This is it. The final moment before everything in his life will transition from a normal, shitty, program of asking permission, and abiding by laws that others abide by...to a life of an adrenaline filled, self-righteous enemy of society. The guidelines of the everyday person. Everyone follows these "rules". And if you do not....you are a bad person. We see the lines. We know the rules. But as he eyes the happy people who walk into the bank on their phones, and exit the bank...still...on their phones, the realization sets in. "**** them." he mumbles. "Fuckin' pieces of ****." Why they get to enjoy the day is just plain irritating. Because as they walk along in the illusion of a peaceful life, he sits, plotting. The rage that has been building in every breath he is taking right now, started many months ago. Many of us get fired. And many of us get cheated on. Or we cheat, or fire someone else, either way, sometimes things drastically change for the better, or worse. There is no controlling it, it happens. It is the way of the life created inside the boundary's of normalcy. Anyone who "knows" someone who has had the carpet of stability yanked out from underneath them, can relate to the abnormal transformation of these people from someone you viewed as "normal" to "Aww, that poor motherfucker." It's not fair. And if you are lucky, you might have some friends to help cheer you up, plan "B", and move on. Or.. You could be like him. So disgusted at reality that you know. You know that no matter what you do, it will NEVER go back to the way it was. So sick of the grind of life that you gave up, and left everything behind. Drifted. And now you are giving up on giving up. Yeah, sure, maybe its the booze talking, or the last tingly vibration in your psyche from the second to last line of coke you banged out just to get the balls to jump in your car...to get to this point. And there he sits, plotting. It's not really the money, 100%. Its more like 60%. The other 40 is for nobody in particular...just society. But for the next 10-15 minutes, any one person in his way, is society. He chugs the remaining quarter of his piss warm Jack Daniel's. Tastes like ****. Just like everything in the last two months of his life. If the best chef on the planet prepped him up the best plate he could imagine, it would taste like ****. Because all good, and all positiveness in him, is gone. Staring from the entrance to the bank, and back down to the center console of his beat **** Honda, at the loaded 9mm, and the small vile of coke, the adrenaline pulses again. One trigger kills people, and the other one, triggers the killer. How ironic. He laughs. Now the haze of anger, and the blur of every poison consumed, sniffed or thought up, is wiped away. Here is the bad guy, emerging from his car. Gun clutched, in broad daylight. It's go time. His trigger, stuffed in his nostril, and heads directly into the back of his ****** up thought process. And he knows as the short walk from the car, into the bank begins, that in 20 seconds, he could be a murderer and a felon. "**** yes." he laughs. A goddamn two for one deal! This will square him up with God. "The lord giveth, and I shall taketh away." And it hits. The rush, of the chemical sort. This is the trigger. The "on" button that extracts all of the fear and doubt from his mind, and replaces it with lunacy, psychotic anger, and the right kind of jittery uneasiness that makes him seem nervous and even more of a threat. "Hey mister, is that real?" He knows he heard a child say that. He heard it to his left. So he stops. Without looking, he says; "What?" "The gun, is that real?" He turns to face the child, fearful. Why? He has no idea. Is it conscience? Rational thought is not supposed to be here at this point. But, maybe it's just a slight pause in this "glorious" moment of retribution. He turns, and sees a young boy, maybe 10-12 years old, clumsily hanging out of a mini-van passenger side window, chomping on like 4 pieces of gum, and utterly excited over the fact that he is staring at a certified "bank robber". "Yeah kid, its fuckin' real...what's it to you?" The kid asks, "Are you gonna rob the bank?" "Yeah. Yeah. I'm gonna go in there and take all of the money, and probably shoot some of the people, in there, in that bank." Without missing a beat, the child's initial, unscripted response to this is "Cooooooool." Confused by the distraction itself, the mere fact that this kid didn't give two shits about his mom, who, typically left little Johnny alone in the car to run into stores, like most half witted, self-absorbed mothers in the suburbs did, diverted the attention of this would be evening news star. He thought of questions to ask this child. Like, "Doesn't this scare you?" or "Your mother is in there, what if I kill her first?" But he stood there staring at the kid, who, is smiling, chewing his gum, and admiring the chrome piece clutched in his hand. The kid, looks up at him and then toward the bank, looking to see if anyone had seen this man yet, and then back at him as to say..."Well get on with it, dude! GO! Go kill some people, I wanna see! It's broad daylight, go on!" "Do you love your mother?" he asks the kid. "Yeah..." now realizing the absolute danger he and his mom are now in, his face changes from confident to this fear...this stone face...like someone had just ripped off his head and he was staring at his limp body. And this transition wasn't scripted. It was natural. It was real. Robbing the bank, getting back at the society that driven him to this point... Seemed non-existent. In