, and even though he tries to conceal it, his rattling gun gives him away.

"I would love to, but you're going to be with them sooner than I am, so how about you just deliver the message for me." Confusion spreads across Mikey's face, but he has no time to question me before I reach out for him.

With the glove now off my right hand, I grab the barrel of his gun and it turns to pure gold beneath my fingers. He fires, but I easily bend the now-golden-barrel of the gun upwards—just by thinking about it—to stop the bullet, then rip the entire gun out of his hand. Disarmed, I see the terror in Mikey's eyes, and I can't resist giving him a wolf-like grin. "Not so brave now, are we?" I ask.

"P-please," he stutters, raising his hands like the blubbering coward he is.

I draw a knife from my belt with my gloved hand and roll my eyes. "So now you want me to have mercy on you? Where was your mercy two minutes ago?" I ask, though I say it teasingly. Even now, I can't be angry at Mikey. Not when I'm having so much fun with him.

"But- I haven't- I haven't done anything-" he says quickly, backing up into the shadows once again. I grab him around the neck and lift him from the floor, knowing that my bare hand can't turn his skin to gold. Unfortunately. I can't turn humans or animals to gold. It's one of the downsides of my ability.

"No, but you'll die for it anyway," I say, still taunting him. Mikey struggles but doesn't answer as he chokes on the little breath that I'm giving him.

I glance down at his arm, and suddenly, a thought comes to mind. "Say, you have metal implants in your limbs, don't you?" I ask, knowing the answer already. I know he does―Mikey had been in a bad accident not too long ago and now has metal implants in both his legs, arms and down his spine. It's more than perfect.

I lift the knife I'm still holding in my gloved hand and stab it into his upper arm. Mikey lets out a loud howl of pain, and I drop him to the ground so he doesn't suffocate and die before I want him to. Bending down next to him, I carefully cut through several layers of his skin while he squirms in pain. I reach his white bone and dig through his blood and fat until I find what I'm looking for: the metal bar.

"Don't do this," Mikey sobbed. "Please. I can give you something. Anything!"

I look up at him, my grin only growing larger. "Hasn't anyone told you to never make deals with a psychopath?" I reach out and grab the bar with my bare hand. The part of the metal bar that I touch directly turns to gold immediately, but the rest of the bars will take time. I wait for the rest of the metal to follow suit, holding the knife to Mikey's horrified face to make sure he doesn't try anything. As soon as each and every bar in Mikey's body turns to gold―I can tell when they are because each limb stiffens, now under my command―I stand up, put my knife back into my belt, and hold a hand out to Mikey.

He goes rigid, even more so than he already was, and I slowly lift him off the ground. The only parts of Mikey that I can't control now are his head, fingers, and toes. I can make him dance like a puppet if I want, not that I do. I have a much more fun idea in mind.

"Say good-bye, Mikey," I say with a dark laugh, then shove him back against the wall of the warehouse. Using my teeth, I tear the glove off my other hand, then lift it and take control of Mikey's left arm. 

Keeping Mikey's body in the same spot against the wall, I slowly, very slowly, drag his arm away from the rest of his body. There's a series of snaps, crackles and pops―and a good amount of blood―mixed in with Mikey's ear-piercing cries before his arm finally becomes fully separated from his body. I drop his limb on the ground, then do the same thing with Mikey's other arm, only even slower. I would be lying if I said I don't enjoy this.

Tears were streaming down Mikey's face, mixed in with the blood that's now covering him. "You know, I think I like you better armless," I comment. Mikey still doesn't answer. I don't really expect him to either. He's too busy bawling over the amount of pain he's in.

Next, I take hold of Mikey's bottom half, everything below his waist, including his two legs, and drag it down toward the earth. Blood starts spilling out of his waist and down his legs like a waterfall. His legs separate from his torso, and Mikey's cries go quiet. He's lost so much blood by now that I'm sure he's already half dead, but there's still one more thing I want to do.

I turn Mikey upside down, partially to stop so much blood from flowing out of his torso and partially because it will be more entertaining this way, and reach out for him. Nothing happens, and I remember that Mikey doesn't have any gold bars in his head. I reach out again though, and find a golden molar in the back of his mouth. It's small, but it'll do. Still being sure to keep Mikey's body stationary, I pull at his head, watching the skin at his neck separate as I draw his head away. I all but know that Mikey is dead now, but I don't drop him, not yet, just in case there's a little bit of life left in him that can feel this.

The blood pours out and all around his head, and I keep pulling until there's a small snap that signifies that Mikey's trachea and esophagus have torn. I lift Mikey's head, his eyes rolled to the back of his head due to how quickly he was killed, and laugh manically again. I can't help it. It's hard not to laugh when this is so enjoyable.

I let go of both Mikey's torso and his head, allowing them to drop amongst his other body parts and the sea of blood that I had created. Sliding my gloves back onto my hands, I pick up my cane then readjust the top hat on my head. Without so much as a second glance at what used to be Mikey, I turn my back on him, whistling softly as I walk away.