Sunday, January 19, 2014

Everything Went Numb

The wool made his cheeks itch, and he could think of nothing else as he brought his pistol to bear on the cowering blonde behind the counter.

“Please, I just… we can’t. But I will. If you just… I’m sorry, I just can’t--I’m sorry.” 

His aim wavered as he reached up to scratch his nose. But still, when she twitched as she went to reach for the burlap sac, he straightened his arm as menacingly as he could, grimacing and calling up all the rage he’d absorbed for the past twenty years. 

“I’m sorry too,” he uttered under his breath, the edges of his words muffled by the hastily applied ski mask, the bottom of its mouthhole riding up against his lips. “I’m sorry.”

She paused, hopeful. Her hand was trembling under the weight of several dozen tightly wrapped stacks of hundreds. Her eyes were drifting from his to a vacuum slightly above his head where he instinctively felt the infrared heat of silent alarms pulsing against the back of his skull. She twitched just a little too nervously, reaching underneath the counter for god knew what. The trigger was pulled before he even realized he'd been considering the possibility. Crimson and bone white flecks splattered across the desk as he shrieked in her stead, the damage already done, the anticipatory gasps post-mortem. 

Behind him a pair of accomplices stepped back in alarm. He couldn’t see them, he couldn’t hear them, but the fact of it pulsed in the blood racing across his face. There was no turning back he was alone alone alone alone. 

He’d hugged a huddled form the night before. He’d felt the warmth of her skin, her heartbeat through her back resonating in the flushed skin of his cheek. He’d let himself—for a brief moment—imagine their children galloping through the backyard, its grass too long, as he sat in modest plastic chair, weighing the pros and cons of getting up to mow the lawn before its ever encroaching weeds began to annex his domain, those several square feet he saw fit to sequester for his progeny. 

He felt the heat of those nonexistent memories well up behind his eyes as the world before him blurred into a smearing of fear and hate and hope and rage. 

He found one more place to turn the pistol before they arrived.

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THIS IS A REFERENCE TO A THING. GET IT? GET IT?!?!?!?!

ALSO I'D BE REMISS IF I NEGLECTED TO MENTION THIS IS A COMPLETE RIPOFF OF TOBIAS WOLFF'S BULLET IN THE BRAIN