Post by Kauyon on Oct 16, 2004 17:41:43 GMT -5
Originally posted at another forum, but feedback/critiscism appreciated here, too.
Note, some foul language.
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Click, said the gun. No luck, this was it, the sixth shot, no more chances, no more delays. In all the chaos my life went by before my eyes, my brain wanting a final look at the good times I once had before the bullet lodged itself into it. Fast forward from puberty, my brain went straight to the events that led to this horrible mess.
1
It was a classic scene, a cliché, almost, me walking into the crowded bank, looking to the left, looking to the right, then firing a few rounds with some sort of machine gun, before uttering those all too familiar words:
"This is a robbery!"
The rest of the guys rushed in behind me with guns, explosives, whatever they needed, I wasn't really paying attention.
"Stay calm, and no one will be hurt! Pjotr, gather the civvies in a corner - and find someone to open the damn vault! I don't want to blow up more than I have to."
We had code names. I was Bozo.
The cops would be on their way soon - we didn't have a lot of time."Pjotr" and another teammate were busy scurrying the crowds into the big offices that surrounded the mostly open area that was the bank, while a few others where busy setting explosives around these offices. It was gonna be a mess.
Twenty seconds.
"Sir? We're unable to find someone with the code for the vault."
"Hand me your gun."
Pjotr's gun was a big, intimidating Desert Eagle. Pjotr was compensating for other things, so it was probably a .50 caliber. Seven rounds - useless in a long firefight. Perfect for scaring people. Pjotr had managed to push everyone into one room - another plus. Meant I didn't have to shoot as many to get my point across.
All of them were cowering. There was a little boy at the front - I picked him up, his father unnoticeable either by not being there, or by being too afraid to do anything about it. I lifted the child high enough for everyone to see, and put the gun to his kneecap.
"Someone in here knows the code to the vault. You have five seconds to step outside. One."
"Two. Still no one?"
"Three."
The child wimpered.
"Four."
I held that five for another second. I'm not a heartless bastard, you know.
"Five."
The gun said click. Then there was a strange silence before the leg hit the floor with a wet thud. Someone began screaming. I put the gun to the kid's other kneecap.
"Whichever of you it is - you have five seconds."
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2
The club was darkly lit, the air thick with cigarette smoke mixed with a hint of marijuana and cocaine, all of it stirred and shaken by the deep bass rhythms that boomed out of the massive speakers that substituted as walls for the nightclub. The taste of sugar and plastic spread in my mouth for some obscure reason.
I brushed my hair back.
It was crowded – between the bars and the rows of tables at the edges of the room were the dancefloor, thick with teenagers high on ecstasy and other drugs they couldn’t possibly afford, their minds further distorted by the mediocre beats that someone dared to call “music” and the ugly neon lights that lit up the whole affair. One could go wild with a chainsaw and no one would care.
The gun pointed at the back of my head bumped into it, just to remind me that it was there.
“To the bar.”
The smart thing to do was to keep on walking. And I didn’t want a hole in my head someone cut put their finger through. Or something else.
The bar was empty. For some reason, I ordered a whisky. Double. With ice. Might be my last one. Then again, that went for all of them.
“Now that we’re here,” said the woman beside me, gun pushed up against my kneecap where it wasn’t readily visible, “where’s the money?”
I slowly pulled a package and a lighter from inside my coat, pulled out two cigarettes stuck them in my mouth, put the package back, lit the cigarettes, and offered one of them to her.
“Cigarette?”
The woman seemed confused for a moment. The gun pushed a little less.
“Uh, yeah, sure.”
I didn’t know her. She had shown up at my apartment an hour earlier, and taken me to this place. There was nothing erotic about the whole deal, however. She was ugly as hell.
Her gun suddenly pointed at my groin.
“No more fucking around, now. Where’s the damn money?”
The god damn bank robbery should never have been done in the first place. Now everyone wanted a piece of the pie.
My time was running out, and fast. I had to choose between telling her where the money was, and having my balls shot off. And she was smarter than turning her back to me after I had told her what she needed. Either way, I couldn’t stall her much longer.
The whisky arrived. I took a sip from it.
“Just one question."
She nodded.
"Why me?”
“You’re the last one.”
