This one was wierd. Here goes.
Me, my
mom, my friend
Rick, and some other as yet
unidentified individual went out to
lunch/
dinner. At this particular
restaurant (which
bears no
relation to a
real one that I'm
familiar with), a
jogger flashed a
gun at me in the
parking lot. When we sat for the
meal, I noticed the
jogger at another
table, not too far away,
staring at us. Two
tables away was a man dressed in all
black and wearing
black sunglasses. I looked at the
two. I looked at my
mom, "Shit, we gotta go!!" I said.
The look of
horror in my face begged no
question, and off we were. As soon as we reached home, I ran inside and
loaded a
Desert Eagle pistol (which I do not own in
real life). Running over to the
window, I watched as the
decked out black Range Rover pulled into our
driveway. I ducked so as to remain
unseen.
A
thin and
ditzy black
woman ran from the
passenger seat of the
Range Rover and up our
walkway,
screaming. I knew this was a
diversion, but I still hung my
handgun out the
window and
zeroed in on the
annoying mockery of a
distraction. The
sights alined, I
squeezed the
trigger and a .50
caliber round broke loose from the
barrel and into the
shoulder of the
black woman. She fell to the ground just as I
once again sent
lead into her
petite torso.
The
large man that ran by was obviously the
reason for the
diversion. By the time I had blown the
diversion to
bits, he had
entered our
bathroom window from the back of the
house. I ran to the top of
staircase, just as he turned the
corner and started
running up it. I fired
once,
twice,
three times,
cold steel clicking and
blood raining on the white
walls adorning the usually
peaceful home. The man, easily 350
pounds, still
persued me. I threw my
pistol to the ground and ran at him.
Strangling him with my
forearm, he
wrestled. For 15
minutes, his will and ability to live
waned at my hands and I pulled
tighter and
tighter. Upon his final
struggle, he fell to the
ground. I played with the half-inch
bullet holes I had
inflicted on his large
body and observed the
squirting blood. I
grinned.
But
enough with the
fun, I had
shit to do, I
thought as I grabbed my
gun.
Hurrying down the
steps, the
blood slipping under my
basketball shoes. I
laid on my
bed near the
window and held my
pistol out of the window. I aimed for the
driver of the
Range Rover. Like
deja vu and
second nature, I sent the remaining
rounds out the
steel chamber and into the
skull of the
driver,
shattering the
windshield like the
bone in his
head.
Grinning, I picked up the phone.
Assholes.