Real life horror: Charles Whitman

Today is the 50th anniversary of the shootings, so here is a re-blog of a post I did back in 2012.


August 1, 1966. Austin, Texas.

It’s hot today, brutally so, but despite that, you’re wearing coveralls over your street clothes and lugging a dolly loaded with a Marine Corps footlocker up three short flights of steps. At least you were able to take an elevator up the first twenty-seven floors.

You reach the twenty-eighth, the observation deck of the Tower. There’s a receptionist sitting at her desk in the lobby. She notices you, but you look like a janitor, so she dismisses you. Keeps her back to you while you open your footlocker and take out one of the rifles you packed earlier that morning. Maybe it’s the .35-caliber Remington. Or the 6mm Remington with the scope. Or the .30-caliber M1 carbine.

Whichever one it is, you use the butt of it to bash in the back of her head. Twice. She’s still alive when you drag her behind of the…

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