My mouth went dry on me.
She smiled, and shot me in the balls.
Note, some foul language.
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Click, said the gun. No luck, this was it, the sixth shot, no more chances, no more delays. In all the chaos my life went by before my eyes, my brain wanting a final look at the good times I once had before the bullet lodged itself into it. Fast forward from puberty, my brain went straight to the events that led to this horrible mess.
1
It was a classic scene, a cliché, almost, me walking into the crowded bank, looking to the left, looking to the right, then firing a few rounds with some sort of machine gun, before uttering those all too familiar words:
"This is a robbery!"
The rest of the guys rushed in behind me with guns, explosives, whatever they needed, I wasn't really paying attention.
"Stay calm, and no one will be hurt! Pjotr, gather the civvies in a corner - and find someone to open the damn vault! I don't want to blow up more than I have to."
We had code names. I was Bozo.
The cops would be on their way soon - we didn't have a lot of time."Pjotr" and another teammate were busy scurrying the crowds into the big offices that surrounded the mostly open area that was the bank, while a few others where busy setting explosives around these offices. It was gonna be a mess.
Twenty seconds.
"Sir? We're unable to find someone with the code for the vault."
"Hand me your gun."
Pjotr's gun was a big, intimidating Desert Eagle. Pjotr was compensating for other things, so it was probably a .50 caliber. Seven rounds - useless in a long firefight. Perfect for scaring people. Pjotr had managed to push everyone into one room - another plus. Meant I didn't have to shoot as many to get my point across.
All of them were cowering. There was a little boy at the front - I picked him up, his father unnoticeable either by not being there, or by being too afraid to do anything about it. I lifted the child high enough for everyone to see, and put the gun to his kneecap.
"Someone in here knows the code to the vault. You have five seconds to step outside. One."
"Two. Still no one?"
"Three."
The child wimpered.
"Four."
I held that five for another second. I'm not a heartless bastard, you know.
"Five."
The gun said click. Then there was a strange silence before the leg hit the floor with a wet thud. Someone began screaming. I put the gun to the kid's other kneecap.
"Whichever of you it is - you have five seconds."
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
2
The club was darkly lit, the air thick with cigarette smoke mixed with a hint of marijuana and cocaine, all of it stirred and shaken by the deep bass rhythms that boomed out of the massive speakers that substituted as walls for the nightclub. The taste of sugar and plastic spread in my mouth for some obscure reason.
I brushed my hair back.
It was crowded – between the bars and the rows of tables at the edges of the room were the dancefloor, thick with teenagers high on ecstasy and other drugs they couldn’t possibly afford, their minds further distorted by the mediocre beats that someone dared to call “music” and the ugly neon lights that lit up the whole affair. One could go wild with a chainsaw and no one would care.
The gun pointed at the back of my head bumped into it, just to remind me that it was there.
“To the bar.”
The smart thing to do was to keep on walking. And I didn’t want a hole in my head someone cut put their finger through. Or something else.
The bar was empty. For some reason, I ordered a whisky. Double. With ice. Might be my last one. Then again, that went for all of them.
“Now that we’re here,” said the woman beside me, gun pushed up against my kneecap where it wasn’t readily visible, “where’s the money?”
I slowly pulled a package and a lighter from inside my coat, pulled out two cigarettes stuck them in my mouth, put the package back, lit the cigarettes, and offered one of them to her.
“Cigarette?”
The woman seemed confused for a moment. The gun pushed a little less.
“Uh, yeah, sure.”
I didn’t know her. She had shown up at my apartment an hour earlier, and taken me to this place. There was nothing erotic about the whole deal, however. She was ugly as hell.
Her gun suddenly pointed at my groin.
“No more fucking around, now. Where’s the damn money?”
The god damn bank robbery should never have been done in the first place. Now everyone wanted a piece of the pie.
My time was running out, and fast. I had to choose between telling her where the money was, and having my balls shot off. And she was smarter than turning her back to me after I had told her what she needed. Either way, I couldn’t stall her much longer.
The whisky arrived. I took a sip from it.
“Just one question."
She nodded.
"Why me?”
“You’re the last one.”
My mouth went dry on me.
She smiled, and shot me in the balls.