A Rape Scene & a Flying Baby (short story)

How many truly great stories, do you think, start off with something along the lines of “It was a day like any other, the sun shone eloquently upon the worn yet sturdy pavement,” or something to that effect?
Well, it was a day like any other, and I guess the sun was shining “eloquently,” I don’t know, I never really looked straight at it, or paid more than a minor amount of attention to it, or the pavement.  Is it a truly great story?  I’m not too sure.  I know it to be true, and to some it may be great, but to me it’s just a story, a moment in my life that I like to relive time and time again through the magic art of storytelling.
The phone rang, around 3 in the afternoon. I had been awake for some time, and after checking the caller ID to make sure it wasn’t a telemarketer or someone I just generally didn’t want to talk to, I removed the phone from the receiver and to my ear.  It was my friend, whose name I shall not disclose in this story, or perhaps I’ll call him Ned, to save him the humiliation of being a part of a poorly written piece of literature, and to save me the work of having to constantly refer to him as “my friend,” or “this guy.”
So, Ned and I began to mindlessly ramble on and on, occasionally chuckling or scoffing at the expense of some other person’s stupidity.  He went on to mention that he had, just the other day, returned to the store where we had been more than a few days prior, simply looking about, with no intentions of spending a penny.  At the time he had expressed a slight interest in buying a pack of movies, 3 in all.  Slasher/exploitation films from the 70’s, basically, films with no artistic merit, depth, soul or true meaning.
He informed me, during our conversation that he had returned to purchase said item, and was looking forward to watching all three.  I expressed barely noticeable interest, but he denied my access anyways, for fear of my harsh and unrelenting criticism.  (I had, months ago, written a scathing review on one of his favorite “horror” films, a review which he took none too well, sending me an e-mail ranting and raving about how it was the director’s first film, and how he had gone to film school.  I didn’t care, cinematic feces was just that, but I did mindlessly apologize, an apology which held about as much depth as the film, for my mean review.)
***
Over the course of the next few days he watched one of the films, the title which I cannot recall.  Ned told me about a review he read, where the writer spoke of the opening scene as one of the most cinematically disturbing things they’d ever seen.  Ned’s comment on this was “It was just some chick getting raped.”  I simply gave out a “hm” that acknowledge that I heard what he said.  But later on, after much thought, this one statement seriously began to disturb me.
How desensitized, how utterly depraved and detached from humanity does one have to be to see a woman, or man, being viciously assaulted, sexually or not?  I thought about this day and night, it plagued my mind, and after he spoke those seven words, those eight syllables, I never again looked at him in the same light.  And my subsequent actions, I’m more than sure, caused him to see me in an entirely new light.



***
It was a Sunday afternoon, both of us had finished eating our dinners with our families, and we were hanging out at Ned’s house.  His sister, brother-in-law, and their child, his niece Lilly, were visiting.  We sat in the backyard, accompanied by Ned’s dog Sully, and we did what a freshly nourished group of people do on a nice day: not much.  Lilly sat in the grass playing with her assorted toys, she being no more than eight months old, and everyone was around her, in some way, and to some degree, I sat before her, playing with her, Ned sat next to his brother-in-law, Luke, and they talked about various things.  Megan, Ned’s sister sat on the bench playing with Sully.
Sitting there on the grass, the weather fine, no higher than 65 degrees, but the sun still found it necessary to beat its powerful heat down onto my neck.  Lilly didn’t notice though, and no one else seemed to pay it any mind either, but I attributed this to their not being in direct aim of the increasingly searing heat.
Ned’s dad called out to us, more specifically to Luke and Megan, he needed them to look at something, or needed their assistance with something, so they immediately complied and left Ned and I in the yard with Lilly and Sully.
Not a word was exchanged between Ned and me for some time.  We just sat in silence, listening to the sounds of the near by main street, Lincoln, which if followed for about a mile would lead you to my house.  About half an hour had passed since Ned’s dad had called on Megan and Luke, Ned had turned his attention to Sully, throwing her ball and telling her to bring it back.
While Ned was occupied with Sully, I continued my baby games with Lilly, rolling her ball to her, helping her, not to any great degree, with putting the variously shaped blocks into the correct slots, typical activities for someone who can barely walk.
As she sat there, pudgy legs outward, trying her best to apply her limited knowledge as to which slot the piece went in, I reached over and grabbed her, non-violently, to place her on my lap.  At first she enjoyed it thoroughly, smiles and laughter were all that shone on her smooth, warm face, but after a few moments she began to grow worried, her instincts kicked in.
I stood with her, still firmly in my grasp, and I moved my arms from around her waist and place my hand around the ankle of her left foot, holding her upside down.  She began to softly cry, and Ned noticed but didn’t say a word.  Perhaps he simply assumed I was playing a game with her that I would soon realize that she wanted no part of, but he was wrong.
I continued to hold her upside down, her crying turning to rampant wailing.  To those curious about the whereabouts of Luke and Megan, they were at the front of the house, and every window in the house was closed, because the family had their air-conditioning on.
I began to make my way towards the house, and Ned simply continued to watch as I moved.  I didn’t go through the back door, instead I stopped by a wall, Lilly still in my talon like grasp.
I then, with my right hand, grabbed her right ankle.  I held her before me; her face beat red from the banshee-esque screams that penetrated from her vocal cords.  I then began to rock her from the left and to the right, she began to quiet, and my momentum increased.
I then, in one sudden, swift, and unforeseen movement, shifted my body and slammed little Lilly into the brick wall that stood facing the backyard and the alley.  Ned, still continued his silent observation of my increasingly violent actions.  I did not swing her simply one time, I slammed her into that cement, that brick, wall several times until she went completely limp, until chunks of her still hardening skull lie on the exact same bench where, no more than an hour earlier, her mother, Megan, sat.
I dropped the limp and utterly lifeless Lilly to the ground and stood before her, I didn’t look down at her once, but I could see, out of the corner of my left eye that the wall stand unmoved and soaked, painted in baby blood.  My line of vision was focused on Ned, who must have, in the time between Luke going inside and the present, became a mute.
“It was just some baby getting slammed into a brick wall,” I said to him, and began to leave.  As I made my exit down the pathway that lead from the backyard to the front, and ultimately to my car, I saw Ned fall to his knees, remaining silent.  When I reached the front of the house I heard the back door open, and no more than 15 seconds later I heard the shrilling of Megan and the unprepared screams of Luke.
I decided to walk home; it wasn’t nearly as hot as it was in Ned’s backyard as it was in the shade of the trees.