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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/1815251-Appearances
Rated: 18+ · Short Story · Drama · #1815251
A gas station hold up turns ugly, and a young man loses more than he thought possible.
Appearances.

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So it's all about this guy who works at a gas station - and he only works there because he's lazy. He got fired from his last job - which he got when he wasn't lazy - and he took the first offer given him just so he could stop applying around. It paid him enough money to maintain his routine, and though it was boring working there, he didn't mind so much. He was just glad to have a job. It was at a little kiosk station, sitting in a box and selling smokes, lotto tickets, presetting gas pumps, helping people with their gas caps... working alone for nine hours a day - or night, since he worked the closing shift - in his windowed display case, locking the door and spacing out for awhile.

I first took interest in him when I rode by one day on my bike, and noticed the kiosk door wide open. I don't usually rob, but stealing is my bread and butter, and this looked easy. I knew the station well - it was on the way to my job, which was high school - and the other people who worked there never left the door open. I saw it and I thought, 'now or never', but I didn't go, then. See you have to case a joint first: if this guy leaves the door open pretty often, it's on - and you ride by a bit more frequently, and make note of what days he works, and then you go by a lot on those days and notice times when there's no one around. Then you can set a time when you'll probably have opportunity, and you wear your all black clothes - the beanie, long sleeves, commando pants and boots - and the sun is down and there's no moon or stars, and you park...

I mean I - I park my bike way out of sight of the station and do my best Solid Snake, sneak through the parking lot of an adjacent office building, pass through a row of shrubs into the station's influence, where I hide behind the guy's own car and watch him through three separate, distinct, darkly tinted windows, so there's no way he can see me. He's in there behind his bullet proof glass, and I'm here looking through his windshield through his back window and all I am is a pair of eyes, and if he looks over here he won't even see that. I'm all set for hours of this (all set for a lot of things) but before I even realize he's gone I see to my surprise the kiosk door swinging open with no one there to open it. I look around. He was in there before but now I don't see him, and I figure the door wasn't closed all the way maybe, and a strong wind pushed it open, and so now there's an unmanned cash register just forty feet away.

Should have realized...

Should have been thinking: where is he? why didn't he close it all the way? - but I wasn't; I'm not. I'm running, and as I'm running I'm thinking 'screw it, all or nothing', and I jump through the doorway (it's raised up a few feet off the ground) and I'm in the kiosk and oh my god the register key is in the lock. And I can't believe my luck at first, but as I'm turning the key I see the guy running towards me from out in the shadows with the look of The Terminator, and my brain notes a cigarette cherry burning in the darkness behind him, then it sees I'm trapped in this box 'cuz he's already on me, and finally it remembers the gun in my pocket and then it shuts down entirely. Something else takes the weapon and pushes it into his face just as he tries coming through the door. The Terminator becomes Bambi in the fire, with those deep, black, terrified eyes, and I clearly see his face cave in, his eyes go blank and gray, his open mouth droop limp, and his brains and blood splash the white brick support column behind him. But this is only illusion. It goes away even before I realize I've seen it, and really I'm just looking back at him looking at my gun and everything is oh god what the hell am I doing?

Then something cold breaks inside me. Our eyes meet and his look like a demon's, and he's snarling like a wolf - then his hand is around my arm and somehow he's behind me. The gun drops useless from my fingers onto the cash register and the guy pulls my arm straight behind my back and my shoulder screams. His other hand is pushing a fist into my kidneys, and his legs are between mine keeping them locked at the knees so I'm completely helpless. His breath is cool and dry against my sweating face, his voice is the horrible thing hiding in the basement.

"Uncle Sam taught me how to do this, right before I killed fifteen men. Don't even breathe wrong."

And I'm thinking, should have shot him. No, I'm thinking, why the hell did I do this?

"Please!" I say, "Please, I didn't see you! I thought no one was here!"

He goes, "You picked the wrong gas station, friend."

"I didn't take anything! I'm sorry about the gun in your face! Just let me go, please! You're hurting me!"

And just like that, he lets me go. He moves away from me, his arm lets mine drop and his fist at my back pushes me towards the door.

"Run away as fast as you can, kid. Don't ever do this again."

And that's what I want to do, right then. The row of shrubs I came from seems miles away, the gas station lot with concrete like cracked, yellowing skin in the dim fluorescent light. I can feel him, before I run. He's there, picking up the gun, sending two into my spine with military precision. I pick it up before he has the chance. And now I'm running, back where I came from, thinking get away, get away, not caring at all, then, why he let me go. He shouts after me, "Hey! Wait!" and again I feel those bullets entering my back...

Fear, is what I think. Just fear, some terrified vermin, a billion years ago, trapped in the dark, hunted, surviving when the lightning behind its eyes forces it to flee. That's why it happened. Somebody who wasn't me and who I will never be again, he turns and shoots Jeffrey Daniel Wilson in the stomach.

Then we're, both of us, lying together on the cement just outside the kiosk door, there in his blood. I'm crying, and I'm choking on tears and apologies and snot - I'm sorry I'm sorry hack sputter - and he's saying, "I only took this job because I'm lazy. Only reason I'm here's 'cuz I didn't care about myself..." And with his face going pale so fast, his eyes on mine but blurring and looking through me, his hand takes my arm again and he softly destroys my soul.

"I care now, though."

...anyway, that's what it's all about.

The End

© Copyright 2011 Coyote Smith (coyotesmith at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/1815251-Appearances