He stares at his beat up white lace up sneakers with intensity trying to remember what had happened moments earlier. Its cool outside and clouds hang solemnly overhead casting a bluish tint on the world around him. He breathes in through his nose and out his mouth trying to focus through the haze. The wheels of a bicycle turn violently in the distance just spinning against the low September wind. He had been normal just hours before when worrying about his lunch was the most pressing issue of the day. He felt he was an average guy driving some small four door sedan from 98’ with a bumper sticker that read “rebel” that some girl with a butterfly tattoo had given him in high school. He has brown hair, slightly over weight, and stands 6 foot with a scar running down his left arm that he got when he was five years old in a car accident. He hates the taste of black licorice, but has been chewing the same piece for an hour now. He is not sure why he did it, but it just happened without any prior motive. The gun was just laying there on the shelf, maybe having been left by some high school punks who had abandon a lame prank. Looking down at his sneakers he has a sense that time has just stopped. Twenty dollar bills are flying down the street covered in blood. One gets caught in the spoke of the spinning bicycle laying on the cold payment. He tries to remember how he got here, how something so simple turned into chaos. It was early in the morning, he pulled into a gas station to get some coffee. He figured it was the best way to wake up after an evening of watching old black and white German war movies. He made his way to the back of the store and grabbed a cup and poured what look to be black tar into it. He went to grab some sugar and noticed a black semi-automatic sitting there on the shelf. He didn’t know anything about guns because as a kid his mother sheltered everything in his life. He just kept looking at it and wondered why today of all days he would come up on such a thing.
To Be Continued…
