Disclaimer: Back to the Future be not mine.

IT WOULD BE SO FUN
Early/Mid-1955
Hill Valley, California

It was a decision George McFly did not like to make, though it wasn't as if he had much of a choice. It was late, his favourite television programme was showing, and he still hadn't finished doing Biff Tannen's homework. Biff would be asking for it the next morning, and if George wasn't able to produce the work, he could very well be saying hello to life as a quadriplegic.

George realised that it was his own fault that he was so pressed for time now: he had spent more time than usual that afternoon writing his latest science-fiction short story, having been hit by a long-sought-after bout of inspiration. He should have known he would have had to pay for those happy hours eventually.

How on earth was he supposed to concentrate knowing that Science Fiction Theatre was on television? Try as he might to stay focussed, his mind kept drifting off to the blank screen in the living room, where he should have been enjoying a well-deserved restful end to a productive day.

Biff was probably having fun now, George thought somewhat bitterly, writing out the first line of the other teenager's history essay. It was one thing to do someone else's homework; it was another thing altogether if the piece of work in question had already been done for himself, and he now had to rewrite everything differently such that teachers wouldn't get suspicious. He also had to change his writing style and all that; after all, one of the reasons why Biff wanted George especially to do his homework for him was the fact that George was a writer and thus better at making Biff's homework sound as though it was actually written by him.

At least, that was what George told himself. In reality, Biff just wanted George to do his homework for him because he knew that George was a pathetic pushover when it came to Biff's varied demands, and besides why bother picking on someone else when his favourite target was so willing?

So many times George had had to overcome the urge to produce sub-par work for Biff - the risk wasn't worth it. And strangely, George found that he occasionally took some pride in submitting well-done pieces of work to be handed in under Biff's name. He would probably make a good ghostwriter. In a way, this was practice... thinking of it like that helped some.

Though of course he would much rather be watching Science Fiction Theatre.

It just wasn't fair, George thought, his pen nib pressing a little too hard into the paper.

How he would love to just go up to Biff one day and demand that Biff do his own homework from then on instead of forcing it on other people. Though of course George would never be able to go through with it: just the mere thought of doing so made him quake.

If only real life were like his stories and he were more like the protagonists he created. His characters would never have allowed themselves to be pushed around the way he always was. They would have stood up for themselves and dealt well with the consequences. Funny how it all seemed so easy when he thought up and wrote out their reactions to the various conflicts they found themselves in, yet when it came to reality he no more knew what to do than a tea leaf knows how to boogie dance.

Yet sometimes he couldn't help Those Thoughts from coming. They scared him, and George always tried to ignore them, but at times like this they always came back: thoughts that said how fun it would be to sneak a gun to school one day and then walk calmly up to Biff, pull the trigger, and watch Tannen's brains decorate the walls. That would teach him a lesson for messing with George Douglas McFly.

But one gun wouldn't be enough; two would be more fun, him standing on top of the cafeteria table with two sub-machine guns in his hands, gunning down the staff and students of Hill Valley High, blood splattering all over the floor and corpses riddled with holes collapsing on top of one another, screams filling the air and then stopping suddenly as the screamers are silenced. Students, teachers, curious spectators, none would get out alive. And he wouldn't stop there, oh no he wouldn't. The rest of Hill Valley would come next, and the police would be dead before they could do anything. And then he'd go on to conquer the world, until they finally catch him, whereupon he would just stick both guns to his head and bid the world a memorable goodbye; it hadn't been particularly kind to him anyway.

And why settle for guns? Why not use knives or swords just like the heroes of old? They were much more personal, intimate, less indifferent than cold metal bullets. He could slice off Biff's fingers one by one, paying no heed to his cries, and then sever his toes, and then poke out his eyes and neatly chop off Tannen's body parts with the kind of chopping knives butchers use. And he could gut him, oh yes, pull out his intestines and liver and spleen and spill his stomach's contents all over Biff's face, and puncture his lungs and revel in the gruesomness of it all, adrenaline pumping through his veins, and then maybe he could eat Biff alive, just for the heck of it, and of course George would end up in jail with a horrible case of indigestion to boot, but so what, it would be worth it, oh it would be so fun...

George's hand was shaking too hard to write, so he put the pen down, heart thumping, unsuccessfully withholding the urge to cry. He didn't want to think about it, it scared him, and he didn't know whhy he kept having those thoughts...

The teen buried his face in his hands, feeling the trickle of tears slipping through his fingers, his body trembling, mostly with fear, yet also with a trace of bloodlust that was starting to grow with each passing moment.

His mind barely registered the fact that Science Fiction Theatre had just finished and he would no longer be able to see any of it.

Foremost in his mind now was the loud chatter of gunfire, the scent of blood, the gleam of sharp steel, and the screams... always the screams...

A very un-George-like smirk started to form on his face.

It would be so fun.

end.