an instant. He looked at this kid, and realized that of every bit of everything he thought was gone from himself...the barriers of humanity that would keep him back from destroying others that were gone... ...wouldn't allow him to let this child be in fear. He raced through his mind to find a solution, a comforting sentiment to take away this kid's fear, a fear that he put there. A fear that, in a selfish, mindless rage, he accidentally affected something that was not supposed to be part of the plan. He drops the gun. The child, sliding back into his seat, has a death stare in the crazed eyes of this man, who, is drunk, coked up, and on a free fall from the end of his rope...slightly relaxes. Not even more than a little....but the man had dropped his gun, so that means what? "I'm sorry." he says to the kid. And turns away toward his car, stumbling. "What the hell am I doing?!" he desperately whispers on his way back. His reaction is one of anger. Anger toward his prevailing better half. Knowing fully that everything in the last few months leading up to this, was a fluke. Reaching his car, he rips the door open, and falls into his seat. And now he has no gun, no booze, no coke, no money, and no idea what the **** he is doing. And the faint cries of this child are now audible. He is two cars away from him. "Son of a *****, what have I done?" He starts his car, backs up, and eyes the gun laying between the two cars. The devil is in a stranglehold on his shoulder, and the angel is laughing. Part of him wants to get out and retrieve the gun, but not because of the fact that it is registered to him, and the childs story would be enough to jail him, but more that he didn't want this kid, or any other kid to pick it up and hurt someone. He had become brainwashed with compassion. "If I approach this kid, and pick up my piece, he will freak the **** out." He is now struggling to figure out what is right or wrong. His eyes shift between the gun and the mini-van window. Knowing damn well that the "smart" thing to do is to jump out as quick as possible and "get that gun, you stupid ****." Done. Decision made. His hand reaches to the door handle, and boom. The eyes lock. Like a hawk to prey. A man, mid-thirties, slightly unshaven beard, white shirt, very athletic looking, has just exited the bank. His eyes are not eyes of a passing stranger making incidental contact...no ******* way...this guy knows, he has seen the gun. There is a series of reactions and measurements now going on. If he opens the car door, maybe this man, will not do anything...but what if he does? The last 30 seconds have been an eternity, and the adrenaline is overpowering the coke and booze in his system. "**** him, that's MY ******* gun!" he says aloud. He opens the door. And like a nightmare come true, the man takes a step toward the gun, followed by another, and another. Both men are now sprinting toward the gun as fast as each man had ever run in their entire life. Because, both men are thinking the same thing.... The loser dies. He screams, "That's my ******* gun!" and a realization again occurs. He is going to lose this footrace. Now what? "Do I stop now, and turn around...or try to take this asshole down?" "He could shoot me in the back, or not even try to pick the gun up, maybe he's going to attack me. **** him, I am invinceable right now. Let's do this." As forecasted, the 30-something year old man reaches the gun first, and falls on top of it to keep it out of the hands of the sweaty, ominous looking man 2 steps behind him. "You piece-of-fuckin-****, gimme my gun back asshole!" His thoughts were, drop down on his back and neck to immobilize him, and then wrestle the gun from his hands... Great plan... Except for the fact that he misjudged the resolve of the man in the white shirt. He had most definitely beaten him to the gun, but more importantly, he now is pointing the gun at his chest. Boom. Boom. Slow motion-like. Something just happened. It felt like someone just punched him in the chest and his momentum just halted in its place. "I'm shot!" He spins around in disbelief, and collapses to the pavement. His chest is now pouring blood onto the ground in exact pace with each pulse of his heart. "I'm gonna die. Right here." he coughs "The bullets must have severed my spinal cord, I can't move. And I feel funny." The muffled cries of the kid were now background noise, all the sounds of cars passing by on the highway....gone. It was quiet. And he slept.
Much appreciated. I was captivated by "Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas". Drugs and irrational thought are confusing in general, and that was what I was attempting to harness.
Bump. This story ended up in a local mag. Didn't get much feedback. I know it's long, but i'd love to see some.
Wow. I ended up in this section by accident, saw this and got curious. I read it all. I thought it was really good!
So this is your crazy willy? Cause I don't wanna meet you when you're crazy then that might be a bad idea. Un less I bring a 11 year oldkid
Little errors here and there, I'm sure you caught those though. But damn. You captured the essence of irrationality quite well. I've tried many a work told from the first person view of someone completely crazy, but nothing turned out like this. I applaud you, Willy.
Ok for a beginner I suppose... :lol: haha jk Captured the essence very well, but perhaps u could describe the setting or day to make it sound more realistic? Maybe mention something like "the calm before the storm" analogy? I dont know. This is probably all shite.